Dreaming In Color

by Charlotte Vale-Allen

  "And you've worn me out with those damned exercises," Alma said to mask her pleasure. "Get me upstairs now for my nap."

  "Yes, ma'am," Bobby said, and put the books aside to accommodate her. While Alma had her nap, she'd start in right away on reading Eva's books. She was very curious to find out what kind of writer Eva was, and maybe what kind of woman, too.

  *

  He couldn't believe it, but Bobby really was gone. It kind of scared him, but he didn't know why. He got this empty sensation in his chest, and when he went through the deserted house he felt kind of the way he did as a little kid when the old lady would punish him for no goddamned reason whatsoever.

  The house was a shit-heap. He sat in the living room with a brew, staring at the blank TV screen, half of him wanting to go after Bobby and kill her, the other half hurt that she'd abandon him this way.

  The way he figured it, she wouldn't just up and leave without letting her aunt know where she was at. Bobby was real tight with that grizzly old bitch. She'd have been in touch with her. He was going to have to convince Helen one way or another to tell him where she was at so he could go after her.

  The house was goddamned depressing. He couldn't stand being there. The sheets were starting to smell so he'd been sleeping on the sofa. No way was he going to do woman shit like washing sheets and towels. That wasn't his job. He held up his end. He went every day of his life to the goddamned factory, put in his eight hours. He had a right to come home to a decent hot meal and clean sheets on his bed. Now he was having to take his work clothes to the Laundromat, doing his own stinking laundry like some pathetic loser. Feeding quarters into those god-damned machines, he wanted to rip the place apart, kick the shit out of the pasty-faced women sitting around on those goddamned plastic chairs waiting for their shit to dry. He hated it. He'd dump a load of his stuff into one of the washers, then go walk until it was time to come back. No way was he gonna sit there with those bitches smirking at him, like they knew he'd been dumped.

  She'd probably run off with some weasel. The idea drove him nuts. He found her with another guy, he'd kill the both of them, put bullets right through their fucking brains. But first he had to find her. He'd just have to figure some way to get it out of Helen. If it came right down to it, he decided, he'd kill the old bitch if he had to.

  He had to figure it out, make a plan. She'd have the law on his ass she so much as saw his car in her driveway. So he'd have to think it through real carefully, maybe get into the house while she was at work. Yeah, he thought, starting to feel a whole lot better.

  Imagining what he'd do to her when he caught up with Bobby got him right back up again. He chugged the last of his brew, crushed the can in one hand, tossed it into a corner of the room and got up to go over to Garvey's for something to eat, maybe a couple of games of pool.

  Twelve

  Bobby got so caught up in Eva's book she couldn't let go of it, and stayed up way past midnight, curled into a corner of the sofa, reading.

  Then, lying in bed, she marveled over the fact that she was living in the same house with the woman who'd written that book. It was simply amazing. And she was getting a whole new picture of who Eva was. Because nobody cold-hearted could make up such wonderful characters and give them such true feelings. She couldn't wait to finish the book so she could tell Eva how much she'd loved it. Plus there were five more of her novels upstairs in the living room, and those two paperbacks, too.

  She was tremendously impressed, and excited in a way. Eva was special, and she, Bobby, actually knew her and saw her every single day. And now that she was reading something Eva had written, Eva's activities up in the office over the garage seemed very important. From now on, she knew she'd be seeing Eva in a completely new way.

  She fell asleep quite quickly, and dreamed she and Eva were sitting in the living room talking like friends. She was asking Eva how she came up with the ideas for her books and Eva was explaining that she got a lot of her ideas from reading the newspapers.

  "I'll have to start reading the papers," Bobby said, a bit ashamed to admit that she'd never been one to follow the news. Sometimes she'd watch on TV if Joe was late getting home and she was keeping supper hot, but mostly what news she heard was on the car radio, driving to and from work, or taking Pen to the dentist, or like that.

  "It's important to be aware of what's going on in the world," Eva was saying, and Bobby had to agree. "After all, even indirectly, these things affect us."

  "I know," Bobby concurred, recalling how, after he'd retired, her grandpa used to read three newspapers every day. He'd never remembered to wash his hands, so there'd always been black fingerprints around the light switches and on the kitchen countertops.

  "That's how I get many of my ideas," Eva went on, and Bobby felt very privileged to be having this conversation. "Sometimes you reach a point where you know something has to be done, like your deciding to take Pen and run away. A day comes when we realize we have resources we didn't know about, and we take action. It isn't consciously planned. It simply happens. The time is right. I get ideas for books just the same way."

  "That's it," Bobby agreed vigorously. "That's exactly it." She smiled and Eva smiled back at her, and Bobby felt wonderful because they had an understanding, and could talk to each other.

  * "I didn't recognize you there for a minute," Dennis said when he came on Thursday.

  "I got my hair done," Bobby said, complimented that he'd noticed.

  "It looks great," Dennis said.

  Flustered, she latched on to another subject. "We've been doing the exercises," she told him. "But only about fifteen minutes' worth a day. She won't do any more."

  "Listen," he said. "That's fifteen minutes more than any of the others managed to get her to do." With a frankly approving smile, he said, "Good going, Bobby."

  She left him with Alma and went downstairs, hearing Ruby running the vacuum cleaner in Eva's bedroom. Remembering what he'd said the previous week, she got a pot of coffee made, then, taking a chance on getting in trouble, went up to knock at the office door.

  "What?" Eva asked from inside.

  Timidly, fearful of interrupting, Bobby said through the door, "I was wondering if you wanted some coffee. I just made fresh." "Come in!" Eva said. Bobby cracked open the door saying, "I don't mean to interrupt. But I'll

  fetch you a cup, if you want some." Eva looked over her shoulder, her eyes a bit blank, and said, "I'd love some. Thanks."

  Relieved, Bobby smiled and said, "Be right back." She ran to the kitchen, found the mug Eva used most often, and fixed her coffee, cream no sugar, the way she liked it.

  On tiptoe, Bobby carried the coffee over to the desk and set it down. Eva murmured, "Thanks," and Bobby crept away, feeling good, as if she were actually contributing to the work that was being done.

  For the rest of the hour Dennis was upstairs with Alma, she lost herself in Eva's book.

  "Those fifteen minutes a day are making a difference," Dennis said, coming into the kitchen and going directly to the cabinet to get a cup. "Keep up the good work."

  Bobby marked her place in the book with a bit of paper and drank some of her now-cold coffee as he came to sit down opposite her at the table.

  "So," he said, "how're you making out?"

  "Oh, real … really good. My girl Pen loves the school. She's already made a whole bunch of new friends. And I'm starting to find my way around. You live in town?"

  "Yup. I've got an apartment over in Glenbrook."

  "You come from around here?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't think she was being too nosy.

  "Mamaroneck," he said. "That's just down the pike, in New York."

  "Oh!"

  "Your eye's almost back to normal," he observed.

  "Uh-hunh." Automatically she put a hand to her face, then returned it to her lap. "I heal fast," she said, then wondered if saying that was a dead giveaway that she'd been beaten up regularly.

  "That's a good thing," he said.

&nbs
p; "Yeah," she agreed, right out of things to say.

  "So, are you divorced or separated or what?" he asked.

  "Separated, I guess. What about you?"

  He laughed, showing his teeth. "Never been married," he said. "I figure I've got plenty of time. I'm only twenty-nine."

  "You don't look more than twenty-two or three."

  "I've been getting that all my life. Up until a year or so ago, I was still getting carded at the local bars. That was a pain. You, too?"

  "Get carded? I haven't been to a bar in a real … really long time." Joe hadn't taken her out in years.

  "No kidding," he said. "What d'you do in your time off?"

  "I don't know," she said, thrown by the question. "Mostly, I look after Pen."

  "And read," he said, indicating the book.

  "I love to read."

  He studied the jacket for a moment, then said, "Maybe you'd like to come out for a drink one night."

  "Oh, I don't know," she said, nervous at the prospect. "I work every night."

  "Come on," he said coaxingly. "Alma would let you off one evening for a couple of hours. Come out. We'll go dancing. You like to dance?"

  That was something else she hadn't done since before Pen was born. "Yeah," she said. "I used to love to dance."

  "Okay," he said. "I'll tell you what. Check with Alma and see what night's good for her, and I'll give you a call tomorrow. We'll set a date."

  "I don't know," she said again, flustered.

  "I'll even buy you dinner," he said, as if sweetening the offer.

  "I'll ask," she said, then chewed on her lower lip.

  "Good. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll set it up." He finished his coffee and got up to put the mug in the sink. "I've gotta head on up to Norwalk now. Thanks for the coffee."

  "You're welcome," she said, following him to the front hall, where she watched from the doorway as he got into an old VW Beetle and drove off. Her hands were shaking as she closed the door.

  When Pen got home from school, Bobby went downstairs to give her a glass of Cranapple juice and some cookies. And before Pen sat down to watch Happy Days, Bobby asked, "How would you feel if I went out one night for a couple of hours with a friend?"

  This was such an unprecedented situation that Penny directed her deep blue gaze at her mother, asking, "Where you gonna go?"

  "Just out for a little while."

  "What friend?" Penny wanted to know.

  "He's a new friend, Dennis. He comes once a week to give Alma her physical therapy. Exercises," Bobby elaborated. "Is he nice?" "Uh-hunh. Would that be okay with you, Pen?" "Can Emma come over on Saturday to play?" "Sure she can. That'd be fine." "Okay," Penny said, as if having decided fair was fair. "When you goin'?" "I don't know yet. I have to ask Alma first. Maybe Monday or Tuesday." "Okay," Penny said again. "C'n I watch TV now?" "First a hug," Bobby said, and felt the love catch her by the throat as

  Penny's arms wound tightly around her neck and her small body vibrated with the force of energy she put into the embrace. "I love you, Pen." "Love you, too, Mom," Penny said, already easing away to turn on the TV set.

  Bobby sat for a moment, watching her, forever astonished by the fact of Pen's separateness. Pen was somebody else, a complete person all to herself. She had thoughts, ideas, emotions; everything that went into creating an individual. I made her, Bobby thought. I made her, and I love her more than anything else in the world, but we're separate. Penny would grow up and stop being a child, but Bobby would be a mother forever. The concept staggered her. Penny's reality had awed her from the moment when, in her fifth month of pregnancy, she'd felt the inner nudging that proved a small being was actually alive and growing inside her. Penny was the only thing in her life that she knew she'd done absolutely right.

  Joe could say she was stupid and slow, that she was dumber than shit and could never get anything right, but he was wrong. And he'd never understand that. It was something no one could ever take away from her: She'd made Penny. It was, to Bobby's mind, an incredible accomplishment. Without Penny, she'd probably have stayed with Joe until she died. Penny was her life.

  Alma said, "Well, well, well. Now isn't this interesting," and gave Bobby a penetrating look.

  Bobby wilted, folded her hands in her lap, and looked down at the carpet, thinking she should've told Dennis no right off. She didn't really want to go out to some bar anyway. And she hadn't danced in so long she probably didn't even remember how.

  Taking in Bobby's reaction, Alma felt both angry and sorry for her. It irked her that a pretty young woman obviously didn't believe she had the right to a social life. She had to remind herself that this wasn't Bobby's fault. But she was nevertheless annoyed by Bobby's almost complete lack of self-esteem. She'd have liked to see the young woman hold her head up and declare her intention of taking a few hours to herself Impossible, of course. And terribly sad.

  "You know what you need?" Alma said, all at once able to see what was missing.

  "What?"

  "You need to get angry."

  "Pardon?"

  "What's the matter with you?" Alma railed. "Aren't you furious at having been treated the way you have by that man you married?"

  Bobby shook her head, feeling deficient.

  "Well, you should be," Alma stated. "You should be positively outraged."

  "I just feel scared," Bobby said in a small voice. "When people get mad it always scares me."

  "I'm not mad at you," Alma clarified, "so stop being scared. I'm trying to tell you something for your own good. You've got to get angry. You've got to look at your life, at what's been done to you, at what's been taken away from you, and get damned good and mad. I want you to think about it, Barbara," she said in her firmest head mistress's voice. "I want you to think long and hard about it, because you can't become your own person until you decide you're angry, that you have the right to be angry. Once you've located your anger, you can work your way through to selfhood. Do you understand?"

  "I think so." Bobby met her eyes. "But I don't know as I can get mad just because somebody tells me that's the way I ought to feel."

  "I'm suggesting you think about it," Alma insisted. "You've got a good brain. Use it! And of course you may take some time to yourself. Whenever you like. Just let me and Eva know when, so we can be sure someone's home to see to Penny."

  Bobby said, "Long as you're sure it's no trouble."

  "I've been looking after children my entire adult life," Alma said with indignation. "I think I can cope with one small girl." "Yes, ma'am." Bobby gave her a smile. "Thank you." "Listen, my dear," Alma said more quietly. "You have certain rights.

  Don't be so fearful of claiming them. Dennis is a very decent young man. Go out for a few hours and enjoy yourself. You deserve a little pleasure."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And stop calling me ma'am!" Alma near-shouted. “I loathe it!"

  "Okay." Bobby's smile widened.

  When Dennis called the next afternoon, Bobby could scarcely speak.

  "When's a good night for you?" he asked.

  She thought she should tell him to forget it, but remembered what Alma had told her, and said, "Monday?"

  "Great. Pick you up at seven?"

  "I can't go that early," she said with near panic. "I've got to get Pen to bed." "Okay. How's eight?" "All right," she agreed, feeling weak with dread. This was a mistake. "Fine. See you then," he said, and hung up. Eva was watching, half-smiling, from the other side of the kitchen. Bobby felt so scared and so stupid she didn't know what to do. "You're sure it's okay?" she asked Eva.

  "Of course," Eva said. "We'll leave the kitchen door open. If there's any problem Alma and I will be right here." "I've never gone off and left her before," Bobby confessed. "Don't be silly," Eva chided gently. "You're apart every day while Penny's at school."

  "It's not the same thing."

  "What're you going to wear?" Eva changed the subject.

  "I don't know," Bobby said, more and more wishi
ng she'd said no.

  "I have a few things I thought you might like," Eva said. "Come on up and I'll show you." Bemused, Bobby followed her up to her bedroom. "You're not offended, are you?" Eva asked, getting a stack of clothes from

  the slipper chair by the window.

  "Oh, no," Bobby said, astounded that Eva wanted to give her what looked like perfectly good sweaters and blouses.

  "The blouses might be a bit too big, but I thought you'd be able to use the sweaters. It's really a pity my other things would be too big for you."

  "This is wonderful," Bobby said, accepting the clothes.

  Eva thought she looked like a child at a surprise party, dazed and elated. "Take whatever you like. We'll give the rest to the Good Will."

  "Thank you," Bobby said, carrying off the clothing.

  "Bobby?"

  "What?" Bobby stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back.

  "Go and have fun. Don't worry about a thing."

  Bobby nodded and continued on her way down the stairs. She could never in a million years have explained how much she was dreading this date.

  Thirteen

  As arranged, Mrs. Whitton delivered Emma to the front door at ten o'clock Saturday morning. The child was carrying a large box, and Bobby at once relieved her of its weight.

  "I'll be back to pick her up at five," Emma's mother told Bobby.

  "I'm really sorry about the inconvenience," Bobby said. "I'm working, otherwise I'd bring Emma home."

  "No problem," said Mrs. Whitton. To Emma she said, "Be good, dumpling," then kissed her and went off to her station wagon.

  Bobby took the bespectacled child downstairs where Penny was waiting.

  "Hi!" Penny sang, racing over. "Mom says we can watch cartoons."