“I just need to be alone.”
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“Go away!”
I went into my room and tried the door to hers. She’d forgotten to lock it. I pulled it open. “Claire,” I said gently, so as not to shock her.
She was lying facedown on the bed. She twisted around to look at me. Her face was red and wet with tears.
“Go away!” she cried. “I can’t take any more of this shit!”
I went to the bed and sat down beside her. She continued to cry. I tried to caress her hair, but she batted my hand away.
“Claire,” I said, “this isn’t fair. What did I do?”
“Oh, go to hell!” she said. “Everything isn’t about you, you know. I’m just so fucking confused. I want you. I want Tony. I want Jonah. I want to be alone. I don’t know what the fuck I want. You go off to your little demonstration and Tony has his job and Jonah just does whatever he fucking pleases. But what the hell do I have? Nothing! Not a goddam thing! Now, get out of here—I mean it! I need to be alone.”
I tucked my tail between my legs and went into my room. I sat in the rocking chair, hoping Claire would change her mind and call me back in, but finally it was too disturbing to listen to her cry. I went downstairs, but in the quiet house I could still hear her crying above me. I went back to my room, put on jeans and a sweatshirt, and went out onto the front porch. The spring night air was cool and refreshing. I sat down on the top step and rested my back against the wooden post that anchored the railing. I sat facing north, toward the campus, wondering if I should have just stayed overnight at the Union, as many of the strikers were doing. I could have gone, even then, but I wanted to be home if Claire needed me.
After I’d sat there for some time, my mind a muddle, a powder blue Chevelle pulled up directly across the street. I tried to see who was in it, but it was right under a streetlamp. Light reflected off the windows and threw the interior into deep shadow. After five or ten minutes, the door opened on the passenger side and Tony emerged. My stomach clutched. He stood on the curb and waved to the driver as the car drove away. I still couldn’t see who it was, but I had a pretty good hunch.
Tony didn’t notice me until he’d crossed the street and stepped up on the curb. “Meyer, is that you?”
“It’s me. Who was your date? Alicia?”
He looked down at the sidewalk and shuffled toward me. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”
“Just a lucky guess. You two getting it on?”
Tony stood at the bottom of the steps, unsure, I think, if he wanted to sit down and give me an opportunity to pry information out of him. I was enjoying being on the offensive when I’d half-expected him to start grilling me about Claire.
“Promise you won’t tell Claire?” he said.
I knew I couldn’t make that promise, so I tried to slide by. “She’ll get it out of you, herself, Tony.”
He looked up toward their bedroom window. “I suppose you’re right.” He looked back at me. “Yeah, Alicia and I made it over at her place. I feel kind of guilty, but, hey, Claire and I agreed this would be a real separation, even though we’re living in the same house. The only promise we made was that we wouldn’t bring anybody back here.”
I blanched, then I realized that, in fact, if not in spirit, Claire hadn’t broken their agreement. She hadn’t brought me back to the house; I already lived there. Still, I wished she’d told me about their arrangement.
“Seems kind of quick to be sleeping with somebody else,” I said.
I was appalled at my ability to play the innocent, under the circumstances, but there was a certain perverse pleasure in getting the scoop on Tony’s situation without revealing my own.
“I suppose it looks that way,” Tony said, “but Claire and I have been heading for a crash for a long time. I’m sure you saw that. Now that it’s happened … well … I wouldn’t be surprised if she found somebody to fool around with pretty soon, herself. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I couldn’t tell if he was toying with me or if it was a sincere question. He stood with his back to the streetlamp and the light from it threw his face into shadow, so I couldn’t read his expression. I fell back on a safe generalization. “She seems pretty confused, right now.”
Tony didn’t respond immediately. Was he searching my face, which was well lit by the streetlamp, for signs of prevarication? I tried to make my expression as bland as possible. Two could play at that game—if, indeed, he was playing a game.
“Yeah,” he finally said, “I’m confused, too. But it’ll work itself out, one way or another. How was Jonah, tonight? Did he go to sleep okay?”
“He went down without a peep.”
“I think I’ll go check on him before I go up to bed.”
He put his foot on the first step.
“Tony,” I said, unsure what I was about to say.
He stopped, one foot still on the walk, and looked at me. I wanted to be honest with him. I wanted to bring things out in the open. But I couldn’t. It was too early. My relationship with Claire might not go anywhere, however much I wanted it to. If things developed between us, there would be time enough for truth telling, later.
“What did you think of the strike?” I asked.
He pulled his foot off the step.
“That reminds me,” he said. “Did you see yourself on the news?”
“Yeah.”
“Alicia and I watched it. You did okay, Meyer. I was proud of you.”
“Thanks. My family called about it, too. But what about the whole thing, today? Was it worth anything?”
“Who the hell knows. Maybe it woke a few people up. I hope so. I’m damn sick of worrying about my brother over there. Every time I get a letter from him, I wonder if it’ll be the last one. He’s been in dozens of fire-fights. It’s such a fucking waste of people and money. Like we don’t have anything better for those guys to do, or anything better to do with the millions of dollars in bombs we’re dropping on North Vietnam. The whole thing sucks. You going back, tomorrow?”
“Until I have to go to work in the afternoon. I don’t think old man Siegel would approve of his driver skipping out for a demonstration. Anyway, I’ve still gotta eat.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ve got a feeling there’ll be more than enough work at the docks, tomorrow. I’m going to bed. Take care, man.”
He went in. My butt was going to sleep on the hard wood, so I followed Tony in, but just long enough to get one of Claire’s cigarettes from the pack on the coffee table, where she’d left them when we sat together. I lit one and went back out onto the porch. I paced back and forth, trying not to make too much noise. I didn’t want to disturb the sleeping household. I knew I should go to bed, but I was too restless. I decided to walk up to the Union and see how things were going there. I went upstairs to check on Claire, first. She was fast asleep. I turned off the lamp beside her bed and tiptoed out.
Once I started walking along Downer Avenue, I found myself breathing easier. Only then did I realize how tense I’d been at the house. I considered sacking out in the Union overnight; I’d probably sleep better. But then I thought of Claire getting up in the morning and wondering where I was and thought better of it.
When I turned the corner onto Kenwood Avenue, I saw lights from inside the Union glowing out into the night. It looked as if no one was asleep there, yet. As I approached the building from the opposite side of the street, I saw that someone had painted S-T-R-I-K-E and a clenched fist in red in the seven huge glass panes that walled the ballroom on the second floor. The sight stirred my blood, the way a flag stirs the ardor of a soldier. I went in through the main entrance and heard music coming from the snack bar. I found a party going on in there: a three piece rock band played in the pit, with dancers all around them. Small groups were sitting at tables or on the floor around the pit smoking joints and passing bottles of wine. A woman was painting faces and other body parts at a table nea
r the entrance. Not being in a party mood, I turned to go up to the ballroom. Then I noticed the glass front of a vending machine had been smashed in and all the candy stolen. I wondered if our friends from the morning had returned.
Things were quieter in the ballroom. Dozens of strikers lay sacked out in sleeping bags on the floor along the glass wall, despite the lights still being up high. Just as I walked in, somebody dimmed them. The strike committee table was in the same spot and had several desk lamps lighting it up. I saw Carl behind one of them, writing something, and went to him.
“Writing the UWM manifesto?” I asked.
He looked up. “John, what are you doing here? I thought you were gone for the night?”
“I’m staying at home, but I thought I’d check in. How’s it going?”
“So far, so good. We visited a lot of classes, today, and I think we really got to some people. Made a lot of them angry, too, of course. By the way, that was some performance on the news. You did a great job, but you probably should have warned us. You sounded like a spokesperson for the strike. Jimmy was pretty angry about it.”
“I told them I was nobody, but they stuck the camera in my face and wouldn’t take it out until I said something. I made it clear I was just a participant in the strike, not a member of the committee, but, of course, they cut that part. I did mean to tell you. Sorry.”
“If that’s the worst glitch we have during this strike, I’ll be delighted. Everybody they interview about the strike should be so articulate.”
“What’s the plan for tomorrow.”
“More of the same: confronting people in classes, trying to get people in here to educate them about the war. Speaking of which, we need people to lead informal discussion groups here in the Union, tomorrow morning. Can you take one? We’re trying to get as many leaders as possible, so we can keep the groups small. You wouldn’t have to make any kind of presentation, just get the ball rolling and try to keep the discussion under control.”
“I could do that. What time?”
“Ten o’clock. Stop by here in the morning, and we’ll assign you a room. Now I need to get back to this. I’m trying to write an opinion piece for the Journal that explains the purpose of the strike. One of the journalism profs knows the editor and can get it into tomorrow’s edition if it’s downtown by midnight.”
I left Carl to his task, wishing I had one myself, and walked around the ballroom, looking for someone I knew. I didn’t see anyone, so I wandered out into the hall and down the steps to the lobby. Still no one familiar. The party in the snack bar was in full swing, but somehow the sound of loud music and laughter made me feel lonely. I headed for home.
Back at the house, I went up to my bedroom and pulled off my clothes. By then, the feeling of loneliness was like an ache in my heart. I had to be with Claire. I locked the door to my bedroom, then slipped quietly through the door to hers. She was still asleep, turned on her side, facing the windows. Feeling both brash and shy, I lay down on the bed behind her, spooned my body against hers, and put an arm around her. She wrapped her arms around my arm and pulled it to her breasts. Finally, I felt I was where I should be.
“G’night, Tony,” she mumbled.
I was momentarily hurt, but I brushed it off. If Claire was ever going to be mine, I was going to have to be patient with her. It was her life being turned upside down. She had a lot to lose. I only stood to gain. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled myself tighter against her. Que sera, sera.
In the morning, Claire was surprised and pleased to find me in her bed. She seemed to have forgotten her outburst—or, at least, didn’t choose to revisit it. We made love quickly and intensely, finishing just as Jonah made it known he was awake. Tony was long-gone to the docks, so Claire went to Jonah while I bathed. We had a seven-foot long, two-foot deep, claw-footed Victorian bathtub in the upstairs bathroom. I filled it with hot water—a time-consuming task with a tub that size—pouring in a large dollop of Claire’s bath salts to make it even more relaxing. When it was finally ready, I sank down into it and closed my eyes. Immediately, I heard the door. I opened my eyes to see Claire entering in her bathrobe.
“Mind if I join you?” she said.
“Mind, hell! I’d be delighted!”
“Jonah’s playing in his bed. He won’t last more than ten minutes, but at least I can get cleaned up.”
She slipped off her robe, revealing her lovely, naked white body, and hung the robe on the door, then turned to me.
“Wait,” I said. “Just stay there for a moment. I want to look at you.”
She paused, but then said, “It’s too cold. Let me in there.”
She came to the tub and stepped into the hot water, her skin going all goose bumps as she did. She turned her back to me, presenting me with her beautiful behind. I reached out, took her by the hips, and slowly pulled her down into the water, between my legs. She leaned back against me, her hair falling across my naked chest and into the water at my belly. I put my arms under hers and folded them across her breasts, which were half submerged in the water, its heat turning her nipples hard. She tipped her head back and we kissed deeply. Then she took the soap from the metal rack that hung over the side of the tub, opened my hand, put the soap in my palm, and tipped her head back to whisper in my ear.
“Wash my breasts,” she said.
I soaped up my hands and happily did as I was told. The feel of her soft flesh slick with soap was incredibly arousing. Heat permeated my body. I kept running my hands over and over her breasts. She kissed me again. Then we heard the door opening.
We both sat bolt upright, like some sort of weird, pornographic toy. Jonah stood there, wide-eyed, in diaper and t-shirt.
“Tub?” he said.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” said Claire. “Mommy’s taking a bath. How did you get out of your bed? You’ve never done that before, have you?”
Jonah shook his head, looking rather proud of himself. Claire looked back at me. “Great timing, huh?”
“John tub?” said Jonah.
“I guess I’ll have to look after him.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“I think it’s better if he doesn’t see you get out of the tub naked. You finish your bath, then I’ll come in and finish mine. I just wish we could finish together.”
“You and me both,” I said. “Another time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She rinsed off her breasts—a task I’d been looking forward to, myself—then stood up, took her towel off the rack beside the tub, and wrapped it around her. Jonah still stood at the door, watching us. Claire stepped out, dried herself off, and led him back to his room. I started to wash myself. The magic of lolling in the bath had departed with Claire.
Jonah’s appearance put my feelings in a funny place. On the one hand, I loved the kid, and his seeing me with Claire that way somehow made us feel more like a family. On the other hand, his face at the door, the spitting image of Tony’s, also felt like a reproach. He was Tony’s son and would always be Tony’s son. I had a feeling that, if it came down to it, Tony would put a lot more passion into keeping Jonah than he would into keeping Claire. I wondered if he’d feel keeping Jonah also meant trying to keep Claire. It was that bond between him and her I feared most.
By the time I finished washing, I was depressed. The whole situation suddenly seemed a hopeless muddle. Nobody knew what Tony wanted. Only Jonah’s needs were clear, and I had the feeling they would be the deciding factor, which was likely to leave me out in the cold. But then I felt a spark of determination ignite in my heart. Maybe I would lose in the end, but I wasn’t going to give up before I started. It could be that Claire and Tony couldn’t live together anymore, even if they wanted to for Jonah’s sake. It was a whole new ballgame, and I wasn’t going to quit in the early innings.
I told Claire I was done and took Jonah into my room while she finished bathing. He sat on my bed, leaning on a pillow against the wall, wa
tching my every move. Like the time we’d stared into each other’s eyes on the sofa, months before, he seemed to be looking into my soul. I had a spooky sensation that some higher part of him was analyzing me, assessing my potential as an adoptive father, or perhaps just looking to see if I was sincere in my love for his mother. I’d never felt so spiritually exposed before.
When I’d finished dressing, I started wrestling with him on the bed, to distract him. We pushed and pulled and hugged each other. I let him play his favorite wrestling game, which was to push me off whatever piece of furniture I happened to be on. I always made a great show of falling and looking up at him with a surprised face, which always sent him into a paroxysm of laughter. Finally, Claire appeared at the door, looking fresh and radiant.
“All right, you two. Enough of this. Jonah’s going to get an upset stomach. It’s time to go to Aunt Katie’s, Jonah, to see Christy and Ryan.”
“Christy, Ryan,” said Jonah, sliding off the bed.
“Are you going back to the Union?” Claire asked.
I nodded.
“They want me to lead a discussion group, this morning. Then I have to work, this afternoon. You working later, too?”
“From three to eleven. Tony’s picking Jonah up at Katie’s.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Why don’t we eat supper together?”
“I don’t get much time.”
“Neither do I, but you’re right up the street. Why don’t I pick up a couple subs while I’m out making deliveries and bring them by at, say, 6:00? We can eat them on the lawn up there.”
“Okay. I never know for sure when I’ll get my dinner break, but I’ll try.”
We said goodbye, refraining from kissing each other in front of Jonah, who was clinging to Claire’s leg. They went downstairs and out on the porch to wait for Katie. She arrived momentarily. After eating a bowl of cereal, I went to UWM. I found myself getting nervous as I approached the Union. After blithely agreeing to lead a discussion group, I found myself wondering what I’d do if it got out of hand. Emotions were running high around the campus. There were a lot of Vietnam veterans taking classes there, and those who weren’t opposed to the war were angrier than anybody else about the strike. They felt as if they were being deprived of the education they’d more than earned by putting their life on the line in Southeast Asia. I felt intimidated by them.
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