* * *
She hadn’t realized until she saw him that she’d been apprehensive about meeting Eric again. She’d been thinking that he’d blame her. Although his manner was subdued and well-mannered, she felt that she ought to give him some kind of apology before the afternoon was over. He didn’t seem nervous himself. On the contrary, after saying hello, he asked her, politely and confidently, ‘Would you like to see my room?’
They started up a wide, curving staircase. Like the rest of the house, it was bigger and more important-looking than anything she was used to.
‘I’m sorry about the other night,’ she said. ‘I felt badly about turning you in, but I didn’t see what else I could do.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ he told her. ‘It’s okay.’ He headed towards a door that gave off the landing, saying, ‘It’s this one.’ He stood back for her. She walked in.
It wasn’t like a child’s room, nor like a place where a young boy lived. The furniture, the colors of the materials, the curtains, all looked as if they had come from the room of an adult. Even the bed was an adult’s single bed with a carved headboard. Many of the objects and pieces of furniture had the appearance of expensive, well-cared-for things. They might have been antiques.
Over the small desk hung a religious painting. As her eyes went to it, he said, ‘That’s St Catherine.’
The picture too looked old, as did the little desk with its green leather top that had a floral pattern stamped in gold around the edges. She took a step forward.
There were three people in the painting: two women and a baby. One woman held the baby, while the other one stretched out her hand towards it. The baby, with a little help from its mother, was putting a ring on a finger of the extended hand.
‘Mary and Jesus,’ he added. ‘It’s called The Mystic Marriage. It’s sort of like, ah, you know when nuns get married to God?’
‘What?’
‘They’re given a wedding ring.’
‘Uh-huh. Are you all religious? All the family?’
‘Nobody in the family. I saw this when my father was buying a set of chairs and I asked him to get it for me, for my birthday.’
‘That must have been a pretty big present.’
‘He said it would have been cheaper to buy me a car. He thought it was a waste of money.’
‘Because he didn’t think it was beautiful, or because you don’t go to church?’
‘What I like about religion are the stories. They’re pretty weird, but it’s surprising how they can have an application to everyday life.’
‘I don’t know. What I never liked about Sunday School was that they told you all that stuff that wasn’t true.’
‘If it has an application, it’s still got some truth.’
‘I guess I mean the thing you start out with.’
‘That would be a composite.’
‘Oh. Like how do you mean?’
‘A myth or a folktale.’
‘Exactly. Not true events.’
‘But they could be.’
‘But they aren’t. They’re just made up.’
‘They’re only made up in that they’re typical. They’re typical of certain wishes held by the people who tell the stories. Since we all still think the same way, those stories still typify something true.’
‘Like what?’
‘Revenge, murder, miracles and all that sex stuff.’
‘Well,’ she said, at a loss how to go on, ‘I never thought of it that way before.’
‘It’s a very interesting subject. I’m also interested in those preachers that get everybody to give them money to save their souls and then have to go into a psychiatric hospital when they’re found out.’
‘Those people are frauds.’
‘They want to be demagogues.’
‘Yes.’
‘But they’re using the wrong propaganda. The real power is in the secular branch.’
‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘And besides, they let you keep the money afterwards.’
‘Right. And even if you get sent up the river, you can write a bestseller about it.’
She started to laugh. He joined in. It was going to be all right, she thought. He didn’t hold her betrayal against her.
He sat down in a straight-backed chair at the side. As he did so, he motioned towards the modern swivel chair at the desk. She sat down in it. She gave it a little swing, first one side, then the other. It was fun. The chair must have been another thing he’d asked for.
He said, ‘Are you his girlfriend now?’
‘I guess I am.’
‘I told you so, didn’t I? I said he’d be able to take over everything without any trouble.’
‘It doesn’t mean I don’t like you too. You’re the one I met first.’
When Eric reached the age of twenty-one, she thought, she’d be thirty-one and Roy would be about forty-five. She was closer in age to the boy who would be her stepson than the man who was to become her husband. That was a strange fact. It made her imagine that the odd tale with which Eric had introduced himself to her – the story about a body-swap – could become true at some future date: that at a certain age she might say to herself that her husband was immature, whereas his son was more like a grown man.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘You look like you’re having trouble remembering a phone number.’
‘I was trying to figure something out. But it won’t ever happen, so I guess there isn’t any point wondering about it.’
‘Oh, I think those are some of the most interesting thoughts of all. You know: what would happen if a meteor collided with the moon; or how would you react if you found an escaped tiger in your living room: was it that kind of thing?’
‘Not so wild, but that’s the general idea. Maybe everything’s like that until it happens. If you’re thinking about something you have no experience of.’
They had tea in a smaller room off the large, high-ceilinged dining room. By the time they sat down it was dark outside. Roy accepted a cup, but didn’t drink it. He sat watching her and Eric the way a man might relax to the sound of music. Sometimes he joined in the conversation, but he didn’t try to guide it. Eric was the host; he told a succession of jokes and puns. She countered with her cousin’s story about the hat and the Dalmatian. And after that they got on to the subject of movies.
She met Debbie, who came out of the kitchen to shake hands. Eric looked on with an expression of resignation. He didn’t appear either frightened or desperate. Everything still seemed to be all right.
In the car Roy said, ‘You have an amazing effect on him.’
‘Let’s hope it lasts.’
‘What did you think of his room?’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘But peculiar. Like a museum. Everything antique, except for his computer over in the corner. Most of it was his mother’s. He fought tooth and nail for it during the divorce.’
‘The swivel chair’s modern.’
‘He didn’t let you sit in it, did he?’
‘Sure.’
‘Jesus. He won’t even let me sit in it. It’s his thinking chair. What did you talk about?’
‘About religion. We were looking at the painting above the desk.’
‘The girl marrying the baby? Christ, yes. That horrible thing. It’s worth a fortune now. When I bought it for him they thought it was workshop of John Doe and now it’s supposed to be the guy himself. But I guess they could change their minds again. I told him he should sell it before the price drops back down. And he looked at me like I’d suggested using chemical warfare on a maternity ward.’
‘He loves it.’
‘He could love a photograph of it just as much, and invest the money he got from the original.’
‘A photograph wouldn’t mean the same. A copy wouldn’t either. From the way he looks at it you can tell that he really appreciates everything about it. I think it’s like a person to him. He
sits at the desk and sort of communes.’
‘My God, now I’ve got two of you,’ he said. ‘I’m out numbered.’
*
The next day, Thursday, they went to the Town Hall. On the way back he dropped her at the office, where she handed in her notice to quit, told Maureen the news and got ready to go out to lunch.
‘Have lunch with me,’ Maureen ordered. ‘I’m paying.’
They were outside, walking quickly in the cold air, when Bert came running up behind them. He caught hold of Sandra’s arm. ‘We’ve got a date,’ he told her.
‘No.’
‘Yes. I asked you Monday when you could make lunch and you said Thursday was all right.’
She was about to deny it but suddenly she recalled the sight of Bert looking through his appointment book to find a free day. She’d made the date just to get rid of him.
‘Want me to go on ahead?’ Maureen said.
Sandra nodded. She turned back to Bert. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot. I can’t. Let’s say goodbye, please. Don’t keep going on and on like this.’
‘This guy – the one with the car? I asked about him and he’s bad news. He did something –’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know, but everybody says he’s just no good.’
How childish he was, she thought. Everybody was. Was it likely that he’d approve of the man she was planning to leave him for? But that was why divorcing couples always considered each other emotionally ill, insane, possibly genetically warped – that explained the unacceptable, which was that people changed: nothing was for long. Life itself didn’t last and the changeableness was natural, like death.
‘I don’t want to lose you,’ he said. ‘I get this terrible feeling in bed, that I’ve got to have you holding me. And then you aren’t there. And nothing feels right.’
She started to cry. He meant more to her, now that they were breaking up, than he had for all the months that they’d been together. There had been many times when – offended and bitter – she’d wanted the power to make him feel bad, even to hurt him seriously. Now she had it and she didn’t want it. She didn’t want to hurt anyone like this, least of all him.
He held out his hand to her but she pushed it away. She said, ‘I can’t. I’ve told you. I told you every nice way I could. We’re getting married. We’ve already decided when. We’ve been to the Town Hall and everything. We’ve set the date.’
‘When?’ he asked.
‘In a few days.’
‘When?’
‘Look, Bert, there’s no point in this. I don’t want you to get the idea that you’re going to show up at the ceremony or something.’
‘Me?’
Of course that was what he’d be planning. She tore herself away from him, ran to the corner and crossed the streeet. She didn’t look back and she didn’t slow up, although she sensed that he wouldn’t be following her. He’d be standing where she had left him, watching, while she kept on running.
Maureen didn’t ask about Bert directly. She just leaned across the table and said, ‘Okay, shoot. The uncondensed version, please.’
As Sandra talked, she started to think that everything was going to be easy. Maureen seemed to believe that the whirlwind romance was just fine – that the speed with which Sandra was being carried towards the altar was a sign of true love, and that the best news of all was that she’d be getting rid of Bert, who’d always taken her for granted and never treated her very well, especially that time when he’d had the affair with Melanie what’s-her-name in accounting. Sandra agreed. She pretended to be in control of all her actions and feelings. She hadn’t known about Melanie or any other girl. Maybe there had been more than one. It didn’t matter now.
‘Have you met his family?’ Maureen asked.
‘Oh, yes. Well, part of it. I’m meeting the ex-family on Saturday.’
‘Right. One of those. Are there any kids?’
‘One. A boy. He lives with his father.’
‘Wow. I don’t know how I’d handle something like that.’
‘You never know. It’s only when things happen: then you find out. That was the trouble with Bert. Nothing was ever going to happen. I always thought he was nice, but it wouldn’t have worked. He just wasn’t the right one. Now that I’ve made the decision – God, I don’t know how I stood it for so long. I should have gotten out of the job, too. This place: don’t you feel it? It’s hard to find anybody in that building who isn’t one level lower than a computer.’
‘I love it. I’d go crazy living with people who only wanted to talk about the weather and the kids. I like things fizzy.’
‘So do I. I never felt that way about the office, though.’
‘I feel that way about all offices. That’s why you’re getting married and I’m not. Some girls grow up dreaming about making hubby his breakfast and bouncing the baby in its basinette; I always had this craving for filing cabinets and typewriters.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘The great thing about offices is: there’s no mess, no clutter, no smell of boiled cabbage, no cockroaches and – best of all – the people there don’t yell at each other all day long. Wall-to-wall carpets, warm in the winter, cool in the summer, somebody else does the cleaning, everyone’s friendly and polite, they like the way you do things, they give you money: there’s a lot to be said for it.’
‘But not all marriages –’
‘You can never count on things for long. And it’s always easier to leave a job than to walk out on a marriage.’
‘But if you love each other –’
‘Sure. That’s what they say: it makes all the difference. That’s the part I left out.’
*
She let everyone else in the office know that she’d be leaving. Most of them didn’t need to be told: Maureen had been spreading the word. She telephoned her sister and then her parents, who sounded stunned, as if she’d done something alarming. Their reaction upset her. Didn’t they think she was ever going to get married? The girls in the office had the right idea: they approved. They seemed to feel that getting married was in the same category as winning a million dollars in the sweepstakes. Even Maureen, who didn’t have much to say for married life, thought that it was the right thing for Sandra.
Her parents asked her how long she’d known him. They didn’t like her answer. Her sister, too, kept saying, ‘Are you sure?’ and then added, ‘What happened to that nice boy you were sort of living with for a while? The Ivy League type. Bert.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ she said.
*
Early on Saturday morning she drove to Roy’s house. His car was outside. Eric was sitting in the front seat, behind the wheel. She parked in back of him, got out and walked over. She leaned towards the window. ‘Are you driving?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. He’s on the phone. He told me to stay outside.’
‘I’ll just let him know I’m here,’ she said.
She found Roy standing in the hall. He was holding the telephone receiver to his ear and saying, ‘Yes, yes.’
She whispered, ‘Do you want me to wait in the car?’ He nodded and made a kiss at her. She went back outdoors.
They had a pretty, sunny day for the trip. It even seemed to be a bit warmer. Everything they’d missed in the spring was coming to them now. She got into the passenger seat next to Eric. He was wearing a shirt and sweater: on the back seat lay a folded jacket with a hood. It struck her that every time she’d seen him, he’d been wearing different clothes. That was the way rich people lived, even the children. But for a child to dress that way meant that someone else must choose his clothing. Did Roy do that, dragging his son along on shopping expeditions?
‘That’s in case we go for a walk,’ he said. ‘We probably will. My father likes to get out of the house as fast as he can. The beach is okay.’
‘Do you two go shopping for your clothes together?’
‘Why?’
‘I was
always taken shopping by my mother. She’d grab a lot of things off the racks and push me into a dressing room with them. I guess she had a very good eye. Usually they all looked fine, so then she’d just ask me which one I liked best and she’d buy that one for me. But my sister couldn’t stand going with her. They used to have fights. She didn’t like any of the clothes my mother chose. She wanted to wear silver jackets in the daytime and that kind of thing.’
‘That’s what I’m going to do as soon as I’m sixteen. He says I have to wait till then. Sometimes he makes me come along with him. About once a year, mainly for shoes. You have to try them on. Everything else I pick out of catalogues. Once you know your size, it’s easy. Then I show him the picture and most of the time he says yes. I know the kind of thing he’s going to want me to get.’
‘That’s the first step.’
‘Is your sister grown up now?’
‘Oh, yes. She’s a couple of years older than I am.’
‘What does she wear?’
‘Pants and a turtleneck, mostly. And black eye make-up around her eyes; no lipstick, long hair. And she won’t wear shoes in the house: she doesn’t like them. But that’s as far as it goes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She’s not really a rebel. She doesn’t want to be anti-social and break things up. She just couldn’t stand to have somebody else making decisions about what she was going to wear and how she was going to look: anything about her appearance. She has to be the one to decide.’
‘Well, that’s the way I think, too. Don’t you?’
‘Not really. I don’t always mind when other people decide for me. Sometimes it saves a lot of trouble. There are loads of things I don’t care about one way or the other.’
‘I always care.’
She laughed. ‘I know you do,’ she said. ‘Listen. Do I call you Eric now, or should I call you Ricky?’
‘They’re both no good, specially Eric. They called me that because when I was born, I had red hair, so they thought: wow, Eric the Red. And they named me after that.’
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