Speak Softly, She Can Hear

by Pam Lewis

  “No,” Carole said, but Pepper was already out of the truck and headed up to see the dog.

  “Hey, you,” Naomi said sharply. “Leave the dog alone.”

  As they got out of the truck and stood in the glaring artificial light, Naomi looked each one of them up and down. Carole knew exactly what would be going through Naomi’s mind, the way she would take in every detail. The safety pins in their clothing, the way their boots were mended with duct tape. Rachel’s bells, the tattered baby carrier for Dylan. Everybody would reek of failure in Naomi’s eyes. As they followed her to the house, Rachel whispered again to Carole that she was sorry, but she was looking at the house in amazement, at the light pouring out, the brilliance of white inside. “You still know people like this?” she asked.

  “Five minutes,” Carole said. “And we’re out of here.” She walked with the others toward the house, walking into hell in a way, in shock that this was actually happening, this house, the voices around her, and her own peculiar willingness to keep on going, as if her body had to imitate the others because she couldn’t think at all.

  In the kitchen Naomi pulled items out of her cupboards. Jars of nuts. Six-packs of soda, a tube of anchovy paste. She had a bottle of scotch in one hand, clutching it so tightly her knuckles were white. “This calls for a celebration,” she said. “Put your jackets anywhere. The closets aren’t done yet.” She was watching them closely, looking at the jackets, mittens, and scarves they dropped on chairs in the living room. There was a pair of men’s shoes next to the back door. Carole wondered if the boyfriend was in the house somewhere. Arthur. That was his name.

  Naomi noticed her looking at the shoes and dropped one of the parkas on them. “So who are these people?”

  “These are my friends,” Carole said, aware as she said it of her emphasis on “these,” as if to say, and you’re not. “Will Burbank. Rachel, Morgan, Pepper, and Dylan Weaver-Lear.”

  But it was lost on Naomi. She’d obviously been drinking before they arrived. She went from one to the next, extending her small glamorous hand tipped with its little red nails to each, even to the baby. Then she went back to Morgan. She stood close, looking up at him. “You do the honors, okay?” She held out the bottle of scotch to him.

  Morgan took the bottle from her. “Sure,” he said. “Glad to.”

  “Cheers,” Naomi said, handing them each a glass. “You’re the first real people I’ve seen. Other than workmen.” She gestured around the house.

  “Workmen are people,” Carole said, knowing it sounded petulant.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Morgan’s a workman.”

  “Oh?” Naomi said. “As in?”

  “Carpenter,” Morgan said. He was uncomfortable, rearranging himself over and over.

  “But I’m looking for a good carpenter,” Naomi said.

  “You wouldn’t like me.” Morgan cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is, my work is different. It wouldn’t fit in here.” He was being diplomatic.

  “Well, sure it would.” Naomi must have thought Morgan was being shy and all she needed to do was coax him out.

  “Morgan’s work is museum quality,” Carole said. “Fine and painstaking. You’d get impatient.”

  Will grinned at her.

  “Whatever.” Naomi took another sip of her drink and tossed her hair. Something in the gesture caused Carole to look from Naomi to Rachel. Somewhere along the line Rachel had undone that funny hairdo, and now her black hair, shot with early gray, covered her shoulders. It surprised Carole to see the two of them side by side. Rachel was taller and larger than Naomi, her features rounded and soft, and yet Naomi was the one who took up space. She was all tight nerves, always in motion. When they’d been girls, Naomi had discovered that she could stay thin by eating what she wanted and then sticking a finger down her throat. Carole wouldn’t be surprised if she still did that.

  Naomi latched on to Will’s elbow, digging her nails into the fabric of his jacket. “Let me show you around.”

  “Carole wants to get going,” he said.

  “She said five minutes,” Naomi said. “I heard.” She checked her watch. “We’ve still got time.” She turned her back and started running on to Will about how she wanted lots of light, needed lots of light, but look around up here and all you see is houses with little windows. “Like pissholes in the snow, if you ask me.”

  “You’re losing a ton of heat through that glass,” Carole said. “It’s getting sucked out, and it’s going to cost you a fortune in oil. Light too. You might consider some thermal window coverings. Vermonters know this stuff.”

  “Money isn’t exactly something I worry about,” Naomi said. “But I’ll keep your advice in mind.” She winked at Will, then turned and headed for the stairs. “I want the whole thing in white.” She spoke almost intimately to Will as she guided him, leaning on his arm. “Glossy. Walls, woodwork, everything. I like it bright, you know? What I really want,” she told him, leaning over closer, confidentially, “is for it to look like a loft in SoHo. That way, if I never look outside I can pretend I live in New York. Maybe get a tape of street sounds. Hey, there’s an idea.” She walked over to the telephone, picked it up, and dialed a number. A minute later, she was talking to someone named Zoë. “Just lean out the window with your recorder and send me the tape.” She winked at Carole. “Say hello to Will.” She handed the receiver over. “Her name is Zoë. She’s a trip.”

  Will handed it back.

  “He’s got a case of the quiets,” Naomi said into the phone. “I’ve gotta run. I’ve got a houseful, and they’re all staring at me like I’ve flipped.” She made a yakkety-yak sign with her hand to indicate that Zoë was still talking. When she hung up, she said, “What a brainstorm that was. Taxis honking. People swearing. You know. Life.”

  “Why did you move here if you like New York so much?” Rachel had a wide-eyed smile plastered on.

  Naomi pointed at Carole. “Yours truly,” she said. “My bosom buddy in high school. We were absolutely wild in those days. Little Miss Good Citizen and I used to shoplift.”

  “Naomi!”

  “Really?” Pepper was staring up at her.

  “Lamston’s five-and-ten,” Naomi said.

  “We’ve got to go,” Carole said.

  Naomi checked her watch. “Two more minutes.” She spun around and headed to the second floor. After a moment, Morgan went up behind her. He turned at the stairs to shrug at Carole. “I’ve got to see this,” he half-whispered. “She’s making a mess of it.” The others followed, even Carole, encouraged now that she knew the spirit in which they were all going along with this. Naomi had had the whole upstairs gutted so it was just a huge open space, all newly Sheetrocked, with shiny hardwood floors. The bunch of them stood in awe, looking around. Even the bathroom was exposed. The tub, the toilet, the sink in one corner, but raised on a platform. There was a razor and a can of shaving cream on the sink. Where had the boyfriend gone?

  “Not much privacy there,” Morgan said. In the center was a large round unmade bed, and on the ceiling was a mirror.

  “It’s like a bowling alley,” Pepper said.

  Carole put the baby down, and he ran across the floor in delight, his loud happy cries echoing in the large room. “And a bitch to heat,” she said.

  “We’ve already had that conversation.” Naomi looked from Will to Morgan as though sure she had their agreement.

  “Cha’s right,” Will said. “These old houses had registers in all the rooms. You could direct the heat to places where you needed it most and not heat everything.”

  So there, Carole thought.

  “What did you call her?”

  Will smiled. “Cha,” he said. “Sometimes I just like to call her Cha.”

  “Like an alias?” Naomi cocked her head coyly. “Are you in hiding or something?”

  “You found her, didn’t you?” Rachel said.

  “But that place of yours. Chacha’s. It’s so, I don’t know,
Spanish.”

  “How did you find her?” Rachel asked.

  “Easy,” Naomi said. She backed away and gestured around. “So this is it. This is my house. You like?” She spun around but toppled slightly and was caught by Morgan. “Oops. Damn shoes.” She took them off and threw them, and they clattered across the polished floor. No one answered the question.

  Naomi went slowly down the stairs, her glittering nails cutting the air, the gold bracelets tinkling as she talked on and on about the house and more plans she had for it. A new room off the kitchen. A garage. She complained about the road to her house, what a mess it was to drive, how they never even came up there with the snowplow. Morgan said it wasn’t a town road, but Naomi cut him off. “Of course it’s a town road. It’s a road, and it’s in the town, isn’t it?” And Morgan gave up with a laugh, as if her ignorance was more charming than maddening.

  As a girl, Carole had been the pathetic one—tall, gauche, and brainy in a way that soured people on her. She’d envied Naomi back then. Naomi had always been so sure of herself, for one thing, and she had flirted her way through everything. “I sat out the sixties,” she was saying to Will, and then laughed, an oddly husky laugh for her little frame. “Well, the political part, not the sexual revolution. I was right in there with that, oh, yes.” She didn’t understand that it would cut no ice with Will, who had done just the opposite, ridden out the hedonistic part but not the political part. And then she guided the conversation back to all the money she had, oh me oh my, how she just kept on inheriting from one distant relative after another. “And it’ll keep on going,” she said, eyes wide, as if it were an affliction. “There are still some aunts to go and an eccentric old cousin who thinks I walk on water.”

  Time to get the ball rolling. Time for everybody to clear out, but Naomi segued into talking of a party she wanted to have. “I’ve wanted to entertain of course, in here. That’s the point of all this space. And all of you people, well, you’re invited. Hell, you’d be the guests of honor, being Carole’s friends and all. How about in three weeks? Yes! That’s enough time to order the stuff and get out some invites.” She ran on about it, and nobody said anything until she was all done, until she said, “And of course the kids.”

  All along, Pepper had been standing beside her, looking up, taking in every detail of her. “I’ll bet she’d like the night ski,” he said to the others, and Naomi laughed a shrill, tinkly laugh.

  “Oh, no,” Carole said. “She wouldn’t like it.”

  “Why I’d love it, sweetheart,” Naomi said. “Whatever it is.”

  Will cleared his throat. He explained that she probably wouldn’t want to come. It was long and cold. Really cold. They often skied all night except for building a campfire if the weather permitted and later having something to eat at the cabin. You had to be really fit. Anybody else would have understood that the invitation was being withdrawn.

  “If Carole can do it, I can do it.”

  “She’s experienced,” Will said.

  “And I’m a quick study,” Naomi said. “I’ve got all the stuff. I got it down at the sports store. The skis, the boots, the poles, even snowshoes. Just tell me when.”

  “Really, Nay. Listen to Will.” This whole discussion mustn’t go any further.

  “February 28,” Pepper said. “Right?” He looked at Morgan, who shrugged.

  “No,” Carole said.

  “Well, that’s settled. Now how about something to eat?” Naomi said. “I’ll bet I’ve got something.” Naomi lurched into the kitchen and started to rummage around. She held up the things she’d taken out earlier. “Oh, God, look. I never offered you this stuff. Well, have some now.”

  “We’re leaving,” Carole said.

  “We already ate,” Rachel said by way of explanation, or maybe apology.

  “Thanks anyway,” Will said.

  Carole was putting on her parka, and Naomi was suddenly at her side, close, whispering. “It’s that thing about that woman, isn’t it? Back in Stowe?” Naomi’s head quivered more than shook. She was so wired.

  “Keep your voice down,” Carole said, looking to see if anyone had heard, but they hadn’t. Will, Pepper, and Morgan must have already gone outside. Rachel was still fussing with Dylan’s jacket by the door and out of earshot.

  “My lips are sealed, Carole. They always have been. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

  “I wish you’d just stay away,” Carole said. “Just leave me alone.”

  “May I remind you,” Naomi said, pulling herself up to her full height, “that you’re the one who came to me. You’re the one who dropped in on me, and not vice versa. You and all those friends of yours.”

  The trouble was, it was true. “We were just going to drive by, that’s all. I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.”

  Naomi looked up, her eyes narrowed in defiance. “Well, here I am,” she said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Naomi greeted them at the door wearing a white caftan and a gold turban wrapped around her head. She had long multicolored earrings that brushed her shoulders and tinkled lightly. Her shoulders were dusted with sequins, like the ones that had fallen out of the invitation when Carole opened it. Leave it to Naomi to make you have to run the vacuum cleaner after opening the mail. She’d fumed as she cleaned up. Will had watched her from the couch and said for the hundredth time that they didn’t have to go to the party. It wasn’t a command performance or anything, and why didn’t Carole just call her up, say no, and be done with it? For somebody who never wanted to see this woman again, going to her party was a peculiar thing.

  But by this time, Naomi had become a magnet, and Carole didn’t dare stay away. It was better to go than to sit at home and wonder who was there and what Naomi was saying about her, because she had no doubt Naomi would talk up the fact that they’d known each other a hundred years ago and no doubt lace their story with lies or, worse, the truth. Better to go and see for herself and at least cut Naomi off at the pass if she started blabbing when she got drunk, which she would. And besides, Rachel had come in to Chacha’s and hinted around pretty broadly that they all wanted to go because of the food and because, as she put it, “God, Carole, it’s just so bizarre. She’s so bizarre.”

  As usual Naomi had way too many clothes on her small form. She threw her arms around Will, gave him a kiss on the mouth, then pulled Carole toward herself, grabbed both their hands, and guided them into the room, hanging on for dear life as she pushed through the crowd. The room had that cocktail-party sound, a rumble of voices so loud that Carole could barely hear when Naomi introduced her and Will to people they already knew.

  Since that last time, Naomi had done things to the living room, smothered it in fabric. Whatever happened to “I want everything in white”? Carole wondered. The living room ceiling had a big blue button in the middle with pleated fabric spiraling out to the four walls, like being inside a big cushion. It resembled the apartment Naomi had lived in as a girl, which had seemed at the time like a pastel fairyland. And she remembered New Year’s Day of her junior year, a nasty wet day just like this one, when Naomi had called her. “You’ve got to see this,” Naomi had rasped into the phone. “Get over here, only don’t ring the bell.”

  Carole had left a note so her parents would know where she was. She’d walked up Lex to Eighty-fourth and then over to Park. When she got off the elevator, Naomi had hustled her into the apartment. She was wearing some outrageous costume that made her look like a Guatemalan doll—a peasant blouse, too big for her, pulled down at the shoulders, and a flouncy turquoise skirt. Naomi always swam in her clothes, even then. The sleeves were always too long, the shoulder seams drooped. She had her hair all piled up on her head and wore thick makeup. “I got bored,” she’d said about the makeup, pulling Carole into the apartment and shoving her down the hall like a trained bear. And then the first shock, the huge wet liquor stains all over those lily-white walls, the very walls Elayne had had painted umpteen times to get exactly the right
shade of white, idiotic as that had seemed at the time. And in so many colors. Brown, maroon, yellow. Naomi giggled and danced in her spike-heeled shoes as she went from one stain to the next. She picked up a half-full glass from the side table and flung it at the wall. “Cointreau.”

  “What have you done?” Carole asked.

  “Not me, stupid,” Naomi said. “Them!” She indicated the hall where her father and Elayne’s bedroom was.

  The place reeked. It stank to high heaven. But that was nothing compared to the living room. That beautiful pastel room was now a shambles, the furniture overturned, all the powder-blue taffeta cut to ribbons. Naomi’s eyes glistened. She was wired, proud of being able to show off the ravages of her family life.

  Naomi picked up a scissors that one of them must have thrown on the floor and began snapping it open and shut. Carole could recall its steely sound in the quiet apartment. Naomi looked around and then punched the scissors into the couch.

  “Don’t,” Carole said.

  Naomi snipped out a circle of the blue taffeta and stuck it in her hair like a flower. She pointed to a fireplace poker in a corner. “You can use that.”

  Carole picked it up and watched as Naomi cut into a chair that her father and Elayne had missed. “Don’t just stand there!” she said. “Wreck something.”

  Carole rested the tip of the poker on the plump pink fabric of a chair, staring at the ugly charred metal and the dent it made. With very little force, she nudged the poker so it split the fabric. White batting pushed through the hole. She did it again a few inches away. “Way to go,” Naomi said. She handed Carole a tumbler and filled it with some green liquor and told her to throw it. Carole remembered how she’d stood there with the glass in her hand, not wanting to and then doing it anyway. She remembered the green hitting the wall and dripping down, how Naomi laughed.

  “They’ll never know it was us.” Naomi tugged at one of the curtains. The bracket pulled out a patch of plaster, then the whole rod fell, burying Naomi in fabric. She fought her way out of it, laughing and swearing. “They’ll think it was them. We could torch the place, and they wouldn’t care.” With that Naomi smashed something else made of glass against the wall. She was still wrecking the apartment when Carole let herself out a few minutes later. The next day in school, Naomi said her father and Elayne had gotten up at dinnertime and gone out. Not a word about the mess. While they were gone, Naomi had done some damage to their bedroom. She figured it would be cleaned up by the time she got home that afternoon, and Elayne would be out buying more furniture.