by Rona Jaffe
She had read enough magazine articles to know she had a low sex drive. She did not, for one moment, delude herself into thinking she was saving her body for a meaningful relationship. She asked her gynecologist to give her a hormone test, just to be sure she was all right. She was fine. After that her lack of libido didn’t bother Julia at all. As long as it didn’t make her breasts sag, it didn’t matter.
When Justy remarried, Julia sent him and Orinda a lovely crystal bird from Steuben. Things from Steuben went with any decor. When Jay Jay graduated from high school, Justy bought him a Fiat Spider convertible. Kids loved cars. Julia couldn’t understand why Jay Jay sold it. She and Justy always gave people perfect presents.
She also couldn’t understand why Jay Jay got so upset whenever she redecorated his room. He was like a fussy little old man, set in his ways already. She was appalled when she saw the craters he had dug in her expensive lacquered walls with those nails from the picture hooks. Five layers of white lacquer—for that! She couldn’t bear imperfection. Even though the posters were hanging over the holes, she knew they were there.
She thought perhaps this coming spring, when Jay Jay was at school, she would put natural sisal on his bedroom walls, to hide them, get lots of potted palms, and do a bed with white mosquito netting all around it, and an old-fashioned ceiling fan like something from a Sydney Greenstreet movie. Jay Jay was so crazy about those old films, maybe he would like that sort of room. The mynah bird would fit perfectly into the setting. The more she thought about it, the more excited she got.
Of course, it would be a surprise.
CHAPTER 5
In the room in the Brookline house where he had spent his childhood, Daniel stood on his toes, raised his hand as high as he could, and touched the ceiling. He remembered what an honor it had seemed to have this attic room, all alone up here on the top floor: his private domain. The room had seemed enormous. Now it was small, and he had to stoop to shave in front of the bathroom mirror because his mother had installed it low when he was a child and nobody ever remembered to have it changed. This room, this house, enfolded him in memories, and for a moment he looked at his college self and wondered how he could have been crazy enough to agree to play the game in the caverns. He must have crossed over into some kind of madness. It was too dangerous. He’d have to back out.
But then he started to think of reasons why it wasn’t too dangerous after all. They could try it and if it didn’t work they could stop. If he was the one to break it up now the others would think he was just jealous because he wasn’t M.C. anymore.
Why should he care what they thought? He cared what Kate thought, because he admired her intelligence and courage. She had integrity: he never wanted her to think he didn’t. The girls he went out with, the ones who made everything so easy for him, seemed vapid compared to Kate. He’d been only half kidding that first day back at Grant when he said he was thinking of giving up sex. It was only that it was always the wrong time to stop. Maybe he’d give it up this Christmas vacation and see if he survived. Perhaps he’d reach a higher level of consciousness, the way people did when they fasted.
He laughed and went downstairs to join his family for dinner.
There was his mother: small, trim, a brown rinse covering the gray in her hair now, her blue eyes always inquisitive. She looked at you intently when you spoke to her and nodded often. She liked to refer to herself as “a creative listener.” She was also a creative talker. And there was his father: the perfect tweedy professor. His brother Andy and Andy’s girl friend Beth had come for dinner too. Andy and Daniel had a strong family resemblance, but Andy was taller and his hair was sandy instead of dark. Beth was tall too, and willowy, with blond hair and skin that seemed as smooth as glass. They made a striking couple; people sometimes turned around to look at them when they went jogging or bicycling together.
There was a fire in the fireplace, and outside stars glittered in the black sky. The Hanukkah candles were nearly all lit. This year their parents had decided to give Daniel and Andy money instead of presents, because that was what they really needed most. His father had opened a bottle of California zinfandel, and poured a glass for Daniel.
“I’ve decided to learn about wine,” his mother said. “Everybody I know is into gourmet cooking, but I don’t have time, and it doesn’t relax me. So I’ve decided: wine. Tell me how that tastes.”
“Fine,” Andy said.
Daniel tasted it. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay, or good?”
“Good. Listen, I’m not an authority. We drink Ripple at school, unless Jay Jay picks it.”
They all settled comfortably on the floor in front of the fire. A Chopin concerto was playing softly. “You know,” his father said, “a time comes when you think of moving ahead in life. A very interesting thing happened to me recently. The Vice-President was at Harvard giving a speech, and it seems he’d read my book, and he asked that I be invited to the party afterward.”
“Your father’s book,” his mother repeated proudly, her eyes shining.
Ten years ago, when Daniel was a little kid, his father had written a book called The Crisis in Regulation: The Public Interest and Vested Interests. It had received a limited but appreciative response, mainly among his academic colleagues. When he was old enough to read it, Daniel had tried. It was not his field, and he had been bored, but he was impressed that his father had done it.
“So I went, of course,” his father continued. “And he was very cordial, but more important—interested in my ideas.” He paused, looking at each of them to be sure they were taking it all in. “He said: ‘Goldsmith, you might be on our team.’”
“Washington?” Andy said.
“That seemed to be the idea,” his father said. “He didn’t actually make a commitment, but he implied that I might be called to Washington. I don’t know what else ‘on our team’ means.”
“I thought you were happy at Harvard,” Daniel said. He couldn’t imagine his father in Washington.
“Frankly,” his father said, “I think I’ve done as much as I can here. Look … if it was party talk, I’ll survive. But I feel something is going to happen, and if it does, I’ll be glad to go.”
“That’s fantastic, Doctor Goldsmith,” Beth said. She raised her glass. They all drank a toast to his future.
“I had a small triumph myself,” his mother said. She was trying to act casual, but Daniel could see how excited she was. “You remember Kevin, the little black boy in my class who was almost autistic? The one with the alcoholic mother, the father who disappeared? Doctor Francke kept telling me: ‘Autism is chemical, Ellie; you’re not going to get through to that child.’ But I wouldn’t give up. I said: ‘Look at that traumatic home life! Some children are more fragile than others. Kevin is one of the fragile ones.’” She took a sip of wine and smiled. “Well, this morning, he was smearing away with his finger paints, and just as I handed him the cobalt blue, he spoke!”
“What did he say?” Daniel asked, fascinated.
“‘April is the cruellest month,’” his father said wryly.
“Don’t be silly, Harold. He said: ‘No.’”
“Well, that’s good,” Andy said.
“You’re darn right it’s good,” his mother said. “He could have pushed the blue paint away, or just used it passively, but he had a preference and he made a choice. And he verbalized it! I know he can talk—he has an entire vocabulary just waiting to explode out of him, but it takes time. And I’ll give him that time.”
“How do you feel about going to Washington, Mrs. Goldsmith?” Beth asked.
“Whatever Harold wants is all right with me,” she said.
“What about your work?”
“Beth, don’t start that stuff with my mother,” Andy said. “You’ll get her all upset.”
“I’m not upset,” his mother said. “I can pursue my career in Washington. Besides, if it happens, it won’t be for a long time, and I can make great progress wit
h Kevin in the meantime.”
“Your mother will be valuable wherever she goes,” his father said.
Daniel felt the little currents moving through the room: ambition, fear, hope, control, compromise. All through the long years of their marriage his parents had ridden those dangerous currents; two people paddling in tandem in a light canoe, keeping their balance, moving ahead. No matter what her own triumphs, she always put them aside for his father’s. It was true that someone else could continue with her work, but someone else could go to Washington instead of his father, and what would it really matter to anyone but Harold Goldsmith? And, of course, his wife. Maybe she cared as much about having her husband move up in the world as he did.
Beth sat in front of the fire with her face edged in gold. Her skirt was spread out like a nest, and Andy kept cracking walnuts with his strong hands and dropping the nutmeats into it. “I heard the most awful story today,” Beth said. “A man had a Dacron tube grafted into one of those arteries leading to the heart; you know, that operation they’ve been doing for ages. He died a few years later of an apparent heart attack, and when they did an autopsy they found he’d grown a rare kind of cancerous tumor around the Dacron graft.”
“Poor guy,” Andy said.
“Do you know what that means?” Beth said. “It means that it’s possible that synthetics cause cancer.”
“Something else to worry about,” his mother said. “Half the country will have to go nudist.”
“Remember that thing they did on TV?” Daniel said. “On Fernwood Tonight when Martin Mull had those mice in little polyester leisure suits to show that leisure suits cause cancer?” He laughed, remembering. He had liked that show, it was funny.
“Nothing is safe anymore,” his mother said angrily. “They do a satire on television and a couple of years later it comes true. There isn’t anything too farfetched or horrible to imagine. We’re destroying the planet.”
“With leisure suits?” Andy said. He laughed and popped a handful of shelled walnuts into his mouth.
“Go laugh,” his mother said. “You’re going to have to live in that world. Somebody’s going to have to do something about it.”
“Daniel will do something about it,” his father said calmly. He smiled at Daniel. “The future of mankind is in computers. We’ll have energy conservation systems, new transportation systems, community participation systems … we’ll get rid of poverty, waste—”
“Wait a minute!” Daniel said. “I can’t do all that.”
“I didn’t say you’d be the only one. But you’ll help.”
Why wasn’t he happier about saving the world, when everybody else seemed to want to?
“What about people who just want to tend their own garden?” Daniel said.
“No room anymore.” his father said. His mother nodded. “No room for nonparticipation. Be thankful you’re bright and have something to contribute.”
“I wish it would snow for Christmas,” Daniel said, to change the subject. “Remember the great big snows we used to have every winter? Now it doesn’t seem to snow till February.”
“The weather is changing,” his father said. “We’re tampering with the environment. You want snow? Good, that’s something you care about. Figure out a more efficient …”
Oh, shit, Daniel thought, closing out the sound of his father’s voice. He wanted a simple snowball fight and his parents wanted him to win the Nobel Prize. Could you have both? He wanted to please them, but he had only one life, and he didn’t want to end up old and bitter.
“Dinner is ready,” his mother said.
They sat in their accustomed places, passing around the platters of food. Since Daniel’s visit from college made him a sort of guest, they had all his favorite things to eat: little squab chickens, a bowl of stuffing on the side, peas, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows on top. They were his favorite foods because he was used to them; they reminded him of every special dinner since he was a child. For dessert his mother had bought a huge, gooey cake.
Beth nodded at Andy. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of cold champagne and a tray of glasses.
“What’s that for?” his father said.
Andy grinned like the Cheshire Cat and popped the cork. “Beth and I have an announcement,” he said. He looked at her.
“We’re getting married,” they said in unison.
A shriek of joy and hugs and kisses from his mother, happy handshaking and a kiss for Beth from his father, a goofy smile from Daniel. Daniel felt so strange. He’d always thought of Andy and Beth as sort of married anyway, but now that they were making it official he was a little bit rocked. They would be on their own now, drawing away from the others, making a family of their own. They were lucky, he thought, to be able to make a commitment. So lucky … it was what he wanted to be able to do.
“When?” his mother asked.
“June,” Beth said. “We want a traditional wedding, I’m going to get a white dress, have bridesmaids, everything. We’re going to Mexico for our honeymoon.”
“Mexico is very interesting,” his father said.
“And affordable,” Andy said.
“I suppose now you’ll want to look for a nicer apartment,” his mother said.
The two of them looked at her in surprise. “What for?” Beth asked.
“Well … that place you’re in looks so … temporary. People get married, they get dishes, silver, furniture …”
“We have that stuff,” Andy said.
“Maybe you’re right,” his mother said. “After you have your first child you’ll have to move anyhow.”
“We’re not having children,” Beth said. “Certainly not for a long time, anyway, and then only one.”
His mother looked horrified for a moment, then carefully composed her face. It was her habit not to argue with her children; she wanted to be their friend. But there were bright blotches of pink on her cheeks.
“The world can’t be that bad,” she said, “not to want children.”
“It’s not the world,” Beth said calmly. “I’m not sure I want to be a social worker forever. I’m applying to law school, and after that I might go into politics.”
“You can go into politics and have children,” his mother said.
“We have time to decide,” Andy said. “Beth’s only twenty-four.”
“At twenty-four I had you already.”
“It’s a different world, Mom.”
“I know that,” his mother said sharply. She busied herself with pouring more coffee, cutting more cake, forcing it on them, insisting, even though they were full. It was as if by starting to serve dessert all over again she could erase time, make what he and Beth had just said disappear. “I guess then,” she said finally, “it’s up to Daniel.”
“To do what?” Daniel asked. “Talk them into it?”
“No,” his mother said. “To have children. You can’t both let me down.” Her tone was light, but forced. She wanted them to think she was just joking, and yet she wasn’t, and she wanted them to know that too.
He couldn’t make her any promises, but a part of him wanted a lot of kids, a houseful of them, all happy and noisy and having fun—and him teaching them games and playing with them.
After dinner Daniel and Andy went outside to shoot baskets in the hoop in the garage door, the way they had done since they were little boys. It was a joke now, because Andy was a professional and Daniel just fooled around, but they liked to keep up the tradition. The air was cold and crisp, with a bite to it, but not the sort that forecasted snow.
“You know,” Andy said, “I always envied you. Everything was so easy for you. It was always so hard for me. But now I don’t feel that way anymore. I think it’s hard for you too.”
“It is,” Daniel said. “I always envied you.”
“Me?”
“Yep.”
“I never knew that.” Andy tucked the old basketball under his arm and put his other arm a
round Daniel’s shoulders, walking with him as if he were explaining a court maneuver to a student. “You can do anything you want, Daniel,” he said. “You can be anything you want. They don’t mean to hassle you. Whatever you decide to do with your life, they might make a fuss at first, but they’ll go along.”
“I guess,” Daniel said. “But I have to live my own life anyway.”
“All they want is for us to be happy,” Andy said. “Their idea of what’s supposed to make us happy isn’t always ours, but they mean well.”
“I know. I love computers … do you think it’s selfish to want to make up games for them? Somebody has to make up the games in the world.”
“You couldn’t have said it better.”
“It didn’t impress them much,” Daniel said. “Hey, I’m really glad that you and Beth are getting married.”
Andy grinned. “We’re all excited about it.”
They walked together back into the warm house that smelled of pine cones which Beth had gathered and tossed into the fire. Daniel and his father sat down at the small table in front of the window, the way they always did at night, and played chess. The chessmen waited for him, in their same positions, while he was away at college, and he wondered what his father would do when he was gone for good.
But he wasn’t going to think about that now. He had to concentrate to beat his father, so Daniel gave the moves his full attention. It was very important to him to win at games. He didn’t care about winning at sports, or in life, but games were different. A game was the only thing that was exactly what you wanted it to be.
CHAPTER 6
Back in high school, before Ellie Kaufman had ever met Harold Goldsmith, the girls were fond of making lists of the qualities they wanted in a future husband. “Good personality” and “Sense of humor” were high on the list. “Good character” and “Intelligent” were added dutifully so one would not seem too frivolous. “Attractive” was at the bottom of the list, mainly because it was such a given—who would dream of marrying an unattractive man?—that it was added as an afterthought. Ellie had no list. There was only one thing she wanted in her future husband: He would have to be better than she was in everything.