Now that he had been seen he had to get home quick before someone told his family he was in town, he repeated to her worriedly. He did not go home that night, however. He told himself he was too tired, too hungover and took a cab to the Edgewater Beach Hotel where he bribed the clerk to get him a room.
Once in the room the loneliness began to return. He began to wonder what kind of possible plans Nora could have for the next few days. He thought of calling her, of telling her that there was no one at his home, or of just plain going back to her place and saying that he had changed his mind, feeling like a goddamn fool for having left in the first place.
He went down to the bar and had several drinks and then the tiredness hit him all at once. He knew he’d better get back upstairs and get some sleep. Tomorrow he would be tangling assholes with Old Pete. And he was in no shape to be taking Old Pete on. Well, maybe Mary could cover for him while he got straightened out.
Taking his shower he wondered what kind of a wife Nora would make. She certainly seemed to have everything that a wife should have. And he missed her. And wondered again what possible plans she could have.
Then he got into bed and just before he went to sleep he thought how very strange it was that he was really home.
CHAPTER X
NICK had arrived home at a little after three that next afternoon. Mary, Mary Stratton, Nick’s mother, had of course been shocked at first, stunned by Nick’s unexpected arrival. She had cried. And Nick was shocked, stunned by how Yvonne had grown. Yvonne was seventeen now, soon to be eighteen. It was hard to believe that anyone, especially Yvonne, could have grown so much in three short years. She was much taller, around five six, and had dark Grecian skin, and large dark eyes, and like Mary was long and loosely framed and had good straight legs. Yvonne was really very pretty, surprisingly pretty for one who had been such an ugly child. And now she was even wearing lipstick, Nick had noticed. Not much lipstick, not enough to detract from the benign, sometimes almost melancholy look that she had always had; a kind of helpless expression that Nick had first seen when he was a very little boy watching her play one day in her play pen in the sun.
Mary looked fine, Nick thought. A little older. He noticed at once the roots of her hair needed a little bleaching. But beautiful still. A little more matronly, maybe, but beautiful and with that same aristocratic poise that she was truly unaware and unconscious of; so unconscious of she would have been truly staggered if she knew how many women were envious of it and how many men really admired it.
She had not known how to react, how to treat Nick at first. It had occurred to him that really this was the first time he had ever really seen her shocked, stunned by anything. She had started out by asking him to have something to eat. But he had just eaten, he said.
Then she had started out to deliver quite a long dissertation on how most people didn’t really know what the boys in service had been through. She had been reading up on it, she said, how the boys should be treated when they came home. You could count on her, there would be no talk about the fighting in this household. Not one bit. She knew how upsetting it was to the boys to have people bring up things about the fighting. She had the book upstairs. Had studied it diligently, faithfully. It was by the wife of a very prominent psychologist; a brilliant woman with two sons of her own in the service. It was really a very well done book, Mary said, though she couldn’t remember the name of the woman who wrote it. A condensed version of it had been published in the Ladies’ Home Journal, however.
So Nick wasn’t to worry. There really wasn’t anything such as ‘shellshock’ anyhow. Did Nick know that? Well, there wasn’t. Really, there wasn’t. There were cases of ‘battle fatigue.’ But ‘shellshock’—you’d never hear that word used around this house. No, you wouldn’t. Not as long as Mary Stratton was alive and there was a God in the Heavens, you wouldn’t hear the word ‘shellshock’ used in this house, for a moment turning to Yvonne and telling her that if she ever heard her use the word ‘shellshock’ in this house she would think Satan himself had ascended from the lower depths of his inferno and confronted her.
It had lasted fifteen minutes, at least, this dissertation on the psychology, the care and feeding, of the returned soldier. Mary had stood leaning back against one of the teak dining room chairs through all of this, in front of the long teak dining room table, all of which had been purchased at the McCormick auction, had stood there her hands behind her, her right toe pointed upward and moving in tiny arcs on the axis of the right heel of the brown suede pumps she had only last week purchased for forty-four dollars at Saks Fifth Avenue, stood there looking as though she had stepped out of a full page advertisement in Vogue or Mademoiselle: the epitome of what the well-appointed woman in her early thirties should look like. She was forty-three. Neither she nor Nick realized she looked young enough to be Nick’s sister or wife even. Or that he looked old enough. She just rambled on, quoting and undoubtedly terribly misquoting any parts of the book that seemed to catch her fancy.
Nick had been standing in the oval archway to the dining room, struck kind of half-dumb by the vehemence of her delivery; speaking as if he were not really there. As if she were not speaking to him alone but to an assembly of some kind. It made him feel very strange and awkward. He had stood staring at her dumbly and wide-eyed, shifting his weight from one foot to another and finally he had realized that she had no intention of stopping. Then it had struck him as being rather funny, really. Funny and sad at the same time. Poor Mary, be thought. Poor, sweet lovable Mary.
“How about a drink, Mother,” he said finally. “I could really use a drink.”
“Of course, darling,” she said kind of absentmindedly, then resumed her discourse for a few more moments, then said, “What would you like?”
“Scotch, if you have it,” Nick smiled wryly.
“I’ll get it for you, dear,” she said. “Help is so hard to get these days. The maid’s off today. Thursday,” she said as if Nick didn’t know what day it was. The fact was that he didn’t. “They get Sunday, besides Thursday now. Since the war. You look wonderful, Nick. Wonderful.”
“I feel fine, mother,” he said. “It’s good to be home,” he lied as an afterthought.
“You sit down,” she said. “Just sit down and relax. Put your feet up. Rest. You’re going to have to have lots of rest. God knows you deserve it.”
“Have a drink with me, Mother?”
“You know I hardly ever take a drink. Especially in the day. But I will today,” she said looking at her son lovingly. “With you.”
“You’re still a beautiful woman, Mother. More beautiful with the years, it seems,” he spoke sincerely, smiling affectionately.
“Thank you, Nick. But you don’t mean that. You couldn’t. I’m in my forties, you know.”
“I know,” he said. Then looked around the living-room. “Where’s the dog?”
“We had to put him away,” Yvonne said.
“When?”
“Last year, Nick,” Yvonne said.
“It doesn’t seem right not to have a dog,” he said.
“Dad doesn’t want one anymore,” Yvonne said. “He said their wasn’t really any need for a dog without children around. And, of course, he said a dog was an added expense. You remembered how he hollered when we bought the first canned dog food. Remember, Nick,” she smiled. “Remember how red he got when he saw the canned dog food for the first time. Remember how we got the giggles, and how much madder that made him.”
“I remember, baby,” he said smiling. Then in a new, serious voice, “It doesn’t seem right without a dog in our house, though.”
“Come, Yvonne,” Mary said. “Help me get your brother a drink. You stretch out, Nick. On the big couch.”
“All right.”
Mary went into the kitchen, Yvonne following. As soon as they got into the kitchen, Mary leaned over on the kitchen table and put her hand up to her head. “Oh My God—My God—My Lord Jesus,” she said.
“What’s wrong, Mother?”
“That scar. Did you see that scar on Nick’s face—I thought I was going to faint. You know what a strong constitution I have. But for a moment, I swear I thought I’d faint—That poor child. Promise me you won’t say anything to him about it, Yvonne,” she said. “Promise me that.”
“But I like it, Mother.”
“You what?”
“I like it,” she spoke genuinely, with no sense of mockery.
“Why, I believe you mean that,” Nick’s mother said, straightening up and looking at her daughter disbelievingly.
“I do. Or I never would have said it,” Yvonne said.
Mary just stood there, obviously slightly bewildered by her daughter, her own flesh and blood, Nick’s own flesh and blood, for delivering such a ridiculous childish statement.
“Well, I don’t care whether you like it or not,” Mary said slightly indignantly. “Don’t you dare mention it. You hear. He’s probably very sensitive about it. I’ve been reading up on this sort of thing, and it’s not something that you bring up.”
“All right, Mother. But I don’t think Nick would mind.”
“You heard me, Yvonne. You’re still a child in many ways.”
“Yes, mother.”
“I’ll get Dr. Combs on the phone right after dinner. He’ll know someone. They’ve made marvelous strides in plastic surgery lately. Really marvelous. We’ll get the best, the finest there is. You’ll never know he had a scar. And this is one expense your father isn’t going to complain about. That poor boy fought this terrible war for us, now we can do something in return without complaining about the expense,” she said adamantly, getting out the ice.
“Maybe Nick doesn’t want an operation,” Yvonne said. “Maybe he’s tired of them, Mother. You know how much he’s been in the hospital.”
“Nonsense. I know Nick. Nick’s not a stupid boy. Maybe a little high-strung, but not stupid.”
Yvonne felt like saying that he wasn’t a boy, either, but knew it would only upset her mother more. And she wasn’t about to upset Mary now. She had waited too long for Nick to come home. For him to take her places like he said he would in his letters. And if she was going to get to go with Nick she knew she couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of her mother.
Old Pete had never allowed her to have dates unless it was with some Greek boy she had met at church, and there weren’t any Greek boys at church that interested her. Well, there was one. But he wasn’t interested in her. Yvonne had not argued with her father for over a year now about having dates; primarily because every time she had argued with him, Mary had taken her side and then Mary and Old Pete had usually ended up in a violent argument over it which lasted sometimes for days, and when they finally did end the argument, it was usually because of a stalemate. Then if they happened to remember how it had started, which was very seldom, they would blame her. And if they didn’t blame her she ended up feeling guilty about it anyhow. More guilty, really, than when they hadn’t blamed her. So she had just quit bringing it up. Which, she had later realized ironically, didn’t seem to have any marked effect on the amount of time they spent arguing.
“I won’t mention the scar. Or anything about the war, Mother. I promise.”
“That’s a good girl,” Mary said to her daughter, as if her daughter were suddenly seven instead of seventeen. “Now take this in to Nick.” She handed Yvonne a sterling silver tray with a scotch and soda in the middle of it, and a little lace napkin on the side. “I’m going to call the grocery. We haven’t a thing in the house that Nick really likes.”
“Aren’t you going to have a drink with Nick?” Yvonne asked. “He wanted you to.”
“As soon as I call,” Mary Stratton said. “You take that in while I call. Then I’ll make a nice little tray of sandwiches. You tell Nick I’ll be right there.”
Mary watched Yvonne as she walked out of the kitchen, then turned and stared at the scotch bottle on the kitchen table. She stared at it for a long while, then her eyes lifted up and she listened for voices from the living room...then quickly she went over to the kitchen cabinet and took out a juice glass. She poured at least three ounces of the scotch into the glass, listened intently for a moment again, put the glass to her lips, swallowed twice heavily, and the drink was gone.
She sighed once deeply, put the back of one hand to her lips, then quickly went over to the sink and washed the glass, then made herself a regular scotch highball in a regular drinking glass, set the glass on the kitchen table and walked into the butler’s pantry where the kitchen phone was. She stared at the phone. It was the first drink she had had in three weeks, and this time she hadn’t really needed it, had really never thought of having one until Nick had suggested it. She couldn’t very well have refused Nick. Not his first day back, she told herself. He would certainly get suspicious if she didn’t have one drink with him his first day home from the war. Well, she wouldn’t have any after today, she promised herself. Your son doesn’t come home from the war every day.
Before she called the grocery she had better call the office, she suddenly decided. Pete was due in from out of town that night, but she’d better leave a message for him to call home right away in case he called the office while he was on the road. Old Pete would be furious about not knowing Nick was coming home. She’d better not even tell Mrs. Keith, Old Pete’s secretary, about Nick being back. Mary did not quite trust Mrs. Keith except when Mary had been drinking a good deal, then she would confide considerably to Mrs. Keith about Old Pete’s personal habits.
Nick was having his drink on the big couch and Yvonne was sitting next to him. It was a large comfortable living-room decorated in a pseudo-Tudor style, with fine vases and a large Oriental mg. There was a big stone fireplace and it was cool now in the living-room, shady from the tall trees outside.
“You’ll tell me all about the war then, Nick.”
“When we have the time, baby.”
“You fell in love, didn’t you?”
“No. I had some friends that did. I guess I didn’t have the time.”
“Is Daddy ever going to be mad because he didn’t know you were coming,” she giggled mischievously. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you Nick? Not letting him know.”
“No, I really don’t think I did—But I don’t think he’s going to like it very much when I tell him I’m thinking of staying in the Army for a while.”
“You are, really?”
“I think so.”
“Nick, don’t say anything for a while. Not to Mother either. I think that would upset Mother more than Dad.”
“I won’t say anything unless I have to. If I have to, though, I’m going to say it.”
“I know what you mean.”
“God you’ve grown. You must have lots of boyfriends now.”
“You know Dad.”
“Still no dates?”
“No dates, Nick. I don’t know why he mistrusts me so.”
“That narrow minded old bastard.”
“He doesn’t mean anything wrong, Nick.”
“That’s no goddamn excuse. He can’t take his ignorance out on the whole human race.”
“Don’t get excited. I didn’t mean to excite you.”
“I’m not excited,” he grinned at her suddenly, taking her hand. “Don’t treat me like I’m some freak, though. The war’s over. A lot of us have been in it. We’re a little older, maybe a little wiser about the world. But there isn’t anything wrong with us. At least not the way Mother thinks there is.”
“Mother’s on horoscopes now.”
“No more tea leaves?”
“Horoscopes, exclusively. It’s a riot, Nick. She’s even got Dad convinced. You know how Dad won’t ever sign papers on Tuesday because his mother said that Tuesday was for him an inauspicious day. Well, now there are a lot more days when he won’t sign anything. You can hear him hollering for mother early in the morning. ‘Mary, Mary, come with that book. Tell me what that book says abo
ut today.’ “ Yvonne said laughingly as she told Nick. He was grinning. “You know, Nick, how Mother is when he’s low. Well, if he ever has something big on and he’s low Mother always looks up some real favorable day, whether it’s his day or whether it’s his month doesn’t matter, she just reads him something like ‘Today is a day of great opportunity. Assert your dynamic, masculine traits. Libra crosses with Jupiter!,” Yvonne was giggling again mischievously. “ ‘Leo the Lion roars.’ It’s hysterical. But it does the trick. By the time she’s done with him he’s like a young bull. Can’t wait to get down to the office. Then, of course, she calls Martha. She and Martha still talk two or three hours every day on the phone. She calls Martha and tells Martha and they laugh and carry on like a couple of young girls. Wait till you hear them, Nick.”
“How’s Pierro?” Nick asked. “Have you seen him?”
“He stops by all the time to see Mary. I don’t think that he and Dad have been hitting it off very well. He was hurt bad, Nick. He lost a lung.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Really, he almost died.”
“Still the sophisticate, though?”
“Hasn’t changed a bit. It sure peeves Dad, though. I think Dad thinks he’s queer. I really think Dad thinks that.”
“What do you know about queers.”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Nick.”
“You’re my baby, aren’t you.”
“Forever,” she said with exaggerated sense of the dramatic.
“We’ll have some fun, Yvonne. We’ll go places and have some fun.”
“I know some nice boys out at the base. At Glenview. When Dad’s on a trip, a long one, Mother lets me have some of the boys over. I’ve got a cute young cadet. And Nick,” she said excitedly, “you should have been here. One night this cadet, Charlie Young is his name, stopped by and Dad was home. He walked up to the door and asked for me. Dad said he must be mistaken, that no one by that name lived here. And Charlie said they certainly did. He’d been to a party here only the week before. Then Dad milked the entire story of the party out of him. Of course Dad didn’t say anything to us at first. You know how he is. But you could tell when he came to the table that night that he was feeling pretty crafty about something. Of course he didn’t just come out and tell us what he had found out. He roped us in but good. And when Mother and I had really begun to lie, then of course he lowered the boom. It was quite a night,” she giggled. “The next time he went out of town he said he’d be gone for four days, but he showed up early the second night. Of course Mother suspected that he would, and I didn’t invite anyone. Then the next time he went out of town he sent that real estate broker by. You know. Ralph Milos. That Hungarian. Milos said he was in the neighborhood and thought he’d stop in and see Dad. He’s a very poor liar. Milos is. You could tell Dad had sent him. And that really peeved Mother. Mother was really waiting for Dad when he got home from that trip. You know how she detests Milos.”
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