by Harry Mazer
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Oh, Jeff, what am I going to do with you?’
He studied the notice. ‘You’ve still got ten days to apply.’
‘Ten days or ten years, I still can’t do it.’
‘Do you want to do it, or don’t you? That’s the question.’
‘Do I want to do it?’ She pushed her hands through her hair. ‘The truth? I’d love to do it. To act, to feel that I was learning. To be in that world again.’
‘So you admit it!’
She leaned against the wall and took a deep agonized breath. ‘Why are you doing this to me, Jeff? Do you know how hard this is for me? I’ve had to give up things … Sure, I want it. That’s the trouble, I’ve never stopped wanting. But I told you, I can’t think about it.’
‘I’d drive you there. Saranac Lake isn’t that far.’
‘Drive me? You don’t have a car.’
She was being realistic again. ‘There are no problems, Mary. The only problem is in your head. Say yes and I’ll have a car.’ He was intoxicated by the power of his own words. ‘If I have to, I’ll buy a car.’
‘Sir Walter Jeff. Your magic cape is showing.’ She pushed the doors open. ‘Let’s go, Walter.’
He tore the notice down and caught her between the double doors. ‘You want me to call these people for you?’
Her lips tightened. She looked angry, and then she started to smile, her eyes darting across his face. ‘You never give up, do you?’ Eyes full of doubt and excitement. She took the notice. ‘If I do anything, I’ll do it myself.’
She leaned against the outside door. They were pressed together between the doors, on their way out, between the inner door and the outer door, not in, not out. More than friends, but not that much more. Close, but not that close. He leaned toward her. Her lips were where his lips were. He was aware of her breath and the faint smell of mustard and of Hannah burbling and dust in the air and his elbow jammed against the door.
‘Good grief,’ she said, pushing the door open, ‘that was nice.’
16
‘Mary?’ Jeff stood at the top of the attic stairs and announced himself. ‘Hey, Mary, it’s me.’ It was after supper. Her door was open.
‘Wait a minute.’
He heard her moving around inside. A moment later, she came to the door. She was barefoot, wearing a white shift. ‘Come on in.’
He took a step into her room and the baby smells hit him. Ammonia, baby powder, baby puke. Was romance really possible?
Her room was stifling. On the floor, two fans whirred. He was too big for the room, out of proportion. ‘This room is like a sardine can.’
Mary set Hannah on the floor. ‘I told you. The heat collects all day.’ She towelled the film of sweat from her forehead. The baby was wearing just a little nappy. Mary stood her up. ‘Watch this.’ Hannah shuffled her feet excitedly, and with Mary holding her hands, she wobbled toward Jeff. ‘Isn’t that exciting? She’s beginning to walk.’
He knelt down. ‘See if she’ll come to me. Come on, Hannah,’ he urged. ‘Let go of her hands, Mary.’ Hannah started toward him, took a step, then went down. Mary picked her up and kissed her.
He walked around the room, holding his breath. He wanted Mary, but Hannah came with the package. Why couldn’t he just have Mary? He loved her. Was it love? Oh, this was deadly. He couldn’t think. He wanted Mary. He wanted her! He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
‘Want to do something?’ he said.
They went down to the lake and followed the curving path near the plum trees. The sun had set, but it was still light. Hannah slept in the stroller.
‘Did you call them?’ he asked.
‘I’m not thinking about it,’ she said.
‘Then how come you know what I’m talking about?’
‘Pretty hard not to! That’s all you talked about the other day.’
‘Okay, today we talk about other things. We’ll talk about –’
‘What?’
Us, he thought. There was a breeze from the lake, and he kept noticing dim, secluded spots where they could stop and relax and maybe take their clothes off.
‘Do you want to sit down? That looks like a good place,’ the hypocrite said, pointing to where bushes would hide them from the path.
They found a grassy spot, and Mary set the brake on the stroller and sat back, leaning on her elbows. ‘It’s quiet here, cool … I can breathe … I’m so glad to be out of there.’ She kicked off her sandals. ‘Well, what are we talking about, Professor?’
‘Nature. Man and nature. Man, woman and nature.’ The hypocrite pointed to the lake, to the clouds, to the chimneys on the other side outlined against the yellow sky. The every-friendly parkway guide. Pointing out the important landmarks: the makeshift walls of the French Fort, the pond and the little bridge over it. ‘That’s where we used to fish … and there’s where we picked wild plums and apples.’ He pointed, he moved his arm, he knelt down next to her. The Guide. The Professor of Fruit and Passion. She’d pulled the shift up over her knees. He drew a leaf of grass lightly over her bare leg. He leaned toward her. Kiss? Was she in the mood? He had the need to touch her, to lie down next to her and put his arms around her and press himself against her.
He admired the rings she was wearing, raising her hands so the stones caught the light. She let him hold her hand, but when he let go, she let go. It was depressing. Where was the counterpressure? The enthusiasm? He hadn’t stopped thinking about that kiss. Good grief! That was nice. Well, it could be a whole lot nicer.
I’m on my knees next to you. In a prayerful position. I bow down to you. I am wild for you. My heart and my prick, I offer them both to you. I worship your knees. I want you to raise your shift, pull it over your head. Are you wearing anything underneath? We’re alone (except for the baby). I kick off my sneakers for you. My feet are bare for you. Look how I wiggle my toes invitingly. Don’t you think I’m sexy? If you take off your clothes, I’ll take off mine.
She was looking up at the sky, lying with her arms back, the flat circles of her breasts tight against the cloth. The breeze and the lights of cars moved through the bushes.
Why was she waiting for him to make the first move? Where was the liberated woman? He was trembling, filled with desire and doubt. He wanted her. How had he waited this long? He’d been fantastically patient. Enough!
She turned toward him with a pleasant expression. ‘It’s really nice here.’
He moved closer.
‘Don’t you love that sky, Jeff? Look, there’s the first star.’
He was looking at her arm, the curved line of her throat, the awkward thrust of her shoulders. ‘I love you,’ he said.
She skipped a beat. ‘Come on, Jeff, what do you know about love?’
‘As much as you do. I say I love you – or whatever you call it.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve got another name for it.’
He bent forward, committed, and put his hands over her breasts.
Her head came up and banged him in the nose. What a hard, bony head she had. His poor nose! The blow took the passion right out of him. It made him furious. He wanted to rap her back. And then his nose started to bleed.
She was up on her knees now. ‘Your stupid nose is bleeding again!’
‘Do you want me to lie down?’ He lay down.
‘I don’t know what I want. I think I’m mad. I am mad. I’m confused. Your nose is bleeding. What am I supposed to do? The only thing I know is I don’t want you crawling all over me.’
‘What’s the matter with me?’ he said.
‘You! You’re not six years old. Who invited you to put your hands on me?’
He sat up and tasted blood in his throat.
She pushed him down. ‘Stay right there. Don’t talk.’ She handed him a nappy. ‘Stuff that up your nose.’
She was definitely annoyed.
‘You had to try, didn’t you? Big macho male. You feel better now?’
He’d suff
ered a setback. He regrouped and tried another tack. ‘It’s not just me who wants this, is it?’
‘What do you mean? Who else is there? Have I been sending you that kind of signal? Did I indicate ever that I wanted … I hate this, it sounds like I’m anti-sex, and I’m not.’
‘Just anti me.’
‘No, that’s not true, Jeff. I’m not starting anything with you, or anybody else, either. I just can’t deal with that in my life right now.’
They started back, she silent and pushing the stroller along rapidly. He strode along beside her, quiet but cheerful. No hard feelings. No pouting. No resentment. He knew where she was coming from. She needed more time. He could live with that. ‘So we’re still friends,’ he said. ‘Friends, like in friends, friends, friends.’
‘I don’t know.’
He felt under his nose for blood. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You hate me temporarily.’
‘Oh, Jeff! Why can’t you stay on the level. Your friendship means a lot to me. I don’t want to lose that. But it’s got to be like you said. Friends, like in friends, friends, friends.’
‘Right.’
‘Can you handle it?’
‘I can,’ he said. ‘No problem. None.’
When they got back to the house, candles were flickering in the windows. The power had blown, and all the lights were out. Everybody was downstairs, but as soon as they saw Mary, they came rushing out.
‘We had to disconnect two fans in your room,’ Mrs. Belco cried, ‘and your stereo was on.’
‘What’s the fuss?’ Mary said. ‘What’d you do, blow a fuse?’
‘It could have been a fire. You’ve got too many appliances. I keep telling you. Those fans and that hair dryer. They’re all out of your room, now.’
‘You went into my room?’ Mary ran upstairs.
Mrs. Century stood in her doorway like a ghost. ‘Is everything all right? I just put on my television and everything turned off.’
‘Ever since that one moved in,’ Vet said, ‘we’ve been overloaded.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to straighten her out. She’s not going to burn my house down.’ Mrs. Belco, shielding a candle in her hand, led the way upstairs. ‘Mary?’ she called. ‘Mary. I want to talk to you.’
They all crowded into the attic stairs. Jeff tried to get ahead of them. He had a strange feeling that he had lived this moment before. The narrow stairs, the poor light, the screaming in the house … and upstairs she was waiting … It was a scene from a movie about the French Revolution. The mob had cornered the king and queen, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI, and was racing up the stairs to get them.
He heard Mary’s door open, and then on the landing above him he saw her bare feet. That sight – those long, narrow, vulnerable, defenceless feet – devastated him. Ever since the park, he’d been saying to himself, Friends, friends, friends. And now everything came flooding back, everything he’d felt from the beginning. Mary … Mary … Mary … Mary.
17
Jeff lay on his back in the dark and wondered what was going to be between Mary and him. Whatever had gone wrong in the park (had anything gone wrong?), it wasn’t his fault. He was just a normal, lusty, sexy, horny American male. What was she, un-American? Maybe he’d ask her, but not likely. Friends. He had to keep reminding himself. Friends …
When he went to see her, he ran, singing, I’m running to her, to my one true love … His heart sang. The running made him desire her more, and his prick sang. It was a duet. But when he was in sight of the house, he always slowed down and reminded himself – friends.
‘I’m going to look for another place to live,’ Mary said one day. ‘I’ve had it here. Will you help me look?’
‘No.’
Her face went wide with surprise. ‘You won’t?’
‘I’m teasing,’ he said hastily.
She handed him the newspaper with all the possibilities circled. ‘Don’t say anything about this to anyone yet. When I get a place, I’ll tell them. What my parents pay Mrs. Belco, they can pay someone else.’
The first place they went to was advertised as a spacious one-room apartment on ground level. The room turned out to be in a cellar with two small windows looking out at a bare, stony yard. Everything smelled damp and mildewed. ‘Cross that one off,’ Mary said.
The second place advertised the view. They never got to see it. The man took one look at Hannah and shook his head.
After that, there was something wrong with every place. Most were too sleazy or babies made the landlords uneasy or they were too expensive. Jeff stood in the background, frowning a lot, trying to look authoritative, but then, afraid he’d was hurting Mary’s chances, he smiled a lot, too.
It was getting really hot when they got to the last place, and they were both dragging. Hannah was fretful. ‘Last is best,’ Mary said. And it almost was. The house was on a quiet street with lots of trees and shade. A woman wearing shorts and a white T-shirt came to the door. When she saw Hannah, she beamed. ‘Poor thing. It’s so hot for her,’ and she ran back to get them some water.
‘I know how hard it is for young people today,’ she said when she returned. ‘Both my son and daughter are married, and they looked all over before they found anything. I only rent to couples with children. I feel –’
‘No,’ Mary interrupted. ‘It’s just me and Hannah. This is my friend.’
‘Where’s your husband?’
‘It’s just me and Hannah.’
Suddenly the woman remembered that she had promised to hold the apartment for someone else.
‘Blessed are the hypocrites, for they shall prosper,’ Jeff said, as they walked away.
They stopped at the House of Pancakes to use the bathrooms. Afterward they went to his house. It was cool in the back under the trees. Mary took off Hannah’s clothes and let her go on the grass. She sat bent forward, holding her hair over her head. He ran his finger down her backbone.
She raised her head and shook it wearily.
‘Okay,’ he said.
She stretched out on the grass. He sat nearby. She was asleep when his mother came home. ‘Who’s this?’ his mother said, leaning down to Hannah. ‘Yes … what a little beauty.’
Mary sat up, tucking in her shirt. ‘It was so hot I fell asleep.’ She picked up the baby. Her buttocks puckered against Mary’s arm.
‘Mum,’ Jeff said, ‘this is Mary Silver.’
Mary smiled. Jeff’s mother kept looking from Mary to him. He could see the wheels turning. Mary is your friend? A friend with a baby. You never mentioned her, Jeff.
Sorry, Mum, I didn’t want to give you a heart attack. No, Cut!… Sorry, Mum, I was going to introduce you … Cut! We only met today … Cut!
And Hannah’s father? Is he a friend of yours, too?
No, I never met him.
Just Mary?
Right, Mum. You got it.
‘Can I hold her?’ his mother asked Mary, who had dressed Hannah again. Hannah reached up her arms to be taken. ‘Oh, she’s so loving.’
‘She’s showing off for you, Mum.’
‘Showing off! What an idea!’ His mother hugged Hannah and kissed her neck. ‘This little girl is full of love.’ She sat down on the grass with Hannah and showed her the buttons on her dress, then made a little finger game for her.
‘She likes you,’ Mary said. ‘She doesn’t go to everybody that way.’
‘I’m flattered.’
He didn’t know quite how it happened, but his mother and Mary hit it off. They almost looked like sisters, both of them sitting there on the grass cross-legged and talking like old friends. ‘I couldn’t turn my back on Natalie when she was a baby,’ his mother said. ‘She’d wander off with anyone. Now, Jeff was the exact opposite. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight.’
‘I bet he was a cute little baby,’ Mary said.
They both looked at him.
‘Well … yeah,’ his mother said. ‘Cuter than he is now.’
When it was time
for Mary to go, his mother said, ‘Come and visit again. Anytime. Do you live far?’
‘On Spring Street. I live with the Belcos.’
‘Oh, the Belcos. Is that how you two know each other? Are you a relative?’
‘No, I just live there.’
Before they left, his mother ran inside. She had a present for Hannah. ‘This has been in my drawer forever,’ she said, producing a narrow white box. Inside was a ceramic mobile with chickens, cows and roosters.
‘I like Mary,’ his mother said later. ‘And that baby! It just makes me look forward to Natalie’s having a baby.’
‘They’re not married yet, Mum.’
‘As soon as they do, Natalie said they’re going to work at it.’
‘It sounds like a nine-to-five job.’
‘When a woman gets to be thirty years old, she doesn’t have time to waste. You know Natalie, she does things her own way. First a career, now marriage and a family. She plans, she thinks ahead. You could learn something from your sister.’
‘You want me to have a baby, Mum?’
‘I’ll just ignore that,’ his mother said.
The next day, he went to see the Francis McLaren movies at the museum. They were good, more than good, there was a clean, spare feeling to them. Jeff had a list of questions he meant to ask during the lecture, but first there was a short break. He went down to the basement, down a long flight of stairs to the men’s room, and there was McLaren, the old man himself, hawking and clearing his nose. Here he was, alone with the Great Director, but Jeff was so awestruck that he didn’t say a word.
‘Not a word?’ Mary said to him afterwards.
‘Not one word. What do you say to a great man when he’s blowing his nose?’
18
‘How would you like to go out with me Saturday night?’ Jeff asked Mary. ‘Billy Scroggs is at the Red Barn.’
‘You mean a date? Do we have to have a date?’ she said. ‘Can’t we just go?’
‘No problem.’ He walked away. Friends. ‘No dates,’ he said, coming back. ‘No plans. If I come by Saturday, we’ll just do something.’
‘Fine with me.’