George rapped again and said, “Hey.”
“Well, for crying out loud.” Harold put down the butter knife and wiped his hands on the apron of Ruth’s that he was wearing. “Come on in. Josephine, look who’s here.”
“I see him,” Josephine said placidly. “Hello, George. What brings you to these parts?”
“I just dropped in to see Hazel for a minute.”
“She’s got company.”
“Yeah, I saw the car.”
Harold whistled. “Some car, eh? They say a Caddy like that will do over a hundred miles an—”
“How fast a car goes doesn’t matter,” Josephine said, giving her husband a glance of disapproval. “If its owner happens to be married. Which he is.”
“Sure, honey. Sure—”
“Mr. Cooke’s interest in Hazel is purely businesslike, and vice versa. After all, she used to work for Mr. Cooke and there’s nothing more to it than that.”
Although both Harold and George were inclined to doubt this statement, neither of them cared to argue with Josephine. She had reached the stage where every remark, every incident, had a personal application for her. Harold knew this, and George sensed it.
The two men exchanged glances, then Harold said, hurriedly, “Say George, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for the boat this afternoon.”
“That’s all right.”
“We had a wonderful time. Josephine wasn’t scared a bit. Were you, Josephine?”
“I was so, at first,” Josephine said. “I would have been scared to death without Harold. Harold kept asking me if I was getting seasick, and finally he was the one got seasick!”
Harold looked very proud, as if he had deliberately shouldered the burden of seasickness to spare Josephine. “Josie makes a swell sailor. You’d think, with the baby and everything, she’d feel queasy.”
“Well, I didn’t, not one bit. And don’t think those waves weren’t high, George. They came at us, whoosh, didn’t they, Harold?”
She and Harold exchanged contented smiles. Together they had braved a new element, the sea. They had fought and won, and now after their shared victory they were relaxed, united.
“You’re both looking fine,” George said.
“I’m certainly not losing any weight, am I?” Josephine laughed. “The doctor thinks maybe I’ll have twins.”
“Holy cats.”
“That’s what I told Harold, holy cats. But Harold says it’d be sort of a bargain to get two for the price of one. Considering how much everything costs nowadays, it’d be nice to get a bargain for a change . . . How about a sandwich, George?”
“No thanks.”
“Well, the least you can do is sit down and make yourself at home.”
“I can’t. I’m in kind of a hurry.” George shifted his weight from one foot to another, already regretting his decision to bring Ruby here. Everything was so normal—the warm little kitchen, the pungent smell of the meat loaf, Harold with his pride and Josephine with her unborn child—that by contrast Ruby seemed eccentric, even depraved. “I’ve got someone waiting for me in the car.”
“Aha.”
“I’d like to speak to Hazel a minute, though.”
“Sure thing,” Harold said. “I’ll get her.”
When Harold had gone, Josephine said, casually, “Is it anyone we know?”
“No.”
“I just thought if it was, bring her in.”
“Thanks just the same.”
“If you ask me, George, you’re acting sort of jumpy.”
“Not as jumpy as I feel.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“Call it business.”
“I didn’t mean to be nosy,” Josephine said rather stiffly. “It just surprises me when a man of your iron constitution starts acting jumpy.”
“I left my iron constitution behind years ago.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. It makes me nervous. After all, I’m not terribly much younger than you are, and here I am, going to have twins.” She turned to him, her eyes suddenly anxious, seeking reassurance. “Maybe I waited too long and my bones are too set or something?”
“Baloney,” George said cheerfully. “Listen, any time you’re in doubt about your health take a look in the mirror. Go on, do it now.”
“No.”
“Go on. Look at yourself.”
Awkwardly, Josephine rose from her chair and approached the small oblong mirror hanging between the two windows over the sink. Her eyes were clear and glowing, her dark hair glossy, her cheeks pink from the sun.
“I do look healthy, don’t I, George?”
“Wonderful.”
“There can’t be anything wrong if I look so healthy.”
Harold came back with Hazel, who was wearing her pearl choker and her black crepe dress, an outfit she reserved for sober and important functions. She looked warm and strained, and when she walked she took mincing little steps because her feet hurt; flesh bulged from her new patent-leather pumps like rising dough.
“I tried to get you on the phone,” she said to George. “Willie told me you weren’t there. You just up and blew, didn’t say a word to anybody, just blew. That’s no way to run a business, George.”
“I’ll make a note of that. Thanks loads.”
“Whenever you’re in the wrong you always sound like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what. Whenever you make a mistake you get sore. Isn’t that right, Harold?”
“You leave Harold out of it,” Josephine said sharply. “Harold and me, we mind our own business. Live and let live.”
“All right, all right, skip it.” Hazel dabbed at her moist forehead with the back of her hand. “My God, it’s hot. Come on out and I’ll show you the yard.”
“I saw it,” George said. “It looks fine.”
“Cost me eleven bucks. I need some air.” She opened the screen door and went outside on the porch. George followed her, feeling a little hurt that she wasn’t in a friendlier mood. “The place looks pretty good, eh?”
“Just great.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Maybe you don’t realize how a nice yard increases the value of a home.”
“Sure, sure I do,” George said. “It increases it plenty.”
“You can’t tell. After all, some day I might want to sell the place, I might get married.”
“I guess you might.”
She leaned against the porch railing, easing a little of the weight off her feet. “I suppose Harold and Josephine told you I have company?”
“Yes.”
“You remember Arthur Cooke that I used to work for.”
“Sure.”
“He’s very refined.”
“Hazel—”
“Doesn’t drink or smoke and always dresses in the best of taste.”
“I’m sorry to bust in on you like this.”
“That’s all right. He was just leaving anyway. He’s a very busy and important man, he—”
“Look, Haze, I don’t mean to change the subject or anything, but I’m in kind of a hurry. I’ve got someone waiting for me in the car.”
Hazel raised her eyebrows. “So?”
“She’s not feeling very well, and I thought if you had a little brandy or one of those pills you used to take when you got upset, the ones the doctor gave you—”
“I’ve got a quart of warm beer and some aspirin,” Hazel said curtly. “Who is it, the new girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Why bring her here?”
“Well, we were passing by and I figured I’d drop in and get her a pill or something to calm her down.” He scowled at a point in the
darkness where a mockingbird sat trying to stir up his sleepy friends, hi there! hi there! “She’s so darned unhappy, Hazel.”
“I should give one half of one per cent of a good goddamn whether she’s unhappy.”
“All right, all right. I’ll shove off.”
“You can have the beer and the aspirin.”
“No thanks. Sorry to have bothered you.”
He went down the porch steps, stumbling slightly on the last one where the wood had been undermined by termites and sagged in the middle.
“Well, don’t go away mad,” Hazel said.
“I’m not mad.”
“Not much you aren’t.”
“I am not mad.” He scuffed the coco mat at the bottom of the steps with his shoe. “The thing is I want to do what’s right, only I don’t know how. She’s just a kid, she needs help. I get the feeling that she’s on the edge of something, something bad.” He kicked at the mat again, more violently this time, as if it were an obstacle that had to be kicked away. But the mat didn’t budge. It had been there for a long time and was so heavy with the dirt of years that during the rainy winters weeds sprouted in it and grew two or three inches high.
“I know what she’s on the edge of,” Hazel said. “And it’s not so bad.”
George looked at her hopefully, and for a moment Hazel wished that she didn’t have to say what she had every intention of saying both for George’s own good and for her own personal satisfaction.
“It’s not so bad,” she repeated. “Hooking you and cutting herself in on your share of the Beachcomber.”
“You’ve got the wrong idea, as far as Ruby’s concerned anyway. She’s not interested in me.” In an unconscious gesture, he put his left hand to his head and smoothed back his hair, as if to reassure himself that he still had hair left, that he wasn’t quite so old as some people might think. He remembered what Ruby had said when he’d gone to Mrs. Freeman’s to give her the back pay she hadn’t stopped to collect: “You don’t look a day over forty—”
“To her I’m a nothing.” He cleared his throat. “A big fat nothing.”
“I don’t believe it,” Hazel said, sounding a little angry, as if Ruby, by repudiating George, was casting an aspersion on Hazel herself. “Maybe she’s just playing hard to get.”
“You think so, Hazel? Honest?”
“I said, maybe.”
“Could you tell if you met her?”
“I don’t know. How should I know?”
“I mean, suppose I brought her in and you talked to her, sort of sounded her out a little? . . . Then maybe I could find out if I had a chance, and if I haven’t, well, that’s that, I’ll chalk it down to experience. Would you do it, Hazel, just talk to her?”
“Why should I?”
“No reason, I guess. Except—well, suppose you find out she’s not interested, then you wouldn’t have to worry so much about me getting married again.”
“I am not worried about your getting married again,” Hazel said, in a very calm, reasonable tone. “It’s who you marry that concerns me. It beats me why you can’t find some nice sensible widow with a little cash or some real estate.”
“You already said that, a hundred times.”
“Isn’t it true a hundred times?”
“Sure, sure. But—”
“There’s always a but.” She shifted her weight impatiently. The porch railing squawked a protest, and from his new position on the television antenna next door the tireless mockingbird answered, oh my, oh my, oh my. “The world would be O.K. if it wasn’t for the buts.”
“Haze—”
“All right, all right. I’ll talk to her. Bring her in the house.”
There was a slight edge to her voice, but George was too pleased to notice it. He had great faith in Hazel’s ability to handle people, to make them feel at home and get them talking about themselves. It was exactly what Ruby needed, an older woman to confide in. Perhaps—who could tell?—they might even become friends.
George was an incurable optimist. Like an alcoholic who needs only one drink to set him off, George needed only one happy thought, and the happy thought was that Hazel and Ruby should become real pals, lunching together, shopping together, telephoning each other at all hours. Each passing second made the idea more irresistibly logical: Ruby and Hazel, Damon and Pythias.
Oh my, said the mockingbird. Oh my, oh my.
“You’ll be crazy about her,” George said warmly. “She’s shy, kind of hard to know at first, but once you get underneath the surface you’ll see how sweet she is.”
Hazel made an impatient gesture as if she were swatting at an invisible mosquito. “I saw her, the day she came to Dr. Foster’s office.”
“That’s right, you did. What did you think of her? She’s not an ordinary girl at all, is she?”
“I only saw her for a few minutes.”
“Couldn’t you tell she was different?”
“I told you I only saw her for a few minutes. What could have happened in a few minutes, that we should’ve become bosom pals or something?”
“Not exactly.” But it was too close for comfort, and George was unpleasantly surprised at the easy way Hazel could reach into his mind and pick out one of his dreams and pinch it out of shape like a marshmallow.
He said, “I’ll get Ruby,” and started across the yard, stepping slowly and carefully because he knew Hazel was watching him and he didn’t want to appear too eager.
She called after him, “Hey, George.”
He stopped.
“George, hold your stomach in.”
“Jes—”
“And stick out your chest more. You might as well show up to the best advantage.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, but Hazel didn’t hear him. She had gone back into the house and the slam of the screen door was loud and final.
Straightening his shoulders George walked back to his car. Ruby was half-sitting, half-lying, with her head pressed against the back of the seat and her eyes closed.
“Ruby?”
She blinked in a surprised way, as if she had been hundreds of miles away and couldn’t understand how George had gotten there.
“How are you feeling?”
“All right, I guess.”
“You’re looking better.”
“Am I?” She yawned, making a funny little squeaking noise like a puppy. George wanted to laugh at the noise, which seemed to him charming, but he didn’t dare. He was beginning to realize how deadly serious Ruby was about everything. She seldom laughed herself, and the laughter of others always carried a note of menace.
“We’ve been invited to come in,” George said.
“I heard laughing. Is it a party? I don’t like parties, I really don’t, I wish you’d take me home.”
“There’s no party. I just want you to come in and meet Hazel, my ex-wife.”
Her entire face seemed to tighten, around the eyes and the nostrils and the mouth, as if it had been splashed by a strong astringent. “I guess this is your idea of a big joke, Mr. Anderson.”
“It’s not a joke. Hazel asked me to bring you in.”
“Why?”
“I told her you were waiting in the car. Hazel likes people. She invites everybody to come in.”
“She won’t like me.”
“Sure she will, and I’ll bet a nickel you’ll like her too.” He spoke with confidence. Nearly everyone liked Hazel. She could always make people feel good about themselves, and George had such implicit faith in her generosity that it didn’t even occur to him that possibly she wouldn’t care to make Ruby feel good.
“It doesn’t seem proper,” Ruby said. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to inflict myself.”
“You won’t be. Come on.”
&nbs
p; He opened the car door and Ruby got out. She brushed off her skirt and the shoulders of her suit, and smoothed down her hair. “Do I look all right?”
“You look fine.” He wanted to say, beautiful, but he was afraid that the word would only increase her self-consciousness and that she wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Let’s go around to the back. Hazel’s in the kitchen.”
“Is it your house?”
“Not any more. We had a property settlement and Hazel got the house.”
“It’s funny you’re still friends like this.”
“Like what?”
“Well, calling on her like this, and bringing me here.”
“It doesn’t strike me as funny. Why should it?”
“I thought when two people break up, they wouldn’t ever want to see each other again.”
“It’d be pretty hard not to see Hazel again,” George said dryly. “She’s all over the place. I don’t mean she checks up on me or anything. But it’s a small town and we have mutual friends, and so we bump into each other.”
“I’d hate that. If I ever got a divorce I’d run away, far away. I’d never want to see him again, never, I’d run away.”
“Well, don’t get excited. You’re not even married yet.” He paused. “Not even considering it, I guess.”
“No.”
“You’ll change your mind someday when you meet the right man.”
She didn’t bother to answer. In silence they went across the yard and up the steps of Hazel’s back porch.
Hazel opened the screen door, wearing a fixed smile on her face that looked as if it had been attached with glue. During the time it had taken George to go out to the car and get Ruby, Hazel had freshened her make-up and combed her hair, but already along her upper lip and the hairline of her forehead little pinpoints of sweat were oozing up through the new layer of powder.
When she spoke she used her office-voice which had a professional lilt to it intended to make Dr. Foster’s patients feel at ease. “Come on in and make yourself at home—Ruby, is it?”
Wives and Lovers Page 13