“Tough Titty,” Terry said.
“Terry Trevitt,” I finished. Then I put her down, taking a step away, still holding tight to her hands. “Listen to me a second,” I said. “Listen to me, Terry. I mean this. I don’t want you talking like that. Not any more. Please.”
“Why?”
“Well,” I told her. “Well. Because it’s not ladylike.”
She laughed. “So who’s a lady?”
“You are,” I said.
“Sure, Trevitt.”
I picked her up again, cradling her in my arms, whispering. “Oh, maybe not now,” I whispered. “Maybe it’ll take a lot of doing. But someday, Terry.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sure. I’ll be Queen of the May.”
“That too.”
“You’re strangling me,” she said. “Lemme go.” I let go. “And take a shower,” she went on, sitting at my desk. “Don’t rush.”
I bowed low and headed for the bathroom.
I suppose I hadn’t spent so long getting cleaned up since my first date with Sally Farmer years before. I showered and scrubbed myself, shaving, showering again, drying off, combing my hair, even throwing on some talcum. All the time I was in there I sang away at the top of my lungs, sang all the words to all the songs I knew, as loud as I could. When I was finally finished, I tucked a towel around me, opened the door and went back to my room. Terry was still sitting at the desk.
“All clean,” I said.
“You’re practically naked,” she answered, very loud. “Go put some clothes on. Get dressed.”
“I was sort of thinking of going in the other direction,” I said.
“Men,” she muttered. “All the same. All you ever think about is sex, sex, sex. The Digest says—”
“Terry,” I interrupted, “you’re talking to your husband.”
“Please,” she said, holding up one of her hands. “Don’t remind me.”
“Well, Jesus,” I said. “Then what did you marry me for?”
“I been thinking about that,” she answered, very soft, staring out the window. “I been thinking about that a good deal. While you were yapping in the shower.”
“And?”
“I don’t know,” she told me. “I had lotsa proposals. Seventeen, total. Starting from when I was nine years old. One guy I turned down owns his own gas station. Right now he owns it. Outright. And another guy—”
“You’re a liar,” I said.
She waited awhile, then nodded. “O.K.,” she said. “But when I was nine the kid next door, he wanted to marry me. He did. His name was Wilford something or other. Nine years old and he had pimples. At that age, I never had pimples. I got a beautiful skin. My beautician told me that. ‘Terry,’ he said. ‘You got a beautiful—’ ”
“Tell me about it there,” I interrupted, pointing to the bed.
“You don’t own me, y’know,” she said. “I’m still a human being. Free as the birds.”
“Terry,” I said. “Don’t you even like me?”
She thought some. “Sure,” was her answer.
“Thanks.”
“You’re a nice enough guy. And nice-lookin’. And you come from a nice family. With a nice house. And you got standing in the community.” Then she was quiet for a long time. I waited, watching her as she sat there, huddled in my desk chair. “Trevitt,” she said finally.
“What?”
“Tell me you love me.”
I was about to answer but I didn’t. Because my mother was standing in the doorway, looking at us. “I just stopped by to say good night,” my mother said.
“Come in,” Terry told her. “Please do.” She stood and my mother walked in, taking her by the hands. None of us said a word until Terry spoke up, very soft. “Remember, Mrs. Trevitt. Remember it this way. You’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.”
“That’s backward,” I said.
At which my mother started to cry. She turned from Terry, flinging her arms around me, her tears dropping onto my shoulders. “Raymond,” she said. “I want you to know that I love you.” Then she hugged Terry. “I love you both,” my mother said. “And more than anything else, I want you to be happy.”
“We’ll try, Mother,” I told her. “We’ll try just as hard as we know how. We can’t promise more.”
“That’s right,” Terry echoed.
My mother looked straight at Terry. “I’m proud to have you with us,” she said, and you could tell from the way she talked that she meant it, every word. So, muttering good night, she left us alone.
I waited a second, then started taking off the towel.
Terry panicked. “Hold the phone,” she said, and she tore around the room, turning off lights, until we stood in darkness. “Strip away,” she told me then.
I got into bed, leaning up on one elbow, staring across the dark room to where Terry was.
“Now,” she whispered. “Tell me you love me.”
“O.K.,” I said. “I love you.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I love you,” I said again.
“No good. Say it like this: ‘Terry, my rose, my flower, my sweet. I love you.’ ”
“Like hell,” I said.
“Listen,” she told me. “That was how Mr. Tarkington proposed. And if it’s good enough for Mr. Tarkington, it’s good enough for you.”
“Terry,” I asked, “who’s Mr. Tarkington?”
“He was the most unforgettable character I’ve met last August,” she answered.
“Please,” I said. “Please. Will you come here?”
“This is my wedding night,” she said, talking very fast. “A girl’s got a right to sweet talk on her wedding night. That’s the night she’s most in love with her husband. Don’t you understand about love, Trevitt? It’s the most important thing in the world. I was in love once, and it was the greatest thing ever happened to me. With a steelworker from Gary, Indiana, when I was sixteen years old.” She stopped.
“What happened?” I asked.
“He got me impregnated.”
“He got you pregnant.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, Terry. You said he got you impregnated. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It made plenty of sense to me at the time.”
“I meant grammatically.”
“Grammatically, crap,” Terry said.
“Please. I asked you once already not to talk that way.”
“Listen here,” she cut in. “If this is how you’re gonna act, we can call the whole thing off right now.”
“Terry,” I said. “Are you scared?”
“Fat chance,” she answered.
“You are, aren’t you?”
She waited a long time, and when she finally did talk, I could hardly hear her. “So what if I am,” she whispered. “A bride’s got a right to be scared on her wedding night. Mrs. Tarkington was so—”
“Only one way to get over that,” I said, standing.
“Stay away from me, Trevitt.”
“Naturally,” I said and with that I picked her up and carried her to the bed, setting her down gently, starting to undress her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Trevitt.”
“Please what, baby?”
“Go easy.”
“I’m not going any place at all,” I answered, putting my arms around her, pulling her close. With that she kissed me, one time, high on the cheek. We lay there next to each other, holding hands under the blankets, her head resting on my shoulder.
We were still like that when we dropped off to sleep...
All of which took place on a Saturday night, making the next morning Sunday. I woke pretty early, but not as early as I’d planned. I shook Terry. She didn’t budge. “Terry,” I said, shaking her again. “Rise and shine.”
“Mumble,” she said.
“Time to get up,” I said, pulling the blankets off her.
Again she came with the “mumble, mumble, mumble.�
� I shook her harder, talking all the time. After a while, she opened her eyes. “Hi, Trevitt,” she said, still half asleep.
“Hi, baby,” I answered. “Come on. Snap to.”
“What time is it?” she whispered, stretching.
“Almost eleven,” I told her. “And we’re late.”
“Late for what?”
“Church.”
She smiled at me, stretching lazily, nodding her head. Then she sat straight up. “Church!” she bellowed. “Church! Are you crazy?”
“No,” I said. “It’s Sunday and we’re late.”
“Nobody goes to church,” she said. “Me either.” And she pulled the sheet over her head.
I ripped it away. “You’ve got to,” I said. “You’re my wife and if I go, you go.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No sir,” I said. “I’m very devout. I haven’t missed church in years. Fifty-two Sundays a year. Rain or shine. It’s an important thing in my life. God is love, you know. So come on.”
“O.K.,” she said, getting up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun, Trevitt. I didn’t know.”
“I forgive you,” I said. “Now let’s get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, we took off down the stairs.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked me, half out of breath.
“She went early.”
“What religion are you anyway?”
I thought awhile. “Presbyterian,” I answered.
“I didn’t know you come from a religious family, Trevitt.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “My mother and father were pillars of the church and I’m carrying on the tradition.”
Terry stopped. “Y’know,” she said. “I admire you for that.”
“Thanks,” I answered and I pulled her along. We got to Patriot’s Square and shagged a left, heading for the big church in the middle of the block.
“Here we are,” I said, going up the steps.
Terry didn’t follow. Instead, she just pointed to the big sign out in front. “I thought you was Presbyterian?”
“Correct,” I said.
“Well, this here is the Methodist church.”
I read the sign. She was right. “Damn,” I said. “I’m not awake yet. The Presbyterian’s a little farther down.”
We walked a few hundred yards. Terry stopped again, pointing. “That it?” she asked.
“It sure is,” I answered. “That’s the good old Athens Presbyterian Church.”
“In your hat,” Terry said. “It’s a synagogue.”
“Synagogue,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Synagogue. I don’t get it. Here you go to a church all your life and then one day it disappears on you.”
Terry stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked on ahead. “It’s goddam amazing, that’s what it is,” she mumbled.
We finally got to the Presbyterian church. It took a lot of walking, but we finally got there. Arriving just as the service was breaking up and all the people were streaming out. I stood on the sidewalk, shaking my head.
“I guess you sort of ruined your attendance record,” Terry began.
“It’s O.K.,” I told her.
“No, it’s not. It’s a shame. A devout Presbyterian like you.”
I shrugged, took her by the hand, and made the turn toward home. Getting only about two steps before somebody called my name.
“That’s a church, Euripides,” Harriet said, running up, giggling.
“Very funny,” I told her.
“Don’t you feel well? It’s not even noon and you’re up. You must be sick. Here,” and she put her hand on my forehead, still giggling away.
“Terry,” I said. “This here is Harriet. Harriet. Meet my wife.”
Harriet stopped giggling. She looked at my face a long time, studying it. Then she turned to Terry, gave a quick smile, and walked off.
“Hey,” I called, starting after her, but she didn’t stop. I went back to Terry.
“Who’s that?” Terry asked.
“A friend of mine,” I answered.
“I’d hate to meet your enemies,” she said.
My mother was waiting for us when we got there, along with Adrian, sitting in the living-room, chatting, both in their Sunday best.
“Raymond,” Adrian said, standing, “your mother informs me that you’re married.”
“Hi,” Terry said, going over and sitting next to him. “You want to kiss the bride?”
Adrian coughed, looked at my mother, then touched his lips to Terry’s forehead.
“Y’know,” she told him, “you’re really cute.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said.
“I mean it,” Terry went on. “No kidding. Maybe a little tall, but you know about women and tall men. Mr. Tarkington was—”
“I hate to interrupt,” my mother interrupted, “but where in the world have you been?”
“Church,” Terry answered.
“Church!” my mother exclaimed, smiling. “How wonderful. But I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, we hit ’em all this morning,” Terry went on.
“How wonderful,” my mother said again. “Terry, I just know you’re going to be a wonderful influence on Raymond.”
“She sure is,” I said. “But maybe you didn’t know she was interested in social work.”
My mother beamed.
Terry didn’t.
“Yes,” I finished. “And she wanted me to ask you if there wasn’t something she could do. Can you find anything for her?”
“Of course I can,” my mother said. “We need you at the Red Cross right away. Tomorrow afternoon. Answering the phone. Helping the girls here and there. Is that the sort of thing you wanted?”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“Yeah,” Terry echoed. “Perfect.”
My mother clasped her hands in front of her. “I had no idea you liked social work. I find it fulfilling, of course, but so many don’t.” And with that she was off, talking about the Red Cross, the work they did, how Terry could help, the people she’d meet, the committees she could join. She talked on and on, smiling, gesturing, happy as a mother hen. “You’ll never know how pleased this makes me,” she said. “It’s so wonderful having you here, Terry. Won’t you stay for dinner? There’s plenty.”
“Mother,” I broke in, “Terry lives here.”
At which my mother blushed. “Of course,” she said. “I keep forgetting.” She stood. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. I have a few things to do in the kitchen. Raymond. Set the table.”
I nodded. We went out and as I put the plates down I could hear my mother puttering around on one side of me, Terry and Adrian laughing on the other. My mother came into the dining-room.
“Terry is all right,” she said. “All it takes is getting to know her.”
I yelled that dinner was ready. They walked in a minute later, both of them laughing. “I just heard the most delightful joke,” Adrian began. “It seems that there was this rabbit farmer—”
“Perhaps we ought to start,” my mother said.
“Certainly,” Adrian answered, pulling out the chair for Terry. Then he did the same for my mother. “You know, Katherine,” he said, bending over her, “you should be a very happy woman. Twice blessed. Because you haven’t lost a daughter, you’ve gained a son.”
“That’s backward,” Terry said.
We sat down to eat...
The next morning I let Terry sleep, getting dressed as quietly as I could. My mother was in the kitchen when I got there. “How do I look?” I asked her.
She turned, facing me. “Where are you going, Raymond?”
“Out,” I answered. “How do I look?”
“I can hardly believe it,” my mother said, smiling. “Terry working at the Red Cross this afternoon. You up early. Wearing a necktie.”
“I’m a new man,” I told her, gulping down some orange juice, starting for the door. “In a while, you probably won’t even know me.”
“Where are you going?” she asked again.
“Big surprise,” I said, and I left her there.
It was a beautiful day, just like the one before, and the minute I hit the street I just knew sure as God made green apples that it was going to work, that everything was going to turn out the way I wanted. So, singing out loud, I headed for Patriot’s Square.
Returning home a little after twelve. Letting the front door bang shut, I stood in the foyer, shouting for Terry.
“In here,” she answered from the dining-room. She was finishing her lunch, munching away on some toast. I came up behind her, kissed her on the neck.
“Get away,” she muttered. “It’s bad to interrupt the digestive processes while eating. Dr. Spock said so last April.”
“Terry,” I said, kneeling down by her chair. “I’ve got some news.”
“Tell me,” she said.
I told her.
“A schoolboy!” she bellowed, after I’d said two sentences. “My husband’s gonna be a schoolboy?”
“That’s right,” I went on, laughing. “I just snowed President Atkins. I told him how I’d changed, how much more mature I am and all. He’s letting me back into school. Probably as a sophomore. And he said—”
“Did he say how you’re gonna support me? I’m your wife, y’know. A wife needs support.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “The Government’s taking good care of me. I got the G.I. Bill. I got Disability. I got—”
“A hole in the head’s what you got,” Terry interrupted. “A common, everyday schoolboy. How’m I gonna hold my head up?”
“With your neck,” I answered, putting my arms around her, holding her tight. “Now say you’re glad.”
“I dunno,” Terry sighed. “I got no one to blame but myself. That’s an awful position to be in.”
I looked at my watch. “Come on,” I told her. “The Red Cross is calling.”
“I ain’t going,” Terry said.
“You just think you’re not going,” I answered, picking her up from the chair, carrying her into the foyer. She kicked and hollered but I didn’t stop until we were outside.
“Trevitt,” she whispered then. “Please. Lemme alone. I don’t wanna work for the Red Cross and the Red Cross don’t want me working for it. Why not let things be?”
The Temple of Gold Page 20