The Novels of Lisa Alther

by Lisa Alther

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not leaving my son alone with a bunch of man-haters.”

  “I don’t hate men,” Emily protested with hatred.

  “Well, let’s both think this over.”

  In bed with Maria, Emily said, “Justin’s thinking about moving to the Village.”

  “What? By himself?”

  “Actually he’s thinking about ‘our’ moving to the Village.”

  Maria said nothing.

  “Maybe we should live together, Maria.”

  “You can’t afford to stay where you are on your unemployment?”

  “Of course I can. Don’t be so unromantic, silly. I was thinking how nice it would be to wake up next to you every morning. And to sit around in the evening and watch the news. Matt and Cleo could be like brother and sister.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, but I don’t want to live with anybody, Emily. I’ve done that trip. I need my privacy …”

  Emily shrugged.

  As Emily walked back into the apartment, the men’s group was meeting. As she washed the supper dishes, she heard them arguing about who had behaved worst to women and who was now the most full of remorse. After they left, Emily walked into the living room and began emptying ashtrays.

  Justin looked up from his newspaper and nodded.

  “Hi, Justin.” She tried not to get too close because she hadn’t washed and reeked of sex.

  “Did you know Matt has a cold?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I noticed. Poor kid.”

  “Yeah, I guess he’s under a lot of strain.”

  She looked at him for a while before saying “Why?”

  “Well, a kid must sense when his home life is weird.”

  “Is it?”

  “Well, it sure isn’t what most kids have.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She described the domestic arrangements of the women in her group, most of which were “different,” to put it mildly. Then she realized she was sounding defensive.

  “Why so respectable all of a sudden, Justin?”

  “Well, I just want my son to have what any child needs from parents.” He went into the bedroom.

  Emily, chewing her nails, tried to visualize the hideous things that would happen to Matt because his mother had a woman lover. He would be ostracized on the playground. He would sprout breasts. He would need wall posters of Gertrude Stein to get off in adulthood. Jesus, what was she doing to her baby?

  She raced into his room and stood over him as he slept. He looked OK, apart from a stuffy nose …

  In bed Justin and she rolled over and hugged each other. It had seemed so natural for so many years. Now his body felt taut and bony. An erection prodded her stomach. Why not? It would be simple and friendly just to let him slip it in, as he’d done for eight years.

  The thought repulsed her. “No.”

  “Christ, who wants you anyway?” He turned away. She was swept with anxiety. The Great Ear needed Justin to want her in order to be sure he would stick around. In order to be sure she wouldn’t be left all alone far from home surrounded by strangers. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to pursue him to his edge of the bed. She took her need to Maria the next morning, knocking on her door unannounced. Maria invited her in for coffee, looking simultaneously pleased and irritated. She handed Emily a mug and sat down. Under the guise of getting milk from the refrigerator, Emily stood behind her and massaged her breasts.

  “Actually,” said Maria, “I’ve got a deadline on an article. So I’m afraid I’ll have to kick you out in a minute.”

  It entered Emily’s head that Maria was lying: Kate was arriving for a morning in bed … “I see.”

  “Come on, lady,” she said, pulling Emily’s mouth down to hers. “Don’t use that tone of voice. You know I have to earn a living. We aren’t all lucky enough to be on unemployment.” She grinned, and Emily felt better.

  “When will you be finished?”

  “By two, I hope. Or I’ve had it.”

  “Can we get together then?”

  “I’m afraid I’m tied up.”

  “Who with?”

  Maria looked at her. “I have to hand-deliver the article and talk it over with the editor.”

  “Can I see you tonight then?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I just miss you, Maria.”

  “Tonight’s the women’s meeting.”

  “How about afterward?”

  “I’m afraid I’m tied up.”

  “Who with?”

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business, but I’ll tell you anyway: Kate.”

  “Is she spending the night?”

  Maria sighed. “You’re doing a number. You know that? Listen, let’s have lunch tomorrow. OK? And cool it, sweetheart. You know I’m crazy about you.”

  Emily spent the morning with her datebook and calculated that she’d phoned Maria almost twice as much as Maria had phoned her. She also reviewed the last several times they’d made love and realized that, almost without exception, she’d brought Maria to orgasm first. Presumably Maria then made love to her because she felt obligated.

  Who was Maria really seeing this afternoon? Emily disguised herself in a scarf and sunglasses and an old trench coat of Justin’s and walked up to Maria’s apartment building. She rang Maria’s bell, but the buzzer didn’t buzz for her to come up. Maria had already left for her assignation. Emily waited in the doorway across the street to see who Maria would bring home. She arrived at 3:05 with her daughter, Cleo.

  When Maria left that evening’s meeting with Kate, tears filled Emily’s eyes. She got home to find Justin asleep. She sat on the sofa and imagined what Maria and Kate were doing at that moment.

  Emily raced to the phone and dialed Maria’s number. It rang half a dozen times. She pictured them pausing in their lovemaking long enough to decide not to answer. It rang six more times. By now Maria would be worried. It had to be important if someone was letting it ring so long.

  Another five times. Their concentration would be broken. Maria would be sighing and searching for the phone with her hand.

  On ring number nineteen she answered in a sleepy voice.

  Emily hung up, triumphant that she’d stopped them!

  At lunch the next day she said, “Maria, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What, for Christ’s sake?” Maria asked with a laugh.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  “Oh God, don’t do that.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “If you mean what I think you mean by ‘in love,’ then I don’t want any part of it. This manic-depressive trip where you give me the power to make you jubilant or miserable? Honestly, Emily, it’s an illness to be recovered from, not a state to be cultivated. Don’t succumb to it, sweetheart, please. We’ve got such a good thing. Don’t wreck it.”

  “Well, what is it we’ve got, if it’s not love?”

  “If it’s nice, which it is, why do you care?”

  “Well, I think I have a right to know.”

  “Love, in love, friendship, marriage, divorce, separation, lust … We’re presented with these categories. None fit our experience, but we all try to shoehorn ourselves into them. Don’t label it. Just let it happen.”

  “But how do we know what we’re doing then?”

  “We don’t. But I’m willing to try almost anything, because I know for a fact that the old categories don’t work for me.”

  Justin took up with a new woman named Shelby. According to the men’s group, she gazed at him entranced as he spoke and solicited his advice and opinions. She wore Oxford cloth button-down collar blouses, and sweaters tied by the arms around her neck. She was secretary to the chairman of the board of the paper company for whom Justin had done the public service campaign. She described everything as “terrific,” through clenched teeth, moving only her lips. She had a son Mart’s age named Joshua, which she also pronounced by moving only her lips. They began ta
king Joshua and Matt to the zoo in Central Park, to F A O Schwarz’s, to Rumpelmayer’s for ice cream sundaes, on boat trips around Manhattan, all the places Justin had never dreamed of taking Matt in his first five years of life. Reportedly, Shelby thought Justin was a “terrific dad.” Matt talked about Shelby all the time: She baked cookies and made hot chocolate, played Monopoly.

  Emily’s parents arrived from Newland. They stayed at the Plaza, but Emily cleaned the apartment, served them carefully prepared meals, and took them to the Cloisters and on the boat trip around Manhattan. Justin behaved admirably, coming home at night rather than staying with Shelby, and discussing business with Mr. Prince, who looked relieved to be no longer under attack from his revolutionary son-in-law. Even Matt cooperated, watching his table manners, cleaning up his language, and not mentioning Maria or Shelby. Mr. Prince led them around the city on fruitless missions in search of bars and restaurants he remembered from his journeys in from Princeton.

  After several days they decided to take a break from each other so that Emily could set up some job interviews. Justin and Matt went to Shelby’s for the night. Late that afternoon Maria stopped by, and she and Emily ended up in bed. After making love, they fell asleep. Emily was awakened by her door buzzer. Groggily she got up and threw on a bathrobe and called through the door, “Who is it?”

  “Your parents, dear.”

  It was too late to pretend she wasn’t there. Like a doe blinded by approaching headlights, she opened the door.

  “Are we disturbing you?”

  “Uh, no. I was going to take a bath.”

  “We were over at Grant’s Tomb and thought we’d stop by for some tea.”

  “Uh, great. Come in.”

  They sat in the living room. Emily was in a state of near collapse. At any moment the bedroom door would open and Maria would stumble out to the bathroom, naked.

  “You’re sure we’re not interrupting you?”

  “Oh no.” She was sending brain waves to Maria to keep sleeping.

  “We were thinking it might be fun,” said her father, “to take you all to the Top of the Sixes when Matt and Justin get home.”

  Emily was speechless.

  “We could go pick up Matt if you’ll tell us where the day-care place is,” offered her mother.

  “He’s going home with a friend tonight”

  “Well, when does Justin get home?” inquired her father.

  “Uh, he’s staying in the Village for his Personal Growth Workshop tonight.”

  Her parents looked blank. She viewed her life through their eyes. In context it made a certain amount of sense. In the context of Newland, however, it was sordid and irresponsible. Oh dear God, please keep Maria sleeping. She looked at her parents’ wrinkles and greying hair. They were good people. All they wanted was a peaceful old age. Quiet deaths. And here they had her for a daughter.

  “Tea!” exclaimed Emily. “Let me fix you some. But first let me put on some clothes.”

  She raced into the bedroom and shook Maria awake. “My parents are in the fucking living room!”

  Maria opened her eyes, then started laughing.

  “Shut up, they’ll hear you! Come on, you’ve got to hide in the closet.”

  Maria frowned. “Sorry, but I’m not going into a closet again for anybody.”

  “Please” grunted Emily, dragging her from the bed.

  “This is so childish,” protested Maria as Emily shoved her into the corner of the closet and stacked blankets on top of her. “You’re a grown woman. Who you sleep with is nobody’s business but your own.”

  “In New York maybe. Not in Newland.”

  Back in the living room she poured them bourbon instead of tea, and rapidly tossed some down herself.

  “Is something the matter?” her mother asked.

  “Oh, no!”

  By the time they left, Emily was passing out on the couch.

  Maria emerged. “I resent being treated like a runaway slave, Emily. Jesus Christ, I’m your goddam lover. Couldn’t you have introduced us? Couldn’t we all have sat down and had a drink together like grown-ups? Wouldn’t they want to know how happy I’m making their daughter?”

  No doubt Kate had taken Maria home to meet the folks. Emily panicked. Why were things everybody else found so easy such a trial for her? Constantly torn between two ridiculous cultures, each sure its ways were right. Weeping, she wailed, “Give me a break, Maria.”

  Maria took her in her arms. “All right, never mind, darling.”

  Maria and Emily sat in a restaurant eating hamburgers. Every time the waitress whisked by, Maria’s eyes followed her. Emily had just about decided to ask Maria to choose between her and her various other women. Emily was pretty sure Maria would pick her, which was why she was giving her the choice. Emily couldn’t take her own seizures of jealousy anymore. She was turning into a nutcase.

  Maria was reaching into her jeans pocket. Emily studied her green eyes and greying hair and tanned face. She loved this woman. She didn’t want to share her. Maria handed her a ring with three keys on it.

  Emily studied them blankly.

  “To my apartment,” Maria said.

  Emily realized this was supposed to be a heavy moment. She remembered when Justin had given her the keys to his apartment. It was equivalent to a KT’s giving you his la-valier. In a big city anyone who had your keys could rob you blind, rape you in the night, read your diary while you were away, interrupt your assignations. The giving of keys implied an extreme degree of trust. But Emily was from Newland, where doors were never locked, so the emotional impact eluded her. Nevertheless she grinned and said, “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll get copies of mine for you.”

  They ate on in a silence that was presumably fraught with significance for Maria. Emily tried to get into the spirit of the thing by slipping her foot out of her clog and rubbing it up and down Maria’s calf. Emily felt waves of desire and tenderness. So intense that she knew this woman was the love of her life.

  Maria kept eating her hamburger and following the buxom waitress with her eyes. How could she when they were sitting there with these great rushes of electricity passing back and forth between Emily’s foot and Maria’s leg? Emily sat back and glanced under the table. Her foot had been caressing the wooden table leg.

  She sat in silence.

  Maria smiled. “What are you looking so perplexed about?”

  Emily said nothing. What did it mean if a table leg could trigger these sensations she’d been labeling “love”? Finally she replied, “I was just thinking you’re the nicest gift I’ve ever given myself.”

  Maria thought it over, her eyes on the bustling waitress. “That sounds very sweet. But I’m afraid I don’t much care for it.”

  “How come?”

  “The implication that I’m an object you can own.”

  “You know that isn’t what I mean.” Someone once said the unexamined life wasn’t worth living. What about the overexamined life?

  “I’m not so sure. You’ve been acting pretty weird ever since you stopped sleeping with Justin.”

  “Have I?” She knew she had.

  “You know you have.”

  Emily nodded.

  “I think you’ve got this slot in your head you fit people into—Raymond, then what’s-his-name … Earl. Then Justin. Now you’re trying to do it to me. But, see, I can’t handle your undiluted devotion, Emily. We’ve got good things to give each other, but they’re not everything.”

  “Which is why you need Kate? And the others? Because I can’t meet your needs?”

  “What’s Kate got to do with it?”

  “What’s Kate got to do with it? God, how can you compartmentalize your life like that? Whatever you do has ramifications on the whole. And I think your continued involvement with Kate is damaging us.”

  “Honey, Kate was here before you.”

  “Yeah, all right, fine. So why did you move on to me if things weren’t over between you?”

  Mari
a grimaced.

  “What do you think this is, Maria—Malibu Beach or something?”

  Maria looked at her plate for a long time. When she raised her head, she said, “Look, you’re not working. And Justin and you are doing some weird trip. And you want me to make everything all right. But it’s not within my power, Emily, as dearly as I love you. You don’t need a man like that. You don’t need a woman like that. Women have defined themselves through their relationships with men for so long that the temptation for lesbians is to continue to define ourselves through our relationships. I suppose to break out of this, we have to define ourselves through our work, or our politics, or our furniture or something.”

  The Great Ear couldn’t believe her ears. A woman insisting there were limits to what she could do for others?

  Finally she said, “I feel patronized. I raise an issue regarding you and me, and you give me some theoretical rap. It’s what you Yankees always do—duck behind your political analyses.”

  “Oh, Christ, I’m in trouble now, I’ve just become a ‘Yankee.’”

  “Damn right,” Emily snarled. “So what about Kate?”

  “What about her?”

  “Which is it going to be—her or me?”

  “This is so childishe.”

  “Childish? You’re the one who’s childish. Like a kid in a candy store. You have to take a bite of everything, don’t you? The way you’ve been devouring that poor waitress with your eyes.”

  “I love women. I love their bodies. I love to watch them move. What’s wrong with that? She’s gorgeous.”

  “Jesus!” Emily stared at her. “Is that what women’s liberation means then? We’re free to behave as exploitatively as men traditionally have? Free to turn other women into sex objects? Wonderful.”

  “I’m not exploiting her, I’m admiring her. And if we met and enjoyed each other, we might go to bed. And it might be fun, or it might not. And we might continue for a week, or a month, or for years. All these rules in your head …”

  “You people are sick.”

  “Which people?”

  “You Yankees.”

  “Oh, Christ …”

  “You treat each other like boxes of cereal. And when you go stale, or when you fail to find a prize at the bottom, you toss each other into the garbage.”