Nell

by Nancy Thayer

  “But you wouldn’t marry Ben,” Ilona said.

  “No. I didn’t love him. He was—boring.”

  “All right. He was a lawyer and he had money and he was kind, but he was boring, so you wouldn’t marry him. And you wouldn’t marry Steve, and I bet you wouldn’t marry Stellios, either.”

  “Well, Ilona,” Nell said. “Stellios and Steve—you know them. They’re—”

  “They’re what?” Ilona asked. “Go on. Be a snob. They’re poor and they’re laboring class and they ride motorcycles over dirt mounds, so even if they’re adorable and love you and are kind to your children, you wouldn’t dream of spending your life waking up next to them. Right?”

  “Right,” Nell said. “But, Ilona, come on, you wouldn’t, either.”

  “I think I would,” Ilona said. “I like to think I would. I like to think that if I found a man who made me feel—a man who loved me passionately, I’d marry him in a minute, even if he were a pauper.”

  “Ilona, you’ve had passion. You got all the passion you’ll ever need from Frank,” Nell said. “And look where it got you.”

  “I know where it got me,” Ilona yelled. “It got me right back here in my diamonds and gold with the world’s shortest fuck one night a week—if Phillip’s not too tired!”

  The bedroom door opened. The nurse-housekeeper slinked in on her rubber-soled shoes. “Is something the matter, ma’am?” she asked, looking from Ilona to Nell, who were facing each other like a pair of prize-fighters, fists clenched to strike, Ilona kneeling on her bed in all her frothy lace, Nell standing by the side of the bed, her blue-jeaned legs spread slightly in a boxer’s stance.

  “Everything’s fine, Hilda,” Ilona said in a calm voice, haughtily lowering her eyelids over her huge eyes.

  The housekeeper paused a moment, puzzled, unsure of her duty just now, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. Nell and Ilona collapsed on Ilona’s bed, laughing. “Oh God,” Ilona said. “I feel like a little kid who’s just been reprimanded by the headmaster!”

  “Are you all right, Ilona?” Nell asked. “I mean, did you just hurt yourself right now?”

  “Heavens no, Nell,” Ilona said. “I don’t think yelling and laughing can do much more harm to my poor old uterus.” But she crawled back under the covers all the same. As she smoothed out the sheet and blankets around her, her face grew more solemn. “I wish Frank hadn’t been such a shit,” she said. “He was such a yummy lover. He could go on and on.” She looked at Nell. “He never called me again after he found out I was pregnant. Can you believe that?”

  “No,” Nell said. “That’s awful, Ilona. That’s horrible.”

  “He’s a shit,” Ilona said. “The shit of the ages.”

  “Yes,” Nell said. “He is.”

  The two women sat together a moment, contemplating Frank’s shittiness. Then Ilona looked up at Nell and said, “And I suppose you want to marry Andy.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Nell said. “Yeah, I sure do.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s not going to happen. There are too many complications. No, that’s not true. I think it’s not going to happen because he doesn’t want to get married to me. Oh, Ilona, when I was a girl I thought I knew how it was going to be. I thought I’d meet some man and it would be true love forever. I always thought those tales about lovers who didn’t get things worked out were tragedies. I thought they were about unusual people. I thought ordinary people just fell in love and got married. And here it turns out that we’re all muddling around in love, making mistakes, never finding the right person, getting our hearts broken, discovering that love brings us more pain and misery than joy or peace. God. Here we are falling in love with people who won’t marry us.”

  “Or,” Ilona said, “marrying people who don’t know how to love.”

  They looked at each other in silence. Their eyes dropped, and for a moment Nell and Ilona each silently reflected on their individual miseries. “Well,” Ilona brightened, “I guess Phillip and I will be going to the Bahamas next week. Do you have any gorgeous outfits for me at the boutique?” And they began to talk about clothes.

  For the entire month of October, Nell did not see or hear from Marlow. She did manage to get in touch with Charlotte, who had moved in with a female friend. “I keep calling his number,” Nell told Charlotte, “trying to find out if he wants to have the kids for a weekend, but he never answers. He’s never home. Where do you think he is?”

  * * *

  “He’s out screwing every woman he can get his hands on,” Charlotte said. “I’ve seen him on campus. He looks exhausted.”

  “Oh dear,” Nell said. “Do you think he’s having a breakdown over the divorce?”

  “Are you kidding?” Charlotte said. “I think he’s having the time of his life. I certainly am. Gotta go, I’ve got a date.”

  So Nell had no free weekend for taking a trip to Nantucket to see Andy. In the back of her mind lurked a secret hope that he would miss her enough to fly over to Boston to stay with her. But he remained content with an occasional phone call or letter. “I miss you,” he would say. “I can’t wait to see you again.” Then why are you waiting?, Nell would want to yell, but wouldn’t. Oh, I don’t love him, she told herself. He’s just another man. Why do I think I love him? What is love anyway? She’d get in the bathtub with a Tab or a brandy and cry.

  All month Nell tried to keep herself busy so she would not spend her time missing Andy. She worked, took care of the children, helped them with their schoolwork and music practice, washed the windows and put down the storms, cleaned the garage, got Fred’s baby dress out of the tree, and did other necessary tasks to get the house ready for winter. She did what was requested of her by the community theater, although she remained disappointed by her new foray into another world. Loretta, the woman in charge of costumes, relegated the solitary busywork to Nell, and Nell spent much more of her time bent over her sewing machine, making lace-trimmed bonnets, or driving around to various college campuses to beg and borrow top hats and morning coats, than she did in actual contact with the actors. Still, she kept at it. She attended rehearsals once or twice a week, whenever Loretta asked her to come, bringing the costumes she had finished, leaving with her arms full of fitted material, and people were beginning to recognize her, to say hello. In about five years, she thought wryly, someone in the cast or production crew would ask her to join them for a drink.

  Halloween came, and Nell and her children carved pumpkins and roasted the seeds. Jeremy dressed as a monster, Hannah as what she called a “wealthy lady,” but in something that looked to Nell’s eye more like the outfit of a lady of the night—the dress was so short and the heels so high and Hannah’s face so covered with lipstick and rouge. Every night after Halloween, Nell sneaked into the children’s room and stole some of their candy. She tried to believe that the tiny little bars of Snickers and Hershey’s had so few calories they didn’t really count.

  One night a week Clary and Nell went out to dinner together; Clary had moved into an apartment in Cambridge with two other women and was reasonably happy, and she was dating both Harry and another man off and on.

  Ilona sent Nell postcards from Eleuthera.

  Nell’s skirts got tight around the waist because she spent so much of October eating consolation doughnuts or Doritos.

  One morning while she was working in the boutique, rearranging the sweaters in red and green and white combinations, Steve walked in the door. Just walked in, as large as life. She had not seen him for five years. She was kneeling down behind a glass case and she saw him from his boots up: work boots scuffed; jeans tight; plaid flannel shirt and camel-colored vest bulging with muscles; wonderful blue-eyed face. He looked older than he had when she last saw him. He was a little stockier, but the lines crinkling around his eyes made him look only kinder, not any less handsome. Just looking at him made Nell feel as warm as if she were wearing all the wool sweaters in the case. She
felt her face flush. I look older, too, she thought.

  “Steve,” she said.

  “Hey,” he grinned. “I heard you were working here and thought I’d drop in. Pretty fancy place, huh. You must be doing all right.”

  “Yes, I am, I guess,” Nell said. She rose, bracing herself on the edge of the counter. “How are you?”

  Steve leaned on the counter, smiling his wonderful smile. He has the whitest teeth, Nell thought.

  “Well I’m all right too, I guess,” he said. “You know I got married?”

  “No, I didn’t know, Steve! Why, congratulations!” Nell smiled, but to her amazement a little green devil of jealousy jumped in her stomach. Where did that come from? she wondered, surprised at herself.

  “Yeah well, I just got divorced,” he said, looking hangdog.

  “Oh, Steve. That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear that,” Nell said.

  “Are you really?” he asked.

  “Why, of course I am!” Nell replied, not sure how she felt at all.

  “How sorry?” he asked, grinning again, leaning toward her. His arm touched hers on the glass countertop. She looked down at their hands: hers, long, slender-fingered, ringless, almost bony, the nails perfectly curved for once and painted a pale pink, her small wrist cuffed in beige lace; and his, huge, thick-fingered, long, hairy, swollen with veins and muscle, the nails smooth but stained from outdoor work. He still had his silver ID bracelet, and it glinted from the light now just as it had glinted five years ago on Katy and John Anderson’s patio.

  Lust, Nell thought, I am feeling pure animal lust for this man. I might as well be a goddamn cat. I might as well be some kind of animal. She was having trouble getting her breath and felt her breasts rising and falling like some gothic heroine’s. If I were a man, I’d have an erection right now, she thought.

  Yeah, and what do you think about loving Andy now, a voice said inside her.

  Nell cleared her throat. “Steve,” she said.

  “Nell,” he answered. “Wanna go out tonight?”

  “Steve,” she started again. “Listen. I’m kind of—involved with somebody.”

  “Oh yeah?” Steve said. “Well. What do you know? That’s too bad. I mean too bad for me. Good for you—I hope. You happy?”

  Nell looked at him. “That’s a good question,” she replied. “Love and happiness do not necessarily go hand in hand, do they?”

  “Are you all right?” he asked then, looking genuinely concerned.

  His concern made her nearly want to weep. Made her want to come around the counter, throw herself in his arms, and wail, Oh, Steve, take care of me! I am so tired of taking care of myself! But she caught herself: She thought, Steve would take me bowling. He would take me to bars where everyone sits watching a football game on TV. We’d watch reruns of Little House. There was no enduring joy to be had with Steve, only brief pleasure. And brief pleasure was not to be sneezed at—but neither was it what she needed just now.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “It’s good to see you again. Maybe in a while we can go out, but for now, well, as I said, I’m involved.”

  Steve looked at her, shook his head. “If you ever need a friend, give me a call,” he said. “Or if you ever want to go riding.”

  “What?” Nell asked.

  “Horses,” he said. “If you ever want to go riding horses again some day.”

  “All right,” Nell said. “I’ll remember the offer. And Steve—it is good to see you again.”

  “Kiss me?” he asked, leaning forward.

  “I don’t think I’d better,” Nell said. But at the same time she leaned forward, too, and kissed him gently on the mouth. She drew back first. They looked at each other, then Steve left.

  Well, Nell thought, wow. It had been good to see Steve again. It had been good to know that in spite of her obsession with Andy, her body could still respond to another man. And it was a real comfort to know that if she and Andy stopped seeing each other, Steve would be there as a friend, if nothing else.

  She went back to rearranging the sweaters, her mind circling in on itself, tangled with desires and questions and suppositions. It always seemed to her that if she could only re-create any past conversation with Andy to herself in a clear enough form, it would give her some kind of guidelines to follow. But everything was muddled, and it only seemed clear that she wanted more than he could give and that perhaps she wanted to give more than he wished to receive.

  She was grateful when a customer came into the boutique. It was a professor named Cora Donne; she was a biologist who taught at a local university and who, because of her successful work in biology, was always being asked by feminist groups and high school and college groups to talk about the role of women in the world. Cora was comfortable enough teaching, where she wore old turtlenecks and cotton wraparounds or jumpers, often covered by lab coats. But she was always at a loss as to what to wear when giving her speeches. She was told she was a role model to the women who heard her, that she represented to them the ultimate woman; she was a successful woman. How could she look the part?

  The first time Nell had ever met Cora, the professor had emerged from a changing room wearing a pink silk dress with ruffles at the neck and cuffs, the sort of thing a young girl or a very sophisticated woman with the right hairdo could get away with. But Cora, though not actually dumpy, was a large, plump woman with straight, short, sensible hair. She wore no makeup. She had stood in front of Nell, frustration vibrating from her, her face pale and plain above the shocking pink ruffles, and said, “Excuse me, but do you think I look feminine but successful?” Nell had wanted to burst out laughing, but knew that would be unkind.

  “Well, what kind of success is it you want to express?” she asked.

  This led them into a discussion—a sort of confession on Cora’s part—and Nell found a beige tweed suit for her and a rose and beige and cream scarf to go at the neck to be held with a brooch and matching earrings. Both women were delighted with Cora when Nell was through with her: She looked intelligent and elegant, but not, as Cora feared, unfeminine. At Nell’s suggestion, she had gone out at the age of forty-five to have her ears pierced, because her clip-on earrings pinched her, distracting her from her work. She was always taking off her earrings, or taking one off and going through the day with just one on, giving her a slightly mad appearance. She had not thought to have her ears pierced because her mother, who was now dead, had told her that only Gypsies and whores had their ears pierced. Nell convinced Cora this was no longer the case, and Cora discovered that the right earrings gave just the perfect touch to her otherwise unadorned face. They made her look feminine without being overdone.

  Now Cora always came into the boutique for her clothes. Nell had assumed that after a while Cora would pick up some fashion sense for herself, but after three years Cora still picked out the wrong things. She was always preoccupied with her professional concerns. It was too late now for her to begin to pay attention to fashion articles or advertisements or to learn a sense of style. She had come to rely on Nell’s help, and Nell was always delighted to help her. In a way, Nell felt almost maternal toward Cora, even though Cora was older and larger than she. Nell liked fixing up the amiable, serious woman, liked knowing that Cora’s life would be just a little easier because of Nell’s ministrations.

  Today Cora was in a state: She was to be presented with an award at an evening ceremony with a reception afterward. Nell took Cora by the arm, and together they faced the challenge.

  Around Thanksgiving, Nell kept running across a new medical finding in all the magazines she read—a medical finding that was of particular interest to her and filled her with new hope and determination. It had been proven statistically that single men died younger than any other group of people, younger than either married men or single women or married women. She wanted to clip this item from a magazine and mail it to Andy, but she knew he would know its sender. And it was not, unfortunately, the sort of thing that would be printed in
his technological magazines. Still, it gave her hope, this fact; it made her feel right about her emotional convictions. The family was the best way to live—it was proven statistically. Regardless of the problems, and there were always problems, people still lived better, longer, more comfortably, with fewer illnesses and heart conditions and suicides, if they lived in a married state. So her longings to live with Andy were not foolish; they were part of the natural order.

  * * *

  Her new insight gave her the courage not to fall apart over their Thanksgiving plans. She invited Andy to Arlington for Thanksgiving. He accepted. She was wild with delight at the prospect of showing him her home, such as it was, of having him with her in her own world. As they talked about their plans on the phone one evening, discussing the movies and museums they would see, what he liked to eat and what he could bring, the conversation naturally wandered into the bedroom.

  “It will be wonderful sleeping with you again,” Nell said. “I mean really sleeping. I’ve missed sleeping with you through the night.”

  “And I’ve missed you,” Andy said. “My bed’s been lonely without you.”

  Nell went warm at his words. I love him, she thought, I love him so. “Well, I’ve had Medusa in bed with me, but I’ll kick her out for you.”

  “Medusa?”

  “My cat.”

  There was a long pause. Then Andy said, “Nell, oh God. I forgot. You have cats. Nell, I’m allergic to cats. I’m allergic to dogs. I’m seriously allergic to animals. That’s why I don’t ride horses or keep a pet. My eyes swell up until I can’t see, and I have trouble breathing. It’s the fur and the dander.”

  Nell went into a silent frenzy. Even as she heard Andy talk, she heard Ginger in the other room, drinking out of the toilet bowl, a disgusting habit they couldn’t break her of and so had learned to live with. It had gotten so they almost didn’t see the fine hairs that Ginger occasionally left on the seat. She could put the animals in a kennel, she thought, while Andy visited. But how could she ever get all the hair out of the house? It seemed an impossible task.