Stories of Mary Gordon

by Mary Gordon

  She'd got used to feeling good about things; it had seemed strange at first, a different way from the people at home she'd known most of her life. When they walked into church on Sundays or when they went dancing sometimes on Saturday nights, if they could get a sitter for Maggie, she knew that people looked at her and Kevin and admired them and she didn't feel she had to pretend anymore that it wasn't happening. She liked the way Lawrence at the Hair Emporium cut her hair. She knew he was queer, and she wondered what they'd think of that at home, but she liked him and he liked her too. He told her about his boyfriend and that they were saving up for a house. He was very complimentary about her hair. He said very few had the red highlights without being brassy. He said not to worry about it being a little oily. He recommended a special shampoo. The price shocked her, but she went for it, although she kept it from Kevin. That was the good thing about having her own job, she didn't have to be asking her husband for every blessed penny.

  She wasn't even afraid anymore that Kevin had quit his job as an air conditioner repair man, the one he'd got his green card on, and was selling mobile phones and home systems. Rockland County was a boom location, he said, and the brogue never hurt. She even liked the name of the town they lived in: New City. She didn't tell anyone that she liked the name because it sounded new. She knew they'd think she was simple for having an idea like that.

  She was very proud of their house, she didn't worry that one day they wouldn't be able to make the mortgage; she planted petunias and zinnias and she thought it was great that because the house was sided with aluminum they'd never have to paint it. At first she wasn't sure she liked that shade of yellow, but she'd come to see that it was fine, it always cheered you up, no matter what the weather.

  Maggie was three now, and she'd gone back to work two afternoons a week in the cafeteria of the elementary school while Maggie went to preschool. She didn't like the net she had to wear around her hair, and she hated the feel of the plastic gloves, but it was worth it because the hours were perfect. Maggie went to school from eleven to three and she worked from eleven thirty to two thirty. With Kevin making his own hours, he could pick Maggie up sometimes and she had an hour or so on her own.

  But the best thing about her job was the girls she worked with. She couldn't believe her luck. The four of them that worked together were like sisters. They called her the baby. They all had some Irish blood, but Joanne was half Italian, and Marty's father was Polish and Italian. Lois had the least Irish in her, only a great-grandmother, but she was the one Kathleen was closest to. She had a bit of a weight problem and Kathleen was sympathetic. She never got impatient with Lois like the others did, she never teased her about it, even when she went on the popcorn and grapefruit diet. She knew Lois needed encouragement.

  Joanne was married to a man who sold TVs and other appliances; he didn't do too well. She liked suggesting that he was good in bed. She'd gone into debt to have what she called “a boob job” but Kathleen didn't like to think about that, having plastic bags put in you so you'd look bigger. Marty's husband drank, but she was loyal. She was very thin, maybe a bit too thin, and this was hard for Lois, the way she always made a point of having to eat more to keep her weight up. But Marty was right, when she lost a pound or two it really showed on her face, it aged her. Marty's and Joanne's children were all grown up, so they loved making a pet of Maggie. On Kevin and Kathleen's fifth anniversary they chipped in to send them to the Marriott in Bear Mountain for a special weekend, and they all stayed at the house to watch Maggie. They put a gift-wrapped package in the back of the car. It was a sexy nightgown. Kevin was thrilled with it, but Kathleen thought it made her look too pale. When they got home, she saw that Maggie didn't seem to miss them at all. She was very attached to Lois. Lois was the one who spoiled her most. It made Kathleen sad, knowing how much she would have loved a baby. She kept asking Kevin wouldn't he try to fix Lois up with one of his friends. Kevin said Lois was great but his friends weren't her type.

  Every Friday after work the four of them went to Harrigan's Pub for happy hour. The whole thing was pretending to be an Irish pub, but Kevin and Kathleen laughed because they hadn't a clue. The brothers who ran it, Joe and Jeff Harrigan, loved it when Kathleen came in; they loved to hear Kathleen order for everyone. “That brogue just knocks me out, just knocks me out,” Jeff would say. They never let her pay for her drinks. When he put in the karaoke, the four girls began singing together, and they were up there every happy hour. They taught Kathleen to sing songs that were around when they were young, songs she hadn't sung before. They liked one by the Carpenters called “Close to You.” Apparently the girl who sang it originally died because she'd taken too many laxatives. “Could you credit that,” Kathleen said, and they laughed at her for the expression. She didn't think a thing like that could happen in Ireland, people weren't so appearance-conscious there. But she didn't tell them that because she didn't want them to think she was criticizing America. She thought America was great, she didn't even know if she'd move back home if she had the chance. Kevin said they would when they'd saved enough, but they didn't seem to put very much away.

  Jeff Harrigan got Irish songs for the karaoke. He made Kathleen sing them. She told herself she didn't have to, it was her choice, but she didn't like the way they looked at her when she was up there. He asked her to learn “H-A-double-R-I, G-A-N spells Harrigan,” and they split their sides laughing because she pronounced it “Haitch,” beginning with a breath, instead of “Aitch.” When somebody got drunk, they always asked her to sing “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” She didn't know how to tell them she'd only just learned it; they never sang it at home.

  She and the girls started practicing routines and their big hit was “My Boyfriend's Back.” They'd all wag their fingers at the guys in the audience, and everyone cracked up. Their finale was “Lean on Me.” She thought the words were really great. “Lean on me, when you're not strong, I'll be your strength, I'll help you carry on.” When they sang that, they all leaned into each other, and everyone always clapped. She liked singing with the girls, it was just when they made her sing the Irish songs by herself it made her feel self-conscious. But singing in the group was a great gas. When she said “great gas,” they fell over themselves laughing.

  It must have been at Harrigan's that they came up with the plan of the four of them going to Ireland. She'd gone back every year. If you didn't go in high season (she went during the spring vacation), the fare was dirt cheap really and once she got home there were no expenses. Her father picked her and Maggie up at Shannon and they were right home in her own bedroom in forty-five minutes. It was great living that near the airport. When people asked her where she came from she'd said, “Ennis, County Clare,” and that didn't mean anything to them until she said, “Forty-five minutes from Shannon.” They all relaxed; they could place it in their minds. But all the time she was growing up she never thought a thing of being near the airport.

  Her mother spoiled her and Maggie when they were there. Her sisters-in-law noticed it. All her brothers had married and settled near the town, and she knew how the wives felt, never getting a holiday for themselves, never being waited on like Kathleen was by her mother. One of her brothers’ wives was particularly spiteful about it. Kathleen had known Brid Callahan all her life; they'd been in the same class and Brid had always disliked her. Brid was clever, but the nuns didn't take to her, not like they did Kathleen and some of the other girls who didn't do so well at academics. Kathleen never understood why of all the ones he could have had— and he could have had any girl in town, he was that kind of boy— her brother Jimmy chose Brid. Jimmy was the sweetest boy in the world, the next youngest of them, just before Kathleen. He had Kathleen's eyes, only bigger, and beautiful teeth as white as milk. And his skin was so white the freckles made it look like you could see through it. His skin and his teeth made him seem very light, and he moved lightly, but the lightness also came from something about him that made it seem he never cared if h
e got his way or not.

  Jimmy was the brother Kathleen was closest to and it was a blow for her when he married Brid. She was the brains of the outfit, everyone said, and that was good for Jimmy, he didn't seem too cut out for the rough and tumble of making a living. He was good at carpentry, and what with the building boom they'd done well with Brid managing the accounts. She'd taken the money and invested it in a gas station and convenience store. The year before she'd had Jimmy build on to it and was starting a bed and breakfast. She certainly had go, Kathleen had to say that, accomplishing all this with two-year-old twins. But she'd never like Brid. She made it hard for Kathleen to have a minute to herself with Jimmy and she was always passing remarks about people being waited on hand and foot.

  Kathleen always kept hoping that in time things would get easier with her and Brid, and the day at Harrigan's when the idea came up about all of the girls going with her to Ireland she thought it was perfect because they could all stay at Brid's new B & B. Not her, of course, but the other three. She didn't know whether Brid would give them a cut rate, but she thought there was at least a chance of it.

  They were all over the moon about the trip and Kevin loved teasing her about them. “The witches’ coven come to Ennis. I'll be ringing my mates to tell them to look out for their lives.” The girls were pretending to hit at him, and teasing back. “They'll be grateful to their dying day. We'll show them what the real thing is.” Kathleen understood that they prized Kevin because, among the four of them, she had the only husband who could be recognized as a real man.

  “Would you want to leave Maggie and me for a week?” he asked Kathleen. “Just go off by yourself with your girlfriends. Really let your hair down. Then I could join you.”

  At first the thought made her sick. She'd never been separated from Maggie for more than a night. And then she knew her mother would be terribly disappointed.

  “It's just a week, Kath,” he said. “Then I'll be there and we'll make it up to her. We'll go home for Christmas too this year.”

  “Oh, she'll take it out on me anyway,” Kathleen said.

  “You're your own person, Kath. You've lived in America, you're different. It would do them a bit of good over there to see a woman with some freedom. Your mother has to understand you're not the same girl she put on the plane five years ago.”

  Kathleen didn't like to hear that. She hoped it wasn't true. But Kevin was right: they'd come to America for freedom and opportunity. And they'd found it.

  The girls booked their flight for August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, Marty said and laughed, they all knew they'd been thinking it, all of them had gone to Catholic school.

  “What'll the weather be like?” Lois asked.

  “Well, I can't promise. It can be unpredictable.”

  “It won't be like the New York steambath,” Lois said. They all understood that she felt the heat because of her weight.

  The drinks were free on the flight, and they each had several. Except for Kathleen. She'd read an article that said that alcohol could be dehydrating, and made the jet lag worse. She'd found she did better just drinking lots of water. The girls seemed loud on the plane, and she wondered why she hadn't noticed it before, if she was just being oversensitive, worrying that the Irish on the plane would think badly of them. It was one of the things the Irish said about Americans: that they were loud.

  They'd been hoping to get some sleep on the plane, but none of them could get comfortable. Joanne said she was sure that when she'd flown to California the seats had been wider. “That was American Airlines though,” she said, and Kathleen felt chastised.

  They were exhausted after the flight, and Kathleen was worried they might be a bit hungover. They weren't looking their best, and she regretted that. Marty and Joanne were sharp dressers; their hair was dyed— Marty was red-haired and Joanne streaky blonde, they all went to Lawrence the same as her and she'd always admired the way they used makeup. But now they looked different. She thought for the first time that they were older than her. That she was young, but perhaps they weren't young. She wished they looked better for her family's first sight of them. She didn't know who'd pick her up, but she hoped it was her father because the look of people wasn't something he noticed.

  It was Jimmy who picked them up. That was fine, she was proud of him, she was convinced that just seeing him would perk her friends right up. But they were only just polite to him, they said hello but barely; they seemed to expect him to carry their luggage and she thought they talked to him as they would to a porter. She was afraid she was being oversensitive. She was always afraid people would take advantage of Jimmy. His good nature. Even though he was older, she'd always felt she had to look out for him.

  The weather didn't help. “Jesus, it's pissing down with rain,” Kathleen said.

  “I never heard you use that kind of language in America,” Marty said, and Kathleen couldn't tell if she was kidding.

  “You should have been here yesterday,” Jimmy said, “the sun would have blinded you.”

  “It's always my luck. I always have bad weather on vacation,” Lois said. Kathleen thought she should be careful; people didn't like to hear overweight people complain.

  “It might break,” Jimmy said, but Kathleen could tell he wasn't hopeful.

  The rain had never bothered her. Especially when she came home from America, it seemed comforting and right, she felt cleansed, but gently, rinsed, as if she were undergoing some treatment particularly good for the complexion. The kind of thing very rich women might arrange for when they got what were called facials. The girls had talked about it to her: facials were steam cleaning and all sorts of lotions. But when the rain fell on Kathleen's face at home she felt as if she hadn't realized how all the makeup and grime of America had clogged her pores, dried the skin around her lips. She felt she got her baby skin back after walking in the rain. She thought now of the girls calling her “the baby,” and that she was the baby of her family. She knew there was something in her that made people want to protect her. She didn't know what that was.

  Her mother had laid out an enormous breakfast for them. Eggs and bacon and sausage, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, fried bread.

  “This is going right to my arteries,” Joanne said. “Fried bread. Grease and carbohydrates. I've died and gone to heaven.”

  Kathleen could tell her mother wasn't sure whether or not she was being praised.

  Lois asked for fresh fruit. She was on Weight Watchers. Kathleen's mother blushed; she said she'd look around for some. Kathleen said she'd do some shopping after they'd had a rest. Lois said she'd need to go with her; there were things she needed “for her program,” or the whole thing would go up in smoke.

  “Brid will have the rooms ready for you now,” Jimmy said.

  “I'll get down on my knees to anyone who will show me to my bed,” Marty said. Jimmy laughed, and Kathleen could see that pleased Marty. She relaxed; everything would be all right.

  Jimmy drove them to the B & B. “We're staying in a gas station?” Joanne said.

  “No,” Kathleen said. “It's just attached.”

  But she could see they were disappointed. They'd probably dreamed of a thatched cottage, of their eyes falling on green fields. Whereas what they could see outside their window was a twenty-foot-high sign saying Esso.

  The way Brid was acting made Kathleen sick. She was acting like a nervous dog, anxious to please, saying how great it was to have them with her. That she felt she must have built the whole B & B with them in mind. They'd be her first guests. It was a blessing, she said. Bull, Kathleen wanted to say, you had the idea for this two years before you knew we were coming. And as for blessing, Brid never darkened the door of a church.

  The girls thought Brid was wonderful. She offered them tea in their rooms. “You must be dead, longing for bed,” she said.

  Kathleen suggested they'd be better off trying to stay awake, trying to get on Irish time.

  “I've never heard of that,” B
rid said. “And it's that damp, you might want to put on your electric blanket. It's under your sheets; the switch is just at the side of the bed.”

  “Lead me to it,” Marty said. “Sandman here I come.”

  The way Brid laughed at that was really phony, Kathleen thought. As if she knew what they meant. Kathleen couldn't remember whether Irish people had the Sandman the way they did in America, but she was pretty sure they didn't, and Brid was faking so they'd think she was something great.

  Jimmy brought their bags into their rooms and they settled down to sleep. Kathleen was annoyed that they hadn't taken her advice about trying to get on Irish time, and she was worried. If they didn't get on Irish time, they'd feel wretched for days. And the whole holiday was only meant to last a week.

  “Your friends are much older than you, except the stout one,” Kathleen's mother said. “Haven't you friends your own age, pet?”

  She'd made lots of plans for things that they could see; she'd take them to Blarney Castle, to the ruined Abbey, to the Cliffs of Moher, to the Burren.

  She asked her mother if she could borrow the car to get what Lois needed for her diet from the store in Ennis.

  “You can, of course,” her mother said. “We'll try and make a great time for them.”

  She tried to think what Lois would want to eat. She bought celery and carrots and yogurt. She bought large bottles of diet Coke. But she'd never had to watch her weight herself, so she was guessing.

  “I need nonfat yogurt. Don't they have nonfat?” Lois said.