Domestic Arrangements

by Norma Klein

  She hugged him. “I’m sure you do.”

  He just smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s news to me.”

  “Don’t you know anyone who’s difficult, but adorable?” Mom said. She lowered the fire under the chops.

  “Everyone I know is difficult,” Daddy said. “But adorable? I don’t know.”

  “Mom, did you send it?” I said. “I bet you did.”

  “No, absolutely not . . . mine is inside on your desk, Lionel.”

  Daddy went in and opened Mom’s valentine. He came back and kissed her. “That’s lovely darling . . . I’m afraid I forgot to—”

  “Josh forgot too,” I said.

  I felt sorry for Deel, with no one to send a valentine to, or get one from. “I wonder who Daddy’s admirer is?” she said thoughtfully. We were in her room.

  “Do you really think he has one?”

  “Sure, why not? He’s cute.”

  I never thought of Daddy as being cute that much. “How about his being fat?”

  “No, he’s not fat, just pleasantly plump.”

  “I wish he’d stay on that Scarsdale Diet and lose fifteen pounds. Then Mom might—”

  “I think he looks nice the way he is now.”

  “Do you think he’s as handsome as Simon?”

  “Simon’s not so handsome.”

  “Well, but—”

  “Daddy’s kind of . . . I bet lots of women would like him a lot.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, because he’s really smart, he knows so much about lots of things—art, politics. He has high ideals about things.”

  I thought about that. “He’s not that sexy though.”

  “So? Look at Joshua . . . and you like him.”

  I felt mad. “Joshua’s very sexy.”

  She looked like I had said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Joshua is very sexy?”

  “Yes . . . he has a good figure, and he has nice hair, and beautiful eyes.”

  “Well, it’s good someone thinks so.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind terrible posture, and lousy skin, and crooked teeth—”

  “He doesn’t! He doesn’t have any of those things.”

  Just then the doorbell rang. It was Joshua. I’m glad he didn’t hear any of those things Deel was saying about him. They’re not even true! I mean, sure he could stand up straighter—he just forgets. Sometimes his skin breaks out, but mostly it’s okay if he remembers to wash his face. And it’s true, he has one crooked tooth, but it’s way off to the side. You don’t even see it unless he laughs and not even then, not unless you know it’s there and you’re really looking for it. Anyway, sexiness isn’t just teeth and skin. It’s the way you are as a person.

  Joshua brought me a bunch of pussy willows and a bag of marzipan candies shaped like fruit. Those are both things I like a lot. I kissed him. Then I put the pussy willows in a jar and brought them into the living room.

  “Hi, Joshua,” Mom said.

  “Hello, Mrs. Engelberg,” Joshua said. “Hello, Mr. Engelberg.”

  “Those are lovely,” Mom said. “I adore pussy willows. How thoughtful.”

  “Do you want some marzipan?” I said, offering some to Mom and Daddy. Mom took one, but Daddy said he’d better not, because it wasn’t on his diet.

  “I’m sure your secret admirer doesn’t want you to be plump,” Mom said, smiling at him.

  “Darling,” Daddy said. He reached out and touched her hand.

  “Why shouldn’t you have one?” Mom said. “I think it’s terrific. You’re a very attractive man.”

  Daddy sighed. “I think Joshua really sent that valentine . . . did you?”

  Joshua shook his head. “I wish I had,” he said. “I forgot.”

  “You can’t get out of it that easily,” Mom said to Daddy, smiling slyly. “No idea who it could be from? No one giving you sidelong glances?”

  “Not a one.”

  Joshua went into my room with me. “Who do you think the card was from?” I said, taking out the marzipan and spreading it on the bed. I decided to eat the apple one first. I love the almondy taste of marzipan.

  “His secretary, probably,” Joshua said, eating the pear one. “They always have something going with their secretary.”

  “Joshua!” He gets me so mad at times. “Daddy’s secretary happens to be about fifty years old and she weighs about two hundred pounds.”

  “How come he has a secretary like that?” He ate another piece of marzipan.

  “Because he wants someone who’s a good secretary. She’s been with him for years.”

  “He should get one who’s good at both.”

  “Both what?”

  “Sex and typing. My father says those are the two main requirements in a secretary.”

  “Just because your father is the most gross person that ever lived, doesn’t mean every father is.”

  Joshua grinned sheepishly. “He is kind of gross, you’re right . . . but he has a cute secretary.”

  “Have you ever met her?”

  “Sure . . . whenever I go to his office. He’s only had her about a year. The other one left to get married. I guess she got fed up with him. This one is, like . . . well, not too quick on the uptake, to put it mildly.”

  “She might just be poor.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “Well, maybe she’d go to college if she had the money. She might be supporting her aging mother, or something.”

  “This one never got past sixth grade . . . maybe seventh if she had a kind teacher.”

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “True . . . well, anyone who’s making it with Patricia has got to be mightily demented or slightly—”

  “Your mother’s not demented.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Yeah, she’s more . . . worn out. I think if she had to do it over, she wouldn’t marry anyone. That’s what she says. She says she wouldn’t get married, and she wouldn’t have children.”

  “Huh . . . that’s really sad. I mean, since she doesn’t have it to do over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think Mom is glad she had us.”

  “Well, but your mother did something with herself, she looks good, it’s totally different.”

  “True.” I looked at him. Sometimes we just start staring at each other and can’t stop. I kept thinking how Deel had said those awful things about how Joshua looks. It’s true maybe he’s not handsome in a movie-star way, but I think he’s really nice looking. He has beautiful eyes. They can look all sorts of different ways, even without his saying anything.

  “How’s it been at school?” he asked.

  “Not that great.” Joshua’s the only one I’ve told about all the teasing I’ve been getting at school, and I don’t even tell him everything. Like today in Sex-Ed class, our teacher, Ms. Jetty, was talking about different forms of birth control and when she came to diaphragms and started passing one around so we could see it, Ethan said, “Why doesn’t Rusty show us hers?”

  Ms. Jetty didn’t hear him, and the class was almost over anyway. Some of the boys started acting really dumb for a change, and began throwing the diaphragm around the room like a Frisbee. Roger threw it at me. I caught it and brought it over to Ms. Jetty’s desk.

  “Hey, Rust, how do you like yours?” Evan said. “Is it working out well?”

  “Why don’t you bug off?” Shellie said. “You’re so immature.”

  “I bet her boyfriend likes it,” Roger said to Evan.

  “The boys in my class are really awful,” I said, feeling bad just remembering it. “Maybe I should switch to another school.”

  “You could switch to Stuyvesant,” Joshua suggested.

  “But maybe people there would’ve seen the movie.”

  “Well, but by next fall everybody would’ve forgotten about it pretty much.”

  “But if I make another movie, then—”

  Joshua
frowned. “I thought you weren’t going to.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess when I go out to L.A., I might just talk to these people.”

  “What people? What’re you talking about? Out where?”

  I looked down. “Well, the thing is, I have to do this publicity for Domestic Arrangements, just a week or so. It’s right when we have winter vacation. So I thought while I was out there, I could meet with these people who called Helen about the musical.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Joshua said, putting up his hand. “You’re going out to Hollywood? Since when?”

  “It’s just for a week.”

  “How come you didn’t even mention it?”

  “I just found out today.”

  He began bending a paper clip back and forth. “I thought you said you didn’t want to get involved in all that shit.”

  “I don’t . . . listen, it’s just for a week! I have to, Josh. I can’t just not do it. They’d get really mad.”

  “So?”

  I couldn’t believe he didn’t understand. “Well, I mean, they’ve invested all this time and money . . . and I’ll just have to be on some TV shows and do some interviews. Mom says it’s good experience.”

  “For what?”

  “For, like, if I do other shows. Learning how to answer questions and all.”

  “Just tell them to shove off.” He looked angry. “The movie’s doing okay.”

  “That’s the whole point.” I leaned forward. “They didn’t expect it to do that well. So they want to, you know, capitalize on it.”

  “And you’re just letting them use you—”

  “Why’re you making it sound so seedy? They’re not using me.”

  Joshua was staring at me in this really cold, detached way. “So, what’s this musical they want you to audition for?”

  “I don’t know that much about it. Anyway, I can’t even sing! But they said not to worry about that. It’s based on this book that was already made into a movie, Lolita? I don’t know much about it. I never saw it.”

  “Oh shit!” Joshua said, sounding totally disgusted.

  “What’s wrong?” I was surprised. “It’s supposed to be a really good book. Daddy said so. He said it’s by this famous Russian writer . . . Pushkin, I think.”

  “Nabokov.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Daddy said he was one of the finest stylists of the English language . . . even though he was Russian.”

  “A musical version of Lolita?” Joshua said, as though it were the most disgusting thing he ever heard of.

  “Yeah . . . I don’t get why you’re getting so upset.”

  “Do you know what the book is about?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s about this girl—you’re too old anyhow—who makes it with men who are, like fifty years old! She does it with men that make my father look like Abraham Lincoln.”

  “Daddy says it’s a witty satire on contemporary life.”

  Joshua shook his head. “I just can’t believe your father would let you even consider something like that.”

  “Josh, first of all, I probably won’t get the part. Secondly, I don’t have to do it even if I do, and third of all, do you know what they’d pay me?”

  “What?”

  I lowered my voice in case Deel was listening outside the door. “A hundred thousand dollars.”

  “That is sick,” Joshua said angrily. “God, I can’t believe this.”

  “You don’t know anything about it! You don’t know who’s directing it, or producing it, or writing the screenplay . . .”

  Joshua got up. “I’m going to go home,” he said. “I don’t feel well.”

  “Just because of this?”

  “Yeah, everything . . . I don’t know.” He stared right at me. “You said you’d make one movie and that was it. Now you’re going out to Hollywood to make an ass of yourself in front of some—”

  “Why do you assume I’ll make an ass of myself?”

  “Because that’s what they want. They want some simpering, flirty little ass. They’ll make you dye your hair blond.”

  “What do you mean, make me? I don’t have to do anything I don’t want.”

  “Oh, you’ll do whatever they tell you to,” he said bitterly.

  I felt like crying. “What do you mean?”

  “They’ll probably make you audition in the nude and you’ll say—” he mimicked my voice, “‘Well, Daddy said it was a great book, Daddy said . . .’!”

  I just stared at him. “If you think I’m such an awful person, why do you want to even see me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his lips tight. “I don’t know why.”

  “All you want to do is fuck with me! That’s all.”

  “Sure, that’s why I picked you,” he said sarcastically. “Because you’re so great at sex.”

  “Well, I’m not going to do it anymore—with you or anyone.” I went to the drawer and took out my diaphragm. I grabbed the scissors and jabbed a big hole in it, right in the middle. Then I hurled it in the wastebasket. “So, you can find someone else, if that’s what you want,” I said, my heart thumping.

  Joshua was staring at me like I had gone crazy. “Rust, listen, I didn’t—” he started to say, but I pushed him out of the room.

  “Get out of here,” I said. “And take your stupid marzipan. I don’t even want it.” I shoved the bag at him. There weren’t too many left.

  I locked the door behind him. I could tell he was standing there, right behind the door, but I didn’t move or go to open it or anything. I just sat there not making a sound until I heard him walk away, toward the front door.

  After he’d left, I pulled the cover over my head and cried and cried. I never felt so awful in my life. How can Joshua be so mean? I can’t believe it. How could I have liked such a mean, terrible, selfish person? If it was him, and he got some offer to do something because people thought he was good at it, I’d be pleased. I’d say it was terrific.

  I guess I shouldn’t have told him how much money they’d offered me. It is horrible in a way, when people are starving, that’s true. But it isn’t my fault. I mean, someone’s going to get the money if I don’t. The main thing is, I don’t even think I want to do it and I never did. I’m not even sure I’ll bother auditioning for it. If I got it I’d have to learn to sing and, well, it would just be sort of a big deal. I’d have to live out there, maybe, for a few months. The good thing with Domestic Arrangements was it was filmed in New York, so I didn’t have to travel or anything.

  Daddy says he questions whether it would be a good idea for me to be so involved in acting right now, before I’ve even finished high school. Mom says strike while the iron is hot, meaning I guess that maybe in a few years no one’ll want me.

  It’s confusing. I don’t want to do something stupid, or something I’ll regret. But I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t act in something I thought was dumb. Joshua doesn’t even know! Maybe it’s a terrific script, really funny and everything. How can he tell if he never even read it? He’s so prejudiced! And the point is, doing just one week of publicity isn’t such a big thing. Everybody does that. It’s good for your image. Then they’ll all see what I’m really like and they won’t have any misconception of me as being like the girl in the movie.

  I went over to the wastebasket and took out my diaphragm. What an awful thing to do! It cost thirty-five dollars and had to be specially fitted and everything. But I’m glad I did it. I don’t think I want to fuck with anyone for a long time. What’s the point? Then that’s all you do and you don’t get to really know the person. Maybe if Joshua and I hadn’t spent so much time fucking, I would have realized what he was really like.

  In the middle of the night Joshua called. “Rust, are you still mad at me?” he said. His voice was very low, almost a whisper.

  “Yes!” I said, and hung up.

  Of course I’m still mad at him! He thinks if he comes over like he did to Abigail’s, and says nice things and
that he didn’t mean it, I’ll forget everything he said. Well, I won’t. Not if I live to be a hundred.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That evening, I asked Daddy if he thought I would like the book Lolita.

  “I don’t think so, darling,” Daddy said after a minute. “It’s not really . . . you see, his style is rather complex, and . . . it’s really about adults who have certain problems that you might . . . I don’t think you’d find too much to empathize with, really.”

  “Then how come you think I should try out for the movie?”

  “Well, I don’t think you definitely should. I think we should wait and hear more about it. So much depends on what the script is like.”

  I bit my lip. “Is the girl in it stupid?”

  “No, not stupid . . . You see, hon, it’s a satire, which means the people in it are being seen from a certain angle, a comic angle. It’s not a novel about real life in the simple way Domestic Arrangements was.”

  “Do you think that was about real life?”

  “Well, yes, by and large.”

  “But the people in it did such odd things!”

  “Well, yes, odd, but not . . . outside the pale. They were still things one could imagine happening.”

  “They were?”

  “Yes, I would say so . . . didn’t you think so?”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t imagine you having an affair with Joshua’s mother!”

  Daddy looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s true. I don’t know Joshua’s mother that well. I’ve only met her once.”

  “I mean, with anyone’s mother.”

  “Yes, well . . .”

  “I can’t imagine you and Mom being like the parents in the movie,” I rushed on, “saying things like that to each other, such mean things.”

  Daddy stared at me for a long time. “No,” he said finally. “We’re different. Of course we married later than most people.”

  “What do you mean, later?”

  “Well, I was thirty-four, and at that age you . . . you’re more careful, you know more what you really want, and need.”

  “You mean, because Dora wasn’t that good?”

  “It wasn’t that she wasn’t good,” Daddy said cautiously. “It was . . . we came from such different backgrounds.”