How nice it would be to be at home, Kyla thought, in her own room. With soft darkness outside and her mother right downstairs…
Ellen was looking at Courtney strangely. “How do you mean?” she asked.
Then Kyla turned to Courtney, too, and her heart veered again.
“It’s easy,” Courtney said. “I’ll show you.”
“Okay,” Ellen said.
The sounds of Ellen’s mother moving around downstairs were fantastically loud in Kyla’s ears.
“We’ll take turns,” Courtney said.
“Okay,” Ellen said again.
Kyla heard Ellen speak, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Courtney.
Courtney was watching her. “I’ll be Richie,” Courtney said. The clear blue silence of her eyes was like the silence of a clock. “Kyla first.” She held out her hand. “Okay?”
“Why do I have to go to New York with the Laskeys?” Kyla said.
“You don’t have to, darling. Of course.” Kyla’s mother looked surprised. “I didn’t realize you were so upset about it. I was just so astonished when the Laskeys offered—it’s extremely generous of them. Of course, I knew Carol would be so happy if Janey had a friend along, but I only accepted because it seemed like such a wonderful opportunity for you.”
If her mother knew that Janey lied all the time and used words like buns, and piss, and even worse things, she might not think the Laskeys were so wonderful. And if she only understood how Janey really treated her when she came over to their house for dinner—that blank yes, thank you, no, thank you—You could feel exactly what Janey was thinking, that Janey was thinking about Kyla’s mother as if she were the maid.
“I know Janey isn’t your favorite person,” her mother said.
“I hate Janey,” Kyla said.
Her mother waited for a moment. “I know Janey isn’t your favorite person,” she said again. “But your kindness to her means so much. I’m very grateful, and I know her mother and father are, too.”
“I feel sorry for Mrs. Laskey,” Kyla said.
“For Carol?” Kyla’s mother looked at her with amusement. “Carol’s one of the most fortunate women I know. She’s just as capable as anything—you don’t remember that house when the Fosses owned it. And she has the means to enjoy her life, which is very important, darling, as I think you’ll find one of these days, though, of course, there are other things that are more important, aren’t there. And she’s so attractive. I happen to know she hasn’t done a thing to her face. You’re very unusual, darling—most little girls would want to be just like her.”
“I’d hate to be married to Mr. Laskey,” Kyla said.
“Would you, darling?” Her mother laughed a little. “Well, fortunately, that’s nothing you have to worry about. But it could be worse, you know. Dick is demanding, I suppose, and you could say he’s a selfish man—or self-involved—but he’s cultured and he’s broad-minded and he’s attractive and he’s energetic and he can be loads of fun. And he’s certainly a good provider. All in all, he’s what I’d call a good catch.”
Kyla looked around at the pretty living room. Didn’t her mother even like it? It was so much sweeter than the Laskeys’ big white glassy house, with all its ugly paintings and statues—sculptures. “Wasn’t my father a good catch?” Kyla said.
Kyla’s mother stroked Kyla’s hair. “Your father’s a very fine man,” she said. “He has a kind and generous heart, like you. He just…lacks ambition. I suppose it’s a good quality to be content with things as they are, but not when you’re the father of a young child. It used to—” She stopped, and laughed a regretful little laugh. “The fact is, your father and I just never really belonged together. Although”—she smiled at Kyla—“if we hadn’t been together, I wouldn’t have you, would I, darling? And speaking of you, what do you want to do this afternoon?”
“Stay here,” Kyla said. “Oh, darling. It’s Saturday. You can’t just stay in and mope around all day. Isn’t there any special thing you want to do? Don’t you want to call Ellen?”
“No,” Kyla said.
“Or Courtney?”
Kyla shook her head.
“Don’t you like your friends anymore?” her mother said. “You haven’t seen Ellen or Courtney in so long.”
Kyla leaned against her mother’s coolness.
“Don’t cling, darling,” her mother said. “You’re getting much too big.”
Kyla jumped away. What if her mother were to see what she herself had seen only this morning, in the mirror, for the first time? She was getting big. It was possible, after all, that she would get those legs that bulged out. Or the horrible little stomach that Judy Winner’s sister got when she went into high school. Little things seemed to be happening to her face, too. In the mirror that morning, it had looked as if someone else climbed into her face during the night and was stretching it out into their own. And where was her face going? The face that her mother loved? She turned away.
“All right, darling. Please don’t sulk.” Her mother sighed. “You don’t have to go to New York. I just want more in the way of advantages for you than I ever had—I want you to have an exciting life.”
“But your life is exciting,” Kyla said. She stared at her mother. “Isn’t it, Mother? Isn’t it? Your life isn’t boring. Isn’t your life exciting?”
“My darling,” her mother said, and Kyla saw that there were things happening to her face, too. “My good, kind little girl.”
“Janey,” Mr. Laskey said, “just eat that nicely, please, like an adult. If you didn’t want fruit salad you shouldn’t have ordered it.”
“Want fruit salad,” Janey said. “I didn’t want to come on this trip.”
“That’s not how I happen to remember it,” Mr. Laskey said.
“I wanted to go skiing with Richie,” Janey said.
“When, like Rich, you are fourteen,” Mr. Laskey said, “and when, like Rich, you have a friend whose parents own a condo in Vail, then, like Rich, you may go skiing.”
“When, like Rich, I am a boy,” Janey said.
The waitress loomed hopefully. “How is everything?” she said, looking at Mr. Laskey.
“Just fine,” Mr. Laskey said irritably. Then he seemed to remember who she was, and smiled. “Everything just as good as it used to be.” He nodded commendingly.
“Well, that’s nice,” the waitress said. She appeared to be waiting for him to say something more.
Janey cast a small, contemptuous smile at her fruit salad, but Alice burst into tears.
“What’s the matter now, Alice?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Anything we want,” Alice announced belligerently.
“You have what you want,” Mr. Laskey said, looking bewildered.
“What do you want, Alice?” Janey said. “Just calm down and tell me.”
“You said you wanted cinnamon toast,” Mr. Laskey said.
“No!” Alice roared. She pointed at Kyla’s sundae. “That.”
Mr. Laskey sucked in his cheeks and stared at his own sundae. “Miss? Miss?” he called. “One more hot fudge sundae, please. For the young lady.”
Alice’s noisy tears were absorbed into the general cheerful clatter of the restaurant. But it was amazing, Kyla thought, how loud the voices of little children were. Whether it was joy or sorrow or terror, you could hear them screeching blocks away. Not just Alice, though she did seem prodigious, but all little children. It was nature, probably; it was nature that made Alice loud and it was nature that made Alice cute. Nature made little children helpless, but nature protected them, too, with loudness and cuteness. Kyla herself had probably once been able to produce sounds just like Alice’s, and she’d never even noticed! And now, no matter how much she might want to let out a howl that would bring the whole neighborhood running, there wasn’t a chance of it. Because the minute people struggled to get a bit free of nature, and could begin to take care of themselves, the point was, they stopped being loud, and they stopped being cute.
>
“All right, now,” Mr. Laskey said as the waitress put an enormous hot fudge sundae in front of Alice. “Does everybody have what he or she wishes? Is everybody happy?”
“You bet, pal,” Janey said.
“Jane,” Mr. Laskey said. “Are we having some kind of problem today?”
Janey held his gaze for a moment and then looked away. “No,” she said.
“You’re sure,” Mr. Laskey said.
“Yes,” Janey said.
“Because,” Mr. Laskey said, “if there is a problem, maybe you’d like to tell me what it is so we can clear it up right now.”
“There isn’t,” Janey said. “Isn’t what?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Isn’t a problem,” Janey said.
“What was that?” Mr. Laskey said. “I didn’t hear you.” For a moment Janey didn’t speak. “There isn’t a problem,” she said finally, in a low, dead voice.
“That’s my girl,” Mr. Laskey said. “All problems forgotten. Now—” He looked at his watch. “We’ll go back to the hotel for a three o’clock nap, then we’ll get up at five-thirty, and at six forty-five we’ll have had our baths and be ready to go. Everybody with me?”
“I’m with you,” Janey said. “You mean we have to have a two-and-a-half-hour nap.”
“Aha,” Mr. Laskey said. “Another mathematician in the family.”
“A two-and-a-half-hour nap?” Janey said.
“No!” Alice said in alarm. “It’s ideal!”
“You’re confused, Alice,” Janey said.
“On the contrary,” Mr. Laskey said. “Do you know what an adult is? Jane? An adult is someone who’s learned to delay gratification. We’re going to the ballet tonight, and we’re going to have a very late night. In short, this is non-negotiable. But the question is, we have time for one quick activity before our nap, so what do we all want to do?”
“We all want to go to the children’s zoo,” Alice said.
“We all want to go to the Museum of the American Indian,” Janey said.
“Kyla?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Either’s fine with me,” Kyla said. She just wanted to go home.
“Well,” Mr. Laskey said, “we were just at the Museum of the American Indian yesterday. Besides, it’s very, very far away—I’m afraid it’s impracticable.”
“It’s only one-thirty,” Janey said. “We have time.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Mr. Laskey said.
“But it’s only one-thirty,” Janey said.
“I think we all heard you,” Mr. Laskey said. “And I said, let me be the judge of that.”
“Children’s zoo, children’s zoo,” Alice chanted.
Mr. Laskey peered at Alice. “Are those dark circles I see?” he said. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“No,” Alice said nonchalantly.
Mr. Laskey looked at Janey. “What does she mean?” he said.
Janey and Kyla looked at each other. “She had nightmares,” Janey said. “She kept me and Kyla awake all night.”
“Is this true?” Mr. Laskey said.
“Janey wouldn’t let me call mommy,” Alice said.
“Did you want to wake mommy up?” Janey said fiercely. “Is that what you wanted, Alice?”
Alice hung her head, and large tears began to form in her eyes. “No,” she said in a little voice. Though actually, Kyla thought, Janey was no mathematician at all—it wouldn’t have been much past ten at home when Alice first woke them.
“What upset you, Alice?” Mr. Laskey said. “Was it the museum yesterday? Was it the Indians?”
“You weren’t there,” Alice said. Her shoulders were bowed and she stared at her melting sundae, tears sliding from her wide eyes. “The pond was there, and ice was on it, and it opened up, and you were thin air.”
“I’m here, sweetheart. It was just a nightmare. I’m right here.”
“That’s what I told her,” Janey said. “I told her it wasn’t real.”
“I was—” Mr. Laskey began. Then he looked at the wall, as if something had suddenly appeared there. “Jane,” he said, “I’m proud of you. I’m gratified that you took responsibility and stayed calm.”
Janey stared straight ahead; amazingly, it looked as if she was about to cry.
“And you know what?” Mr. Laskey said. “I have a thought. I think what we should do before our nap is to get Mommy a present. Isn’t that a good idea?”
Janey and Alice nodded soberly.
“We’ll get Mommy a present to show that we’re thinking about her and to congratulate her for having two such good girls. Now, I’m just going to make a phone call, and when I come back Alice will have finished her sundae and we’ll march along.”
“We’ll call Mommy?” Alice said, still furrowed and dubious.
“We’ll call Mommy when we’re all together,” Mr. Laskey said.
“When…” Alice said, and shook her head slowly.
“When we can be all together at the phone in the hotel,” Mr. Laskey said.
Well, it was true; Janey, of all people, had taken responsibility last night. There had been no alternative. When Alice awakened for the second time, rattling as if in the grip of a high fever, and could not be consoled, Kyla had said to Janey, “Should we get your father?”
“I don’t know,” Janey said. “Daddy said if we needed anything we should ask Donald.”
Alice, in a damp heap, continued to sob. “But what do we need?” Kyla said.
“Hmm,” Janey said. She and Kyla looked at each other. “True…”
“Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy,” Alice screamed.
“Be quiet, Alice, please,” Janey said. “You’re going to wake up everyone in the hotel.”
“Daddy—” Alice screamed again, at an increased volume.
“All right,” Janey said.
“I’ll get him.”
But she was not able to rouse him either by knocking on his door or—when Kyla located a plastic card that told you how to call the other rooms—by telephone.
Kyla could hear her own heart pounding, or maybe it was Janey’s, as they both snuggled against Alice on the little cot. What if Mr. Laskey had actually had a heart attack? What if he was lying there dead in the next room?
“Hey, Alice, let go,” Janey said. “I’m going downstairs to get you a cup of hot milk, and then you’re going to sleep.”
Janey put her coat over her nightie and went out the big wooden door of their room, and Kyla remembered that there were many other people, in many other rooms, all around them. Beyond the sad blue flowers on the wallpaper, in fact, millions of people, who couldn’t help them at all, slumbered on in the twinkling city. At least Alice was still cute, lucky for her; Kyla thought of the new plainness spreading like an illness through her own face. Don’t cling, her mother had said. “Do you want to play something, Alice?” Kyla said, when Alice grew quieter. “Do you want to play Baby?”
Alice hiccuped. “No!” she shrieked.
And then Janey had returned, with, in fact, a big mug of hot milk. “Here, Alice,” she said.
Alice accepted the mug and held it out to Kyla. “Baby drink,” she said, and hiccuped again.
“Stop that, Alice,” Janey said. “You drink that yourself. Pronto. Donald made them put honey in it for you, wasn’t that nice? So I want you to say thank you to him the very next time you see him.”
Janey sat down stiffly and looked out the window while Alice drained her milk with gulps and sighs and, finally, a little belch.
“Donald said nothing can wake him up when he’s asleep,” Janey said. “He said once there was a burglar in his apartment and his roommate screamed and called the police and the police came and he slept through it all.”
Kyla nodded, though Janey was still looking out the window.
“Lucky Richie,” Janey said.
“For sure,” Kyla said. And then it was as if Janey had lifted a curtain, and what was there—and had been there all along—was Richie. But Ric
hie blending back and forth with Mr. Laskey—blending with Mr. Laskey helplessly because she had done something to him. She had done something to him, with Ellen and Courtney; she had let something happen to Richie.
The next morning when they got up and got dressed, Janey was still frozen slow and pale. But then there was Mr. Laskey, reading his newspaper at the breakfast table, just as always. “Daddy’s here!” Alice observed superfluously. Janey paused; Alice scampered ahead to the table, and Janey went right into the cross mood that had lasted her all day.
“There,” Mr. Laskey said when the bracelet they had all—including Kyla—chosen for Mrs. Laskey was put into its beautiful little velvet box. “I think Mommy’s going to be very happy with that.”
And no wonder, Kyla thought—delicate strips of gold, flashing with stars. It wasn’t fair—it would look so much prettier on her own mother. And her mother deserved it, which Mrs. Laskey did not, and her mother would have been so much more grateful to have it. Kyla could just see her mother’s face, radiant with surprise and love, if Kyla could present her with just such a little velvet box.
Mr. Laskey raised his hand in the air again, and this time what appeared was a taxi. They all climbed into the back seat quickly enough—Kyla landed a bit sideways between Janey and the door—but when Mr. Laskey gave the address of their hotel, the driver shook his head in disgust. “You’d be better off walking,” he shouted over the loud fuzz of his radio. “The whole East Side is a nightmare.”
“Thank you for your concern, sir,” Mr. Laskey said. “But we’ll keep the taxi. It’s a good fifteen blocks, and the little girls are tired.”
“You’re absolutely positive,” the driver said. He turned down his radio. “In three more blocks we’re not going to budge.”
Mr. Laskey smiled. “I understand, sir,” he said. “But what do you suggest? We’re too tired to walk, and our hotel’s on the East Side.”
“What I suggest, sir,” the driver said, “in that case is, you move to the West Side.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Janey said.
“Because furthermore,” the driver said, “once I get into this shit I’m not going to be able to get out.”
The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg Page 64