Homebodies

by Joan Schweighardt

  “It don’t have a key,” Sherri states. “It’s not fair peeking in things that don’t belong to you.”

  Lizzie laughs and hands it to her. “Do you imagine that anyone could read this?”

  “I can. Want me to read you some?”

  Lizzie pivots and heads for the dresser. “No thanks.” She dumps Sherri’s clothes into the boxes. But once they get upstairs, she takes everything out and folds it neatly. It takes forever.

  When they have finished, Daddy’s room is Sherri’s and Sherri’s is Daddy’s. Now, Sherri knows, Lizzie will want to clean the kitchen; she always wants to do the kitchen when she comes. Sherri follows her in. Lizzie lifts the lid on the washing machine and closes it quickly. “When—” she begins.

  Sherri knows the question. “Three days ago, I think,” she says.

  Lizzie shakes her head. “You have to dry the clothes as soon as they’re washed. Otherwise they begin to stink. We’ve talked about this before.”

  Lizzie pours in powder and turns the washer on. Then she proceeds to the sink. She washes the dishes there and mumbles something to herself when the scum on the side of the sink doesn’t come off. She keeps right on scrubbing. She mumbles something more when she tries to turn off the faucet. Sherri shows her how to do it. You have to really jerk it hard. Then Lizzie sees her plopping into a chair for a cigarette break. “I bet you’ve smoked a half a pack since I’ve been here!”

  Sherri shrugs. “It’s fun to smoke. Want to try it?”

  Lizzie looks around. “Well, I guess this will do for now.” She picks up her shoulder bag from the counter and looks to see where she left her coat.

  “You need a baby-sitter tonight?”

  The coat is on the banister between the kitchen and the living room. Lizzie heads for it. “I’m not going out tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re a card, Sherri. You know we never go out. And anyway, I’ve got to go home now and deal with my own house.”

  “Need someone to help?”

  Lizzie fingers her bottom lip. “Maybe I should call Pete and tell him to start eating without me.” Her gaze strays toward the phone. Sherri sees the potential for a confrontation here and runs to grab the pad before her sister can get to it. She holds it to her breast.

  Lizzie puts her hand out. “Show me.”

  Sherri shows her.

  Lizzie rolls her eyes. “Read it.”

  Sherri doesn’t want to comply, but she can’t think what to make up in place of the words that are written there.

  Lizzie sighs when Sherri is done reading. “Do you really think this is the right way to meet a man?” she asks. “Are you really going to go out with someone you know nothing about except that he has problems and may be fat?”

  “Yes,” Sherri answers.

  Lizzie shakes her head. Then her eyes widen and her mouth stretches so that Sherri is reminded of their mother. “What if he turns out to be a pervert?”

  Sherri shrugs. “Perverts got to have friends too.”

  Lizzie’s eyes widen further. “You would sleep with anyone, wouldn’t you?”

  Sherri can’t stand it when her sister’s face transforms like this. She’s afraid Lizzie will suddenly turn into Mom and wallop her. The voices used to talk about that happening. She’d crack up if it ever did.

  She can’t breathe. She feels like she needs a transfusion. She runs out of the kitchen, to her old room first, but then she sees Daddy’s stuff and remembers. She runs into the living room, grabs hold of the banister, and hauls herself up the stairs. She locks the door behind her and stands with her back against it, panting, wondering how her blood is holding up. She hears Lizzie climbing. “Sher,” Lizzie says, “open the door.” A moment passes. “Okay, okay, don’t open it. I’ll come to get him when he’s released. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Sherri hears the footsteps retreating. But when she opens the door, Lizzie is still standing right there! “Gotcha!” Lizzie says.

  “Yeah, you got me all right.”

  They both laugh. Sherri starts feeling like she wants to kiss her sister again. Lizzie says, “Do you want to come home with me? You could sleep on the sofa.”

  Sherri’s head bobs. “Yeah.”

  Lizzie’s gaze drops from Sherri’s face to her shirt pocket. Her smile disappears. “You can’t smoke though.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not in the house.”

  Sherri considers. She doesn’t like going outside by Lizzie’s house at night. Lizzie lives upstate, in the boonies. There are snakes and bats there and lots of spiders. The spiders sit over the door and drop on your head when you come out. Once, when she was supposed to be watering the lawn, she tried to shoot them down with the garden hose. But Lizzie heard her screaming and came around from the side of the house. She really looked like Mom then, she was so angry. She said Sherri had no regard for life. “I’d better not come then,” Sherri says.

  “Can’t you go a few days without smoking?”

  “No.”

  Lizzie spreads out her free hand. “Have it your way,” she says.

  “At McDonald’s,” Sherri sings.

  Lizzie pats Sherri’s arm good-bye. At the bottom of the stairs, she asks, “Have you thought what you’ll have for dinner tonight?”

  “Pancakes.”

  Lizzie shakes her head. “Pancakes,” she repeats. “Well, eat some vegetables with them. And don’t forget to look for the key.”

  Sherri goes to the window and watches until her sister has pulled out of the driveway. Then she run downstairs to call the Ad-visor. But her ad is gone!

  LIZ

  Liz is on her way up to get ready when she hears someone rapping at the kitchen door. Sighing, she spins around and heads for it. She suspects that it will be Mrs. Bowker, their neighbor; they don’t get many other unannounced visitors. The funny thing about Mrs. Bowker is that until as recently as six months ago, her interest in the Arroways never extended beyond the probing she did when Liz ran into her outdoors. But now she’s taken to crossing into their yard, imploring Liz to let her sit with the children, or offering the family soup she’s made too much of, paperbacks she’s found in her basement, notepads, pens, rubber bands, plastic dishes, and any number of other items she claims she hasn’t any use for anymore. Liz suspects she’s not feeling well, that before she leaves this world, she wants to separate the junk she’s accumulated over the years from the more valuable objects she plans to pass on to her heirs. Liz opens the door and forces herself to smile.

  “You’re going out tonight!” Mrs. Bowker exclaims. She is very short and somewhat hunched. She has to stretch her head back to her hump to look at Liz.

  Liz tries to sound polite. “How did you know we were going out?”

  “Jake told me. I thought maybe you and your husband would want me to sit with the kids, get out by yourselves for once.”

  Liz leans forward to have a better look at the old woman. Sometimes she thinks there is something downright unscrupulous about her. It’s evident today, in the twinkle in her eyes and the arch of her brows. “Thank you so much for offering, Mrs. Bowker,” she says, “but it isn’t necessary. We’re going out to visit some friends of Pete’s. The kids have been invited too.”

  “Friends of Pete’s?” Mrs. Bowker asks.

  She seems surprised to learn Pete has them. Liz is tempted to say so. “Well,” she says instead, “I’ve got to run. Pete will have a fit if I’m not ready when he is.”

  Mrs. Bowker laughs. Her teeth are stained from years of cigarette smoke. She must have quit a long time ago because Liz has never seen her with a cigarette in her hand. Liz waits until she has stopped laughing to ease the door closed.

  “So, is she attractive?” Liz asks Pete while they are getting dressed. She can’t imagine anyone named Gladys being attractive. She’s come across only two of them in her life. The one from grammar school blinked incessantly, was ghostly pale, and seemed to have several extra teeth. The one fro
m high school had frizzy hair, a ridiculously high-pitched voice, and a propensity for vomiting in biology class.

  She backs out of the closet to look at him. He is standing in front of the mirror, snaking his old leather belt through the loops of his khakis. “Well, is she or isn’t she? It’s a simple question, Pete.”

  Pete shrugs. “She’s so-so.”

  “That’s a pretty flimsy response coming from a man whose descriptions usually require run-on sentences. I can see you’re still angry,” she snaps, and she steps back into the closet, where she is looking for something to wear.

  “I’m not angry,” he mutters.

  “I just didn’t think we should be going out tonight,” she says. “I mean, with my father in the hospital …”

  “We’ve been through that,” he sings through his teeth.

  But Liz isn’t finished. She still feels the need to ventilate the real reason once more. “And it’s your birthday, for God’s sake, Pete. I mean, does she even know that? I doubt they’ll have a cake for you.”

  He knows how much family celebrations mean to her, so he ignores that and returns to what he thinks he can justify. “Your father’s been in the hospital for what now? Three weeks? His condition is stable. We’re going across the river to have dinner, not to Albany for an inaugural ball. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you just don’t like people, Liz?”

  That stings. She shoots back out of the closet to show him her pout, but he’s still watching himself in the mirror, examining now where he cut himself earlier shaving. He has taken off the dress shirt he had on a moment ago and replaced it with a crew-neck sweater. He looks better, more relaxed, cute, even. She says, “I like our children, Pete. I like my father and your mother and father. I like Sherri most of the time. I like your Aunt Mildred and Uncle Harry and Ellie B. and her kids. Occasionally I even like you.”

  He doesn’t smile.

  “That was a joke, Pete,” she says. “Can’t you even crack a smile?” She slips the jumper she’s come up with over her head and joins him in front of the mirror. She nudges his arm with her elbow, but he only draws the nudged arm in closer. She looks at the two of them in the glass. She has her shoes on and he’s still barefoot. She’s got a good two inches on him like this. She slumps so that he won’t notice. “Do I look okay?” she asks.

  He glances at her face in the mirror. “You look fine.”

  “No, I mean the jumper.”

  The jumper is ankle-length and so baggy that were it not for her thin arms extending from the t-shirt she’s wearing beneath it, an observer would be hard put to guess anything at all about her body. She chose it purposely because she knows he doesn’t like it. “You look … remote,” he says.

  She brightens. “Remote. I like that.”

  He gives her a look and steps aside.

  Jake and Katie and Liz march up the walk single file behind Pete and Brigit in the dimming light. When they are all assembled on the stoop, Pete turns to them. “Smile,” he says, and he makes an attempt to provide them with an example. Then he motions for Katie and Jake to stand closer together.

  Liz barks out a laugh. “She’s not going to photograph us, for God’s sake, Pete,” she says.

  Pete bobs his head the way he does when he’s nervous. “She is. They are. First impressions are everything. If they open the door and we’re all looking hang-dog, that’ll set the tone for the entire evening. They’ll be defensive, guarded, closed. Believe me. I know about these things.”

  He turns toward the doorbell with his finger extended. But then he turns back and points the extended finger at Katie. “And you, young lady,” he says. “No shenanigans tonight. If you ask the Morgans to set a place at the table for Isadora—”

  “Isabel,” Katie corrects.

  He cocks his head and lowers his chin to his collar bone so that the loose flesh in between bulges. “Isabel,” he concedes. “If you ask the Morgans to set a place for … Isabel … you’re grounded for the next five years. Do you understand what that means?”

  Katie looks at her hand, trying to calculate.

  “That means you won’t be going out again until you’re twelve,” he explains impatiently. He swings around and rings the bell while Katie rolls her eyes and Jake spins a finger at the side of his head to signify that his father is crazy.

  When the door swings open, Liz gasps. Pete lied to her! Buy why? It can’t have been a case of beauty being in the eye of the beholder. You could argue that Cher is too long in the jaw or that Streep’s nose is crooked, but Gladys is flawless—like Pfieffer. In fact, she looks a little like Pfieffer with her cat-shaped face and her cat-shaped eyes, only Gladys’ eyes are hazel and her hair is a light brown. Then Liz remembers that she and Pete were arguing when he said that Gladys was “so-so.” She figures he said it just to end their conversation.

  Pete thrusts out his finger. “My wife Liz, Jake, Katie, and Brigit,” he says, and he smiles his closed-lipped smile.

  “Gladys,” Gladys says, and she extends her arm between Jake’s and Katie’s heads so that she can shake Liz’s hand. Her fingers are limp. They slide out of Liz’s grasp like a handful of sardines. A tall lanky blond man appears behind her. He murmurs, “Daniel. Heard so much about you,” and stretches his hand toward Pete. Pete shakes it vigorously and introduces the rest of them. Then they follow the Morgans through the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

  While Daniel Morgan is collecting coats, Gladys sets about seeing what everyone would like to drink. She starts with Jake. He gives her his shy grin and has to be coaxed to accept a Coke. When she turns to ask Katie, Katie steps right up and announces that the caffeine in Coke makes her hyper. She asks what else there is. Gladys laughs and glides toward the refrigerator. But as she is opening it, her lips pull back further, transforming her smile into a snarl. Liz, who is standing apart from the others, is the only one to notice. Hates kids, she says to herself.

  Gladys backs up and lets Katie peer in. Katie decides on orange juice. While Gladys is pouring it, Liz turns to see if Pete is holding his breath. He is. He told Katie that she wasn’t to ask that a place be set at the table for Isabel, but no one said anything about her having a before-dinner drink with the rest of them. Katie opens her mouth, and for a second Liz thinks that she will go ahead and voice her appeal. But then, with her mouth still opened, she twists her head to look at her father, and seeing that his eyes are floating threateningly in their sockets, she closes her mouth abruptly and backs away with her drink.

  Gladys’ eyes sweep to Brigit. Pete exclaims, “Oh, this little one is fine! She’s got a bottle.” And as if he thinks that Gladys might doubt him, he fumbles in the bag that is hanging from his shoulder and produces it.

  Liz is surprised to find that she turned to watch Pete say these words to Gladys and Gladys nod an acknowledgement to them. And she is surprised, too, to see that she is satisfied to note that no confidence passed between them. She says to herself, Just because he lied about her looks doesn’t mean that he’s having an affair with her, for God’s sake. Still, she feels vaguely uneasy about the fact that he did lie. It’s not like him. And then she gets to wondering whether the brief meeting of their eyes was too brief—the way it is between people who are anxious that their emotions should remain concealed.

  Gladys says, “And what would the big people like to drink?”

  Pete doesn’t like it when Liz drinks because she doesn’t know when to stop, but he’s seen the two bottles of Beaujolais breathing out on the counter too. They mumble, “Wine, please” in unison. Then Pete smiles at Liz, and she thinks that he must not be angry with her anymore. She admonishes herself for having had such silly thoughts about him.

  Daniel, who has been gone so long with the coats that Liz has all but forgotten about him, returns just as Gladys is handing them their glasses. She gives him the bottle and lets him pour for himself. Then, moving like separate parts of the same body, the Arroways follow the Morgans into the living room. When t
hey arrive, they continue to stand in a unit, unsure how to arrange themselves on the Morgans’ cream-colored furniture.

  Katie is the first to break away. She opts for a club chair near the window and sits to one side so as to leave a space for Isabel. Then Jake, seeing an opportunity to antagonize his sister, rushes over and bounces into Isabel’s spot. Pete looks on anxiously, his eyes darting back and forth between the Morgans and Katie’s struggle to push Jake away before he crushes her invisible friend. Luckily, just when it seems that Pete will be forced to give an account of their conduct—a revelation which would be unbearable for him—Katie happens to glance at one of the nudes hanging on the wall. Without taking her eyes from it, she sits back slowly and begins to sip her orange juice. And Jake, defeated by her sudden indifference, slips to the floor at her feet.

  Liz sits down on the short end of the L-shaped sofa and Pete and Brigit fall in beside her. Gladys and Daniel settle themselves on the long end—he with his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. “Well,” Liz hears herself say, but then she realizes she has nothing to add to that. Daniel says to Pete, “This business you’re in. It sounds really interesting.”

  Pete hands Brigit to Liz and sits forward to tell Daniel how he began as a ghost-writer working for an agency, and how then he got the idea to begin his own service, Ghosts, Inc. He gets all the way to the part where he came to suspect that if he wanted to make some real money, he was going to have to solicit some advertising work too when Gladys jumps in to tell the others what they already know—how she called Pete’s office accidently one day and how he got to talking to her about the nature of his business and his decision to elicit some advertising, and how—what a coincidence!—she was in advertising herself, and the number she had meant to call when she dialed Pete’s was actually that of an employment agency that she’d been hoping would find her a new job in her field … The rest is history.

  Pete and Gladys sit back smiling. Daniel shakes his head at the wonder of it all. Liz looks to see how Katie and Jake are doing and finds them both watching the progress of the tiny white spider that is making its way across the Morgans’ mauve-colored carpet. It seems to her that the common ground has already been laid bare. She can’t think what they will talk about next. Then Pete, who must be thinking likewise, stands up and announces that he is going out to the car to bring in Brigit’s sassy-seat and porto-crib. Daniel pops up and offers to help him. Gladys mumbles something about work in the kitchen and disappears as well.