“Everybody knows everything in this town.”
“They don’t know about us.”
“Jack, someday they will. It’s inevitable.”
This thought didn’t please him. “Do you ever think about leaving here? Leaving me?”
“Funny. Mom asked me that same thing. Where would I go?”
“That’s not the answer I hoped for.”
“Come on, Jack. I’m not fond of emotional display.”
“Go live in Japan then.” He smiled and continued: “You’re like your mother.”
“God, don’t say that. That’s every woman’s worst fear.”
“I think Julia Hunsenmeir is pretty special. She’s full of fun, ready for whatever comes next, and she has a stiff upper lip. She can take whatever life hands out.”
“If I want a stiff upper lip I’ll grow a moustache.” This was petulant.
“Wouldn’t like you then.” Jackson’s voice was singsong, like a kid’s at recess.
“Really? Truly? You wouldn’t like me if I woke up tomorrow and were a man? Kind of like Kafka only with better results.”
“I’d like you but I wouldn’t want to go to bed with you.”
“Silly boy.” The cold air seeped in under the windowsill. I put on my sweater.
“Do you think about leaving?”
“Sometimes. Why do you ask? Have I said something or done something?”
“No, I just don’t want to lose you, that’s all.” He kissed me again.
I kissed him back. “This is my home. Sometimes it gets me. The smallness. The nosiness. Christ, every new idea is perceived as an act of aggression.”
He studied my face. “I know. Sometimes I feel that even the buildings are leaking nostalgia. But I don’t know if I could live anywhere else. I belong here for better or for worse.”
“Better.” I kissed him and left, Lolly and Pewter at my heels.
8
JULIA, THE SPY
WEDNESDAY … 1 APRIL
The moon, a silver sickle, offered little light but the sky was crystal clear. Mother’s night vision progressively deteriorated. If she wanted to go anywhere in the evening I usually drove her. I had no intention of driving her anywhere tonight but she bribed me with a huge pot of paper narcissus which she forced in her little greenhouse off the kitchen.
We headed toward Luigi’s, the Italian restaurant about four miles west of town. Mark Mallory owned it and as far as I knew there never had been a Luigi in these parts. Despite the Chianti bottles with candles in them and the red-checkered tablecloths, the food was good.
“Slow down.” Mother was a backseat driver.
“I’m going to park.”
“No, you’re not. I want to coast by.”
“Okay.”
The big red neon sign glowed up ahead. An Italian flag fluttered over the doorway. If we have to bring in our flag at night, Mark ought to bring in the Italian flag too. He could display it inside and get the same effect. Business was always good at Luigi’s. We crawled past, craning to see into the three-over-three windows.
“See anything?” Mother asked.
“I’m driving. I can’t look.”
“Goddammit, I can’t see at night.”
“Why didn’t you think of that in the first place?”
“You’re the college-educated one. I thought you were smart.”
“Mother, don’t start.”
Lolly, Goodyear, and Pewter listened from the backseat.
“I can’t see.”
I drove past from the other direction. Couldn’t see a thing except lots of little heads. I drove by a few more times.
“I’m about to wear out my tires.” I was getting testy.
“I remember you got your driver’s license on a Friday. By Saturday you’d been to the filling station three times. You did wear out the tires!” She laughed.
“That’s when you told me I had to get a job and buy my own car. Bet you don’t even remember my first car. Ha, I bet you don’t even remember your first car.”
“I most certainly do.” She huffed and settled like a hen on a nest. “Your first car was a 1943 two-door Mercury and it ran like a top. I’d like to have that car back. Furthermore, you paid four hundred dollars for it and it was dark green. My first car, or the first car I drove, anyway—it was your father’s car—was a Model A Ford. That was his first and last Ford product. After that he became a convert to Chrysler, so maybe it was a good thing he died before you bought that old Mercury.” She paused, probably thinking about Dad. “I know a lot about cars. I kind of came into the world with them if you think about it.”
“I think about Daddy every day and you know what?” I turned to Mother. “I smile every time.”
“Keep your eyes on the road.”
“Make up your mind. Either I stare at the road or I peer into Luigi’s.”
We made a few more passes with no success.
“Remember the time we played charades at the church and Chessy dressed up like Milton Berle in drag? He ruined my lipstick too. God, I’ll never forget that. I believe I near to died of laughter that night. We did laugh, didn’t we?”
“We still do.”
“Not the same.” She pulled her scarf up tighter around her neck. It was beastly cold. “But life goes on. And I mean that too. I’m not being … being flippant. If life doesn’t go on, then you’re insulting the people you loved who are dead. Know what I mean?”
“I sure do. How come you didn’t remarry?” I’d asked her this a thousand times and got a thousand different answers. Mother had a fertile brain when it came to giving herself excuses or reasons.
“Who?”
“Millard Huffstetler was hot for you after he was widowed.”
“Oh la! Millard is as big a lady as Mr. Pierre. He wanted a traveling companion. That’s all he and Gerta did was travel.”
“I think gay men and straight women can have very comfortable relationships.”
“I want a real man with real balls.”
“Mom.”
“I mean it. I don’t care if I sound anti-gay. A woman needs a man who wants her. It isn’t enough to be needed. Millard needed me but he didn’t want me. Hell, I don’t care if he wants some man. That’s his business, but my life is my business and I deserve better than that. After all, I had the best in your father.”
Wasn’t much I could say to that. I drove around some more.
“I have an idea,” Mother piped in.
Inwardly I moaned. “Yes.” My voice was bright.
“Park in the parking lot. Let’s sneak up and peek in the window.”
“What if someone sees us? You’ll look a fool.”
“What else is new?”
I did as I was told. The girls were told to stay in the backseat, which didn’t go over well but they did it. Mom and I tiptoed to the first window by the parking lot. The tiptoeing itself was pretty funny. Who was going to hear us inside Luigi’s? The place was a clutter of plates, cups, saucers, and talk. The photo of the Colosseum beckoned us. I never did like eating at Luigi’s and facing the Colosseum. Rivers of blood soaked into that Colosseum sand. Of course, maybe we’d be better off if we got honest about football and let them kill one another out there too. They sure are trying. At least the Romans were up front about their bloodlust.
“There they are,” Mother whispered.
Louise, dressed to the nines, sat opposite Ed Tutweiler Walters, also beautifully turned out. Accompanying them on this hot date were Verna and Thacker Bonneville along with the ten BonBons. As two of the oldest children were married, their spouses were there as well.
Mother put her hand over her mouth and hurried back to the car. I ran after her. We got in, closed the doors, and howled.
When I got my breath I asked, “Do you think she knew?”
Mother shrugged. “Even if she did she’d lie through her teeth about it. ‘The date of the decade’ was how your aunt put it.”
“Well, it’s beyond
decade—there’re more than the ten BonBons.” We laughed some more. “What are you going to do tomorrow? Nail her?”
“And spoil my fun? I’m not going to do anything.”
I cranked up the Jeep and thought to myself: “And after that, everything!”
We sang, “Row, row, row your boat” the whole way to Mom’s house, even though it made Lolly bark. Lolly hates the sound of the human voice in song. We’re even, because I won’t give you much for the canine voice.
9
THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS:
A MOMENT WITH AUNT LOUISE
THURSDAY … 2 APRIL
What a surprise. The temperature climbed into the mid-fifties and at lunch hour hordes of people poured into Runnymede Square. A brave crocus popped her head up under the Confederate statue. I was glad no blossom came up by the Yankee statue, although you could see the green shoots breaking the ground.
Mutzi Elliott was sitting on a bench with Michelle Saunders. Her notebook was open, so she was working. Mutzi wore a pink string tie. That was his official spring tie. People tend to simplify one another. We all knew Mutzi liked string ties and cowboy boots. Every Christmas the man was inundated with string ties. By now they’ve probably taken over his garage and are threatening the house next door. As our greengrocer—not to mention bingo caller—he saw most of us once or twice a week and the diehards, like Mom, every day. Mother insisted on fresh vegetables.
I was wondering where she was, since the first warm day had been eagerly anticipated. Careful scanning of the grounds revealed her escorted by Verna, coming up Frederick Street toward the Square. No wonder I didn’t notice her. Verna obscured my view. It’s ugly to call Verna fat, so I’ll say she was generously nourished, and when she had her appendectomy it did take four orderlies to lift her off the gurney. Even at a distance I could see Mother was working her magic act. She was animated. Verna stopped every few steps to hold her sides in laughter. No one would ever accuse my mother of being dull but they’d sure accuse Julia Hunsenmeir Smith of plenty else. Mother had a reputation for being viciously witty. She wasn’t one to cross, because she’d slice you and dice you publicly. She was also accused of being vain. Now I didn’t agree with that. I looked at Mother again, coming toward the Square. There she was, eighty-two, and her step had the resilience of a young woman’s.
Health was Julia’s religion. She exercised for one hour every day and had done so since she was a teenager. She did jumping jacks, push-ups, and sit-ups, followed by her walking three to five miles. Winters messed up the walking. Five years ago I saved my pennies and gave her a treadmill for Christmas so she could keep up with her walking. She also did her own housework, which, as any woman can tell you, is exercise. So while her wrinkles had wrinkles and her skin had lost elasticity, she had the body of a healthy fifty-year-old. Mother always said that age was a disease and you can fight it. I don’t think Mom is vain. I think she’s smart. Except for the cigarettes. The other thing that ticks people off about Mother is that she’s on the cutting edge of fashion. Granted, we’re talking about fashion for Runnymede but given TV we aren’t that far behind. Julia was the first woman to bob her hair, the first to wear pants, the first to wear a miniskirt, and she was in her fifties then. She loved the wolf whistles. She never relinquished her position as fashion leader and I think it was her self-confidence that got people. The Rifes had more money than God, and Mom still looked better than those women. If she’d had the money for a face lift, she could have fooled everyone.
At any rate, I couldn’t keep up with her when it came to fashion. I spent my money on books and Kenny’s board at the stable. But I worked out: one and a half hours every day with weights—not the sissy stuff, the heavy stuff—and then I’d run. The crow’s-feet took hold around my eyes and I had a streak of gray right off my widow’s peak, but other than that I was also living proof that Mother was right about aging: It’s up to you.
If Mom was on her way to the Square, where was Aunt Wheezie? I decided to stroll around the whole Square. As it was large, that was a pleasant half-hour task. Also, one has to pass and repass. That’s Southern for talking the first time you see someone and then when you run into them again you talk some more. Passing and repassing.
“Nick!”
I turned to see Regina. She was wearing a pink shirt, a khaki skirt, and a light-green shirt jacket. Her light hair was pulled back in a chic ponytail complete with ribbon. The eyeshadow glowed green today. Regina was an attractive woman out of her barn clothes. Lolly ran up to her. I would have moved a little faster but Pewter picked that moment to bitch. She wanted to be carried. Pewter was a hairy gray cannonball, the Verna of cats. I put her on my shoulder.
“What are you doing downtown today? I thought you had a meeting with the vet.”
“I did. Didn’t take long. The mare’s got a stone bruise—that’s a relief.” She breathed deeply. “A few more days like this and we can get out on the courts.”
“One of these years we are going to have to raise money for indoor courts. It’s torture not playing in the winter.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Her teeth sparkled, perfectly capped.
I knew they were capped but I was jolted one time in college when we’d gotten fake IDs and hit up a bar in Baltimore. The dance floor was illuminated with ultraviolet light and it made Regina’s teeth black. Regina, like me, was a Delta Delta Delta, and in those days that meant something. These days it meant alumnae meetings hosted by Ursula Yost, who still insisted we practice our secret handshake.
“We could try and hit some on Saturday if the weather holds.”
“Sure. Oh, it’s official. You are editor of the Blue and Gray Hunt Club Newsletter. Ursie wants you to call her and pick up her files.”
“What a con you are.”
“Don’t complain. I had to listen to her complain about the cost of Vogel boots. One half hour on boots!” She spied Mother coming into the Square. “I get older and Juts gets younger.”
“Do tell her.”
“I will.” She started off and called over her shoulder. “Portia Rife is back in town. Bet she stops by your office.”
“It’ll be good to see her.”
Smiling, she continued on her way. “What a rotten liar you are.”
I smiled, too, but for entirely different reasons. Mother waved at Regina and then me.
“See you later, Mom!” I hollered.
“If you’re lucky” came the reply and soon she was engulfed in conversation with Regina.
Georgette BonBon and Louise came out of the Curl ’n Twirl. Louise had her I’ll-buy-lunch look on her face. My family was certainly working over the Bonnevilles.
“Pewter, honey, it’s time to get down.” We were in front of the Pennsylvania side’s city hall. As I was going up the steps Mr. Pierre came down.
“Sweet love.” He kissed one cheek and then the other. “This is what’s meant by turn the other cheek.” Then he patted Lolly and told Pewter she was the cat’s meow. He thought that was wildly funny. “What riches might our city hall hold for you?”
“Have you been reading the papers?”
“Breathlessly.”
“Then you know we’re about to go through another zoning fight.”
“Oh, those zoning unpleasantries recur like malaria.”
“But the struggle is tougher on your side of the line. I don’t know why.”
“I do. We’ve got more rich people per capita than you do.”
“All twenty of them,” I remarked.
“And most of them Rifes, but they get what they want. Anyway, I don’t care if Rife converts the old shoe factory into a mini-mall or whatever they call it. Those jobs went to the Third World ages ago. If it creates jobs, I’m for it. I wish he’d buy the old Bon Ton.”
“Me, too, except I don’t want a zoning variance that can be used again and again. It will be used like a law without ever being voted on by the public. Diz is smart enough to know what to do when he gets his foot
in the door.”
“True.” Mr. Pierre’s eyes swept the Square. “But Diz isn’t going to ruin the Square.”
“Hope not. Anyway, I need to read those laws again.”
“Ah, there’s Julia.” He kissed me on the cheek again and dashed off.
Mr. Pierre and Mother were very matey. There was something conspiratorial about them.
“Put your back into it.”
“Aunt Wheeze, if you’d hold the light steady I could do a better job.”
She shined the powerful flashlight over the garden beds which I was mulching at nine-thirty at night.
“How come you haven’t written an editorial about Jim Bakker resigning from the PTL Club?”
“Because Charles Falkenroth says he smells a bigger story. He wants us to wait. John’s raring to go, of course.” “Sometimes I agree with John’s opinions.” “You do it to spite me.” I heaved the last load of mulch onto her pachysandra bed and spread it around. “Once spring is here to stay, this will be perfect.”
“Come on in. I’ll give you a cup of tea and a pickled egg for your labors.”
“Two pickled eggs.”
Aunt Louise’s house glittered with religious artifacts. I had long become accustomed to the suffering poses of Christ hanging in each room. The one I couldn’t abide was an enormous picture of Jesus with his crown of thorns. The eyes opened and closed while the blood dripped from the thorns. The picture was electric, and when Wheezie turned on the lights you got the full, horrific effect. I’m quite sorry that Jesus endured the unleashed evil of the human race. Jesus suffered and was made man. I suffered and was made angry.
On this subject Aunt Louise and I differed. My aunt Louise hasn’t missed a tragedy since B.C. If she isn’t experiencing one herself or watching someone else she’ll read about historical tragedies. She loves suffering. I can’t decide if she does this because she wants to be a Catholic martyr or if she really likes pain. She’s the only person I know who will feel guilty about resting in peace.
Her pickled eggs bit into my tongue with the right mixture of vinegar and sugar.
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