by Harry Mazer
Who slept with who? Everybody knew the mountains made you horny. ‘We can sleep out, too,’ he said.
‘No, I wouldn’t leave Hannah tonight. It would be terrible if she woke up and I wasn’t there. She’d really feel betrayed.’
‘So it was good?’
‘It was wonderful! Getting away really gave me perspective.’ She leaned toward him and took his hand. ‘Do you remember how discouraged I was? I was so sure that I would never act again.’
He smoothed her skin, then cradled her arm in his.
‘I was wrong about that. And I found out there’s a way for people to help each other. Family, but not the old-style family. A new kind. A family of friends, people who come together because they have something in common.’
‘That’s exactly my idea. You know what I discovered these last few days? I like kids. I sure like Hannah.’
‘And she likes you. I could see that right away.’
‘And I agree with you about the family,’ he said. ‘We have to do things our own way, not the way our parents did it.’
‘That’s it,’ she said.
He was singing inside. They were talking the same language. Their talk was like a staircase that took them higher and higher … and brought them closer and closer. ‘Let me get you something to eat,’ he said. ‘I bought you great junk food.’
‘I haven’t pigged out since I left.’
He brought her a bowl of ice cream. ‘Hannah’s still sleeping.’ He sat down close to her. ‘You know, you’ve changed. Just these few days. You’re more self-possessed and confident.’
‘It was good for me to get away.’
It was stuffy when they went back in the house. They tiptoed around Hannah’s playpen. He found a couple of sheets and a pillow for Mary. ‘No blanket,’ she said. ‘It’s too hot for that.’
‘You all set?’ He sat down on the edge of the couch. He waited … suspended in midair. Tomorrow she was going back to the Belcos’. It was now that it had to happen. They’d never have a better chance. ‘You want anything else?’
‘No, this is really fine.’ She yawned a couple of times. ‘Thanks, Jeff, for everything. Did I thank you? I should have!’ She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I can’t thank you enough. I would never have gone if you hadn’t pushed me. I’ll never forget that.’
And then she yawned and yawned again and again, terrible yawns. ‘I’m sorry, Jeff,’ she said, covering her mouth. ‘I just can’t keep my eyes open.’
He went to his room but left the door open and lay awake, wishing she would come. It would be like that old movie, The King of Hearts, where Alan Bates slept and the beautiful tightrope walker crept into his room, leaned over his bed, and began kissing him …
He fell asleep, woke, and slept again. In a dream, he heard her calling him. He sat up like a shot. The dark square of the doorway and the hall it framed were empty. ‘Mary?’ He tiptoed to the living room. She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in the sheet, her head jammed into the pillow. Only her arm was sticking out, pointed straight at him.
‘Mary?’ If her arm moved, that was the signal.
He waited. It was so still in the house. Even the street was still. Nothing moved. The solitary car that passed seemed to gather the darkness to it. Hannah murmured in her sleep.
He squatted down. Mary’s hand almost touched his knee. If he moved just slightly forward, they’d touch. And then she’d open her eyes …
Hannah tossed in the playpen. Jeff leaned forward and touched his lips to Mary’s fingertips. There was a tremor in her hand, and he felt her fingers brush his cheek. And he saw everything … the way her arms would reach out and encircle him and pull him to her …
He waited … waited … waited … She slept. And he didn’t dare wake her. Watching her sleep aroused a tenderness in him. He was watching over her … and again he had that same feeling he’d had when he’d looked into Hannah’s eyes. Love – or whatever it was.
And then he thought, What if it never happened? What if Mary never wanted him the way he wanted her? What would the feeling be then?
Her breathing changed. She sighed, stretched, turned around, her back to him, holding the sheet around her, sighed again in her sleep. He stayed for a few more moments, then crept back to his room.
27
The moment he awoke, he thought of Mary. Then he was out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and running downstairs.
She was in the kitchen at the stove, holding Hannah on her hip and heating her bottle. ‘Did I wake you?’
He embraced her, embraced her and Hannah.
‘Mmm. Good morning.’
He reached for more, but she moved away.
He sat down at the table and leaned on his elbow. She was barelegged, wearing a terrycloth robe and a white towel wrapped around her head. She’d washed her hair, and her cheeks shone.
‘I feel wonderful this morning,’ she said.
‘You look wonderful.’
‘I’m making hot cereal. Do you want some?’
‘Hot cereal? That’s awfully wholesome.’
‘I bet you thought I was going to have ice cream for breakfast.’
‘With cookies and M&Ms.’
‘You would have fit right in with my friends at the workshop. Tom and Marsha eat practically nothing but brown rice.’
‘I don’t eat brown rice.’
‘You would have been proud of me, Jeff. The worst thing I ate in four days was whole-wheat cookies.’ She handed him Hannah and the bottle. ‘Tom and Marsha are such a neat couple. They live in a house with five other people and they’re all dedicated to the stage.’
She was still back there at the workshop.
‘They put on plays everywhere. Even if they don’t get paid, they’re acting. They go to schools, hospitals, even prisons.’ She put milk and butter on the table. ‘They have a bus, and they call themselves the Oak Street Players.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ he said, but he felt like kicking a hole in the Oak Street Players’ bus.
‘They do theatre in the streets and pass the hat after the performance. They pool their money, everything else, too – expenses, food, everything.’
‘Sex, too?’
‘Sex is private. We didn’t talk about that.’ She removed the towel, shook out her hair so it was tangled and loose around her face. It gave her a free, carefree look.
She held her hair out. ‘How does that look?’
‘Wild.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘I like wild women.’
‘You’re not hard to please.’
Then please me … I’m ready anytime you are …
‘Cereal’s ready,’ she said, taking Hannah.
He gave her a long, earnest look. He was waiting. Excited, but not in a rush. He sprawled out, stretched his legs – body language.
She sat down with Hannah caught between her legs and examined the scrape on the baby’s cheek. ‘It’s still warm. Do you think she’ll have a scar there?’ She wrapped Hannah in her arms. Her robe fell open and he could see her thighs. Was it a message?
She straightened her robe. The curtain fell. No message. In fact, nothing. No response, no sign, no signals, no body language. Hope fled. He sat there calmly again, lust damped down.
She pulled out the tangles in her hair with her fingers. ‘I was surprised about the workshop, Jeff. I thought everybody would be really serious, but most of them were dilettantes, just playing at acting. Not Tom and Marsha. Oh, they’re real pros.’
‘So what were they doing there?’
‘They were there to learn, like everyone else. But they were also looking for people to join their house.’ She paused, held out her hand. ‘Wait till you hear this. This is my big news. They’ve invited me and Hannah into the group.’
His whole head got hot. The group. The Group. The professional actors and their professional bus. It was them on one side and him on the other.
‘Jeff, do you realize what thi
s will mean to me? It’s going to change everything.’ She started ticking off on her fingers. ‘I’ll be able to share Hannah’s care. I’ll act and earn my own way. I’ll be part of a real family. And it’s all thanks to you, Jeff.’
‘Everything you can do with them, you can do with me. Better, in fact. You want to act, I’ll help you. I know how to take care of Hannah. Two heads work better than one. You told me that yourself. We can go to New York or California, anywhere you want to. If we’re together, everything will be easy.’
‘No.’ She looked at him. ‘Jeff – no.’
The word echoed in his brain, got stuck there. No … no … no … She’d said no to him before, but never in quite that way. The confidence in her voice! She didn’t need him anymore, not the way she had before.
He sprang up. ‘What is there, some other guy up there?’
‘Another guy?’ She picked up Hannah. ‘No, I don’t want that. Not with you. Not with anybody.’
She sat down beside him. ‘Jeff, it’s going to happen for you, too, the way it’s starting to happen for me. Believe it. After you get to LA –’
He got up, kicked the door open, and walked out in back. The light, the white, intense summer light turned everything into a desert.
When he came back to the house, she and Hannah and all Hannah’s things were gone.
28
He stayed away from Mary because he wasn’t ever going to see her again. He was cutting her out of his life, erasing her, rubbing her out. She’d call him and he’d hang up. She’d wait outside the house and he’d walk by her. He wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t hear her. She didn’t exist for him.
And then one morning he was there again, standing outside the Belcos’. Two days was all he could take. He went around the side of the house and onto the porch, looked into the kitchen, and saw Mary. She was wearing a green robe and sneakers. She had Hannah in one arm and was moving around the kitchen quietly, murmuring to Hannah, talking to her singsong, unaware that he was there.
She took a dish from the cupboard, and her eyes moved upward, her mouth down, as she filled it. She sat down with Hannah and began to feed her. A firmness came to her face, a lightness to the corners of her mouth.
He stood there, watching, and for a moment it was the beginning again, weeks and weeks ago, and he was seeing her for the first time, and she was there and he was here and they hadn’t met yet. And all the possibilities remained.
It could have been the opening of a movie. Jeff and Mary. The Great American Love Story – maybe. The hero and heroine hadn’t met yet, but everyone in the theatre, unwrapping their candy bars and looking up at the screen, knew they had to meet. There was no movie without the boy and girl meeting, without them falling in love, without troubles and fights and hard decisions and reconciliations. No movie without a happy ending.
He was always seeing people as characters in movies. He was The Great Director, framing scenes, moving people around, distilling characters. Flirtatious Tracy … Steady, Hardworking Danny … Bossy Mrs. Belco … Mrs. Century, who had outlived her time … and Mary … and Mary … and Mary …
Standing there, watching her, he made himself finish … And Mary, who wants to live her own way, even with a baby.
Then he walked away.
This time he stayed away for a week. Then he went back. Mrs. Belco stopped him on his way upstairs. ‘She’s moving. Did she say anything to you? It’s none of my business what she does, but I’ll still say it, this is my house, not a motel.’ None of this said quietly. ‘I don’t have people here one day and gone the next. My people stay with me.’
He listened. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t defend Mary, either.
Mary was waiting for him with her door open. ‘I thought that was you.’ She half smiled. ‘Mrs. Belco gets going, doesn’t she?’
It was like he’d been there yesterday, almost like the old days. She had an open box of English cookies, Peek Freans, that she was munching. ‘Help yourself,’ she said. ‘I love these things.’
Her room was a mess, boxes all over. She was packing. ‘When’s the big day?’ he said.
‘Wednesday, right before the Labour Day weekend.’
He picked up Hannah. ‘You going to miss me? I’m going to miss you.’ Hannah grabbed his ear. ‘You did that last time, muttface. How about a new trick? When are you going to start walking?’
‘She is walking, Jeff. Put her down.’
Hannah stood there wobbling, then staggered across the room, just catching herself on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s going to get you into the Baby Olympics, Ms. Silver.’ He turned to Mary. ‘I thought I’d borrow Danny’s pickup truck and drive you to that place.’
He’d been thinking about it for days …
Scene: Outside of Saratoga they have a flat and no spare tyre. They’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and it’s getting dark.
You and Hannah sleep in the cab, he says nobly. I’ll sleep outside.
But Mary protests. Too buggy. We can sleep in the cab together. Move over on my side, Jeff, where it’s more comfortable.
There’s not a lot of room, not enough for them to stretch out, but enough for them to get close. He puts his arms around her, his lips against her hair.
Then the kiss. Long, slow kisses. Close camera work. She doesn’t let him go. Arms around his neck, her face against his.
Another angle: They fall out of the car together. (Sounds – crackle and buzz of insects.)
Afterwards she keeps him close.
MARY: How did I stay away from you so long? You were so good and I was so mean. But you don’t think I’m mean now, do you?…
He sat back on Mary’s bed, smiling at her. ‘So when do you want to go?’
‘Thanks, Jeff, but I don’t need a ride. Tom’s coming for me.’
Tom? Tom and Marsha. Oh, yeah. He didn’t say anything much after that. He stayed awhile, then left with a casual wave.
She called him up Wednesday morning. ‘Jeff! I’m leaving today. You’re coming over to say good-bye, aren’t you?’
It was cool out. Leaves had begun to dry up and fall. He showed up in a denim jacket with a paper flower in his lapel. Mary was on the porch, waiting for him. Hannah was walking, holding on to the railing. As soon as she saw him, she put out her arms to be picked up.
‘Oh, am I glad to see you, Jeff,’ Mary said. ‘Tom’s here already. He went to gas up. I was afraid I’d miss you.’
Jeff swung Hannah between his legs. ‘What if you don’t like them?’ He was still trying. ‘What if you change your mind?’
‘Then I’ll do something else. But I’m not going to change my mind. It’s going to work out, Jeff.’
‘You know, they might hate you.’
‘Not a very funny line.’
Mrs. Century came out to say good-bye, manoeuvring cautiously with her cane. She sat down on the porch swing, with her hands on her knees. ‘Just let me get my breath. I have to say good-bye to Mary and to my little Hannah.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I do a little extra breathing every place I go. Now, give that baby to me.’ She held Hannah – an old, withered lady holding a little, bouncy rubber ball.
When Tom came back, Mary introduced him. ‘This is my friend, Jeff.’ Tom was tall, wearing a long Indian shirt, his blond hair hanging down in a long braid. ‘Jeff’s the one who took care of Hannah for me, Tom. Remember I told you about him?’
Tom had a big, warm, dry hand, and a smile to match. It was hard for Jeff to dislike him. ‘There aren’t that many guys around who will do what you did, Jeff.’
Mrs. Belco came out. ‘Oh, he’s here, Mary. Are you leaving now?’ She shook Mary’s hand. ‘Well, come visit us someday. I’m off to work. Did Danny see you to say goodbye this morning?’ And she was gone.
Mrs. Century sat with Hannah while Mary, Jeff, and Tom loaded the truck. It was an old school bus actually, painted rainbow colours with the name OAK STREET PLAYERS wavering through a montage of theatre masks and ribbons and birds. Ma
ry dragged the boxes out to the edge of the porch, where Jeff handed them up to Tom in the bus.
When they were ready to go, Tom said, ‘You going to come up to visit? There’s plenty of room for you, anytime.’
Jeff glanced at Mary. ‘I’m going to be away. Travelling.’
‘Sure, Jeff is going to visit,’ she said. And then to him, ‘Just let me get settled first.’
So they’d had a fight and made it up (sort of) and of course he was invited and he could come anytime, but she hadn’t really invited him. Let me get settled first. A nice way to keep it all vague and off in the future.
Everything was done. Hannah was in the car. Mary hugged Mrs. Century. ‘Well …’ She turned to Jeff. He put out his hand.
‘What’s that supposed to be, a sanitary kiss? You’re not getting away with that, Jeff.’ She put her arms around him and hugged him hard.
‘The girls are kissing the boys,’ Mrs. Century said. ‘Nothing new. Nothing’s changed. I was the same way myself.’
Jeff watched the bus turn the corner. What did he feel? Nothing. She was gone. The street was still here. The house. The people in it. The sky was still up there. Nothing had changed, and yet he knew everything had changed.
29
After Mary left, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Days went by and he didn’t do anything. Two weeks in a row, he called Sadie to say he wasn’t coming in. ‘You want to work, or don’t you?’ she said.
‘Sure,’ he said, but he was sick of it, sick of work, sick of the whole world. Anything his parents said irritated him. He stayed away from the house as much as he could. They didn’t say that much to him, but just their presence made him feel criticized.
Danny called, but Jeff didn’t call back. He did a lot of walking over by the ironworks, where the long steel beams lay rusting in the grass. The weeds grew everywhere, around rocks and through the cracks in the sidewalk. Nothing kept the weeds down.