Lemon in the Basket

by Charlotte Armstrong

  Tamsen led her out of whatever room it was (Lurlene had a shocking impression that from the front door she had put her foot into the kitchen!) into the big front room, and Lurlene arched her neck and peered, in the somewhat better light, for the sight of the other guests. There seemed to be none.

  “Sit down, and let me bring you something cool to drink. And take off those hot gloves, won’t you?”

  Lurlene began to take off her gloves, already feeling off-base. She had thought she had been invited to a luncheon. But it wasn’t going to be a luncheon, obviously. The room wasn’t even neat. It was big, all right, practically the whole wing, and it was shaped like an L, and it had a step up, at the L’s right angle, and the walls, wherever there was no window, were completely lined with bookshelves and the books were just stuffed in, any old which way. Wait a minute—looked like a little bitty piano, up there in the top part of the L.

  Lurlene drew in her neck as Tamsen came back with a tall glass. “You know,” said the hostess, “if Maggie and the Judge are going away, even if only for a while, the rest of us are going to have to close ranks, aren’t we?”

  Lurlene said she thought so, too, with no very clear idea of what was meant. The drink had ice in it, anyhow.

  “And you haven’t even been here,” said Tamsen. “But we only found it three months ago, and I don’t know why, we just never seem to entertain much. I haven’t got what it takes to put on a dinner, I’m afraid. Isn’t this a crazy house?”

  Lurlene thought it certainly was, but she said nothing of the kind, of course. Tamsen explained how the entrance room was the kitchen, and how the bath opened off the kitchen, which was pretty weird, and the bedroom may have once been a garage. “That’s just about all there is,” Tamsen explained, “except for my shed, out back. We just love it, though. I’ll hate to leave.”

  Then she went on to tell all about the fancy modern house that was being built for them on the new campus. Lurlene listened to the count of bathrooms, the details of the modern kitchen which, Tamsen said with a phony shudder, was going to be like the dashboard of a jet plane.

  “I like the creative part of housekeeping,” Tamsen said, “but I don’t always like the routine.”

  Lurlene, who didn’t think she was making any sense, took care to be cooingly agreeable to everything.

  Then Tamsen took her outside, through the large square dim kitchen, to a tiny bit of pavement behind the house, which was roofed with a skeleton of timbers over which vines were tumbling. Lurlene sat down gingerly on the redwood-slatted chair and tried to keep her mind off the possibility of falling bugs. The backyard was no wider than the house, but it did go back a little way, until the steep hill stopped it. Lurlene thought it was crazy. Shut in, and (although they were so near the ocean), no breeze, and just no view at all.

  Tamsen brought out plates of salady stuff and iced tea. They discussed food. They deplored the weather again. The conversation limped along. Inevitably, they came to Maggie.

  Maggie was wonderful. Maggie had a beautiful home. It was hot over there, but Maggie had air conditioning. And servants. Perhaps that was why, Tamsen said, the younger Tylers didn’t seem to get together anywhere else. “Maggie makes it so comfortable for us all.”

  “Well, I suppose we get together this Sunday?” said Lurlene. “Or is it the week after. Did you hear yet?” It was always Sunday because of Mitch, who had a better chance of getting there on Sundays.

  Tamsen said, after a funny little hesitation, “I think Maggie’s probably going to skip it for a while. She’s having house guests, I believe.”

  “Is that so?” Lurlene didn’t ask who. She thought, Well, I don’t mind skipping it, believe me.

  But Tamsen stood up kind of suddenly. “Would you like to see where I work, Lurlene?”

  “Huh?” Lurlene was startled. It hadn’t occurred to her that Tamsen worked.

  “The shed where I do the painting?”

  “Oh. Oh, I sure would.” Lurlene struggled out of her chair and followed Tamsen, who seemed to gambol lightly as she led the way—like some little kid, thought Lurlene, whose heels were sinking disagreeably into moist earth.

  “I’m afraid it’s awfully warm in here this time of day in summer,” said Tamsen apologetically, “but it’s perfect in the early morning.”

  Lurlene thought it was perfect shed, all right. Just the bare boards, inside. Stuffy, too, and stinking of painty smells. Lurlene tried to manage her nostrils politely. There was an easel, and shelves full of cans and bottles and Lurlene didn’t know what-all. All kinds of pictures, some hanging on the walls just on regular old nails. Others standing on the floor, and some turned so that all you saw was the back of them. Lurlene was hard-put-to-it to be admiringly impressed, but she tried.

  “I think,” said Tamsen in her soft voice, and now she seemed to have gone away somewhere, standing there, looking around at what she called her “work,” “I want you and Rufus to have one of my things. If you would like that. I gave one to Phillida, you know. And Maggie, of course.”

  “That’s very nice,” said Lurlene, not unpleased, and her eyes began to travel rapidly, assessing what she saw with new interest. “I sure like that one,” she said, pointing impulsively. The one she said she liked was hanging on the wall. In fact, it was the only one Lurlene could plainly see.

  “Oh, not that one,” said Tamsen quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, but that one is going to a gallery.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, you see, about six of them are going to a gallery, and they’ll be for sale, you know.”

  Yah! thought Lurlene. I don’t get to have one that might sell and make her a little money, eh?

  “Well,” she said helplessly, “I don’t care. I mean, whatever you say.”

  “Why don’t I paint one, just for you?” said Tamsen thoughtfully. “Something you would really like?”

  “Well, say,” said Lurlene, tottering on her high heels and hoping they could get out of here pretty soon, “I kinda like scenery, you know?”

  “Landscapes?” Tamsen was being very attentive.

  “Well, like some fields, and oh … like a little farmhouse, and some of those … you know … little round trees?”

  “You mean a primitive,” said Tamsen alertly.

  “No, no,” said Lurlene. “I mean like Grandma Moses. I think they’re cute.”

  “I see,” said Tamsen gravely. “Well, I can try. Shall we go back to the house? I’m afraid it’s too hot and close in here.”

  Lurlene’s mind was not quite on what she was saying as she took a good breath of the open air. “Wow, it sure smells in there.” Then she spoke her real thought. “Listen, you never been to my place, either. Maybe you should know that my fr … my living room is done in all different pinks.”

  “I see,” said Tamsen in a moment. “Then, would you like snow?”

  “Snow!”

  “I mean for your picture? And the sky a winter gray? Do you think white and gray would look well in your room?” Tamsen was speaking very politely, but Lurlene didn’t like it for some reason.

  “That would be just perfect,” she gushed. (I can be a phony, too, she thought.) “Just wonderful of you to go to the trouble.”

  “I would like to please you,” Tamsen said softly.

  Lurlene didn’t know what to make of that, so she began to talk about the long hot ride home, and how she had better get on her horse.

  As they went back through the house Tamsen seemed to Lurlene to be feeling let-down, or low, or something. I guess she tries, thought Lurlene, in sudden charity. She does the best she can, I suppose.

  Lurlene thought of something else. “Oh, say, I wanted to ask you, Tamsen—”

  “Yes?”

  “I was just wondering. I mean, it’s probably a big favor. But would you mind giving Rufus some lessons?”

  “Some … what?” Tamsen’s voice was feeble.

  “I mean, show him how to paint pictures,” said Lurlene.

  “I
couldn’t!” said Tamsen in a low shocked voice.

  “Oh?” Lurlene couldn’t help bristling.

  “No, no,” said Tamsen. “I can’t teach. But I’ll tell you what I can do. Let me give you my teacher’s name. He’s awfully good. Of course, he doesn’t take on everybody. But Rufus could go talk to him, and I’m sure he’d get some excellent advice.”

  “Oh? Well, thanks.” Lurlene felt stiff as a board. She had been only half-serious in her request, which Rufus had not commissioned her to make, but now all kinds of suspicions raced in her mind. Tamsen probably didn’t want anybody else in on her racket. Or Tamsen didn’t want to be alone with a man. And if so, why not?

  “Is Rufus really interested?” said Tamsen, sounding warmer.

  Lurlene took the slip of paper. “Well, he could be. I don’t think he’s feeling so hot these days.”

  This was true. For some reason Lurlene felt she was wise to say so.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tamsen. “Is he worried about anything?”

  “No, no,” Lurlene said quickly, assuming that money was meant. “We don’t”—she had read this many times—“care so much for material things. If it was that,” she went on, “I could have got a job a long time ago. I just happen to think that a woman ought to stay home and keep her house clean, you know, and things put away?” She had not meant to show a claw; she hadn’t been able to resist it.

  But Tamsen smiled at her. “Of course,” she said.

  “I guess I’m just what you’d call a homemaker,” said Lurlene piously. “The thing is, if Rufus had something … to, you know, fool around with …”

  “Like painting?” said Tamsen sweetly.

  “You couldn’t just kinda get him started?” Lurlene said, with hard eyes.

  “No, I couldn’t,” said Tamsen earnestly. “Some people can’t teach. I don’t even know how I do it. I … I’m busy, trying to learn.”

  “Oh, well, I know you’re busy,” said Lurlene. “Thanks just the same and thanks for a lovely, lovely luncheon.” Lurlene knew her manners.

  She went back along the redwood rounds and, sure enough, the car was about 180 degrees inside. She turned down all the windows and unbuttoned the top of her dress and rolled it lower. And the hell with it, she thought sulkily. Who cares how I look, anyway?

  When she had run the car into the garage, she came in at the back door, kicking her shoes off petulantly the moment she was under the roof.

  Rufus was in the kitchen. He had a piece of waxed paper spread on the kitchen counter, and it was covered with funny-looking tan lumps.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” exclaimed Lurlene. “What’s that? Fudge! For God’s sakes!” Rufus had never turned a hand in the kitchen in his life.

  “It’s inedible,” he said gloomily.

  Lurlene was interested. She came closer and reached for one of the lumps, but he actually slapped her hand away, although lightly. “It’s impossible,” he said, and lifted the waxed paper and dumped the whole mess into the sink.

  “Hey,” said Lurlene, “how much sugar you throwing away, there? Look, probably you didn’t stir it enough. Let me …”

  But Rufus was washing his product down into the garbage disposal. Lurlene licked her finger and put it on a leftover crumb, but he slapped her hand again in the same light way.

  “Listen, mister,” she said, sounding furious with him but feeling a pleasant release of an anger she had carried all the way home because of a lot of things, “how come you’re so free with them mitts? Nobody slaps me around.”

  “You’re the only one in the world who would put it in your mouth,” he said in a funny way, “and you don’t count.”

  “I certainly appreciate the compliment,” said Lurlene, picking up her shoes. She gave him his compliment for the day. “Hey, Tamsen don’t want any part of you. She can’t be bothered to teach you how to paint.”

  “Who asked her?” he said dully.

  “I asked her.”

  “Why?” He rolled his eyes and Lurlene began to feel uneasy.

  “Oh, I just thought I’d see what she’d say. Um, boy—what a jolly time I had! What a phony she is!”

  “Why did you go?” he asked absently.

  “Say, listen, I have to be nice to her, don’t I?” said Lurlene.

  “That won’t put your name in the history books,” he said, dreamily.

  Lurlene flounced into the bedroom to strip off her finery. Still on that kick, was he? Say, listen, a joke was a joke, but Lurlene was sick of it. Maybe he was looping, really looping, with those damn pills.

  God knew she had tried.…

  Lurlene powdered her hot face and began to look at it intently. She thought, I’m not old. I could easy lose five or six pounds. Even ten. She didn’t quite permit herself to realize that she was contemplating widowhood.

  He was in the front room when she emerged. Lurlene spotted the mess he’d made on the coffee table with a sharp housekeeping eye. “Now what did you think you were doing?” she demanded. “What was that? The alarm clock?”

  “I don’t understand how it works,” he said in that listless way.

  “You sure fixed it.” She scowled at the mess of junk on the newspaper and began to fold the paper up around all those parts and pieces. She looked at him, where he was sitting dejectedly in his usual chair. “Don’t tell me you were thinking about getting up and going to work, or anything rash?” she said nastily. She carried the mess into the kitchen to dispose of it. One thing about Lurlene, she kept house.

  Something he had said was nagging at her, although she couldn’t remember what it was now. She began to survey their fifteen years of married life rather gloomily.

  When Lurlene told the tale of Rufus’ career, it came out crystallized. How they had gone back east, ten years ago, where Rufus had had this wonderful offer. But the company had turned out to have a very poor policy. So then they had gone to Lurlene’s own hometown, in Iowa, and stayed five years, comforting her mother until that lady had died. But in the end, of course, the place was just too small for a man like Rufus Tyler. No opportunities. They had tried Tucson, but Lurlene couldn’t stand the summers. So, for her sake, they had come back to Los Angeles, oh—a year or more ago. Rufus was not really settled yet. But it was so nice to be near his people.

  She had almost come to believe this version herself—except for that last statement. No, it was not nice to be near his people.

  Lurlene had never been to college. She had been a waitress in a hamburger joint where the college kids used to come. She had gone after Rufus Tyler because he was clean, well-dressed, rich, and not snooty. And from a good family. Yah, yah, she thought.

  Oh, he had fallen for her, all right. Moonlight and roses! But she had put up with a lot that hadn’t been so darned rosy. Yes, she had. Now, if Rufus was going to start being sloppy and messy around the house, that was going to be just great, that was.

  She took up the kitchen sponge and began to clean the counter righteously. He hadn’t mopped up all the crumbs of his fudge. What did he want with candy? Her forefinger hesitated over one of the crumbs, but then she whisked them, every one, away into the sink and polished vigorously.

  She thought, If I’m going to start dieting, I got to start. Some grim resolution was forming. It must be this. If I’d have had a kid, she thought, a precious Tyler … um … boy … then I’d have been somebody, I’ll bet. Nobody ever wants to know how I feel.

  For just one scary moment Lurlene realized that she didn’t want to know how she felt, either. In another moment she had squeezed out a tear, and this evidence of true suffering made her feel better.

  When Duncan came home, on the late side, their big room was dusky and Tamsen was curled up on the couch in a mood to match the sadness of the light.

  “Fiasco?” he said alertly, forcing himself to take account of her state. He snapped on a lamp and sat down beside her. She swayed over into his arms with a sigh.

  “Pure frustration. Lurlene asked me to
teach Rufus to paint. I said I couldn’t. She thinks I won’t. But you know the difference between teaching and doing.”

  “Indeed. Indeed,” he soothed.

  “If I had talked for three solid hours I could not have got that into her head,” said Tamsen vehemently.

  “I believe you.” He was comforting her with voice and caress. “The difference between can’t and won’t, eh? Now, a teacher looks the other way.” He was lecturing to soothe her. “I should say that the greater percentage of our so-called students is made up of those who could-learn-but-won’t, and those who would-learn-but-can’t. So, it follows that a whopping hunk of our valuable time is spent just trying to tell the difference.”

  “What do you do when you find out which is which?” she murmured, soaking up comfort.

  “We coax the one-who-won’t to want to—which is our art. When we are sure of the ones-who-can’t, we throw them out—which is our duty.”

  “Besides, then they’re not your problems anymore.”

  “Then, they are problems-at-large,” he said, “and this society has got to find out what is to be done with them some day soon.” Having calmed her with abstractions he now said, “Honey, chalk up one noble effort and mark it failed.”

  “So I just throw her out,” said Tamsen, “and that’s the moral of it?”

  “With,” he said pompously, “the stipulation that the language is immoderate, I’d say yes, I suppose you do. That is, you put Lurlene out of the running as an intimate chum of yours.”

  Tamsen sighed, and then she giggled. “Or she throws me out, when she sees my Grandma-Tyler.”

  But her tension was gone and Duncan, feeling his task accomplished, interrupted. “They’re here,” he announced.

  “Oh, I forgot!” she squirmed. “Did it go all right?”

  “Slick as could be,” he told her, letting loose his own mood, which was exultant. “I borrowed Dick Sadler’s station wagon to hold the whole pack of them in one load.”

  “Did the foreigners look awfully exotic?”

  “Well, of course—not so much in an airport. But Alice Foster was right about the dirty looks they were casting. Expecting Indians (American variety) or at the very least, Al Capone. I … er … got a little foxy. We fetched the luggage to the curb. Mounds of it, by the way. I made Jaylia and the boy and his Swedish nurse stand in one group, and the other three, the exotic ones, stand a little bit apart. When I came by and scooped them all up in one car, pretty fast, nobody seemed to notice anything odd.”