She and her mother shopped, having as much fun as in the August before, buying her college wardrobe. She was tired at the end of the day and told her mother she wanted a nap before dinner.
At home, her father had bought her a slim wedding ring to wear. “It’ll save you explaining in California.” She took the velvet box, held it tightly in her hand, but did not put the ring on her finger.
* * *
—
AN HOUR LATER, she slowly descended the stairs from her room, still holding the box tightly. She had been sitting alone in the near darkness, watching something that was happening inside her, that she had no control over. And then it was settled and she started downstairs.
They had waited dinner for her, but her mother had just come to the foot of the stairs to call her. Connie passed her wordlessly, and her mother followed her into the kitchen. “Feel better, dear?”
Before she could answer, her father, sitting at the table, a napkin already spread on his lap, said: “Heard you tired yourself out today.”
Connie stood by her chair and remained silent.
Peter, who had been engrossed in a newspaper, looked up.
Connie sat down and pulled up her chair. She placed the ring box on the table next to her spoons and stared at it. The newspaper rustled as Peter closed and dropped it to the floor.
“Well, let me put the food on the table.” Her mother’s slippers scraped on the floor as she scurried to the stove. Pots rang; dishes pinged. Then the food was in front of them, steaming, in large bowls. Her mother sat down, and they began to eat.
“Buy anything nice, Connie?” Her father was spooning gravy on his rice. The brown liquid ran between the grains, coating them only slightly.
“Aren’t you hungry, dear?” Her mother was leaning toward her.
Connie looked at her shining, empty plate. “In a minute, Mama. First I want—”
“Aren’t you eating something, dear?” Her mother cut her off, almost as if she knew what Connie was about to say and wanted to stop her or at least put it off.
“In a minute, Mama.” She was more definite now. She reached out and ran the tips of her fingers over the ring box, against the grain.
Her father eyed the box. “Doesn’t it fit?”
“I want you to take it back, Daddy.” She looked at him long and seriously.
“Doesn’t it fit?” He put his fork on his plate.
Connie sighed. This would be hard. She did not even know why she was doing it, just that she was. “I didn’t try it on, Daddy.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“You can’t give me a wedding ring. That’s wrong.” She reached out her hand to him. He simply stared at it.
“Why, dear?” Her mother sounded confused, still nervous. “It’ll just save you and Henry explanations when you meet his friends.”
Connie shook her head. All she could see was the empty plate, the spoons, the small velvet box. They would want her to explain, and she did not quite understand it herself. “I’m not going to California.”
There was a silence. When her eyes came up, she was looking at Peter across from her. She could not read his grave, waiting face. Even what he thought did not matter.
“Connie, what’s wrong now?” Her mother noticed her gazing at Peter. “I told you to leave her alone!”
“I haven’t seen her since she got back.” He was still looking at Connie.
“What the hell is happening here?” Her father lurched forward on his elbows and eyed the three of them.
Not in answer to him, her eyes still on Peter, Connie began to talk: “You’ve all been wonderful to me. Even you, Peter. And I know this’ll make you unhappy and make you think I’m ungrateful, but—”
“Don’t say it, Connie.” Her mother’s voice had lost all nervousness and confusion, was perfectly flat.
“What’ll she say?” Her father gripped the sides of the table. It shook slightly, jingling dishes.
“I’m keeping the baby.”
“Oh, no,” her mother said quietly.
“But why, Connie? I thought it was all settled.” Her father reached for her hand. Her fists were clenched. He held her fist.
“I thought so too, Daddy. But things don’t get settled—ever.” She hoped he would understand. If he did, his face did not show it.
“You’re not being realistic, dear.” Her mother spoke more kindly now. Her eyes were melancholy.
“I know, Mama. It wasn’t realistic of me to think I could go drop a baby in California and come back here, or go to school and take up where I left off. That wasn’t realistic at all!”
“I didn’t mean that.” Her mother’s face was hard now. “What are you trying to do to yourself?” Anger and desperation were mixed in her voice.
“Nothing. Save myself. I don’t know.” Her mind clutched frantically for reasons.
“Save yourself from what, for goodness’ sakes?” Her mother was closing in on her. “So there you’ll be, nineteen years old with a baby and no husband. And that’s what you call saving yourself? I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t really understand myself.” Then a thought appeared from someplace. “Look, Mama, I decided to sleep with someone and that was right. I know it was. And now I’m having a baby, and even if I never get married, I can’t undo what I did.”
“Well, don’t! I don’t like the idea of your sleeping with boys, but I’m forced to accept it. But what does that have to do with giving up the baby?”
Connie could not answer. The reason was there somewhere, but it was hiding from her.
“Responsibility. When you do something you have to take responsibility for it.” Peter answered for her.
“You be quiet! That college nonsense doesn’t help!” Connie’s mother turned on him in bitterness.
He did not react in kind. “It’s not nonsense, Mama.” He did not even seem hurt. “Connie isn’t taking responsibility for sleeping with that guy unless she keeps the baby. She did it and she’s not sorry, and if she isn’t sorry, she has no reason to give away the baby.”
“You talk about responsibility. Why can’t you convince her to give up the baby and take responsibility for that?”
The gravy was getting cold and hard around the meat.
“Because she can’t do that. She’s not you or me or Pop. She’s Connie. Connie’s simple. Not stupid. Just simple, basic. I’ve heard you say that a thousand times, Pop.”
Her father nodded. “But what does that matter? We’re trying to save her a lot of hardship.”
“How do you know she’s in for hardship?” Peter turned his palms up and shrugged. “Connie’s not planning any future. The last thing she ever said she wanted to be was a nurse and that was ten years ago. Maybe if I was Connie, I’d be cold enough to do it. Or maybe if she wanted to do something that didn’t give her any time for babies, like become a nun, I’d say: Okay. But she doesn’t want to be anything except Connie, and Connie doesn’t give up babies.”
“That’s foolish.” Her mother grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her. “Just because she has no plans now doesn’t mean she won’t ever have any. You’re cutting off her opportunity to find something for herself.”
All at once, Peter was laughing. “Nothing stops Connie! None of us wanted her to go to that grammar school but she went. If she decided to be a nuclear physicist, she’d be one. Okay, maybe she’ll be handicapped with a baby, but she won’t be running away. Look, it’s like if you lose an arm, you can’t ignore it. You overcome it. You’re not through without it. Mama, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t see!” she yelled, bolting to her feet. “I don’t see at all. This was all going nicely until you butted in. I don’t see at all how you can convince your sister to ruin her life!” Tears seemed suddenly to pour from all over her face. She looked at Co
nnie, profoundly hurt, and lurched from the room.
Connie jumped to her feet. “Mama? I decided myself.”
Her father was already at the door. He looked at them both. “I don’t get any of this. It was all settled. Everyone was happy and now you’ve all gone crazy.” He stared at Connie and shook his head. “Do you really know what you’re doing?” He hurried after her mother, who had run up the stairs.
Connie sat down heavily. She reached for the ring box, opened it, and watched the gold shining dully. She knew she was right to keep the baby, but she had not wanted to hurt her parents.
“Connie?” Peter’s voice was timid.
She could not believe the look on his face.
“Connie, you’re…” His eyes were filled with admiration for her. “I’m proud of you, Connie.”
She smiled at him, shaking her head. “Maybe I’m just stupid. But thank you, Peter.”
“What’ll you do?” He looked over his shoulder, indicating the door. “Maybe they won’t—”
“I have a baby anyway. I can sell it.” She thought of her oldest brother, in Europe. “Maybe Chig’ll take me in.”
“I bet he will. He’s a lot nicer than I am…You can still have that two thousand…no interest. You don’t have to worry about it.” He searched her face for a moment. “You won’t ever have to worry about anything. It’ll always break your way.”
“You bet.” She was not as sure as he seemed to be.
“Sure it will.” He smiled. “Don’t worry.”
She nodded, snapping the ring box shut. “I won’t.”
The Servant Problem
RAIN BEGAN TO FALL, spattering the windshield, almost the same instant he turned off the motor. Very quickly the streets became ugly. Mitchell Pierce sighed, leaned back and watched the drops passing in front of the street lamp up the block. At least the rain had held off all that day. Opal had certainly given Jake a nice outing in the park, with the sun high but not warm in the near-white winter sky.
He reached to his right for his briefcase. It was the type with two handles; twelve years old, one handle had pulled loose and disappeared. He opened the car door and slid out, dragging the briefcase after him—and watched with a mixture of horror and embarrassment as his papers fluttered onto the black, wet asphalt. He rested on his haunches and picked up the papers, drying them on his left sleeve. Then he started the three-block walk to his building, hoping Opal had cooked something for dinner that he liked.
He entered the apartment through the delivery entrance in the kitchen so as not to track up the new living-room carpeting. Opal was feeding strained carrots to Jake, whose chin was orange.
“Does he really like that stuff? Hiya, Jake-boy. What kind of day did you have?” He took off his hat, held it in his hand.
“All right, didn’t you, Jakie?” She scraped the carrot off his chin with his tiny spoon. “We had a nice walk in the sun. Didn’t we, Jakie?” She gave him another mouthful; most of it landed on his chest.
“He needs some false teeth.” Mitchell stood just behind her, looking down at the top of her head. Her black hair looked soft and was parted in the middle.
“Don’t you make fun of my boy here. He’s doing all right.” She wiped his chin with a napkin and offered him another spoonful.
“He doesn’t really like that stuff, does he.” Mitchell looked over the papers, estimating the damage. Five sheets had been completely drowned under black water. He was certain there were carbons at the office, but that did not make what had happened any less stupid.
Opal had answered him, but he had not been paying attention. “What?”
“I said he loves it. Don’t you, Jakie? Love those carrots, don’t you.”
Jake had clamped his lips, refusing to open his mouth.
“Look at him, for Christ’s sake. He hates the stuff. Don’t you, Jake-boy?”
“I can’t have you breaking down all the discipline I build up during the day.” She smiled up at him. Her teeth were white, but she had a space in the middle top.
Mitchell put his hat on a stool and began to rummage in the cabinets for a towel to dry the papers.
“What’re you looking for?” She turned from Jake, a spoonful poised halfway to his open, waiting mouth. “Don’t mess around in there.”
“I’m looking for a dish towel. I dropped these God-damn papers in the street. I want—”
“Give them here.” She put down Jake’s spoon, got up, and extended her hand to him. “Men don’t know anything. Never try to wipe anything when it’s wet. Wait until it’s dry. Then you’ll be able to shake off the mud. A little wrinkled, but you’ll be able to read them.”
“Where the hell do you pick up knowledge like that?”
“My job. I got hired to take care of you.” She sat down and began to feed Jake again. “Come on, Jakie, just a dab more.”
“Look at that stuff.” He was standing by the two-way door. It opened into the living room. Opal was beginning to put on a little weight around her armpits. Under the white nylon dress she wore to work, he could see her white bra cutting into her dark brown skin. He wished sometimes she would wear a cotton dress or at least a full slip. It made him uncomfortable to see so much of her flesh.
Jake clamped shut his mouth again.
“Carrots. They look like the stuff they fed my father when he had his coronary.”
Opal turned to him, a mock scowl on her face. “If you can’t help in here…Don’t you think it’s time you said hello to Missus Pierce?”
He nodded and turned through the door. From time to time, he wondered how Opal could get away with talking to him like that. Not only was she working for him, but they were both in their thirties (Opal perhaps a year or two older), and he could not even say he was showing respect to an elder. When he thought about it, which was not often, he usually decided his indulgence of her had something to do with her taking care of his baby, cleaning his house, ironing his shirts, and cooking two of the three meals he ate each day.
His wife was not in the living room. He went on through—Opal had put down a plastic sheet before the front door—and into the bedroom.
Tam was sitting on the bed, her feet up and bare, white and small against the red spread. She was on the phone. “…it all fell out. I never went there again. If I hadn’t been going away the next day, I’d have sued.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Hello.” She puckered her lips and closed her eyes.
He walked to her and bent to kiss her, but she broke out of it. “No. I’m telling you the absolute truth. I have very fine hair. I get it set and then someone breathes too hard and it’s all over my head…”
Mitchell was still wearing his overcoat. He removed it and hung it in the closet, noticing the mud on his sleeves. He wondered if what Opal had said about the mud applied to his coat too. It was a shame to see her getting fat. Too much rice. Colored people ate too much rice.
“…pay twenty-five dollars and the next thing you know you’re going bald…”
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Then he took off his suit coat. He came out of the closet rolling up his sleeves and sat down in an easy chair facing the bed.
“…absolutely right. Mitch’s here now and I have to get his dinner…Oh yes, Opal’s still here…All right, I’ll meet you at the gallery at ten…Good…That’s good…All right…Good night, dear.” She hung up, sighed, and stretched. Her breasts moved under her sweater. She was always saying they were sagging since Jake, but he could not see it. “You were late tonight.” She reached into a drawer in the bed table, got a cigarette, and lit it.
“I got here the same time. I was watching Opal feed the baby.” He thought of Jake resisting the carrots and smiled. “It must be tough being a kid and having to eat stuff like that. Looks terrible.”
“You couldn’t have been watching them all
this time.” She took a deep drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke at the lighted end so that it flared.
“No. She helped me dry off some papers I dumped in the street.”
“You didn’t even want to come say hello.” She took another drag, too deep this time and started to cough. Her breasts shook and her face turned pink. She put down the cigarette.
Mitchell walked to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sure I did, Tam.” She was still coughing; her eyes were watery. He put his arms around her. Finally she stopped and he felt her gasping for breath. When her breathing slowed, he turned her face up, kissed the water from her eyes, then kissed her mouth. Sometime recently, she had been chewing gum—spearmint. “Okay, what’s the problem?”
“Jealous, I guess.”
“Of who, for God’s sake? Opal?”
“No, not Opal. I guess I feel guilty. Maybe I don’t do enough around here.” She pulled back and looked up at him.
“Come on. We’ve got what everybody wants. A nice place to live. A good maid. What do your buddies call her—a treasure? She does all the boring stuff and you have time to do things you want to do, like go to the art gallery tomorrow.”
“Still, maybe I should do more around here.”
He did not speak for a moment. Since Opal had come to work for them (shortly after Jake was born), he had noticed one thing he did not like at all. Tam seemed increasingly afraid of Jake. When she picked him up, she looked like she was hefting a twenty-pound sack of hot potatoes. He was always slightly relieved when she put him down.
“Well, maybe you could spend more time with Jake.”
She bristled. “Listen, if you don’t think it’s not a full-time job telling Opal what to do and making sure she doesn’t steal anything, you’re sadly mistaken.” She pulled away from him and leaned against the headboard. The cigarette she had been smoking was smoldering in the ash tray. She took a last drag, mashed it out, lit another one.
“What’s wrong with you anyway? You just said the same thing. And what’s this business about Opal stealing?” He twisted around to face her.
Dancers on the Shore Page 12