If I was, why wouldn’t he be?
I knew then, at last, that the thing that had happened was final, that nothing could be done. There popped into my mind the things I’d felt when he’d held me in the car before our wedding, and when we’d kissed, and the way I felt about him when he barged into my room, claiming the right to watch me undress. And my belly began to tell me how deep my fear was. And then at last I began to realize how terrible a thing it was, the dream that you make come true.
26
It was dark when a tap came on the door, and when I called, he came in. I turned on the light and he sat down in the chair beside me, where I still lay on the bed. “Feel better?” he whispered.
“I suppose so, a little,” I told him. “At least I’m getting readjusted. Earl, I’ve lost my child.”
“Perhaps not—all sorts of things can happen. But I’d like to say one thing. Joan, I’m as baffled as you are. I swear I did nothing to make him act that way—”
“Earl, I know you did nothing, know it without your telling me.”
He was doing nothing now, and yet as I lay on the bed, I felt the same clutch of fear as Tad had betrayed with that scream. His eye moved to my legs, which were crossed in my pantyhose. I took no notice, but switched the talk to Ethel, saying: “It’s what she’s been hoping for—she lives for the day when she can claim Tad as her own.”
He nodded. “I’ve detected something,” he said, “whenever you speak of her. It’s clear enough now—I mean, the reason for it is. The silver lining is, at least, if she’s fond of the child, you know he’ll be well taken care of.”
At this, well-meant though it no doubt was, my heart stopped. It froze utterly and for good. For I thought I heard in his voice a thread of relief—as though he’d been prepared to take on the duty of raising my child but was happier still not to have to.
Briskly, he said: “Joan, are you ready to go down?”
“… Down?”
“To dinner?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought.”
“Or would you rather go out?”
I had my duties as well, I realized. And I at least wouldn’t leap at any chance to escape them. “… I imagine the servants would be hurt, after outdoing themselves to please the bride on her first night home, if she decided to eat dinner out. No, let’s have dinner in. May I ask what their names are?”
He told me: “The maids are Myra and Leora—Myra is the shorter. The cook is Araminta, goes by Minnie. Jasper is her husband. The men you’ll meet tomorrow—they won’t be at dinner. Incidentally, when you pay them all the first of the month, they rate a small gift from you, in appreciation of—”
“Services well rendered—or in other words, a tip. I’d have given it anyway—I’ve worked for tips myself, as you well know. I’ve taken them from you.”
“… They were the least that I could do.”
“Yes, well—they lightened dark days for me,” I said, leaving off the word that threatened to spring to my lips at the sentence’s end: temporarily.
I got up, went in the bath and freshened my face, came out, combed while he watched, and then led the way downstairs. The maids were at the dining-room door, making me little bows, which I acknowledged by calling their names and shaking hands. Then I went out in the kitchen to greet the cook, whom I called by her full name, Araminta, pleasing her, as I thought it might. Jasper was there and I shook hands with him as well. When I came back and took my place at the head of the table, both maids seemed very friendly, and I detected surprise in their manner, and also in his. I don’t know what they expected, but I’d been brought up to treat servants as human, and have never regretted doing it.
For dinner there was fruit cup, roast lamb, new potatoes, peas, salad, and ice cream. While Earl carved the lamb, Myra poured us drinks, tonic water for him and, unasked for, a glass of wine for me. I thought it surprising that he hadn’t let her know I didn’t drink, but this was no time to correct the error, so I simply smiled and pretended to have a sip. Even the taste of it on my lips made me slightly ill—I remembered it as the taste on Ron’s lips many a night when he’d come home soused and pressed himself against me.
When we’d finished the meal and had our coffee, I went out and complimented Araminta on the beautiful dinner, and thanked the maids for the way they served it. Then I led the way to the drawing room, where I felt it was well to say: “I feel a bit better now.” I didn’t; if anything, I felt worse as anxiety began to possess me over what was going to happen when we went upstairs to bed. However, nothing did—he let me go to my room, making no move to follow, and saying goodnight at the door, with no more than a small token kiss, there in the hall outside.
It surprised me—but then he had seemed very preoccupied, as we sat for an hour after dinner in the drawing room, where I took a chair instead of a place on a sofa, and he took a chair on the other side of the room. After a time he’d said: “In a way perhaps we can be glad it happened.”
“Glad?” I said, keeping my voice neutral, or trying to.
“It cleared the air, kind of.”
“In what way, cleared the air?”
“From now on it’s you and me. It puts ideas in my head.”
“What kind of ideas, Earl?”
“You’ll see—friendly ones, that’s all I care to say till I know where I’m at. I think you’re going to be pleased—we could even say excited. But—let’s let it be my little surprise.”
My big surprise for Tad had turned out quite a bust; how this little one for me would turn out I didn’t know, but the way my stomach was jumping warned me. And though when we went up he didn’t follow me into my room, or try to watch me undress, or in any way make the kind of pest of himself he’d been making before, just kissed me once and said goodnight, as he turned away he winked. So, I lay in the dark and tried to guess what that meant. I sat up after a while and stared out the window. For the thought had occurred to me: The way you guess what it meant is, you guess the worst possible thing you can think of, and with him, that has to be it.
The worst possible thing I could think of was that he meant to renege on our bargain, and consummate—or try to. I felt my mouth go dry, and wanted to echo Tad, with the scream he had given, of horror. I thought: That can’t be it! The doctor has warned him—it’s unthinkable. It turned out, though, that if you want something badly enough, it’s not only thinkable, but doable.
I was asleep when the tap came on the door, but when I called he came in, kissed me good morning, and said he must go to work— “I’ve been away, and things have piled up.” I said something, how proud I was of him, “that you carry on as you do, letting nothing interfere. It’s the kind of thing I respect.” And if I sound hypocritical, I wasn’t, as I said what I felt, quite honestly. I do respect the person who works at his job, as barber or waitress or whatever, and I try to have manners, however I feel. “O.K., O.K.,” he whispered. “Now you go back to sleep. But tonight, as I hope, I’ll have something to report.”
He went and I got up. When I came down to breakfast, I knew from the way they acted that I’d made a hit with the servants. Myra introduced me to the others, the men, whose names were Jackson, Coleman, and Boyd. Boyd, it turned out, was Myra’s cousin, and spelled Jasper as driver when Jasper had a day off. Today was one such day, and he offered to take me anywhere I needed to go, but I told him I preferred to stay in and discover the place for myself.
There was a phone extension in the upstairs hall, and I put in two or three calls, one to Jake, at his home, one to Bianca, and of course one to Liz. I begged her to stop by that very day, and she wound up by coming to lunch. I was so glad to see her I cried, and especially at how she was dressed, so distinguished, and all in my honor, and in honor of who might be there. She had on a beige pantsuit, very smart and very becoming, with a red ribbon on her gray hair. After lunch I took her upstairs to my room, but had hardly closed the door when she led me to the bed, pushed me onto it, and pulled up a chair beside me. “Get
to it, baby,” she whispered. “What happened?” For I hadn’t called her, in spite of my promise. I told her now, about the lab and the test results, and she said, “Thank god, Joan. I had all my fingers crossed for you. But you don’t seem happy. What is it?”
“It’s my little boy, Tad.”
I told then, about the scream he’d let out, and what it had done to me. But then I couldn’t stop. I went on and on about my marriage to Earl, and the deal that had been made. “But now,” I said, “something tells me that deal is off—that our marriage is to be like any other. That he wants to—consummate, as the lawyer called it. That’s what I’m up against now—what I think I’m up against.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“… Not even a little bit.”
“So O.K. baby—it’s something a girl runs into—I do myself, occasionally. But, one reason or another, you have to anyway. So, how you do, you close your eyes, and pretend it’s Rock Hudson.”
“I wish I could.”
“Well what’s stopping you?”
“All kinds of things.”
“You mean, like Tom Barclay?”
I didn’t answer her. I wanted to—I wanted to scoff and ask what he had to do with anything. But I realized, when she spoke his name and my heart leapt, that he did have something to do with it, a lot, in fact. And from my reaction she realized it too.
“Then, we call it that, we call it him. And you can’t pretend your husband’s him, on account you really wish it was, and it would be getting messy. So, I’d say you’re in a spot—but, at least, Tom will be glad to hear it.”
“… What makes you think so, Liz?”
“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”
She lit a cigarette, inhaled, and went on without me answering: “O.K., then, I’ll tell you. He comes in, Joan. He sits with me, and when he comes in he talks.”
“About me, you mean?”
“About nothing else. He’s bitter, baby. He feels you crossed him, that you did it for money, and that he doesn’t respect.”
“I didn’t do it for the money!”
“… What did you do it for?”
She was suddenly sharp, and I felt, close as I was to her, that I didn’t have her respect, either. “I did it for Tad.”
“And where did that get you, I ask.”
“For Christ’s sake, shut up.”
“Baby, you’ve got it coming.”
“You say Tom comes in?”
“Every night, so far.”
“Then you might mention to him, Liz, if you find occasion, that … I have been true to him—so far. And I’m goddam well going to be. But please, please, please, don’t say I told you that.”
“If I do, he might rush over a minute later.”
“And he could get pushed out.”
“I’m not sure of that,” Liz said. “I’m not so sure.”
“Please don’t do it.”
“I’ll use my judgment what to tell him.”
“I’m not ready for him yet.”
She looked at me quite some time, then asked: “What do you mean by that?”
I guess I looked at her a while too. Then I told her: “Liz, I’m not sure I know.”
“If you mean what I think you mean—?”
“I mean, Rome wasn’t built in a day. I mean, first things first. And first of all, for me, I’ve got to make clear a deal is a deal is a deal. Once that’s understood, life can go on, and we’ll see where we take it from there.”
“And Tom? What does he do?”
“One thing at a time, Liz—!”
“O.K., O.K., just asking.”
I was suddenly half hysterical, and she reached out to calm me down. Then, looking at her watch: “Got to be running along, or Jake will have my skin. Bianca still hasn’t found someone to replace you, so I’m back to doing double the work.”
“I’m sorry, Liz.”
“I’m not complaining, I’m just telling you how it is.” She hesitated. “On Tom, I’ll tell him keep his fingers crossed, there may be more to come. Tell him calm down, take it easy.”
“Thank you.”
“He may not take it well. He’s not a patient boy.”
“He’ll have to take it, Liz. What’s his other choice?”
27
She went, and I got up and dressed. Then I went down and sat in the drawing room, waiting for Earl to come home. But I didn’t sit there long, for at 4:30 here came the car, and he bounded inside, bright and cheerful, “all ready for my walk to the Garden of Roses—except that this time, that woman Liz will serve me, instead of a beautiful girl I know.” I patted his cheek and gave him the smile he was after. I admit I was surprised he intended to keep up his pattern of visiting the Garden, but there was no reason I should have been—he’d been going there long before I came into the picture, so why not keep going now? “But Joanie,” he whispered, and took me in his arms, “when I get back, have I got a piece of news! I’m still pinching myself. I’ll give you a little hint: From now on, we can lead a normal life, like other people.”
He went up, changed to walking clothes, the rough shoes he had always worn, the double-weave trousers, flannel sport shirt, and coat. He patted me, kissed me, and headed for the door, waving at Boyd and tapping his watch. Then, quite briskly, he went marching off. He hadn’t said anything about me, if I wished to go somewhere, and I thought: I’ll fix that, right now. So I got a coat and went out to where Boyd was in the car, waiting to start down and bring Earl back. I got in the back seat and asked him to drive me to the garage where I’d left my car. He looked startled, but then said: “O.K., Mrs. White.”
“I’d prefer you call me Joan.”
“All right,” Boyd said. “Joan.”
At the garage, I paid the storage bill, $35, and then drove back. On the way I drove past my house, my out-of-date little bungalow, the only home I’d known since I bailed out of Pittsburgh. It looked exactly the same. I drove on. When I got to the White mansion—I can’t make myself say “got home”—I drove around back to the garage and put my car in there. Three other cars were there, a station wagon, a pick-up truck, and a slightly battered sedan, the last probably belonging to one of the servants. I’m sure I could have found keys to one of the other two and used it, but I was happier having my own car on hand.
Just before six here came Earl, in the car with Boyd, and I met him in the hall, asking if he had a nice walk. “Very nice,” he answered, “except for the stop at the Garden. Your former colleague, Liz, is a wholly objectionable person, cheap, familiar, and in all ways dreadful.”
“I like her.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“She’s a close personal friend, almost the only friend I have here, and I’ll be grateful if you speak no ill of her.”
“… As you wish.”
“Good, then we’ll say no more about her.”
I was a bit disagreeable, while trying not to be. Then, thinking it best to seem interested: “But, Earl, you said you have news. What is it?”
His frown disappeared, his face lit up, and he said: “The most beautiful news imaginable. Joan, today I saw a new doctor, and when I told him what Cord had said—that I have to live cautiously for the rest of my life, that there’s nothing that can be done—he just laughed. He says that’s all out of date. Maybe ten years ago it was true, but not today. He’s begun me on a course of treatments that he says will instantly show results. Something called intravenous chelation—it’s a new technique, where they flush some chemical through you and on its way out it takes whatever’s causing the problem with it. I don’t say I understand all the details, but that’s the gist of it. That, and shots of Vitamin E twice daily.”
“And he thinks that will cure your angina?”
“He’s certain of it. He’s done it for a dozen other patients—two dozen, maybe—and it’s worked for all of them.”
“And you tried it today? Is it painful?”
“Not bad, really. The in
jections are like any injection, and the chelation, well, you sit two or three hours with a bag slowly draining into your arm through a needle. There’s a pinch when the needle goes in, but after that you forget it’s even there.”
“Until you get up and try to walk away.”
“It’s on a stand,” he said. “It rolls.”
“… Well, it’s awfully exciting,” I said, trying to make myself sound pleased. “And I guess worth a try. But how will you know if it’s worked?”
A grin came over his face, like a young boy’s. “We’ll just have to give it a trial. He said tonight’s not too soon, since it’s had a few hours now to do its work.”
“Earl, I’m not so sure … you’d be taking an awful chance…”
“Dr. Jameson assured me I’m not.”
“Dr. Jameson is not the one who’s at risk.”
“His reputation is.”
“Your life is!”
Earl looked frustrated. “Are you saying you won’t?”
“Give me a minute to think.”
“I’ll give you ten seconds.”
“Then, no. I’m too scared. Of a repeat of what happened in London, only worse.”
The Cocktail Waitress Page 18