“That’s a third-year class,” Mrs. Laskey said. “Isn’t it enough that—”
“It went fine,” Richie said. “I got an A.”
Mr. Laskey nodded. “There you go,” he said. “You see?”
Chew slowly, one of Kyla’s teachers had said once. Your stomach has no teeth. But what she was chewing, she thought, was the body of an animal, with blood cooked into it.
“And track?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Okay,” Richie said.
A silence rose separately from Richie and Mr. Laskey and consolidated.
Richie was so…dignified, really, was the word, Kyla thought. Everything about him was clean and dignified. Even the way he ate—as if food were clean, as if all the frantic things your own animal’s body did with it, with even the body of other animals, was just clean and ordinary.
“Alice—” Mrs. Laskey said, and the block of silence over the table became porous and dissolved.
“I came in ahead of Nelson Howell today,” Richie said.
“What did I tell you,” Mr. Laskey said.
“—You don’t have to kill it, Alice,” Mrs. Laskey said. “It’s already dead.”
“I did my report on Native Americans today,” Janey said loudly. “Miss Feldman said it was the best report.”
Kyla glanced inadvertently at Richie.
“Mother,” Richie said, “Jane’s prevaricating again.”
“I am not!” Janey said. “It was really interesting. In lots of tribes the girls—”
“Pre…” Alice began, scowling quizzically at Mr. Laskey. “What does—”
“Absolutely nothing, Alice,” Mr. Laskey said. “In this case.”
“In lots of tribes the girls bleed and they go out to little—”
“Not at the table, Jane,” Mrs. Laskey said.
“Janey made it up?” Alice said.
“No,” Mr. Laskey said. “Yes.”
“They do,” Janey said. “They—”
“You heard your mother,” Mr. Laskey said. “Not at the table.” He turned to Kyla. “And what about you? Did you do a report today, too?”
“I did mine last week,” Kyla said. And then, because it looked like Janey was about to erupt again, “It was about ballet dancers.”
“Ballet dancers,” Mr. Laskey said. He dipped his head as if he were tipping a hat.
“Ballet dancers,” Janey said. “Yeah, wow, ballet dancers. Well, throw you a bone.”
Mrs. Laskey snorted.
“Now,” Mr. Laskey said. “Who wants more of this excellent…This…Kyla?”
“No, thank you,” Kyla said.
“The child eats nothing,” Mr. Laskey said admiringly.
“She will vanish into thin air.”
“More for Alice!” Alice shouted, flinging herself at the serving plate.
“Alice,” Mrs. Laskey said, “kindly restrain yourself—look what you’ve done to your father’s tie.”
“Plus guess what, Alice,” Janey said. “Your table manners make us all puke.”
“Jane,” Mrs. Laskey said warningly, “Alice—”
“Incidentally,” Richie said. Incidentally, Kyla thought. “Scott Ryerson invited me to go skiing with him and his family over spring vacation.”
“I want to go, too—” Janey said.
“Oh, were you invited as well, Jane?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Mother,” Janey said. “Why does Richie always get to do everything?”
“Nobody said anything about—” Mr. Laskey said.
“But Alice and I never—” Jane said.
“Stop that this instant,” Mrs. Laskey said. She turned to Alice, who was plucking at her. “No,” she said. “And I am not going to ask you one more time to behave.”
Mrs. Laskey’s fury was always like a gun pointing at the table; it made you tired, Kyla thought, waiting for it to go off. Her own mother never raised her voice, and she was always kind and patient. Everyone knew how patient she was. Lots of people said it was why (and the other people said it was because) she was such a good nurse. But that was frightening, too. No matter how angry Mrs. Laskey got, it was better than the look of disappointment her own mother got when Kyla did something wrong. Because when people got angry, they were angry and then they stopped being angry, and it was something that went from them to you. But when people were disappointed in you, it was something that went from you to them. You did something to them. It was as if you had made a hole in them, or had gotten a spot on them that could never be taken away.
“Where do Scott’s people ski?” Mr. Laskey said. “See, Mother?” Janey said.
“Mother, don’t you—”
“Jane,” Mrs. Laskey said. “If I don’t get—”
“All right,” Mr. Laskey said, and everyone stopped talking. “Yes,” he said, quietly. “Fair enough. Janey, your point is well taken. And has given me an excellent idea: Rich will go skiing over spring vacation, I will take you and Alice to New York, and your mother—your mother will have one entire week of peace, all to herself.”
Mrs. Laskey put down her fork. “Excuse me?” she said.
Richie continued his pristine eating. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Mrs. Laskey said, slowly, “but weren’t you just in New York?”
“On business,” Mr. Laskey agreed pleasantly.
“And now you propose to go right back,” Mrs. Laskey said.
“Not right back,” Mr. Laskey said. “No.”
“May I please be excused?” Richie said.
“You may,” Mr. Laskey said. “In the future, please do not interrupt.”
“I’m sorry,” Richie said.
“Apologies accepted,” Mr. Laskey said.
“And when did you become so enamored of New York?” Mrs. Laskey said. “The last time you and I were there together, hellish sewer, I believe, was what you…It’s a filthy place, and you loathe it, and you are now proposing to go right back and expose the girls to it, for what reason I cannot—”
“As you know”—Mr. Laskey overrode her—“As you know, Carol, the events of my childhood upon which I look back with the greatest affection are those trips I took to New York with my father. As you know, I consider those excursions to be the single most meaningful experience of my childhood. It was during those trips that I felt closest to my father and learned to honor his values…”
Mrs. Laskey was staring at him incredulously. “His values,” she said. She picked up her glass of water and drank until, to Kyla’s amazement, the glass was empty. “I should go with you,” she said. “That’s what I should do.”
A long, long look, arcing between Mr. and Mrs. Laskey, was pierced by a rising wail from Alice.
“Alice—” Mr. Laskey said. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
Alice put her head on the table as though it was about to be chopped off. “It’s all right, darling,” Mrs. Laskey said. “You’re just tired.”
“Soon to bed,” Mr. Laskey said. “But first, what’s for dessert? What kind of ice cream do we have back there? Ice cream, Kyla?”
“No, thank you,” Kyla said, because before you knew it you could turn into a clump, like Janey.
“Yes, please, chocolate,” Janey said.
“There’s some fruit for you,” Mrs. Laskey said. “Remember those five pounds.”
“Daddy—” Janey said.
Mr. Laskey glanced at Janey; his glance held and sharpened. “Your mother has spoken,” he said.
“And you can take it easy, too,” Mrs. Laskey said. “I don’t want to get a phone call from New York telling me you’ve dropped dead in your hotel room.”
“I don’t want to go to New York,” Janey said suddenly.
Mr. Laskey took Janey’s wrist and Kyla heard her quick intake of breath. “You cannot have it both ways, Jane,” he said. “You cannot complain that Rich has privileges and then behave like a prima donna yourself. Of course you want to go to New York. We’ll have a wonderful time, if you’ll just stop this nonsense.” He released h
er wrist and patted her hand. “We’ll treat ourselves like royalty. We’ll do anything we want and have ice cream whenever we want. A trip to New York City! Isn’t that ideal? Ideal, girls? Ideal, Alice?”
Upstairs in her fancy bedroom Janey had more toys than anyone, a whole closet stacked with games and toys, and dolls, too. She was spoiled, Kyla thought, and that was a fact. But the only thing she ever wanted to do was play Scrabble or read one of her great, thick books. Or worse, talk.
“My Great-aunt Jane who I was named for,” she said, “used to have a mansion in New York. She had a lot of famous paintings, that you see in books, and jewels. Unfortunately, she passed away, or I’d get to stay there when I go to New York.”
“What happened to all her stuff?” Kyla said. Oh, why was she doing this? Encouraging a person who couldn’t help lying was worse than being the person. “How come you don’t have it?”
“Because unfortunately,” Janey said, “her husband gambled it all away. At the…gaming table. So we’ll have to stay at a hotel, like the Plaza, or the Carlyle. But places like that are all right.”
“Do you stay at those places a lot?” Kyla said. “Well, not just actually,” Janey said.
“But whenever my parents go anywhere, they always write me letters about it and bring me back…mementos. When they went to San Francisco this fall they brought me back a whole huge suitcase full of presents.”
“That’s nice,” Kyla said. She stood up and stretched. “I don’t feel like talking anymore.”
“So what?” Janey said. “Neither do I. I want to read my book.”
And then, in the morning, of course there was Scrabble. Kyla could see Richie out in the front yard with John Hammond and then, finally, her mother’s car.
“My mother’s here,” she said. “I’m going down.”
“Relax,” Janey said. “She’ll call up for you when she’s ready. We’ve got time for one more game at least.”
“You’re cheating,” Kyla said.
“Cheating!” Janey yelped.
“‘Sosing’ is not a word,” Kyla said.
“It is, too,” Janey said. “It means to send an S.O.S. Besides, you have to say something when the person does it.”
“I’m not playing anymore,” Kyla said.
She wandered down to the living room, where her mother was talking to Mrs. Laskey.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mrs. Laskey said.
“Hello there,” her mother said, as Kyla leaned on her arm. “Have a good time?”
Kyla nodded.
“We’ll go in just a minute, sweetie,” her mother said, “but first I want to talk to Carol a bit. Now, run on back upstairs, quick like a bunny.”
Kyla freed herself from her mother’s careless arm and wandered out to the hall, where she inspected Mrs. Laskey’s collection of little crystal animals.
“I saw him get the idea,” Mrs. Laskey was saying. “I saw it happen. And then he hauled in this load of horseshit about his father—his father’s values—as vile an old swine as ever lived. What a genius Dick has for exploitation! He exploits his children, he exploits his poor old dead disgusting father…”
“Well, Carol,” Kyla’s mother said carefully, “you have been dying for a break. And this is the…And besides, he probably does want to spend some time with—”
“Dick?” Mrs. Laskey snorted. “That’s very funny, Lorraine.”
“Well, that’s what I mean,” Kyla’s mother said, encouragingly. “After all, it’s not something he does very often.”
“And poor Janey,” Mrs. Laskey said. “That poor kid is a born stooge. She was so cute when she was little. Of course, he simply adored her then. Now, there’s nothing the poor child can do to—”
“She just needs friends,” Kyla’s mother said. “If she just spent more—”
Oh, no! Kyla thought.
But fortunately Mrs. Laskey had interrupted. “The worst thing,” she was saying, “is you can see the man operating from a mile away.”
“Well,” Kyla’s mother said, “of course this is a side of Dick I never—”
“And it’s compulsive,” Mrs. Laskey said. “He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Do you know, I actually used to feel flattered by it?”
“Still,” Kyla’s mother said, “it is a wonderful opportunity for the girls. I only wish Kyla could—”
The little glass owl Kyla was examining almost slipped from her hand, but Mrs. Laskey had interrupted again.
“I used to feel flattered that he would expend so much energy just to manipulate me,” she said. “That’s how pathetic I was. That’s where my self-esteem level was. But then I realized he was expending the same amount of effort manipulating everybody. He can’t just buy a quart of milk, he has to get the store to sell it to him. But he’s really got me over a—I’d just love to call him on this, but I don’t dare give him a reason to—”
“No, no,” Kyla’s mother said. “At this point, I don’t think you want to do anything to—”
“New York,” Mrs. Laskey said. “All those filthy people from God only knows where…I just wonder how long this has been going on.”
“Carol,” Kyla’s mother said. “I’m really serious. I really don’t think it’s prudent to jump to any…And besides, it’s bound to be a wonderful learning opportunity for the girls. I only wish I could give Kyla an opportunity like this. And if anyone deserves a little time to herself, you know it’s you.”
Mrs. Laskey sighed loudly, and for a moment—since nothing else was happening—Kyla wondered if she could go back into the living room to get her mother. But then Mrs. Laskey laughed. “So, speaking of duplicitous sons-of-bitches,” she said, “how was last night?”
“Why do you have to do it?” Ellen had said.
“I don’t have to…,” Kyla said.
“You want to go on spring vacation with Janey Laskey?” Ellen said.
It was already the end of February. Snow from a recent storm still covered the ground and lay along the branches, and the sky was a glassy blue. But Kyla could feel spring marshaling strength right behind winter’s fortifications.
“I feel sorry for her,” Kyla said.
“I feel sorry for her, too,” Courtney said.
“Well, I feel sorry for her, too,” Ellen said. “When she’s not around. But it’s really hard to feel sorry for her when she is around.”
“She’s troubled,” Kyla said.
“Kyla—” Ellen looked at her. “‘She’s troubled.’”
“Besides,” Kyla said. “I get to see New York.”
“New York’s great,” Courtney said. “I used to get to go all the time. It’s the worst thing about moving here.”
“We’ll probably stay at the Plaza or the Carlyle or someplace like that,” Kyla said.
“I still don’t see why your mother’s making you do it,” Ellen said.
“She isn’t,” Kyla said. She looked at Ellen in bewilderment. Oh. Of course. Ellen was jealous. “She just wants me to be able to go to all the museums and the ballet and that stuff. And Mrs. Laskey’s her friend…”
“Kyla’s mom is so sweet,” Courtney said dreamily, and Kyla looked at her with gratitude; she was so pretty, sprawled out on Ellen’s bed. The prettiest girl in school, and she was their friend—Kyla’s and Ellen’s. Her short blond hair fluffed out evenly, like a dandelion. Her blue eyes—lighter than the sky—reflected nothing.
“But why does your mom like Mrs. Laskey so much?” Ellen said.
“Ellen,” Kyla said.
“They have bags of money,” Courtney said. “They have a big, huge money bin in their basement, my dad says.”
“I think Mrs. Laskey’s crazy,” Ellen said. “My mother doesn’t like her at all.”
“My mother feels sorry for her,” Kyla said. And then she said the thing she was never supposed to say, not about anyone, or was even supposed to know. “She used to be in the clinic where my mother works.”
“I bet she takes pills,” C
ourtney said. “You know the way she’s all puffed up?” She studied her fingernails and frowned. “Mr. Laskey’s handsome, but I’d hate to be married to him. They came to my parents’ cocktail party last week, and Mr. Laskey and Peter Nussbaum’s mother were flirting away like crazy.”
“Really?” Ellen said.
“Mr. Laskey was flirting with everybody,” Courtney said.
Kyla looked at her. Flirting. Flirting, actually, was when you…“What was he doing?” she asked.
“Just…” Courtney said. “Just nothing. He was flirting. He was flirting with my mother, too. I bet he flirts with your mother.”
“No he doesn’t,” Kyla said, and her heart veered.
“Rich Laskey is nice, though,” Ellen said.
“Rich Laskey?” Courtney said. “Rich Laskey is gorgeous. But you know what? He looks exactly like Mr. Laskey, actually.”
Ellen and Kyla looked at her. “Yikes,” Ellen said. “That is so strange…”
Outside, the air was as clean as an apple, and the crystal branches were glittering. Kyla shut her eyes, to keep Mr. Laskey’s face from Richie’s, but the two merged unpleasantly. “I’m sick of sitting around,” she said. “Let’s go outside.”
“It’s cold,” Courtney said. She shifted on the bed and sighed.
“What should we do?” Ellen said.
All around them were Ellen’s toys and games. The television sat, opaque, in the next room. Dark, Kyla thought, but still seeing—still receiving everything that was happening. You could turn it off, but that only meant that you couldn’t see, behind its darkness, what it was seeing. Sometimes at night, when you had to turn it off to go to sleep, you could feel the world seeping out from the blocked screen—the hot confusion of laughter, the footsteps pounding like a giant, besieged heart, the squealing tires, the eruptions of gunfire, and fearful pictures you couldn’t help staring at before they vanished, and people at desks, smiling as though you’d imagined all the rest of it—rising up on all sides of you, staining the evening with the smells of blood and perfume and metal, staining the helpless moments before sleep, and your dreams, and the tattered edges where you broke through into morning.
“I know what we can do,” Courtney said. She propped herself up lazily on an elbow. “One of us can pretend to be Richie Laskey.”
The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg Page 63