by James Villas
Pulling out Ella’s chair at a small table in a corner of the lounge, Edmund nodded at the piano player in approval of the tune “September Song.”
“You don’t seem to be your animated self tonight,” he then said after the waiter had taken their orders, reaching for her hand as she gazed impassively at a large urn against the far wall. “Is something wrong, or are you just worn out?”
She sat motionless in the dim light, the high cheekbones of her venerable face and angle of her jaw now transmitting a serene dignity and veiled beauty he hadn’t noticed before.
“My boy’s sick, Edmund,” she finally declared somberly.
“What do you mean? He looked fine enough at dinner.”
“Tyler’s not well. I knew he didn’t look right and was behaving strange when he arrived, but…He told me about it today in Charleston.” She squeezed his hand. “I have no right to burden you with my problems, but I’ve got to talk to somebody or I’ll go out of my mind.” She was on the verge of choking up.
“How serious?”
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good,” she almost sobbed.
He hesitated, as if wondering how bold his next question might be. “I hope it’s not this AIDS that’s so affected the gay community.”
“No, no, heavens no. Tyler would never have something like that. No, it’s his colon. They discovered something bad in his colon, and they did an operation, and he’s been on chemotherapy, and lost weight and some hair, and has so little energy, and they say it’s spreading. He told me all about it today.”
“Cancer,” he said bluntly.
Ella grimaced. “Oh, I hate that horrible word.”
Edmund frowned. “I don’t want to alarm you, but that can be wicked stuff if they don’t catch it early.”
Her eyes began to water, and her voice wavered. “And do you know, in his condition, he still flew all the way down here to be with me. Can you imagine that? He’s putting up a good front, but…I’m just praying those doctors are wrong. No offense, but doctors can be wrong about lots of things, you know. Edmund, I’m just beside myself, but I won’t, I can’t show it in front of him. He has enough on his mind without worrying about me.”
She held back as long as she could, then, biting her thumb as her voice broke, began crying again helplessly. “I just don’t know what I’d do, Edmund, if I lost Tyler. He’s everything in the world to me, and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”
He put his arm around her delicate shoulder and pulled her close. “Now, now, Miss Ella, nothing’s going to happen to your son,” he said reassuringly. “Today they can work miracles with things like that, and he’s still fairly young and fit, and…don’t you worry, there’s no need to worry till you know a good deal more about his condition. And remember, it doesn’t help to let yourself get so upset.”
For a long while, they tried to discuss what little she did know of the situation, but since so much deliberation of ominous medical problems such as this is usually frustrating guesswork, the most O’Conner could really do was suggest how he might try to handle things if this were his daughter’s or Sal’s case, convince Ella to remain positive, and give her all the compassionate support he could muster.
“I don’t think you realize how special Tyler is to me,” she said next, fighting the urge to reveal the real reason she’d taken him back to Charleston and to share her most dreaded secret with this man she’d come to trust. “It’s not that I don’t love my other two children just as much, but, you see, things have always been different with Tyler—different from the day he was born.” She let Edmund light her cigarette, then took a large gulp of Grand Marnier as if attempting to work up more courage. “And there are reasons, Edmund…There are important reasons why Tyler is like he is and so different from his brother and sister.”
Edmund, sensing that she was attempting to relate a good deal more about her son than the sad news of his poor health, pulled her closer and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “If you need to talk about anything else, Miss Ella, I’m here to listen.”
Suddenly, she pulled back, looked up at him, and said sternly, “Oh, honey, please stop calling me Miss Ella. I feel like I’ve known you a century, and my name is Ella. Simply Ella.”
He chuckled and again pecked her cheek. “Okay, Ella, if you say so.”
Across the room, the piano player had just begun the first notes of “It Might As Well Be Spring,” and whether it was a certain memory evoked by the music, or the effects of alcohol, or simply her overwhelming compulsion to confront the truth, Ella was moved to finally broach the subject that had remained inviolate for so many long years.
“Do you remember on the pier when I told you about a boy I knew who died when I was young in Charleston?”
“I do, the one you said you were in love with during the war.”
“Well, Edmund, I killed that boy. I killed the one person I was ever truly in love with, and today I visited his grave for the first time. I visited Jonathan’s grave with Tyler.”
O’Conner’s expression didn’t change as he cupped his brandy snifter in his hand, either because he might have misunderstood or because he simply didn’t believe what Ella had just said. “Can you tell me about it?” he then asked dispassionately.
With which Ella, at first in a halting manner, then more and more impetuously, began a long discourse on Jonathan and herself that included virtually every facet of their affair and didn’t end till their last encounter at his apartment, the funeral, and the certainty that he was Tyler’s father. Forcing herself to recount many of the facts was, of course, painful, yet when she had finished the difficult narrative, it was as if at least part of the weight that was burdening her entire being had been lifted.
“I was sure you didn’t mean you’d actually killed the boy,” was Edmund’s first comment, a hint of relief in his voice.
“But I did, Edmund,” she professed quietly but firmly. “As sure as if I pulled the trigger myself on that gun, I was responsible for Jonathan’s death, because, you see, I didn’t even try to understand his problem—I didn’t even try. All I could think about was myself, and how I’d been hurt and taken advantage of, and what was going to become of me and maybe a child. I couldn’t see how desperately Jonathan was reaching out for help, and that I was the only person he could turn to. Oh, I know I was young and naive about lots, but the thing is I turned my back on a boy I loved dearly. I condemned him for something he couldn’t help, and I’ve had to live with that nightmare—year after year and each and every time I looked into Tyler’s face. I’ve had to live with that my whole life, Edmund. And it wasn’t so much guilt as disgust. I was disgusted with myself.”
“Were you sure Jonathan was the father?”
“Ninety-five percent sure. A woman has instincts about these things, and the timing was right, and, besides, all I had to do when Tyler was growing up was look at him and listen to him to see the resemblance.”
“And you never told anyone, including your husband?”
“How could I? You don’t understand what it was like living in a closed, bigoted society like Charleston in those days. First of all, no respectable girl could risk letting it be known that she was…crossing the line of intimacy. And it was inconceivable…it was unheard of that a proper lady with my upbringing would become really serious about a Jewish boy, much less even think about marrying him and having his child. That’s just the way things were in Charleston when I grew up, and I had to think about my family, and my future, and, of course, Earl’s reputation. No, no, no, a scandal like that would have destroyed me and lots of other people, so I had to keep it all to myself—all to myself. Oh, years later I was tempted more than once to confess everything to Earl, but, you see, wonderful as he was, Earl could never have understood and accepted that—I knew he never could. It would have killed him.”
“Forgive me for asking, Ella, but if circumstances had been different, would you ever have eventually married this
Jonathan?”
She took the last swallow of her drink and breathed deeply. “I don’t know. I can’t answer that. I used to wonder about that a lot, but, of course, given the truth about him, I doubt it. I was a pretty strong-willed lady, but not that strong.”
“And you were planning to finally tell Tyler about all this?”
“I almost did this afternoon. I came within an inch of my life. I mean, I had to set things right before any more time passed, and was on the verge, right on the verge of explaining everything to him, since there are probably good reasons why his life turned out the way it did, and he deserves to know—it’s his right to know. But then, before I had a chance, he began telling me about his condition and—”
Choking up again, she mindlessly reached for the cocktail napkin and dabbed her eyes as he put his arm back around her shoulder.
“Do you know what hurts most, Edmund?” she continued. “What hurts most are all these secrets and little deceits. It’s bad enough that a good part of my life has involved a big cover-up, but now I realize my own son—the person I always trusted above all others—is just as capable of concealing important things from me as I have from him. Is it all one big lie, Edmund? Are our lives just one big, nasty lie?”
He signaled to the waiter to bring two more drinks, then sat perfectly still for a moment without commenting.
“You’re being pretty tough on yourself,” he finally said, “and quite frankly, I don’t think you’re being very realistic. Now, tonight you’ve opened up on some important matters that happen to hit a nerve with me, so I’m going to do the same with you to make a point. What I haven’t told you—what I really had no reason to mention this past week—is that Elizabeth is not my biological daughter. She was adopted. After Grace and I were married, she discovered she could never have children, so, after quite a few years and some very difficult deliberations, we eventually decided to adopt Elizabeth when she was only three months old. We originally intended to tell her the truth when she was a child, but Grace always worried so that we never did, not till she was a teenager and we thought she could accept and adapt to it better. Others might say we were wrong trying to protect her by this deceit, and I can’t deny it was a little traumatic when we finally decided to let her know. But I can honestly say that, not long afterward, the bond with our daughter became only tighter, and today she and I couldn’t be more close. Of course, the circumstances with your son are different, no doubt, but the general point I’m trying to make is that sometimes secrecy and lies might be justified to prevent unnecessary hurt and grief and can work toward everyone’s benefit.” He paused and cracked a smile. “Actually, I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if Lizzy and Sal hadn’t been talking behind my back for some time about what to do with me when I get too decrepit to live alone in that house. And I understand. They’re being realistic and want to spare me anxiety as long as possible.” He pulled Ella close again. “Same with your other children, I’d guess.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and dabbed her eyes again. “I never thought of it in those terms, Edmund. Thank you for sharing that story with me. And maybe you’re right. Maybe there’re lots of things that are better left hidden and untold and…magical.” Her thoughts now seemed to be drifting again uncontrollably. “But I like magic, and glamour and romance, and beautiful memories of days when everybody was young, and nobody was ever sick or old, and the air always smelled of jasmine and the sea, and we all danced…danced in the moonlight on warm sand or a green summer lawn to soft music—the softest music in the South, the softest music in the entire world. Me and Earl and Jonathan and Tootsie Middleton and a handsome boy named Preston Goode and crazy Dee Griffith—we had such wonderful times in those days, so much fun, and it was magic—pure magic.” She began gnawing nervously on her thumb, as if remembering something altogether different or maybe even regretting what she’d just said. “The Depression, the war, friends going away and never coming home—remember how we wanted it all to end, just end so we could get on with our lives? But when it was over, I don’t think I ever stopped looking back at those days, because, you see, I think we lost something fine—innocence, purpose, hope, something important that could never be recaptured. Oh, Edmund, I guess I learned how to live with it as life went on, but, you know, I can now wake up in the middle of the night, or hear some song, or see an old friend, and those magical days come back to me so strong and so fresh that I actually become the young lady I was back then.”
She didn’t budge for a while longer, lost in her boozy recollections and dreams. Then, raising her head from Edmund’s shoulder, she reached again for her liqueur and took a long, burning sip.
“Do you often get this wrapped up in nostalgia?” he asked gently, studying the changes in her expression as she listened to the amorous music. “You should be careful. It can devour you, you know.”
“I wish this night could go on and on,” she said wistfully, ignoring his statement and apparently having erased all worries from her confused mind.
“That would be nice, Ella,” he agreed suggestively, now stroking her dainty arm. “And it could, if you’d like.”
She looked up at him as if he were one of the beguiling phantoms from her past or in her imagination. “I’d like that very much, Edmund. Maybe for just a little while.”
After they’d finished their drinks, he pulled out her chair, and just as she linked her arm through his on the way to the elevator, they could hear the distant squawking of a lone seagull through the open doors to the porch.
Chapter 20
SHARKS’ TEETH
Ella was still sleeping off her wanton late-night session with Edmund when she was awakened by another early phone call put through from Little Earl checking to see how she was and asking if she’d decided when she and Goldie would be back home. The first thing she groggily told her son was that making these unnecessary calls was just a foolish waste of good money and that there was no need in this world for him to worry so about her. Then, in her disoriented state, she said carelessly that they would probably drive back shortly after Tyler returned to New York, unless, that is, she could convince him to stay a few days longer.
“Tyler?” Earl asked, obviously startled. “Is Tyler there with you?”
Suddenly realizing her blunder, Ella acknowledged calmly that, yes, his brother had flown down as a last-minute surprise, and she was enjoying his company.
There was a long silence of anger or frustration on the phone.
“Mama, what’s going on? Would you please tell me just what in hell is going on? First you disappear and force us to get the state troopers to find you, then you try to refuse phone calls, and now you tell me that Ty has shown up at the beach. I just want to know, Mama, what’s going on. I think your own family has a right to know, and I don’t think we can take much more of this craziness.”
“Please calm down, Son,” she pronounced more coherently. “As I said, Tyler’s visit was pretty spur of the moment, and, as you know, we haven’t seen one another in ages.”
“The little bastard. I talked to him just a few days ago, and he didn’t say a goddamn word about flying down there.”
“Listen, Earl, I’m in no frame of mind to talk at this hour, and even if I were, I will not stay on the line if you have to use that type of uncouth language. Now, why don’t you go by and check the house, and I’ll call to let you know when we’ll be getting back. I have a sick headache, Son, and have too much on my mind to argue with you this early in the morning.”
After she hung up, Ella remained in bed awhile longer, nursing her hangover and staring blearily at the ceiling as her head throbbed and she thought about having to confront the folks in Charlotte on numerous matters. Then she tried to recall exactly what she’d told Edmund the night before and what all had transpired between them in his room, and struggled to come to terms once again with Tyler’s ominous predicament, and the persistent vision of Jonathan’s mossy grave, and changing her will, and poor Gold
ie’s future when there was nobody left to…The thoughts and images and worries whirled frenetically, and she wished she could just turn over and sleep all day. She then wondered if maybe she was drinking too much at night, and whether she should invite Edmund to visit her in Charlotte. Was this the evening for after-dinner dancing announced on the leaflet stuck under the door? What should she wear? Memories of the way Earl used to wring her into elegant, dramatic dips when they danced the tango at the old Ocean Forest Hotel flashed in her mind…the same place where Jonathan had rolled up his trousers and she her skirt so they could wade in the water and…that night, that awful night in the garden with the strong smell of wisteria…If only she could go back to sleep, and sleep all day, and stop remembering and worrying. But now there was hammering on the deck in front of the porch, and she could also hear the faint but infernal sound of Goldie’s TV in the next room, so she pulled herself out of the bed, and gazed at her drawn face in the bathroom mirror, and swallowed two aspirins, and reached for her makeup. She also noticed a nagging ache in her lower back.
Tyler, in contrast, felt the best he’d felt in days, due not only to all the sleep but also, more surely, to the diminishing wretched effects of the chemo he’d undergone not long before leaving. He even once again ate what Ella considered to be a sensible Southern breakfast, which proved, in her opinion, that his condition was not as serious as the doctors had led him to believe and that all he needed was plenty of rest and good food and to be around his own people. What she didn’t know, in her denial, but what Tyler had been told candidly, was that any full remission of his cancer was now highly improbable, and that the only advantage of periodic chemo would be to ease symptoms temporarily and delay the inevitable. Yes, he might have good days when not undergoing treatment, but, unlike his mother, Tyler had learned to be an unflinching realist about most things in life, and the one person he could never deceive was himself.