Domestic Arrangements

by Norma Klein

  “Aren’t you going to be an actress?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not sure.” Suddenly I felt really sleepy. “Listen, Deel, I’m going to take a nap. Don’t wake me up if anyone calls, okay? Just write it down on the pad.”

  I felt exhausted, not just from not getting that much sleep, but from everything. The movie opening. Worrying if it would change things, like in school, if people would treat me differently, expect different things from me. And then hoping I can handle it all, doing TV, and all that. I don’t want to get phony and conceited and that kind of thing. I once saw Brooke Shields on TV and she acted like a real ass. She was wriggling and squirming and smiling all the time, and she talked in this whispery, kind of baby voice. I don’t want to be like that. And I hope Mom knows what she’s doing. I hope Deel doesn’t find out and tell Daddy. I hope Daddy doesn’t find out and get mad. He’d feel awful. Imagine! Poor Daddy.

  I fell really sound asleep for two hours. I guess maybe sleeping with Joshua all night isn’t the best way to get a good night’s sleep either. Not just the sex. But it’s funny sleeping in the same bed with someone, if you’re not used to it. Sex is tiring. I think basically I’d like to do it just before I went to bed, and then just sleep during the night, but that might hurt Joshua’s feelings. It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s that I don’t know if I really want to do it three times a night every night. It just seems like you want to kind of do it, and then think about it, and sort of savor it. He says that the more we do it, the more he wants to do it.

  When he came over later, I tried to tell him how I felt.

  He looked a little hurt. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want, Rust. Why don’t you tell me when you don’t feel like doing it?”

  “Well, the thing is, by the time I think about it, we’re, like, in the middle of doing it, and I didn’t think you’d like to stop in the middle.”

  “True . . . maybe I should ask you in a more formal way, not just leap on you, huh?”

  “You don’t exactly leap on me.”

  “Well, I do, sort of . . . I guess it’s that one thing kind of leads to another. It’s not even as though I know I’m in the mood myself.”

  “Sure, I understand.”

  “And I guess now that you have the diaphragm, well, it feels so terrific.”

  I smiled.

  “Does it feel different for you?” He looked hopeful.

  “Not that much, so far. But I think it will, eventually.”

  That night, it was odd in various ways. Simon didn’t stay over, so Joshua, Deel, Mom and me were all in the house together. Mom and Deel watched Notorious, which was on from eleven to one. Joshua and I watched part of it, but then I started yawning. I felt tired, even though I’d had a nap. Finally Joshua said, “Do you feel like going to sleep, Rust?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know why I’m so sleepy, I just . . .”

  I could see Deel giving us this suspicious glance, like what he’d meant was, “Do you feel like fucking?” It was awkward. “Well, good night,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

  “Night, Tat, Joshua,” Mom said, still watching the TV. She acted like it was a perfectly normal thing, having Joshua sleep over.

  “Good night, Delia,” Joshua said, a little ironically.

  “Good night, Joshua . . . sleep well,” Delia said.

  I was really relieved when we got in my room. “Whew,” I said. I put on the new nightgown Mom got me. It’s a Lanz. It’s pink flannel with little red hearts all over it, and a high neck and long sleeves.

  “You look like something out of Little House in the Big Woods,” Joshua said.

  “Well, I like that style,” I said apologetically. I can’t imagine wearing those sexy kinds of nightgowns you see in magazines, black lace and everything. I don’t think I’m the type. “I’m sorry it’s not that sexy,” I said.

  “It is,” Joshua said.

  I couldn’t tell if he was teasing. “I feel funny with everyone here.” We got into bed together. “I guess Simon isn’t sleeping over.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t think so . . . with your sister here. Anyway, they probably did it just on an impulse.”

  “Do you think so?” That made me feel much bettter. “Do you think basically they’re just friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then how come they did it?”

  “Well, friends fuck sometimes . . . Pam and I are friends, basically.”

  “Even when you were doing it together?”

  “Yeah, we liked each other, but—”

  “How about Marjorie?”

  “What about her?”

  “Were you basically just friends with her?”

  “Are you kidding? We barely exchanged five words.”

  “But you were doing it for a whole month!”

  “So?”

  “You mean you never even talked about anything?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “How strange! Weren’t you even curious?”

  “About what?”

  “Well, like, about how many brothers or sisters she had, or what movies she liked, or things like that.”

  “Not really.”

  “Then why’d you want to fuck with her?”

  “Because she had a great body and she was terrific in bed.”

  “Oh.” I felt really awful. What an awful conversation! I wish we hadn’t ever started it. I didn’t know what to say. I felt like crying.

  “Rust?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “You sound funny. Is it because of Marjorie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was just sex, that’s all.”

  “But I don’t like to think of you as that kind of person.”

  “Which kind?”

  “The kind that would just do it like that, with someone you didn’t even talk to.”

  “Well, we talked a little bit,” Joshua said. “We talked about her horse. She had a horse named Linda. It was a palomino.”

  “What else did you talk about?”

  Joshua sighed. “Rust, it wasn’t . . . she wasn’t that kind of person. She didn’t have anything interesting to say.”

  “How did you know if you didn’t try?”

  “I could just tell . . . she had a very short concentration span. If I said anything that took more than two sentences, she looked glazed.”

  “She sounds awful.”

  “Well—”

  “I mean, it just seems so awful to do it with someone you don’t even like. I wouldn’t.”

  “Maybe girls are different.”

  “That’s a really sexist thing to say.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Rust. It was just something I did. I don’t regret it, really. I don’t think she did either. It was like summer fun, that’s all.”

  I turned over. Joshua put his hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t do it now,” he said.

  “Well, you couldn’t,” I muttered. “She’s in Colorado.”

  “No, I mean I wouldn’t do it with someone like her, even if . . . say, you went away for a month.”

  “Even if you met some extremely sexy person, like Bo Derek?”

  “Right.”

  “Even if they begged and pleaded with you?”

  “Even if they got out on the terrace of our apartment and said they’d jump if I didn’t.” I could tell he was smiling, even though it was dark. “Anyway, think of all the guys you’ll do it with,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean in your life.”

  “I’ll never do it with anyone but you.”

  “Sure you will.”

  “I won’t . . . I don’t want to.”

  Joshua began kissing my neck. “Hey, Rust . . . turn around, okay?”

  I did. “You just don’t believe me about anything.”

  “I do. Does this nightgown go over your head?”

  “Why do you want to know?�
� I still felt mad a little bit, but not as much as before.

  “I was just generally curious.”

  “You have to undo those buttons in the front.”

  He did. “Rust, do you feel like—”

  “We have to be extremely quiet.”

  “Okay.” He pulled the nightgown over my head. “Marjorie was a dope,” he said, tossing it on the floor. “She wasn’t half as pretty as you. She didn’t even like movies.” For Joshua, that’s the worst thing he can say about anyone. “She didn’t have nice round, soft nipples, like you,” he said, kissing them.

  “What’d she have?”

  “Just little wrinkly ones.”

  “I thought her body was so great.”

  “It was fair . . . it seemed great at the time. She had a great tan.”

  Whenever Joshua starts kissing me all over, I can’t think about anything else. My mind gets all fuzzy. “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you.”

  We rolled around, kissing, hugging. It was really good. I guess this is why people get married, so they can do it every night if they want, or even more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Monday afternoon, Mom took me over to Seventeen. They’d said they wanted me to pose for some summer fashions. I don’t really want to model in general, but Mom said she thought it wasn’t a bad idea. They said they want to interview me next week.

  Luckily it was pretty warm in the studio. Otherwise I’d have frozen, wearing dresses with no sleeves, and sandals. Outside it was 20, and they said with the windchill factor, it was like minus 10. I hate it when they give you the windchill factor. What good is it to know? It just makes you feel even colder.

  They had a backdrop like a farm, with real trees. In one photo I had to swing in a real swing with my shoes off.

  “Wiggle your toes, hon,” the photographer said. “That’s the girl. Nice.”

  They had me sit under a tree with a big basket, eating cherries. They had real cherries. In December! They were really great. The big, juicy, dark red kind. The trouble was, I ate some and got cherry juice on the dress. They told me then that I wasn’t supposed to really eat them, just pretend, that I could eat them when they were done shooting.

  Some of the dresses were pretty, but some weren’t my type that much. There was this one with a tank top that was really tight, and had a short striped skirt. “I think we better try a bra with that one,” the photographer said.

  I would never wear a bra with that kind of dress, but I guess for a magazine they don’t want it to look too sexy. I don’t know. Basically, it was tiring and not that much fun, having to smile and smile all afternoon.

  Mom was good. She stayed with me the whole time, and went out and got me a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon and a hot chocolate for lunch.

  “Did you ever think of modeling?” this woman asked Mom. She was helping set up the shots.

  “I used to, years ago,” Mom said. “But I got bored with it. Acting’s more challenging.”

  “I think so too,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be a model.”

  “You’d be sensational,” the woman said, “with that hair . . . listen, I loved your movie, honey. You were just great! Where did you learn all that?”

  “She’s a natural,” the photographer said. He came over and took a sip of my hot chocolate.

  People always say that, but it’s not true. They think I’m like the girl in the movie, and I’m not at all.

  When we were done, the woman started getting into her jacket to go downtown. Mom said, “I love your jacket. Is it fox?”

  The woman nodded. “I got it right around the corner here. There’s this great store, Esther’s. They’re all marked down. You ought to go over and take a look.”

  “Is it warm?”

  “Fantastic . . . it has a hood, see?”

  Mom turned to me. “Tat, you’d look gorgeous in that color. Could she try it on one second?”

  I put it on. It was very soft, fluffy fur in a sort of red-brown color.

  “Sensational,” the photographer said. “With her coloring.”

  “Run over there and get one,” the woman said, “before they’re gone.”

  I never had a fur coat. “Mom, I don’t know. It might look too fancy, for school and everything.”

  “Not for school. But for other things, going out on weekends. Listen, fur is a great value, Tat. It lasts years. There’s nothing warmer, and you look so darling in it. Let’s get one for you.”

  We went to the store. They had two left with that color and style.

  I have to admit it did look extremely nice and felt really warm. There were these special things in the lining that gripped your wrists so the wind couldn’t blow up the sleeves, and the hood tied tight. But when I walked in the door, wearing it, Deel, who let us in, said, “What did you do—go out and skin a cat?”

  “Hush,” Mom said.

  “It’s fox,” I said, taking it off and hanging it up.

  “Sick. You mean some poor fox, a whole family of foxes, gave their lives for that jacket? That is really sick.”

  Mom sighed and went into the kitchen. “Delia, modify your ideological zeal, okay? Give us a break.”

  “You have a sheepskin,” I pointed out.

  “Sheep are different.”

  “How? Don’t sheep have feelings just like anyone else? Poor, fluffy, defenseless sheep.”

  “They’re dumb.”

  “So? Are foxes that smart? And who says it’s only bad to shoot smart animals?”

  “Sheep are old. They probably don’t do it to them until they’re about to die.”

  “So? You just want to think anything you feel like doing is okay, and anything I do is bad.”

  “Okay, well when someone decides to skin you just because they want a coat with long red hair, then see how you like it.”

  The trouble is, I sort of know what Deel means. But wouldn’t you have to be consistent for it to make sense, like not wearing leather boots, or anything? “It’s only for weekends,” I said, sitting down.

  “Tell that to the fox. He doesn’t care.”

  “Cordelia,” Mom said. “Are you willing to eat ham and macaroni and cheese for dinner?”

  “Okay.”

  “How about the poor pig?” I said. “How about the poor macaroni that they strangled and stuffed into a cardboard box?”

  Deel looked thoughtful. “Actually, it’s true. We don’t know what has a soul, and what doesn’t.”

  “If everything has a soul, you’d have to starve to death,” I pointed out.

  “I know,” she said sadly. “Oh listen, whatshisname called.”

  She knows Joshua’s name! “What’d he want?”

  “I don’t know. What he usually wants, I guess. To know when you feel like fucking with him.”

  “Deel, will you stop that? Mom, make her stop!”

  “Delia, what is this?” Mom said, peering out from the kitchen. “You sound spiteful and wretched.”

  Deel looked up at her sullenly. “At least I don’t go out on dates when my husband is out of town for five days.”

  There was a pause. “I didn’t know you had a husband,” Mom said dryly. “Congratulations.”

  “At least I don’t go flirting with men who are nine million years younger than me, drooling over them,” Deel went on.

  Mom walked into the room and stood in front of her. “What is all this, huh? What are you, the moralist of the century? Grow up a little, kid.”

  “Why don’t you?’” Deel said, and stomped into her room.

  She wouldn’t even come out to have supper. Mom and I ate alone.

  “God, I thought fourteen was bad, but this takes it,” Mom said, giving me the crusty part of the macaroni that I like the best.

  “She might be in a better mood if she had a boyfriend,” I suggested.

  “Listen, I might be in a better mood if I had a million dollars. I mean, we could all use some divine intervention to make our lives fine an
d dandy, but we don’t all go around snarling like little beasts if it’s not forthcoming.”

  I ate awhile. “Do you think it’s because of the movie?” I said.

  Mom sighed. “Well, I doubt that that helped . . . I don’t know. She’s just . . she takes everything so—”

  “She wants everything to be perfect,” I said.

  Mom smiled. “Don’t we all?” She sat there, gazing sadly into space. “Hon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t mind about my going out with Simon while Lionel’s away, do you?”

  I shook my head, but my heart started beating faster. I didn’t know if she was about to tell me about his staying over.

  “We’re just good friends,” Mom exclaimed suddenly. “It’s so ridiculous, the way people feel a man and a woman can’t be friends. We’re in the same business, he’s supportive of me in my work, we have a lot to talk about. I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “He reminds me of my brother, Danny, actually,” Mom said. “He’s just a sweet, kind, smart person . . . and he likes being with me. So he’s a couple of years younger? So what! That’s so sexist, saying men can be with women who are a zillion years younger, but when women—”

  “Anyway, you’re not marrying him,” I said.

  Mom looked at me a second. “Right, I’m not marrying him at all. We just—”

  “She has a dirty mind,” I said, getting up to get the milk. “She thinks all people do is fuck.”

  Mom didn’t say anything.

  “She thinks, like, the only reason Joshua wants to see me is for sex . . . and it isn’t! We talk about lots of things.”

  “I know you do, hon,” Mom said.

  “He’s my friend,” I said. “I mean, he’s more than that, but he’s also my friend.”

  Mom brought in the dishes. “Well, life is complicated,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know . . . Listen, would she join us for dessert, do you think? I got pralines and cream, her favorite. Try knocking on her door, okay?”

  Deel said she’d have pralines and cream. She took a big bowl of it into the living room and turned the TV on. I went in to call Joshua.

  The day before Daddy came back, Mom and I taped this interview together for TV. Mom said she and Daddy have to discuss how much of that kind of thing I should do, but she thought this would be fun and not such a big deal. It’s an interview show where the interviews are done by this woman named Cheryl Munson who used to be an actress, like Mom. It’s on every Monday at 7:30 but only people with cable TV can get it. The program is called Talk, and it’s half an hour long.