by Rona Jaffe
“He interviewed me that time when we had coffee in Paris.”
“About what?”
“Stories I read as a child.”
“Oh,” Roger said.
She went into the bedroom to change. She was relieved that he wasn’t jealous of Marc, and at the same time, she was a little annoyed.
25
THE HOLIDAYS WERE OVER, another year gone. Discarded Christmas trees lay on the sidewalk waiting to be collected, shreds of tinsel still clinging to them—what had been so coveted and delighted in was now just garbage. Huge plastic bags lay there too, the green ones loaded with wasted food from celebrations, to be gotten rid of; the transparent ones bulging with glass and plastic bottles and aluminum cans from boozy parties, to be recycled. Snow fell and covered all of it, leaving only large, white, mysterious lumps that quickly turned gray, then icy black. The cousins had returned from their vacations, some from the cold of mountain ski trails, others from the warmth of tropical beaches. Marc would be coming back too, which made Olivia nervous and excited. But she was also filled with a lingering sadness, because it was soon to be the first anniversary of Grady’s death.
Then, unexpectedly, she received a letter from Taylor. Taylor never wrote to anybody in the family, but there it was:
Dear Olivia—I finally scattered Grady’s ashes in Mexico. It was in a pretty place near the Sea of Cortez, where he had wanted me to do it. I hired a bus and driver to get there, and invited all his stuntman friends and their wives. We had a mariachi band on the bus, and lots of food and liquor. We partied for four days. Everybody had a good time, which he would have liked. It cost me a lot of money, but that’s okay. We had a memorial service at sunset when I scattered the ashes, and that night in Mexico, after the memorial, is the night I got pregnant. I consider it a sign.
That was in November, so now I’m two months along and doing pretty good. Please tell the family. Pregnant! Me! Imagine!!
Love,
Taylor
Olivia pictured Taylor and Tim and their celebrating group on the bus, drinking and joking and having fun, making the best of what could have been a sad occasion. She thought of the mariachi band Taylor couldn’t hear but only feel—swaying to the vibrations with their hearing friends, alone again in her deaf world. Their straight friends—Grady had been alone too, all those years.
She was delighted at the good news about the forthcoming baby. It was interesting that Taylor had disposed of Grady’s ashes in what amounted to secrecy, since she had not mentioned it until two months after the fact, but her pregnancy had galvanized her into action and made her write a letter. It was as if Grady belonged to Taylor, but becoming pregnant was an event that had finally catapulted Taylor, the self-proclaimed neglected half-breed, into the family.
Olivia called Aunt Myra, knowing she would be good at spreading the word. “Oh, I knew that,” Aunt Myra said.
“You did?”
“Sure. She wrote to me last week.”
“And you didn’t call?”
“I was going to.”
“And she told you about the ashes.”
“What about the ashes?”
“She scattered them, finally.”
“No,” Aunt Myra said. “She only told me she was expecting.”
“Then she didn’t tell you about the sign.”
“What sign?”
“Never mind. It’s just Taylor.”
“Well, I was going to call you anyway,” Aunt Myra said. She giggled nervously. “I’ve been getting over a big shock.”
“What was that?”
“Uncle David is getting married.”
“Uncle David?”
“Yep.”
“To that woman he’s supposedly been going with forever? But then I thought they broke up.”
“Oh, who knows about her, that was so strange. I think they were just friends. No, no. To a woman he met on the cruise the kids sent him on. Apparently all the widows and divorcees were chasing him on the ship, and he met one he liked.”
“But that wasn’t even three months ago,” Olivia said.
“I know,” Aunt Myra said, sounding half exasperated, half embarrassed at the precipitousness of it. “He says he’s seventy-five and life is short.”
The way he raved about Aunt Hedy at his birthday party I thought he’d never marry again, Olivia thought, but she didn’t say it. “He’s right,” she said.
“I guess he was lonely,” Aunt Myra said. She sighed. “Melissa and Nick went to Florida to meet her. They were surprised, too. She isn’t after his money, anyway. She has a home in Key West and a house in Tuscany. They said she seems like a nice woman. At least she’s not too young. He’s happy.” Aunt Myra, however, did not sound happy at all. In an instant she had lost the company of her brother, who would now be a newlywed.
“He’ll live longer this way,” Olivia said to comfort her.
“Oh, I’m not passing judgment. It’s his business.”
“Did they set a date yet?”
“Next month,” Aunt Myra said. “I told him: ‘What’s your rush? She’s not pregnant.’ He said at their age a long engagement is silly. They want to move in together, and travel.”
“You should get married again,” Olivia said. “You’re still fit and youthful.”
“Well, thank you. But I don’t want to get married again. I had a long, wonderful marriage and that was enough. I keep busy.”
“It’s great about Taylor, isn’t it?” Olivia said.
“Yes, sure. You know these old widows, they’ll do anything to get a man. There’s a woman who lives in the penthouse in my building, whose husband died. There was an old man who used to deliver the clothes from the cleaner downstairs. He had heart trouble, he was pale and skinny, he looked half dead. His wife had recently died. So this widow in the penthouse, she invited him up to commiserate, I guess to feed him, and the next thing you know, they got married! Well, you should see him now. Nobody can call him by his first name anymore. We have to pretend we didn’t know him when. He’s got a good belly now, he gets all his suits made in England, he wears a coat with a velvet collar. She’s happy.”
“Who are we talking about here?” Olivia asked. “You or Uncle David’s fiancée or what?”
“Neither one,” Aunt Myra said. “I’m just telling you a story.”
* * *
Olivia wrote to Taylor.
Dear Taylor—I’m thrilled that you’re having a baby. I know what you mean about a sign. The births and the deaths, the giving and the taking—how interesting life is! Please stay in touch.
Love,
Olivia
She wished she had someone to talk to about her feelings for Marc and for Roger. She couldn’t tell her cousins. She wasn’t sure even Jenny would understand. And she didn’t quite trust Alys not to tell anyone. If this situation were happening to someone else, she could easily have dispensed sensible advice, but it was happening to her, and all of her good sense seemed to have vanished.
She met Marc at yet a different dark bar, and they sat in the back. She thought she should write a book of her own someday called Places to Sneak Around In. He had a gently healthy glow from his skiing holiday and looked very young and fresh and appealing. He wound his fingers around hers and looked into her eyes. Then he kissed her, and she melted helplessly again.
“Remember the couple who were devouring each other at the Carlyle bar when we were there?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Now that’s us.”
“We’d never be so ostentatious,” Olivia said.
“No, never.” They smiled at each other and he ordered drinks. As soon as the waiter went away Marc kissed her. “Did you get my postcard?” he whispered.
“Yes. It was perfect. It was so boring.”
“Tell me the news. What did you do
while I was away?”
“Some Christmas parties. We always have a quiet New Year’s Eve. What did you do?”
“Skiied, saw my family, went to a big New Year’s Eve party. I was faithful to you.”
“The entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asked, happy and flattered. “It seems such a waste.”
“Because I knew you’d want to know. And besides . . . it’s very romantic being faithful. Very alluring. It makes me want you more.”
“You’re like a cavalier from another century,” she said. “Or maybe I mean knight. Anyway, it’s lovely.”
“No. I’m just me.”
She glanced around the room to make sure there was no one who could recognize her. The waiter brought their wine and they sipped it and looked at each other with such intensity she was sure anyone who saw them would see everything about them—and more—in an instant. She wished they could have the whole evening. She suddenly hated watching the time, leaving things unfinished, parting with longing. She had forgotten how much she needed the high of his desire for her, but now that he was back again she remembered.
“I had an uncle who had an affair with a married woman for twenty years,” Marc said. “She was the love of his life. He became a friend of the family. People who didn’t know about them wondered why he never married. I always found it interesting.”
“Your family sounds as eccentric as mine,” Olivia said.
“You don’t find the concept appealing?”
“Twenty years? No, if I were the woman, I’d have to choose one or the other.”
“Which one would you pick?”
“It’s too theoretical.”
“I didn’t mean I’d do that myself,” he said. “I’m just teasing you.”
“It must have been awful for that woman’s children,” she said. “Did they have any idea?”
“They were very fond of him.”
“Anyway, we’re not having an affair,” Olivia said. “We’re having a drink.”
“Of course.”
She would not want Roger to have such a drink with anyone.
* * *
The winter wore on. Invitations arrived for the forthcoming spring bar mitzvahs of Jenny’s second son, Max, and Melissa’s oldest, Abe, who had been named Absalom in homage to their dead grandfather, Abe Miller. Olivia accepted for herself and Roger. Uncle David and his fiancée were married in a small ceremony for only their children and grandchildren at her house in Key West; and went on their honeymoon to the South Sea Islands, which they had enjoyed very much on the round-the-world cruise where they had met. This time, however, they took a plane. And Taylor, who was beginning to show, sent Olivia a photograph of herself in front of her house in Topanga Canyon, proudly holding her dress out at the sides to reveal her rounded stomach.
Dear Olivia—Here we are! Isn’t it amazing? I’ve been going to a support group for abused children, to be sure I don’t make the mistakes my mother did. I really want to be a good mother.
Love,
Taylor
Olivia wrote back.
Dear Taylor—Thank you for the early family picture for the album I now intend to start. I know you’ll be a wonderful mother. I remember when you and Grady were little, how protective and sweet you were with him.
Love,
Olivia
She continued to meet Marc once a week, and they tormented each other in private corners of public places while Roger was at the gym. She was constantly aware of the irony of it. Marc gave her two more chapters to read. She was impressed by his writing and flattered that he was showing it to her, but she didn’t mention him or his book to Roger again. She thought about Roger’s lack of jealousy, and realized that it wasn’t that he took her for granted or thought no one else would want her, but that he completely trusted her. This made her feel guilty, of course. But there had been a time when she completely trusted him.
She remembered once discussing marital infidelity with Jenny and Melissa. “My husband would never cheat,” Melissa said. “He can’t live without me.” How comforting, Olivia had thought at the time, to be able to be so confident, so without fear. But so had she been. She wondered now if any of her cousins’ husbands cheated on their spouses, and she decided that if they found out they would never tell, just as she had not. You told only if you broke up over it. They were not sisters; they weren’t that close. You kept humiliation to yourself. They hadn’t even mentioned the possibility that they might cheat on their husbands. It had probably never occurred to them. But there had been a time when it had never occurred to her.
Then one night Roger came home looking distressed and grim. “I have to go to dinner with my brother on Wednesday,” he said. “He doesn’t want to pay his half of our mother’s old-age home anymore. He says he has two adult unemployed children to support, and his wife doesn’t work, so it’s up to me to pay it all because you make a living and we have no children. I can’t believe that guy.”
“Lawyers make a lot of money,” Olivia said. “What’s his problem?”
“He hates me and wants to make my life miserable,” Roger said.
“Oh, Roger,” she said sadly. She put her arms around him. “I’m sorry you two have such a bad relationship.”
“I thought if I never saw him I wouldn’t have to deal with it,” Roger said.
“If you need money, I’ll help.”
“No, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have to. She’s his mother, too. He should pay some. It’s his attitude of complete entitlement I resent, not just the money. He’s always been like this. That’s why we never got along.”
“I wish you two would find a way to make up,” Olivia said.
“It’s a good thing Mom doesn’t know he thinks she’s a burden,” Roger said. “She never wanted to be a burden to anybody. Maybe I can get him to contribute a part of it. God, I hate having to negotiate with my own brother. You’re lucky you’re an only child.”
Wednesday. On Wednesday she was meeting Marc for a drink. When he called to confirm and to tell her where, Olivia said casually, “If you want to have dinner too, I can.”
26
ROGER MET HIS BROTHER at a Midtown steak house. It was, as always, Michael’s choice. It was also across the street from Michael’s office, which made it convenient for him and inconvenient for Roger. He was a successful corporate lawyer, and lived in a large cooperative apartment with his wife and two sons. In the summers they had for many years rented the same house in Sagaponack where the rent for one summer would have made a tidy down payment—something Roger liked to mention to annoy him. They did not choose to have any pets. The two brothers bore a definite family resemblance, but while Roger looked pleasant and accessible, Michael always looked as if he were smelling something slightly offensive. Roger used to say it was himself. He could not remember any time, even as small children, that they had liked each other. He did remember Mike leaving him tied to a tree for an entire day, an event of such betrayal and cruelty that it had traumatized him for years.
When he got to the table Michael was already there, which made it unnecessary for them to shake hands, hug or make any other pretense of affection. Roger slid into his seat. A frosty martini was in front of his brother’s place.
“If you want the charcoal-broiled chicken you’d better order it now,” Michael said by way of greeting. “It takes a long time. I ordered mine.”
“I think I’ll look at the menu first,” Roger said, picking it up.
“I always have the chicken.”
The waiter came over and Roger asked for a glass of white wine and, annoyed at himself for it, the chicken.
“He wants it very crisp,” Michael said to the waiter. “No salt and no butter.”
“I’ll have it the way it comes.”
“My doctor says I have to watch myself,” Mi
chael said.
“Don’t we all.”
“How’s Olivia?”
“Fine, thanks. How is Norma?”
“She’s fine.”
They sipped their drinks. “I think Mom’s deteriorating,” Michael said. “Last time I was there she thought I was a little boy again.”
“She does that sometimes.”
“Didn’t know Norma.”
“Norma’s not from her past.”
“So.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “As I told you on the phone, I have ongoing financial pressures. Two kids still at home, still unemployed. Norma does a great job taking care of all of us, but she can’t contribute money. It’s up to me, and frankly, I don’t think it’s right that you, with an easy life, aren’t taking on more of the responsibility of Mom’s upkeep.”
An easy life. How resentful he sounded. “When we wanted to put her in a nice place we knew it would be expensive,” Roger said. “We agreed to share.”
“You don’t have two grown children at home.”
“Why is that different from when they were in college?” Roger said. “It cost more then; you had to pay for school.”
“You wouldn’t understand. You have no kids.”
On the few occasions he had seen his brother’s sons—he thought of them as that, never his nephews—they seemed like two hostile, unkempt louts with attitude. They behaved as if they were stoned, did not speak unless spoken to and when they did answer they acted as if they were doing you a favor. “What I do understand,” Roger said, “is that they’re adults and they should work.”
“It’s hard to get a job.”
“Let them do something. Work in a record store. Get an MBA. Anything.”
“Even people with MBAs can’t get jobs these days,” Michael said.
Especially if they lie in their rooms all day smoking dope, Roger thought, but he said nothing.