by Harry Mazer
‘I’ve been working at Sadie’s and I’m still painting the house. And last night I was up all night developing pictures of my parents’ thirty-fifth anniversary.’
‘Then you’re tired …’
‘Not anymore.’
They walked. They talked. He didn’t notice where they went or what he said or even what she said. It didn’t matter. She’d called him. She wanted him around.
After that he was over at the Belcos’ every chance he had. No more Oh, hi’s. She was waiting for him and off they’d go, walking, or to the park, or to the Mall. Sometimes he admitted to himself that she needed someone to talk to and there he was, convenient as a backscratcher. He still didn’t know where he stood with her, but it was another place. Another country.
Before, they’d been like two uneasy countries, wary and stiff with each other, all boundaries and border crossings closely guarded. But now there was this miraculous thaw, the ice had melted, the borders were open. Diplomatic talks were going on about areas of mutual interest.
What did she have for breakfast, he wanted to know. ‘I eat a substantial breakfast,’ he said.
‘Not me. I never eat breakfast, maybe some juice. Mostly nothing. I don’t get hungry till lunchtime.’
‘You can miss lunch, but breakfast is basic.’
She laughed at him. ‘Yes, comrade.’
‘Why comrade? Because I’m Russian?’
‘No, because you’ve got a plan for everything.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘I wish I did.’
‘Morning is my best time for thinking,’ he said.
‘In the morning I don’t think about anything.’
‘That’s because you don’t eat a substantial breakfast.’
They argued a lot. He liked to get her going and she liked to disagree. ‘Think of it, Mary, we have so much to say to each other.’
‘Like what?’
His mind leaped to a long agenda of questions he had mulled over, but was she ready to talk about everything? Such as, did she like a hard bed or a soft bed? He leaned toward the hard, but knowing her she was probably just the opposite. What about nightclothes? He was ready to give up sleeping in his underwear. Didn’t she think naked was best?
‘Showering,’ he said tactfully. ‘How do you feel about sharing a bathroom?’
‘With whom?’
‘With your roommate.’
‘Oh, Hannah’s fine.’
That wasn’t exactly what he meant.
‘Sleeping,’ he said. ‘What about sleeping?’
‘Sharing again?’
‘Ummm …’
‘Ummm, what?’
‘Ummm means I’d like to.’
‘Don’t get any ideas.’
But that was the trouble – all he had was ideas.
Still, talk was progress. Talk filled in the spaces, the gaps, the silences, coloured in the outlines of the picture. They were finding out about each other.
Sometimes, though, there were things he wished she wouldn’t tell him – even though he wanted to hear them. Like how hot it was in her attic room and how she’d stood in the shower so long, Mrs. Belco had yelled at her. ‘It’s the hottest part of the house, I wish she wouldn’t forget that. But she complains because I’m running two fans. Well, poor Hannah! She’s got a heat rash. I have to leave her on the sheet with nothing on.’
Nothing on … nothing on … nothing on. He got stuck there. It was like a radio jingle. Why was she telling him that stuff? Because she was relaxed with him. Because they were friends. Because she trusted him. But oh, his lascivious imagination!
He was crazy. He knew he was crazy. It was hormones, but knowing it didn’t help.
Sometimes, walking around or crossing streets or in doorways, they bumped into each other. He loved bumping. One of life’s unexamined pleasures. There were shoulder bumpers and hip bumpers and rear bumpers, too. Did he bump into her or did she bump into him? Did it matter? What did she feel about bumping? It was a subject he never brought up with her, but he knew she liked it, too. She wasn’t complaining, was she? Or disappearing, or trying to get away from him. Was she bumping back? Mutual bumping was the best kind of bumping.
‘Hi, it’s me again.’
‘Hi! I’ve been waiting for you.’ Mary was outside, holding Hannah in one arm and wrestling the stroller down the stairs.
‘Let me,’ he said manfully, grabbing the stroller and jumping the five porch steps. He came down on the side of his foot and turned his ankle. ‘Ouch!’
‘Serves you right – what’d you grab the stroller for?’
He hopped around. ‘I wanted to help.’
‘Orloff’s friendly service. Next time, wait till I ask.’
‘How about a little sympathy?’
She rubbed his shoulder, her hand lingering. ‘Better?’
‘Very good.’ He had an instant, unauthorized, illegal reaction. ‘More?’
‘Enough.’ She put Hannah in the stroller. ‘I’m going to the market. Are you coming with me?’
‘What’s your guess?’
‘You’re coming.’
It was dry and hot, midday, their bodies cast no shadows. A passing bus raised a cloud of dust. ‘Hannah’s father,’ he asked in a casual tone, ‘what was he like?’
‘What brought that subject up?’
‘Nosy.’ He pushed his nose self-consciously, his busted beak. ‘You heard of Pike’s Peak? This is Orloff’s.’
‘I like your nose better than mine.’
He dismissed his nose with a wave of his arm. Brushed across it so hard his eyes smarted.
‘You hit yourself,’ she said. ‘And you’re bleeding. I don’t believe this. First your ankle, now your nose. Lie down before you bleed all over yourself.’
He looked around. ‘Here? On the sidewalk?’
‘You want to stop that nosebleed? Put your head way back,’ she said professionally. ‘I used to get nosebleeds all the time when I was little.’ She knelt over him. ‘Pinch it.’
‘You know so much,’ he said admiringly.
‘You worry me. Are you always such a klutz?’
He looked up at her. Doctor Silver, slightly sweaty. Heartshaped angel face. It would have been so easy to embrace her, here on the sidewalk with people walking around them. ‘Say it again, what did you call me?’
‘Klutz. As in he who falls over his own feet.’
‘That’s what I thought you said.’
She touched his nose. Oh, that touch, those warm, careful fingers, those eyes, that little furrow of tender concern. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘A little. You’d make a wonderful doctor.’ Mary peering up his nose. ‘Isn’t this romantic?’
He waited with Hannah in a patch of shade outside the market while Mary went in for some crackers and a candy bar. His ankle ached a little, but his nose felt all right. When Mary came out, he suggested they take the bus and ride over to Thornden Park. ‘It’s going to be a lot cooler over there.’
On the bus, the three of them shared the chocolate bar. Hannah took her whole piece in her mouth. ‘No,’ Mary said and tried to get it out of Hannah’s mouth. Even though he’d sworn off sweets, Jeff couldn’t resist the chocolate because Mary had given it to him.
‘So what’s his first name?’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘You know.’
‘I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Why not? Is it a beautiful name like Orloff?’
‘If I told you, you’d know his mother.’
‘Is she famous?’
‘I’m not telling you.’
‘Is she an actress?’
‘I’m not telling you.’
‘What is there, only one actress in the world?’
‘His name is Paul.’
He felt the chocolate’s sweetness drip in the back of his throat. Too sweet. ‘Is he smart? Good looking?’ Innocent questions, but in his heart all he wanted to hear was bad news.
‘Paul,
good looking? He thought so. Hannah, sit still, you’re kicking me. We’re almost there.’ Then, ‘Paul loved taking care of himself, staying in shape.’
‘In love with himself.’
‘Not really. I wouldn’t say that. Well – I suppose so – maybe a little, but who isn’t?’
Jeff’s heart sank. She was defending him, still interested. He heard it in the intensity that came into her voice. ‘You two – it must have been heavy duty.’
‘Heavy duty! I hate that expression.’
‘I mean, were the two of you … was it …’ Hannah stood and grabbed at his face.
Mary pulled her back. ‘Stop it now.’
Why didn’t he say what he meant? ‘You and Paul – was it the real thing?’
‘Let’s drop it. It’s not exactly my favourite subject.’ But a moment later she came back to it. ‘Paul was all right. He tried to help me.’
‘Yes, I’m impressed. He let you have the baby alone.’
‘What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t have it for me.’ The bus stopped and they watched a couple of women get on. ‘He didn’t want me to have the baby,’ Mary said. ‘So why would I want him around? He didn’t want to be there, and I didn’t want him there.’
‘Didn’t he want to marry you?’
‘What do you mean?’ The look she gave him – lightning bolts from under her brows. ‘Jeff, where are you coming from? Marriage, who’s talking about marriage? It’s bad enough the way things happened, but marriage! I didn’t want to marry him. I would never have married him.’
15
They hopped off the bus above the campus, near the entrance to Thornden Park. It was blazing in the sun. The tennis courts and swings were nearly empty; everyone was under the trees or by the pool. They settled down on the hillside overlooking the swimmers. Kids were jumping and diving into the water. There were other couples around with little kids. Did he and Mary and Hannah look like they belonged together? The Family – he framed them in the camera’s eye. Mother, Father, Child. Mother and Father observing Child, who is now halfway down the hill. Mother pursues Child and brings her back under protest. Father distracts Child with finger play.
Had it just been Mary and him, they could have been anything – sister and brother, cousins, friends – but with Hannah they were The Family.
Where would they live? They’d have to move out of the Belcos’. Get an apartment of their own. They’d live here, near the campus, and on hot days like this they’d come to the park. They wouldn’t have a lot of junk in the apartment. They’d each bring their own mattresses, and there’d be Hannah’s stuff. And a big refrigerator divided down the middle because they liked to eat different things. They’d eat on the floor. No, that would gross Mary out. Wooden boxes for a table and chairs: Lots of boxes at Sadie’s, and she’d never miss a couple of forks and spoons. He was sure she’d let him have all the cracked dishes they needed. She was always telling him to throw away any chipped mugs he found.
‘What are you looking so pleased about?’ Mary said, tickling his arm with a blade of grass.
‘I was furnishing an apartment.’
She looked interested. ‘You’re moving out?’
‘I might. Would you like to share a place?’
‘Maybe I’ll be looking sooner than you. That room is impossible. I don’t think I can go through the whole summer up there. And Mrs. Belco –’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
Mary laughed and took a wad of dirt out of Hannah’s mouth. ‘Oh, her – she’s all right, I guess. She means well. People who give advice always mean well, but it’s not always easy to take.’
Later, Mary bought hot dogs, soda and popcorn at a stand and fed Hannah little pieces of hers.
‘You feed her much of that stuff?’ he said. ‘Fried foods, processed meat, bologna – all that junk is full of chemicals.’
‘You’re eating it.’
‘Just being sociable.’
Mary wiped mustard off Hannah’s mouth. ‘Do you have something to say about everything? I’ll tell you right now, Jeff, I like cream-filled cakes, jellies with whipped toppings, and any kind of homemade pie, with maple walnut ice cream. Whenever I get the urge, I have something sweet.’
‘I do too,’ he admitted, ‘but then I do penance. After today, it’s going to be shredded wheat for breakfast all week.’
‘I’d rather eat Brillo.’
On the way back to the bus, they went into Waverly Hall and wandered through the cool, nearly empty corridors. Looking past a folded-back wall, they discovered klieg lights overhead and an empty stage, chairs knocked this way and that as if the actors had just been there but had fled when they appeared. Mary hung back, but Jeff hopped up on the stage.
‘On the stage, cast!’ He clapped his hands. ‘Mary, put that child down. It’s improvisation time. I want you to make believe you’re walking down the street and I’m following you.’
‘Come on, Jeff, let’s go.’
‘We’re improvising. You don’t know me, and I’m making some moves toward you.’
‘Jeff –’
‘Mary, come on. I remember you used to love improv time in high school.’
‘That was then. This is now. I’m through with all that.’
‘Come on, Mary, just play along.’
‘Jeff, maybe if you could act. Is that supposed to be a lecherous look?’
‘Pretend you don’t know the way.’
‘Do you know the way?’
‘Do I know the way!’
‘That’s what I just said.’
‘I know the way. What way do you want to know, baby?’
‘Do I know the way, baby!’ Mary held her sides laughing, and then Hannah started laughing and shrieking.
‘Cut! I’m the director, but if you’re going to laugh at everything I say, farewell!’ He stepped off the stage and came down on his sore ankle.
‘Awww!’ Mary said sympathetically.
He held himself upright on the back of a chair. ‘Pain, pain … Mary, have you really given up acting?’
She sat down next to him. ‘Seriously? I can’t think about it now. I have to think about Hannah. I have to be realistic.’
‘Realistic.’ He spat out the word. That was parent talk. Be realistic, be sensible, down to earth, find a solid, well-paid profession. Realistic! A conniving word. ‘What’s wrong with flying? What’s wrong with dreaming a little? What’s wrong with Mary Silver, leading lady?’
‘It sounds like a soap opera to me.’ Mary stood up, straightened her jeans, and paced across the stage. Suddenly she was the leading lady. With a large, grand motion she swept up an imaginary gown.
Then in an instant she switched, going slack and loose, squatting down, knees wide. ‘Hey, man. Hey, man, give me a drink.’
It was good. Jeff applauded.
Mary threw him a kiss. The leading lady was back. Then she sat down again with Hannah between her legs.
‘That was great,’ he said.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s just amateur stuff. There are so many talented people around, and they’re all working hard, getting better. What’s my so-called talent worth? You can have all the talent in the world, but if you’re not out there doing it … By the time I get back to acting, I’m going to be so far behind I’ll never catch up.’
It drove him crazy listening to her. ‘If you want to be an actress, you will be an actress. Helen Hayes was five feet tall, too short they told her, but that didn’t stop her. She said she made up her mind she. was going to act, no matter what. She acted tall and she got the part of Mary Stuart, the tallest queen in history. Six feet tall.’
‘I’m not Helen Hayes.’
‘No, you’re Mary Silver, and you – you, Mary Silver – can be anything you want. I’m talking about the future. I’m talking about aspirations. I’m talking about thinking big.’
‘Think big for yourself. I don’t understand you. What difference does it make to you what I do?�
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He didn’t even know himself. All he knew was he had doubts about himself, but none about Mary. He talked big, but what was he but a dreamer who veered between belief in his talent and disbelief. He was on a seesaw. It was only with Mary that he had a long, steady view. She was talented. She could succeed. Somehow, believing in her made it possible for him to believe in himself.
On the way out of the building, Mary stopped to read the bulletin board. ‘Here, Jeff, did you see this?’ She pointed to a notice. ‘This is for you. Look who’s coming here. Francis McLaren – isn’t he one of your famous directors?’
‘Francis McLaren?’ Jeff read the notice. The Friends of the Cinema were doing a Francis McLaren retrospective at the Everson Museum, and McLaren himself was going to be there to answer questions. ‘This is fantastic. He must by eighty-five by now. Still making movies, too.’
His eye caught another notice. SARANAC LAKE ACTING WORKSHOP. ‘Hey, Mary! Wait, here’s something for you. Listen to this. “Four-day acting workshop,”’ he read. ‘“Work intensively with Broadway professionals.” What do you say, Mary? You go up there, those professionals see you, you’re going to be discovered.’
‘Come on, Jeff. Don’t start again.’
‘It’s fate,’ he insisted. ‘You saw something for me, then I saw something for you. You’re getting a message from the stars, excuse the pun.’
Hannah started beating her heels against the stroller rail. ‘The only message I’m getting,’ Mary said, ‘is that Hannah’s tired. We better go.’
‘Wait a minute, Mary, I mean it. This is perfect. We were just talking about opportunity, and here it is. You feel out of it? Everyone’s getting ahead of you? Well, here’s your chance to catch up.’
‘You don’t make up a year in four days.’
‘Four days could change your life. When they see what talent you have and you get a little encouragement –’
‘What am I going to do with encouragement? Play Lady Macbeth for Hannah?’
‘Oh, are you negative.’
‘Realistic.’
‘That word again. It makes me crawl.’
‘Jeff, come on. I can’t do this.’
‘You can.’
‘Think about me, Jeff. This is Mary. Mother Mary. They don’t want actors with babies.’