The minute the door closed, she bounded out of bed and peered out cautiously to make sure he was gone. The living room was a terrible mess, worse even than it looked last night. Shoes and books and newspapers scattered all over, ashtrays overflowing, coffee cups and glasses on the floor. A white shirt with a tie through the collar hung on a bridge lamp. Bachelors! she thought. On a table against the wall he was putting something together—or taking it apart, you couldn’t tell which. There were radio parts and various tools and gears and spools of wire, with greasy rags lying around. She tiptoed about the room peering guiltily into everything. She knew so little about him, really. She felt as if she were spying and, in a way, she was. A postcard lay on the floor, written side up. She bent down to read without picking it up. It was a note from someone on vacation, someone named Billy, and from the sound of it, she didn’t believe Billy was a boy. She made a prissy mouth. Just let him bring home some flapper named Billy, and Papa never would let Peter go.
Ed had left coffee on the stove. When she had washed a cup and cleared the table she turned on the radio and sat down. It was nice to dawdle over breakfast with music and the morning paper. It felt citified. But as she finished her coffee and toast, her country instincts got the better of her. She could not stand the sight of all those dishes in the sink. Glancing at the clock—it was early yet, she had all day—she pinned a towel around her waist, rolled up the sleeves of her kimono, and lit in. She sang with the radio as she worked and, one thing leading to another, kept on till she had cleaned up the whole kitchen and the living room as well.
“My word!” she said, looking at the time. It was after twelve. She hurried into the bedroom to start dressing. But she was hot and sweaty and needed a bath. Before she could take it, she had to give the tub a good scrubbing, and while she was at it, she cleaned the sink and toilet and the medicine chest. She wound up on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. By the time she was bathed and dressed and on the streetcar, it was almost four o’clock.
She had only time to return the flame-colored dress and run to the dime store for some new tea towels—Ed’s were a fright. After the stores closed, she stayed on for some time, window shopping, and didn’t get back to the apartment until almost seven. She found Ed waiting, all shaved and shining and dressed up in a Palm Beach suit.
“My goodness!” she said, so taken aback that she hardly knew what to say. She hadn’t seen him look like this since the day he married Mathy.
“I thought I’d better clean up a little, so I wouldn’t look out of place. You little drudge—don’t you know how to do anything but work?”
“It looks better, doesn’t it?” she said.
“It looks great, but I ought to spank you. I’ll take you out to dinner instead.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“My pleasure. Doll yourself up, we’ll go some place nice.”
Leonie’s eyes lit up. “Well—all right!”
She ran to the bedroom and took out her flowered chiffon, her good silk stockings, and her high-heeled sandals. She brushed her hair till it shone like the satin ribbons around her waist and, after a moment’s hesitation, rouged her lips lightly. When she opened the bedroom door, Ed was standing in the kitchen. He looked around at her and whistled.
“Aunt Linnie! Who’s this frump Greta Garbo!”
“Oh, hush,” she said with an embarrassed smile.
“You look like a million dollars.”
“You don’t have to flatter me.”
“Looking at you, who’d ever know you spent the whole day scrubbing!”
“I didn’t spend the whole day.”
“Well, the place looks it, and you don’t.” He reached out with his cane and hooked her by the arm. “Let’s go.”
There were crystal chandeliers in the restaurant. The rug was gold. Every table had a lamp with an amber-colored shade. And there was an orchestra playing soft music.
“This is nice!” said Leonie.
“You like this, eh?”
“Don’t you?”
He shrugged and smiled. “It’s phony.”
“Oh really?” She glanced around earnestly, and he laughed.
“Don’t worry about it, Aunt Linnie. If you like it, it’s just fine.”
He could be very nice sometimes, and much to her surprise, he had fine manners. Except for the grease around his fingernails, you’d never take him for a garage mechanic. He acted more like a suave gentleman, and she kept forgetting that this was plain old Ed whom she had seen so often at the farm, with his elbows on the table. Though come to think of it, he had never been what you might call rude. All through dinner he kept reminding her of someone she had met elsewhere, but for the life of her she couldn’t think who it was. They had a lovely time. The only thing that bothered her at all was the extravagance. Maybe the place was a little phony, as he said, but it certainly was expensive. Once in a while, though, it was fun to splurge.
When the check came, she opened her pocketbook. “Now we’re going to go Dutch,” she said.
“Why, Aunt Linnie.” He looked at her as if she had done something naughty. “Don’t bite the hand that wants to feed you!”
“I always pay my share—I insist.”
“You’re not out with the girls this time.”
“It makes no difference. I’m not going to let you—”
“Aunt Linnie!” he warned her. “A lady doesn’t argue money matters in public.”
“All right, then. I’ll pay you as soon as we get out.”
“Look,” he said, leaning across the table. “I am the male of the species. I have certain functions foreordained by nature. I pay the check. You are the female. By the nature of her biology the female is receptive. So for God’s sake, receive, like the beautiful specimen that you are! And don’t make me ashamed of you any more.”
She didn’t know how to take it. She followed him out in silence. “Thank you,” she said as they reached the car. “I enjoyed my dinner very much.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“But I can’t let you do this any more.”
“Oh, for the love of Christ!” He laid his forehead on the steering wheel. “All right, if it will make you feel any better, let’s say it’s your fee for taking care of my kid. Tell me about him.”
They drove around for a long time, talking of Peter and the folks and all sorts of things, including the depression and politics and the Russian Five-Year Plan. Ed knew quite a lot about such things, even if he didn’t know much about literature. And even though she didn’t agree with all his opinions, she thought them interesting. She argued, as her father did, that the world would take care of itself if people only behaved themselves, worked hard and stayed honest and took their share of responsibility. This led to her plans for the future, and they in turn to his. All he hoped to do at the moment was hang onto his job. But if he did that and times got no worse and he could work up the energy, he might go to night school and study law. She thought it a wonderful idea.
“But I don’t know,” he said, “whether I’ll ever do it or not. I’m too lazy.”
“Oh, you’re joking!”
“And it interferes with my good time.” He grinned and winked and she laughed. Who was it he reminded her of?
“Oh, look!” she said. “There’s a miniature golf course!”
He groaned. “I suppose you want to stop and play.”
“Don’t you like miniature golf?”
“I never tried to find out.”
“You should—it’s fun!”
“Okay, if you want to play, we’ll stop and play.”
“Not unless you want to.”
“I’m dying to. Come on.”
They played through once. Ed made two holes-in-one and that gave them two free games, so they went through twice again. Ed was so funny and made so many wisecracks he had everyone laughing.
“My goodness!” she said, as they reached home. “If I hadn’t called you, I’d be sitting
up there in that hotel room all by myself!”
“What a waste,” he said. “A pretty girl should never sit by herself.”
“Sometimes she prefers to,” said Leonie.
“Only when she doesn’t know any better.”
She started to retort to that, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“I’m glad you called me,” he went on. “Your family has done a lot for me, and it’s nice to do something for you for a change.”
“Well, you certainly have, and I appreciate it.” She smiled from the bedroom door. “Good night.”
In the morning, thinking over the pleasant evening before, she decided to take Ed on a picnic that night to repay him. She went right out after breakfast, walked till she found a store, carried home a sack of groceries, and spent the rest of the day preparing. They drove out to Swope Park and had a delicious supper. Afterward they sat on the grass and listened to a band concert.
The following night they went to the movies at a drive-in theater. When they got home, Leonie made iced tea and they sat up and talked till after two o’clock.
It was on the third day, at a quarter till five in the afternoon, that Leonie made a discovery. She was dressing for the evening, keeping an eager eye on the clock, when she caught herself smiling into the mirror. She was thinking of Ed, something he had said last night, some nonsense about her having a nice frame (“like a good car—you’d look pretty good stripped down!”). And all at once she knew who it was that he reminded her of. It was of himself, the old Ed, of high school days. Ed the big ladykiller, who soft-soaped every girl in sight. Why, that was exactly what he had done to her—soft-soaped her for the last three days! And she thought he was being so nice! He wasn’t nice at all. He was leading her on—Mathy’s own sister!—like any other girl. And like any other girl, she had followed. She had swallowed the bait—hook, line, and sinker. She was crazy about him.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, weak in the knees. Of all the bad things she might have done, this was the worst of all! Far and away the worst. She was too good to smoke or go to nightclubs or marry old Kenny, but she could fall in love with her own sister’s husband! Strain at a gnat, swallow a camel. Well, it wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.
5
She was very quiet at dinner and firm about the check. She paid it.
“All right, if that’s the way you want it,” he said. “What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to go back to the apartment, if you don’t mind.”
“Don’t you want to drive around a while?”
“No, thank you.”
“What’s the matter with you tonight? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m fine. I just think I should start packing. I’ve decided to go home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! But you’ve got two nights yet.”
“I know, but I think I’ve been here long enough.”
“You’re supposed to be gone a week. What are you going to tell them?”
“I’ll just tell them I changed my mind.”
“I’m disappointed, Aunt Linnie. I thought we were having a pretty good time.”
“We are—it’s been very nice.”
“Then why do you want to pull out now?”
“I think I’ve been away long enough.”
“Now they’re getting along fine down there without you, and you know it. What’s eatin’ you, don’t you like it here?”
“Well, yes, but—” She drew a line on the tablecloth with her thumbnail.
“What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing. Except—”
“Except what?” he said.
“Well, nothing!” she said, putting her hands firmly in her lap. “You’ve been very nice.”
“Then why are you running away? Godsake, Aunt Linnie, all you do is run away from people.”
“I’m not running away!”
“Are you right sure of that?”
She glanced up, startled. He was looking at her in an odd way, with a little smile at one corner of his mouth. And he was so beautiful and so sure of himself, and she was so mad at him and mad about him— She blushed furiously and ducked her head.
“That’s all I wanted to know,” he said. “You don’t want to go home tomorrow any worse than I want you to.”
“You shut up!” she said, and began to cry with vexation.
“Come on.”
He led her out and put her in the car and they drove for a long time, Leonie huddled in her corner in a sodden heap. She could have died of shame, but she couldn’t stop crying. After a while they stopped.
“Honey,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t you touch me!”
“I’d like to.”
“I won’t let you—I hate you!”
“No, you don’t. And I don’t hate you. Can’t we admit that, Aunt Linnie, and not make a big fuss? What’s so wrong about it?”
“You’re my sister’s husband!”
There was a little pause and he said quietly, “Not any more.”
“Oh, how can you act like this!” she cried out, turning on him. “You’re a terrible person—she’s only been dead a year!”
“It’s been a long year.”
“I don’t know how you could forget her!”
“I haven’t. I never will. But she’s gone, Leonie, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it.”
“You could wait a while. You’ve got other girls already—some flapper named Billy—oh, I know you, Ed! But I thought you had more decency than this—to soft-soap her own sister!”
“Oh, God,” he said. “Is that what you think I’m doing!”
“All that sweet talk—telling me how pretty I was— You’re feeding me the same line you feed everybody else. You think I’m going to fall for it like they all do. Well, I’m not like the others! I’m not about to fall for your line. I’m not Alice Wandling!”
“Her again!” he said with a short laugh. “Lord, Aunt Linnie, nobody could ever accuse you of that. You’re just about everything she wasn’t. Except pretty, and you’re a whole lot prettier.”
“You shut up!”
“You were the prettiest girl in school, but you were so all-godly, nobody cared. Well, I care now. If it’s of any interest to you, I care quite a lot.”
“That’s nothing but a line!”
“No,” he said calmly, “I don’t think it is. I think I mean it. I don’t quite know why. Maybe it’s because you’re so goddam dumb about anything that matters. And baby, what I’d like to teach you about the things that matter! You might be a little slow to learn, but once you got the hang of it, watch out! You hardshell virgins give it all you’ve got. Well, maybe that’s all I want, maybe I just want to—corrupt you, because you’re innocent and undefiled. Maybe that’s all it is. But I don’t think so. You’re a good, sweet kid, Aunt Linnie, and honest to Christ, I think I love you.”
“But you’re my brother-in-law!” she cried.
“Oh, come off it! I never was a brother to you—you wouldn’t accept me as a brother. I wasn’t good enough for that. So you can stop acting like it was incest. Look, baby,” he said, “I loved your little sister and I still do. But she’s gone, and so is the guy that married her, in a way. What I’ve got left is some sort of distant cousin. I don’t always recognize him, but I’m gettin’ to know him better as time goes on. I may even get to like him. I think you might like him, too, if you thought of him that way. He’s very fond of you,” he said gently.
“He just thinks I’ll make a fool of myself!”
“Oh no, he doesn’t, hon. You’re a fool sometimes, but not that way. You’re too damn stubborn. I kinda like that. I like the way you go at things—you just go at the wrong things, that’s all. Why don’t you have a go at me? I’ll even marry you, Aunt Linnie.”
“Oh—” she wailed, “how could I marry anyone that calls me Aunt Linnie!”
He laughed and pulled her toward him.
> “No!” she said, pushing him away. “If you were the last man on earth and I wanted to marry you, I wouldn’t do it on account of my father! Haven’t you done enough to him? How could you think of doing any more!”
“I could do it,” he said. “I’m not that noble. And he thinks more of me than he used to.”
“Not that much. And I don’t think it would make my mother very happy, either. I don’t care how they feel about me, I don’t care. I love my mother and father and I just won’t do this to them!”
“Not even if you wanted me bad?”
“Not even if I did.”
“Je-sus Christ!”
“Stop swearing. You swear all the time.”
“It’s a form of prayer. Leonie—either you’re a masochist or you’re superstitious.”
“I’m not! What do you mean?”
“Anybody that’ll give up her own happiness either enjoys the hell out of it or thinks it’ll get her somewhere.”
“Well, I don’t enjoy it.”
“Then you must think it’ll get you somewhere.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Why do you think people made sacrifices to the gods? Why do they beat themselves with thorns or wear a hair shirt? Because they think it will get them somewhere with the powers that be. It’s all self-interest. So don’t think you’re throwing me on the altar for their sake—you’re doing it for your own, so they’ll think you’re a dandy kid and give you a gold star! Honey, wouldn’t you rather be happy?”
“I’ll be happy—you aren’t the only man in the world.”
“You’ll find something wrong with the others, too. The way you’re going, you’re going to give up your life for them and find out they don’t appreciate you any more than if you hadn’t. And don’t think you can force them to—it won’t work. You ought to know by now; the harder you try, the more they fight you. That’s how it is, Leonie, and you might as well face it.”
The Moonflower Vine Page 32