He was conceived at a time when his mother already had three daughters past puberty and certainly didn’t expect any more children. It was a shock when Dr. Humphrey had said, “Wouldn’t worry too much about the nausea or throwing up. It’s pretty normal.”
“Normal? Look, John, if it’s a tumor, say so. I have a right to know.”
“Violet, you’re in perfect health—for someone who’s pregnant.”
She was stunned. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m sure Eve must have said the same thing and she’d only eaten an apple.”
“John! This is no time for levity. I still say it’s impossible. I’m forty-three and going prematurely through the menopause.”
“That’s the time it happens. The change in the menstrual cycle is deceptive.”
How was she going to explain this to the girls? It was simply too embarrassing. And by June, when Betsy turned fifteen, she’d be bulging under her maternity clothes as she stood there singing happy birthday. The very idea of it was absurd, humiliating.
In the end of June, after six miserable months, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy of almost ten pounds. The moment she saw him all her misgivings vanished. This chubby “adorable angel” became the new love of her life. With a vengeance. She adored Betsy, Alice and Harriet, but she had always wanted a boy, and this child was like an unexpected gift. From the moment of his birth she doted on her William. For the first five years of his life he was rarely out of her sight. He was cuddled and pampered not only by his mother but by his three adoring sisters—at least until his father stepped in. Jason McNeil knew something had to be done if he was to end up with a son and heir instead of a limp wrist. When Bill turned eight, his mother and father almost came to a parting of the ways when Jason announced “Violet, our son’s going to a military academy.”
“Over my dead body.”
“I wouldn’t want to be the one to cause your demise, but unless you want to have four daughters instead of three, I’d advise you to take a good look at what’s happening … Violet, can’t you see he’s turning into a … well, a sissy?”
“How dare you say a thing like that to me!”
“You’ve kept him in Little Lord Fauntleroy suits. You’ve never let him play ball or be a cub scout out of fear he might get hurt or catch a cold. You’ve never—”
“I think I’ve heard enough. He happens to be a very extraordinary child who loves to read and practice the piano. He’s a very special and sensitive child.”
“And what I’m saying is that he’s going to grow up like a man and, I hope, become an engineer like me. He can’t do that with four mothers hovering over him like he was some sort of fairy princess.”
There was fire in Violet’s eyes. “You’re wrong, Jason. And I refuse to even discuss it.”
“Violet, for God’s sake, take a look. You’re right about one thing. He’s sensitive, all right, so sensitive that he cries at the least little thing, whether it’s because he’s stubbed his toe or can’t have his way. And I don’t much like the idea of a boy of eight years still wanting to sleep with his mama. He’s going to military school.”
Violet stood there, on the verge of angry tears as she looked at her husband. “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, but it strikes me rather strange that you should suddenly notice all this now—”
“You’re wrong there and you know it. You’ve taken over since the day you brought him home—in a pink blanket, I might add. Not once did you let me take him fishing or the other things fathers and sons do. I told you how I felt about the elocution lessons and the damned dancing lessons and you fought me. It’s time that it stopped, unless you want to ruin him for good. Your sweet William is going to military school. Make no mistake about that.”
Violet was in tears now. “You’re taking my baby away from me, and I’ll never forgive you for …”
The break was as traumatic for her son as it was for Violet, but after six years in a disciplined academy he became the kind of fourteen-year-old his father wanted. In spite of his mother’s protests he played football, was captain of the rowing team, excelled in basketball and was an honor student. It was not the horror show Violet imagined, or that was chronicled so chillingly in Calder Willingham’s End as a Man.
But when it was time for Bill to attend high school, Violet was determined to have her way. He was to go to public school on Long Island, and that was that. Jason could scream, rant and rave, do anything he wanted except deprive her of her son. This time Jason didn’t protest; the die, he figured, had been cast, he no longer worried about his son’s future.
The one who did rebel, though, was Bill. Violet started right in where she had left off. She bought tickets to concerts, ballets and theaters, which Bill not only resented but refused to attend. Violet regretted having let him slip through her fingers more than ever now, and her tearful urging that he should learn to appreciate the finer things of life made him feel guilty. He loved his mother, but he just didn’t want to spend all his time with her and he couldn’t stand being kissed and hugged and doted on. Nor did he have much patience with the fact that he never left the house without her asking where he was going, telling him to be home early, to button his coat, wear his overshoes. On and on it went, and telling himself that she was really a dear woman, despite all her nagging, only made him feel more guilty for his anger. The only thing that made life tolerable for him was that, thank God, his sisters were married now and couldn’t add their protests to his mother’s. That and the fact that his father stood firmly behind him, making it two against one. Violet would never know that Bill crammed four years of high school into two and graduated at sixteen because he so badly wanted to get away from her. He was the youngest college graduate of his class, having jumped another year ahead in his studies.
With M.I.T. out of the way he went straight to the top and became vice-president of his father’s engineering firm. He was more than equal to the challenge and found more satisfaction in it than he’d expected. As he stood with a drink in hand at the end of a day and looked out over Manhattan from his apartment window, he would give an unconscious sigh, enjoying the heady sense of freedom that had entered his life. Finally …
His emancipation, though, was short-lived. Jason died of a coronary three months after Bill joined the firm. Added to the painful loss of his father was his concern and guilt over Violet, who was in a complete state of bereavement and felt that she had no one left, that she must live out her days alone in that huge mansion. Now, as she said, a mausoleum for her …
When his sisters suggested that she live with one of them, however, she had refused to give up her home, the home she had shared with Jason, the home that held all the echoes of her children’s laughter. After the funeral, as she sat by the fireplace in her bedroom, she seemed so vulnerable, pathetic and lost. So much so that during the drive back to Manhattan Bill’s conscience nudged him to the point where he simply felt compelled to move back to the house on Long Island until she recovered. That recovery lasted much, much longer than he’d ever imagined. Her state of mourning went on and on …
Three years of living with her … In his more cynical moments he was reminded of one of his father’s lines about a cranky, hypochondriac aunt. “She used to enjoy ill health but now, thank God, she’s complaining she feels better …” Violet, he sometimes felt, was enjoying ill health. And, of course, no sooner did the thought enter his head than it began to make him feel guilty again. A vicious circle … My God, he couldn’t leave her alone in that ancient mausoleum. If anything happened to her it would be his fault. It was his duty, after all; she was his mother and he was single … But damn it, he was also entitled to some life of his own. He didn’t even feel he could go away for a weekend with a girl. She was so pathetic when he came back, like an abandoned waif or something … “Oh, Bill, I’ve missed you. I’m so happy you’re home. There’s nothing like my wonderful son … I’m really so grateful to have you, my darling …” It made
him cringe, and yet he knew how much it meant to her not to be alone.
What about living with his sisters, he’d once gotten up the nerve to ask her.
“Oh, I couldn’t, dear. They have large families and lives of their own. I can’t intrude on them.”
Which was the trap. They had lives of their own. But what about him? … And that was the reason he had finally called Kit. She knew the family well, and she was one of the few people he could talk to openly.
Over lunch he poured out his fear. “Kit, I just don’t know what to do,” he concluded.
As Kit took a sip of her martini she saw the misery in his eyes. Maybe that was a good sign, she thought. Maybe he’d reached a breaking point and would finally change. About time … “Well, you’ve got a real problem and that ain’t no lie. But the problem is you, buddy.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, your mother’s using you and you’re too dumb or guilt-ridden to see through it. Well, buddy, you have two choices. Either you move back to Manhattan or you take a vow of celibacy and babysit with mama for the rest of your life.”
“Using me? Look, Kit, she’s frightened and lonely and—”
“And devious. She’s going to see to it that you’re single for a long, long time. She wants you around and not because she’s frightened and lonely, kiddo.”
“I think you’re overboard about that, Kit.” (Or was she?) “She’s not really devious—”
“Really? I guess I have a better memory than you. When we were kids and you came home from school every summer she tried to gobble you up. It was your father who always kept you a couple of feet away from the sheriff. You have him to thank for the reprieve you had. He tried to give you a little backbone, help you stand up to the kind of emotional blackmail you were too young to understand. Your mother, in her sweet adorable innocent little way, wanted to keep you chained to the bed … her bed … and I think if your father were here he’d tell you to get the hell out while there’s still time, if there is …”
“You mean just move out and leave her alone—?”
“Brilliant … you catch on fast. About a lifetime late …”
He ignored that. “And then what happens to her, please answer me that.”
“Okay, I will. You have a family. You should say to darling sisters, Betsy, Alice and Harriet—I’ve had it, served my time. It’s your turn to pay your dues.”
“Kit, it just isn’t that simple. Betsy’s got three children, Alice four and—”
“Harriet none. So how about her moving in with mom if mom won’t move off the plantation.”
“Boy oh boy, I had no idea how tough you really are, Kit. Harriet has a husband, every woman wants her own home …”
She shook her head … what a joke that is. Sure, I’m real tough. My parents died eight years ago and I still wake up at night crying for them. Mr. Bill McNeil has forgotten he ever made love to me but I’d still go into a swoon if he even hinted that he was interested in me … She shook her head again and said impatiently, “Well, I guess I’ve been misinterpreting what you’re feeling. What you’re really saying is that you love living with your poor defenseless mama. What is it with you, Bill? Is it an oedipal thing or do you just love being a martyr, acting out the part of the victim? Hey … you’re twenty-four now and that’s a very good year to pick up your marbles and tell mother that she doesn’t have the right to deprive you of what belongs to you … your life. Just get on with it, for God’s sake. She’s a lot stronger than you think. She’ll survive. Most women do. I’d get in touch with Harriet if I were you. It’s worth a try.”
Bill watched as Kit walked across the dining room to get her coat. He was upset at her abrupt departure, but at the same time he suspected that what she had said made sense. Tough but smart. Or maybe she wasn’t so tough … He remembered a different Kit, before she had lost her parents in that airplane crash. But he admired the strength it had taken to live through the shock. And if her loss had toughened her, it had also given her some perspective he never could manage … He could do worse than listen to her.
He got up and called his sister Harriet from the telephone booth in the restaurant.
She was not overjoyed at the prospect of living with her mother. But then Bill was right. He had his life to get on with and she was the most logical choice to pick up the responsibility for their mother. She didn’t have a family like Betsy and Alice and at thirty-five she wasn’t about to start one. It would be easier, of course, if mama would come to live with her and Gordon but what the heck … It was her mother they were talking about, an old lady who had lost her husband and was living alone. It was the least she could do.
Thanks to Harriet, Bill had been freed from his bondage and had moved back to Manhattan about a year ago.
Of course the story he told Janet had many omissions and portrayed his mother as nothing less than a loving and gracious woman. About Jason McNeil he was more truthful—a concerned father, successful in business, a humorous and understanding man who had died before his time. “… So that’s about the whole story. I’ve been living in Manhattan for a year now …”
Janet was touched by his apparent selflessness. He hadn’t felt that he’d done anything so noble, caring for and about his mother all that time. It was just a matter of returning what had been given to him. She felt ashamed that only a short while ago she’d said that New Yorkers were insensitive and uncaring. When she’d first met him she had been so swept off her feet that she hadn’t stopped to wonder what kind of person he was. For all of Kit’s sophistication, she had been mistaken about Bill, mistaken about his relationship with his mother. But then maybe Kit’s feelings had been colored by her own disappointment … Janet was beginning to see that Bill was a man of some integrity, and his family had evidently fostered the quality in him. She was also impressed with his mother, who had persuaded her son he could no longer go on making such a sacrifice. She had insisted, he said, “Bill, you simply must make a life for yourself.” He’d left, but reluctantly.
“She sounds wonderful,” Janet said.
“She is,” Bill answered, trying to forget her hysterical sobbing when he’d taken his suitcases and put them in the car. He swallowed the last of his coffee, then said, “Now enough of the Bill McNeil story …” More than enough … “Where would you like to go?”
What she said was, “Anywhere.” What she wanted to say was, “Right smack into your arms …”
The night was clear, and cool. They walked slowly without speaking, but it seemed to Janet that words were superfluous, only for people who had nothing to say to each other. She felt taken over by him … wrapped up in him … It wasn’t until they passed 53rd Street and Fifth Avenue that Bill roused her from silence.
“I live in that building,” he said.
She followed his gaze and counted with him up to his apartment on the twenty-ninth floor, all the while wondering if he would ask her up. But he didn’t. They walked on, stopping from time to time to look at the displays in store windows.
Much too soon she found herself in front of the Barbizon Hotel. For an awkward moment she stood silently looking at him, frantically searching for the right words and afraid she would blurt out the wrong thing and never see him again. She was saved when she heard him asking, “Are you busy Saturday night?”
Suddenly she remembered the airline ticket in her purse. And panicked. She wanted so badly to see him Saturday night. If she said no, would he ask her again? How many women were there in his life? It would be stupid to think for one moment that he was so taken with her that he would ever give her a second thought if she said no. And yet her parents were expecting her, and after Bill’s story about his father’s sudden demise she felt strangely compelled to see them, as if maybe it were an omen, a warning. It was nonsense, she knew, but the urge to go home was almost as strong, in its way, as her desire to see Bill.
“I was planning to fly home this weekend to see my family …”
&nb
sp; “I see …”
Maybe it was her imagination, but he at least seemed a little disappointed. And then before she had a chance to answer she found herself being drawn into his arms, and gently kissed.
“I wish you didn’t have to go …”
“Me too … but, well, I just feel that I really should.”
“Well, you know best. This was the best evening I’ve had in a long time.”
She most assuredly didn’t know best, she thought.
He was looking at her intently. “I really mean it, Janet.”
“Oh, Bill, thank you … it was for me too.”
“Have a good trip,” he said, kissed her again, and walked off.
She lingered a moment, watching until he disappeared around the corner, and then quickly went inside. As soon as she’d closed the door to her room and sat herself down on the edge of the bed, she suddenly found herself crying. She knew she was probably overwrought after the emotional drain of the last few weeks, but tonight had changed everything. Hadn’t it? No, she was still confused … pulled two ways now … She wanted to be with Bill … needed to see her family …
What to do? She stared at the phone for a moment, then picked it up and called Kit.
Kit was home, thank God.
“Kit? It’s me. Janet. You sound breathless.”
“I just got in and flew to the phone, but you sound like Madame Butterfly when the captain said sayonara. What’s up?”
“I’m not sure. How can anybody be this happy and miserable at the same time?”
“That’s not so tough for you. All right, let’s hear it.”
Janet started relating the day’s events, beginning with how she had bought a ticket and had then felt impelled to wait for Bill in his office building. Then there was the romantic dinner, and how impressed she’d been by what he’d told her about his family—so much so that she recapped the conversation for Kit. “It just proves one should never go by first impressions,” she concluded. “I didn’t picture him as someone whose family meant so much to …”
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