THE TENTH YEAR

Thesis for the Degree of M. A.
MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
KAYE KRUGER ZAHORCHAK
1975

.Ir
. n_'

'2')
xic

IHESI‘

 

 
 
  

? BIN‘BING 3v .3,
“GAG & SENS.
I 00K BINDERY INC. 4

11‘ LIBRARY BINDERS‘
l srmnopom mommy

  
     
  

   
 

 

  

     
    

\_._._4-

THE TENTH YEAR

By

Kaye Kruger Zahorchak

A THESIS
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Department of English

1975

fiagn;§?2:-

:3"

C

Copyright by
KAYE KRUGER ZAHORCHAK
1975

She was assigned to him from the beginning. and each day
he waited until he had wheeled his other patients out to the
porch before he went to get her.

”Where do you want to go today. Julie?” he would ask. ”Do
you want to sit on the porch? How about if we go for a walk
over to the field. There's butterflies over there. you know.”

He always took her to the field and he believed that she
enjoyed it. though she still had not spoken.

”You need your coat today," he said. holding it out for
her.

She didn't look at him, but he saw that her fingers had
loosened their grip on the chair.

”That's it," he said. half pushing and half pulling her
limp arms through the sleeves. He buttoned the coat care-
fully, freeing her hair from beneath the collar before he
fastened the last one. Her hair had been beautiful, hanging
blonde and straight to her waist. when she had come there.

But even on that first day he had seen it changing. until

now it was totally white. Her skin had grown pale too. almost
transparent. He could trace the blue veins along her temples
and the violet-blue shadows under her eyes. The eyes them-
selves were vacant with the look of old age. She was like

a helpless old woman returned to childhood before childhood
had barely passed.

2

"You gotta try." he had explained to her one afternoon
while they sat at the edge of the field watching butterflies.
"Even butterflies gotta try to get out of their cocoons. They're
caterpillars first. you know. They can't fly even. all they
can do is crawl. Then they build a shell and crawl in. But
after a while they decide to come out, and they come out all
beautiful, with wings.”

She just kept staring into the weeds and when it was time

to go back, he carried her to the wheelchair.

"Those are snow clouds there, I bet.” he said as they
started across the lawn. ”It won't be long until we have to
stay in for our afternoons.“

Maybe we should've stayed in today. he thought as the
wind fluttered the blanket around Julie's legs. He drew it
closer around her and tucked the edges under her feet.

”This is all the farther we're going today. Julie.” he
said. ”It's too cold for you to sit on the ground. so we'll
just stay here and watch for a while. O.K.?”

He fastened the brake on her chair and sat on the ground
beside her. The leaves on the oak had all fallen now except
for a few parched brown ones that clung precariously to
gnarled branches. Even the weeds that had fascinated him
last week with their dried patterns, were brittle. dusty
fragments now.

“Let's go." he said suddenly. standing up. ”I was wrong.
It's too cold to be out today."

She was staring with the same empty gaze that she turned

3

on all the world, but her hands were poised above the arms
of the wheelchair. her fingers distended as if she was reaching
for something. He followed her gaze to a tall thistle and to
the small white moth that dangled. paper-dry. from its spikes.
”It froze," he told her. ”It's not ever gonna fly. It's
dead.”
”No.”
She said it so quietly that at first he was not sure he
had heard it. Then slowly her voice rose in pitch and she

began to scream.

1.

"I'll have a whiskey sour.” I said.

I looked across the table at Peter who was already pushing
back his shirt cuffs and settling into his chair.

"You know, Makrianis," the man on my left said to him,
”You just might be right about the Opaline solvent. We ran
ten washers through on only that sample.”

He was a little man. his reddish hair sprouting sparsely
from his shiny. round head. His hands were pudgy and soft.
They grew from the edges of his shirt cuffs like pale, full
peonies. I could not imagine his arms. he had only shapeless
grey sleeves.

Peter leaned forward and I watched the whole scene as it
froze into place. It was the same scene as last night, only
the setting and a few minor characters had altered. Peter
was across from me in a dark blue. tuxedo and a navy blue tie.
His shirt was white with ruffles. The round little man on my
left had been a moustached blonde salesman last night. I
thought his name was Carl. Peter told me that I had met him
before. but I couldn't remember the circumstances at all if
I had. Joe, who had been on my right last night, was Howard
tonight. Or it might have been Howard last night who had
become Joe tonight. I guess it really doesn't matter though.
Peter's managers always know their lines.

Carl's speech had been their cue. In slow motion they
moved to assume their positions. Elbows and hands glided

LI.

5
precisely in a ballet through the air. arranging themselves
along the table.

”Po—sit-tion Number One!" old Miss Waston had yelled for
so many years. ”Gracefully, ladies, gracefully!"

Number One: Executives at leisure, yet not without
business entirely--ties a bit loosened, posture a bit slouched,
a mild gesture with the hand. Their heads pivotted slowly.
their mouths melted expectantly into "0‘s.

Focus on Peter, the lights dim except around him, his
electric green tuxedo begins to glow. His first syllables
emerge as a soft drone, building in intensity as his face
struggles through its movements. as his lips grimace around
his teeth to form words. I could see his tongue twisting
within the ”O" to turn the noises into words. They came,
growing louder and louder, ”I. I. I. ...I. I. Know..know..I

know, know, I.....

"Excuse me, M'am.”

My drink descended, supported by long blazing red. finger-
nails. Across from me, Peter's descended in similar fashion.
He looked up at the waitress and smiled at her. Then he
caught my eye and winked. Before I had time for the acknow-
ledging smile though, he had turned back to Carl and moved
into the elaborate movements of their conversation. It was
like that every time now.

In our old days. the days of our happy games. it hadn't
been like that. I could remember the very beginning. the

night that the first big customer and his wife had come to

6
dinner. I made Beef Wellington. step by step out of the fig!
Iggk‘ziggg Cookbook. I had even unpacked our wedding silver
and the good china. My gown was lime green and flowing to
the floor--Sheridan Ltd.'s idea of the perfect hostess gown.
a gift from Peter. Dinner had been a total success. like a
color glossy out of Modern Homemaker. I was eighteen then.
and Peter had gotten the contract to dry clean all of the
draperies in Customer's building.

Peter had looked up at me during the second course. and
winked. I smiled back. newlywed. happy. and proud of my first
success. We continued on through cherry pie and coffee. When
Big Customer and wife had gone. satiated. I started to pile
the dishes in the kitchen sink. Peter had stopped me on my
second trip from the table.

”Not now. Laura.” he said.

”They'll be terrible to clean if I leave them."

”I'll do them tomorrow.” Peter said pulling me to him.

"Peter.” I laughed. "Don't be silly.”

He was playing with the fastening at the neck of my
dress.

”Peter. not in the living room!”

”Why not?” he said. more than a little drunk.

'Peter....” I started to say.

”Shut up. Laura.” he said. kissing me.

We laughed together while we took turns scouring the
dishes the next morning. After that it had become almost
a ritual. Peter would look up in the middle of mixing drinks.

or passing cigarettes. and he would wink. I would smile back

7
and then we both would continue conversing politely. or playing
bridge. or guessing charades. Still. I knew that later. when
the guests had gone. or when we had gone. there would be time

for just the two of us. It was almost a promise. then.
But now Peter didn't even wait to see if I smiled.

I looked past his shoulder. aimlessly examining the room.
This was the first time we had been at Gino's Underground.
The drinks were rumored to be excellent. the atmosphere.
sensational. Peter decided to try it out with his store
manager before they brought their big deals here. So tonight
we were paying our own way instead of drinking on his expense
account.

Gino's was in a basement. You walked down two flights
of stairs. there was no elevator. It was part of the atmos-
phere. an aura of authenticity that you had to walk.

The air was red down here. as if lit by some massive.
unseen hearth. The walls were draped with panels of rich.
red velvet. and each table was itself an island of flickering
red candle light. The bar was directly behind Peter. I
squinted my eyes slightly and the bottles of liquor began to
rise out of Peter's head. There were rows of them. exotically
shaped. many of them half-empty. They caught in the light.
gleaming darkly.

Gino himself was small. dark and balding. He moved along
the bar in a mindless ritual. endlessly pouring libations
to some unknown god. He carefully sat the drinks on huge

trays and they were carried away one by one in an offertory

8

procession of big breasted women with glittering thighs and
high black boots.

They nodded to each other as they passed.

”Agnus Dei." they probably said to each other.

”Amen. Alleluia. I got a ten for a tip." one would reply.

In the old days they would have been virgins. Watching
the heavily mascaraed waitress closest to me as she smilingly
nestled her tip along the front of her brassiere. I doubted
that they were so pure today. The gods change. I thought.
and so do their handmaidens.

The god's girls moved carefully-~each step a metered
length; with each movement there was a shifting of flesh.
a melting of one curve into another. and gusts of musky
perfume that rolled in waves across the room. They smiled
continually. they nodded. they swayed like young fruit trees.
lusciously overburdened with well-ripened fruit. They took
your money in their soft. red nailed hands. and then they
circled back toward the bar. At the counter they stopped
to rest. savouring each bosom-heaving breath of their leisure.
but still scanning the room with their automated smiles as they

watched for their next summons.

I let my eyes close and then she was in the slave market.
this Laura. standing silently in her sequinned black stockings
and high black boots. Her each breath threatened to burst
the seams of her low. clinging. black knit bodice. The
others had all gone before her. scared young girls. barely

out of finishing school. frightened to stand before the eyes

of the buyers.

The old man motioned her to the platform. He was a dusty
old man. shrivelled and brown in a ragged grey burnoose.

”An old one. but a ripe one!" he yelled. ”Used only
for the occasional pleasure of a middle-aged alcoholic!"

The hot eyes of the crowd fastened on her body. The
Laura tossed back her long. blonde hair and met their gaze
fully. Her breath was coming heavier now. straining at the
buttons of her bodice until at last one of them flew off into
the crowd. A cheer rose from the milling buyers and there
was a slight squabble over who had reached the button first.

”Have you ever seen such knockers?" yelled the dealer.
”This one. she is a jewel! No bids lower than “95.89!"

The bidding started at $150.00. Laura felt her armpits
growing damp and wished again that they had at least allowed
her to bathe before they abducted her. or let her bring her
deodorant.

“$185.00!”

“$186.00!"

The two that were doing most of the bidding looked like
twins. one in a striped burnoose and one in plaid. They
couldn't have been more than nineteen or so. She hoped
that the winner would be young. Already she could tell from
the amount of gold coins and jewelry that glinted on the
chests in the crowd. that most of the buyers were rich. But
most who glittered also had grey beards. and fat stomachs.
Laura offered a prayer to any god that would listen. Let him

be young this time. she said silently.

10

”$500.00."

It was a calm statement. unlike the frantic bidding and
upbidding of the twins.

”Sold!” yelled the dealer.

”No fair!" yelled one of the twins. "No fair! He didn't
give me a chance! Wait until I get some more money from my
uncle. Wait. I tell you! Only five minutes more! Wait!”

He was screaming.

"Shut up. Habib!” said the dealer. "You know your uncle
won't give you anymore money."

He turned from yelling at the boy with a gracious smile
on his face. The buyer gestured and the old man ran down
the ramp to get his check.

"You spell my name Fa-sil.” he was saying to the figure
in the purple burnoose. "That's F. like in flower. and A...".

Her buyer straighted to hand Fasil his check and Laura
saw his face for the first time. He was deeply tanned with
dark. almost black eyes. He couldn't have been more than
twenty. or twenty-one. As he moved toward her the wind blew
his burnoose against him. Through its baggy purple folds.
she could see his erection. Another button flew off her

bodice. Then she smiled.

"Laura." Peter was saying. "Laura.”

I opened my eyes.

”Falling asleep already?"

He said it lightly. but I could hear the criticism in

his tone.

11

"And here we are talking ghgp." said Carl trying to
defend me a little. ”We're probably boring you to death.
aren't we Laura?"

He reminded me of a cherub. a rosy. fat. and balding
cherub. escaped from his fresco for the evening. He spoke
as if I were a ten year old. allowed to stay up with the
grownups for the first time.

"Not at all." I said carefully. glancing at Peter. "I
find it quite...interesting. Of course I don't fully under-
stand all of it. (Smile.) But it is interesting.“

I said the word slowly. It was an empty word that could
mean whatever anyone wanted it to mean. Interesting. Birds
were interesting. gossip columns were interesting. rainbows
were interesting.

The dialogue continued. unrehearsed but repeated so many
times before that I could almost define where each muscle in
my face would be. into which complacent line it would fall
as my face settled into its smooth. blank. interesti . mask.
Sometimes I have felt it freezing there. icing to marble
in its politeness. But I had said the proper thing. They
would all smile now and Peter would ask if I wanted another
drink.

He would make a big show of calling the waitress and
ordering the drink that he knew I would choose. Throughout
it all he would beam at me as though he had a lightbulb
instead of a brain.

"Laura's roses took first place at the garden show last

week. didn't they. Laura?”

12

"Yes.” Smile. Wives of Civic leaders are supposed to
grow roses. It's one of the rules.

"That's great." said George. or maybe Howard.

They all turned toward me and smiled in unison. the red
light glistening along their teeth. My cheeks were starting
to ache from so much smiling.

Peter's next speech would begin shortly. It would be on
how great our marriage is. what a good wife I am to him. and
how after ten years we are still getting along. great. just
great. How was that. all you skeptics? How was that for
happiness. for success?” He did it well for a man nearly
drunk each time he recited it.

I wished that the waitress would hurry and come so that I
could end his speech this time before it even started. They
would turn from me like marionettes pulled by their strings.
and beam genuinely at the waitress for a while. After two
sips of whiskey the conversation would again have turned to
the new cleaning solvent. or the tuxedo shop Peter just
Opened. or anything at all connected with his dry cleaning
business that would leave me free to my own thoughts again.

"Would you like another drink. M'am?"

She had materialized at my shoulder and startled by her
suddenness. I was wordless.

"She'd like another whiskey sour.“ said Peter. smiling
broadly at this opportunity. ”She only drinks whiskey sours."

I settled back into the plush red upholstery and waited
for the evening to pass. Sometimes I wondered why Peter

still insisted that I come with him. But I knew the answer

13
before I even finished phrasing the question. It was because
of our old days. the days that Peter was still living. the
days when I had protested at his being gone so many nights.

"Why can't you meet with them during the day?” I asked.

His face had reddened and then he spoke angrily.

”I do meet with them during the day. What in hell do you
think I do all day long?”

”I wouldn't know." I said. "I don't hear from you at all
during the day. and rarely at night. Even when you are home
you don't talk much about work."

”Well why don't you ask Ruth? She sees me all day long.“

”I don't see why I should have to ask my mother about
what my husband does all day.”

"Don't call her your mother." he snapped. “You know she
doesn't like that.”

”She is my mother.”

“Look. Laura.” he said. “This whole thing is getting
blown out of proportion. I realize that I don't spend every
minute with you. but I do have a business to run. And we do
have to eat. right?”

”I could get a job." I said. "I could work at one of the
cleaning stores. or help you in the office.”

”No.”

”We'd be working together. Peter. It would be fun.”

“You don't understand. do you?” he burst out. ”I don't
go there to 'have fun' all day. Laura. I go there to work.

to build the little business my father left me into a business

1h
that makes money! Do you understand that. Laura? That's
where all your money comes from. all your rose gardens. all
your fancy bathtubs!"

”But I want to get a job..."

”I'd make plenty if you'd just let me alone long enough
to do it.” ”Look.” he went on. trying to calm himself. "It
just wouldn't look good for the wife of the boss to work. You
know what I mean? It looks like we're really scraping.”

“But I want to do something.”

”You do a lot." he said. patting her hand. "Don't worry
about it.”

I didn't say anything more. I thought at first that he
was leaving but he turned before he got to the door.

“Put a dress on and come with me tonight.” he said. "You
can listen to the band and have a few drinks while we talk
business. and then there'll be some time for just you and me.
How's that?”

I probably beamed at him. I still did things like that
then.

Peter introduced me to the others. explaining with his
wide business smile that I was reluctant to be separated
from him. We had only been married a few months. The old
woman was won over instantly. She called me "dear” for the
rest of the night and accepted all of Peter's suggestions
Without really listening to him. We talked about weddings.
and families.

From Peter's good humor I could tell that I was an ad-

vantage. From that time on I was invited along. In fact

15

at times he forced me to go. I didn't have to say much past
the first hour or so. but I did have to smile. It had become
ritualized over the years. The script was always the same.

We would stay at Gino's until the bar closed. Peter
would be drunk. but he would insist on driving home. If I
got drunk enough myself. I wouldn't object. When we made it
there he'd tumble into bed without a shower and be asleep
the second his head hit the pillow. I would probably watch
the luminous clock dial for a few hours and then fall asleep
just as sky was beginning to get light. When I woke it would
be past ten and Peter would have been at work for an hour.

The waitress sat another whiskey sour in front of me.

"Thank you." she said. tucking Peter's tip into her bra.

I tried to read the time on Peter's watch as he gestured
toward Carl. Some nights I could do it. but tonight he was
talking too fast and vehemently. so I gave up.

”Excuse me. Peter.” I said finally. ”Did you happen to
notice where the ladies' lounge was when we came in?"

The ladies' room is a legitimate excuse. I never fail
to make use of it; some nights. even twice.

“Try to the left of the coat check.“ Peter was saying.
Smile.

Smile.

It was just beyond the coat check window. The door.
nearly eight feet high. was upholstered in the same red
leather as the chairs and fastened at intervals with ornate

gOId studs. The sign was tooled on black leather in scrolled

l6
gilt letters. LADIES. I was disappointed. I had really
expected something better. Since the time I married Peter
we had been to nearly every bar in the area. Few of them
were as lavish as Gino's. but a lot of them had more original
labels on their restrooms. At Cat's Night Out they had TOMS
stencilled on one door and PUSSIES on the other. The drawings
had just missedebeing obscene. but I had liked it.

I pushed the door open and walked in. Three of the walls
were mirrors. I could watch myself approach from three
different views.

"Lovely room. isn't it. dear?" said a voice from my left.

I hadn't heard the woman approach. The thick carpet must
extend into the inner room where the stalls are too. I de-
cided. That made up somewhat for the disappointment over the
sign.

"Yes. it is.” I replied.

I took out my comb and began to unpin my hair. The other
woman sat down on the bench along the vanity shelf and began
to re-enamel her fingernails.

"You've got lovely hair. dear.” she said to me. "Is it
natural?"

She was watching me in the mirror. her nail brush poised
above her pinky finger.

"You mean the color?" I asked.

”Well. all of it. I guess.“ she said. ”It's not a wig.
is it?“

“No. All of it's natural. even the color."

”I thought so.” she said. ”It just doesn't look like

 

17
a wig."

There was something odd about her. Aside from her extreme
cheerfulness there was something unnatural in her appearance.
She was tall for a woman. perhaps six inches taller than
myself. I guessed her age at about fifty. She wasn't pretty
but she was an attractive woman and though she wore a lot of
make-up. it was skillfully applied. She was. as Ruth would
phrase it. aging gracefully.

I smiled at her in the mirror.

"Is yours real?" I asked.

"My hair? Well. I'll tell you. dear. it is my own hair.
of course. heaven knows I've always had plenty. But the
color! Such a mouse-brown drab. dear. I couldn't stand it.
And then it started to go grey. Well. that was it. Marian.
I said to myself. it's time. Do you like the color?”

"It's very attractive on you." I said.

"I wasn't sure about a reddish tint. you know. But
Anton. he's my dresser. he said it would be just the thing.
And if you can't trust your dresser. dear. who can you trust?"

Marian patted the curls that trailed carefully along her
neck.

“Anton chose the style. too."

”He was right on both decisions." I told her.

“Well. thank you. dear.”

Marian seemed genuinely pleased. She turned from the
mirror and smiled at the real me instead of at my reflection.

I returned her smile and then twisting my hair into its

usual coil. I pinned it back into place. I fixed my collar

18

where it had curled and slipped my comb into my purse. When
I turned to go Marian stopped me.

"I say. dear. could you do me a big favor?"

"What's that?"

I turned toward her and Marian stood up. still holding
her fingers spread until the enamel could dry.

”It's just these terrible titties." she said. "I'm
not totally finished yet. and I still have to wear these
dreadful falsies. They simply won't stay in place and it's
absolutely embarrassing to have them sagging like this. Do
you think you could help me adjust them?”

My eyes dropped to Marian's breasts and for the first
time I noticed that one started about three inches lower than
the other. I noticed too. how broad her shoulders were. and
how large her hands were. despite their pink tipped finger-
nails.

”I guess I could." I said.

Marian was watching me closely.

”It's all right if you'd rather not. dear." she said
quietly.

My eyes met hers. They were green with wide. dark lashes.
like Scarlett O'Hara's. like Vivian Leigh's.

"I'd be happy to." I said finally.

When I left. I walked back down the opposite end of the
hall. I saw that the sign on the men's room read. LORDS.

The phone rang at exactly eleven minutes past four.
two hours and one minute since we'd left Gin's. I reached
for it quickly so that it would not wake Peter.

”Hello?" I said softly.

”Mrs. Makrianis?" His voice was familiar but I couldn't
quite place it.

”Yes?"

”I'm really sorry to bother you this late. This is
Sergeant Cummings at the precinct seven station.”

I remembered him then. a nice cop. maybe fifty or so.

He had been one of the first to call about Julie.

”Is it Julie again?”

"Yes. m'am. Our men found her over on Forest Street.
throwing eggs at streetlamps.”

”Are you holding her?” I asked.

”Oh. no. m'am! That is. we gag. but just until someone
can come down to the station and get her."

”I see. It'll take me at least half an hour to get down-
town." I told him.

"That'd be fine. m'am. Could you bring her some clothes
too. Mrs. Makrianis? She says that she lost her own. and she
won't wear the ones we give her."

”Did she mention the half frozen Eskimo at all?" I asked.

I was trying hard not to laugh. I hoped he couldn't

l9

20

sense my smile across the phone.

”Not this time. m'am.”

I tried to sigh convincingly.

. ”I am sorry. Sergeant. I'll be right over to get her."

“We'd appreciate it very much. m'am."

I didn't doubt that he would.

"Of course.” I said. trying to sound matronly.

Cummings sounded relieved. I replaced the receiver and
slipped out of bed. making as little noise as I could.

”Laura.“ mumbled Peter. "What's the matter. Laura?"

”Nothing." I told him. ”Go back to sleep.”

”Where are you going?"

“To get Julie.”

”Goddam crazy bitch.” he muttered. "Where is she this
time?"

"The police have her downtown."

"Why the hell don't they call Ruth instead of calling
here? She's not our responsibility."

I didn't answer.

"Why doesn't Ruth have her put away?"

It was another scene that repeated itself too often for
my liking. I still didn't answer. I found slacks and a
shirt for Julie and pulled on my old jeans and a sweater.

“Don't take the Audi." Peter said. turning back into
his pillow.” “And for chrissake. don't bring her over here."

I backed the Plymouth out of the garage and thought of
the first time that I had gone to get Julie. They had called

just after two o'clock. It was a Thursday. but Ruth was out

21

with one of the salesmen from her office. It hadn't been
Sergeant Cummings that night. but the officer had been equally
at a loss for words to explain. and embarrassed also. Julie
had been sitting nude in the middle of a bridge in Bayside
with some fantastic tale about a poor Eskimo who had forced
her to give him her clothes. she said. She said he had told
her that his children were freezing. When they questioned her.
she burst into tears.

"I only know what he told me." she wailed. "He was a sad
man."

The policeman had gone over and over Julie's story.

”Was he tall or short?" he asked her for the third time.

”I told you. he was medium.”

”Fat or thin?"

"Medium."

"How was he dressed?"

"In one of those parka jackets with the fur around the
hood.”

"Isn't it a little warm tonight to wear one of those?"

"I don't know. I've never worn one.” Julie said.

"What was his complexion like?"

”Clear. No zits."

”Fair or dark?"

”Medium. But his eyes were slanted.”

"And he was sad?"

"Very sad. Do you think I should file a complaint against
him?"

She stayed consistent in all the details of her story.

22

The officer finally sent her to wait in the outer office.

”Your mother isn't home?"

“She had a date tonight." I told him.

"I see. And your father?"

"They're divorced. Julie and I haven't seen him since we
were children.”

He was making notations in his report book.

"Julie told me earlier that she talks with her father a
lot."

I tried to corroborate Julie's story so far. but this was
a direct conflict.

”If she talks to him. he probably doesn't answer." I
offered finally.

”I see. Has Julie ever undergone psychiatric treatment?”

”No."

He was writing in his report book again. I looked at the
clock. It was already past three.

”How old are you. Laura?"

”Sixteen."

"You go to high school?"

”Yes. sir."

"Got classes in the morning. I'll bet.”

"Yes. sir."

"Well. Laura. I can't turn Julie over to you because
you're a minor. so I guess you can leave now. We'll keep
Julie here until your mother gets home."

"She may not be back tonight. sir.” I said.

”What's this?"

23

I pushed my hair out of my eyes and tried to look bur-
dened with responsibility. old for my years. I let my eyes
get misty like when Julie and I had practiced crying until
we could cry whenever we wanted to.

"My mother has a date. sir. She doesn't always get home
from a date the same night."

I could see his face harden against Ruth.

"I see." he said.

Ruth would have beaten us both for telling him that. even
if it was the truth.

”Julie was supposed to be staying with a friend from
school. tonight." I lied. "Usually I can handle her.”

He hesitated and then made another notation in his book.

”Laura. you can take Julie home." he said. "But I'd like
your mother to call us tomorrow. as soon as she gets home."

I nodded. but even then I had decided not to tell Ruth
about it until Saturday.

"Goodnight. sir. and (pause) thank you."

Smile.

Julie was sitting on an high wooden bench dangling her
bare feet. She was wrapped in a grey wool blanket. 0n the
opposite end of the bench sat a policewoman. As I came in.
Julie looked up at me and I noticed again the emptiness that
stared out from her pale blue eyes. It was the first thing
that anyone noticed about my sister. those wide. vacant eyes

that didn't quite look human. It was never the only thing

24
that they remembered about her.

”Laurie." she said. "They took my clothes. They took my
clothes and then bang bang bang. just like that. Banged me
up just fine.”

"Who did. Julie?"

”The cops. those dirty filthy pigs.”

From behind me I could hear Sergeant Cummings choke.

"Now. Julie. you know that's not true! You know how she
is. Mrs. Makrianis."

”Yes. I know." I said.

I looked at Cummings and saw that his face was red almost
to the point of being purple.

Smile. but sadly.

“I'm so sorry you had to put up with all of this. Sergeant.
and grateful that you did.”

”Ah. well...I understand. I guess." he said. "But can't
they do anything with her? Not even for her own safety?”

"I'm not crazy." Julie said. ”I'm certified sane.”

It was true. Doctors had found her mentally disturbed.
but not insane. When I told Ruth about the first incident.
Julie had rocked back and forth on the sofa. refusing to talk.
Ruth had gone to the station for her conference. and as a
result Julie had been sent to a psychiatric clinic for the
first time. Ruth told me calmly that mental institutions
were so disturbing to her she refused ever to be near one
and that I had to drive Julie to the clinic. I took her
the next week. Since then. Julie had been in and out of

therapy. The most recent instance was until only a month ago.

25
They kept her for six months that time before sending her
back to live with Ruth.

Watching my sister as she sat on the bench. I wondered
just how "disturbed" Julie really was. She could act normal
when she was with me. yet refuse to talk when Ruth entered
the room. Or she would shout obscene phrases. which bothered
Ruth even more.

Judging her through Ruth's eyes. I saw that she was crazy.
but through my own I couldn't judge. I handed her the clothes.
"I can't wear those." said Julie. ”They're not mine."

"Then I'll give them to you."

”We do not accept charity.” said Julie severely. "We
have our pride.”

I could hear Ruth saying the same words in the same voice.
I tried not to smile.

”Don't you want them?" I asked her.

”I can't have them. I'd have to pay.”

"I'll trade them for your blanket.” I told her finally.
"Now put them on.”

Julie stood up and dropped her blanket to the floor. She
stood there. naked and smiling.

”Where is the ladies' room?” she asked. "I need privacy
to get dressed."

Cummings was purple again.

”Officer Brown. please escort this young lady down the
hall. Quickly. if you please.”

”Yes. sir." said the policewoman.

”Don't worry. big balls.” Julie told him as he left.

26

"I'll name the baby after you."

It was nearly 5230 by the time we left the station. I
wasn't exactly sure just where we were going. Peter would be
furious if he woke to find her at our place. He would order
her to leave. Julie would scream insults back at him and then
accuse me of no longer loving her. Love is a strange word
to use in dealing with my family. I don't know that any of
us could define it through experience.

But in the end. Julie would be gone. leaving Peter and
myself to a week or more of silence in that already silent
house.

Ruth's apartment could offer nothing better. If I
waited until Ruth had gone to work and then dropped Julie
off there. Ruth would never know about tonight's incident.
But there was a good chance too that Julie would violently
oppose being taken to Ruth's.

I glanced over at Julie. She hadn't said anything since
we started. She just leaned her head along the glass and
watched out the side window. Bright fluorescence from the
streetlights overhead flashed along her face. crossing it
momentarily with patterned shadows. In my old clothes she
could almost have been me seven or eight years ago. Before
Peter at any rate. Our hair was the same blonde. Julie's
still worn long and free as mine had been then.

Our faces could be the same except for the eyes. There
was not peace in those pale blue eyes of Julie's. yet no

sense of life either. They were restless. looking from

27
one thing to another with the same vague expression. It was
eerie. almost as if Julie saw things that others looking in
the same place could not. as if she listened to conversations
that others couldn't hear. Sometimes it unnerved even me.

I looked at my own eyes in the rear view mirror. They
looked back at me calmly. dark blue and sensible. There were
no hidden things in my eyes. no vague dreams or visions. no
voices and no ghosts. I was Mrs. Peter Makrianis. no more.
no less. It was a constant role. meant to be satisfying and
fulfilling. This was the happy ever after. the end.

The face in the mirror kept watching me. It could have
been the face of anyone. I could hardly recognize it as my

Own.

"Laura!” screamed Julie.

I looked up and saw a tree centered in the windshield.

I braked hard. wrenching the wheel to the left with both of
my hands. There was a lurch as the front wheels went up
over the curbing and then we were smashing broadside through
the bushes. The car came to a stop almost entirely across
the median. One of the front wheels was already over the
curb in the opposite lane.

Somewhere. someone was screaming. I opened my eyes. My
forehead was against the steering wheel. my hands still
gripped tightly along its sides. I sat up and looked for
Julie. She was slumped against the door. her head hung
forward. her eyes shut.

"Julie!”

28

I grabbed at her shoulder.

”Julie. are you 0.K.?”

Her eyes opened slowly. She seemed groggy. groping with
her eyes to orient herself. She sat up and looked at me.
and then slid back down along the seat.

”I'm 0.K..' she said. closing her eyes again. and then
”My God. Laura.”

”I know.” I said. ”I'm sorry."

Suddenly I. too. had an overwhelming desire just to lay
back on the car seat and sleep. The engine was still running.
I leaned over and shut it off. then closed my eyes and leaned
my head along the back of the seat. My whole body felt tired.
I doubted if I could even lift my arms. I let my mind drift.
thinking of nothing. just watching the swirls of color that
moved slowly across my eyelids. Julie's voice finally brought
me back.

”You never could drive worth a shit. Laura.“

'1 know.”

I opened my eyes for the second time. Julie was sitting
upright. looking out the window.

”I think we should move the car. Laura.” she said con-
versationally. ”Traffic is starting to pick up and we're
sort of in the lane."

”What?”

"We have to move the car.”

”Of course.” I said. trying to get myself together.
enough to figure out how to do it.

Julie turned to look out the back window and as I watched.

29
her face convulsed with laughter.

”We can't go back that way that's for sure." she laughed.
”God's balls. Laura! Did you see where we've been?”

I looked around. Behind the car was an erratic trail of
broken branches and torn bushes. We had gone through one
row of shrubs completely. swerved dramatically to avoid the
tree. and ended in the middle of another row of bushes.

I was almost laughing too. It was a landscaping disaster.

"Looks like an elephant went berserk.” Julie was saying.

”It's a better job than most.” I admitted. ”Do you
think it's safe to start the car?”

“I don't know." Julie said. "Maybe we should get out
and look.”

There wasn't any obvious damage except for the right
side of the front bumper and some dents and scratches along
the fenders. Julie waited beside the car while I started the
engine.

"Leave your door open so that I can get you out if it
explodes.” she called.

”Do you think it will?"

“I don't know.“ she admitted.

I turned the key carefully and there was no explosion.
After a little pumping the car started. Julie motioned me
toward the highway and with a terrible grinding noise the
back wheels struggled over the curb. Julie jumped in.
slamming her door. and we started down the highway. driving
very slowly. heading north this time instead of south.

'Where're we going?” Julie asked me after a few miles.

30

”I don't know."

”How about the shore?"

She pointed to the exit sign. I eased over into the
exit lane and we curved off toward the lake. The car was
running a little rough. but it didn't seem to have been
greatly damaged. All the same. I decided that I had better
take it to the garage before Peter got home today. If I
paid in cash. I probably wouldn't even have to mention it
to him and if I took it to a shop other than our usual
mechanics. there was a good chance that he'd never find out.

Peter doesn't make mistakes. and he has no patience with
people who do. So we were driving around in the early mor-
ning to avoid him. Though I was tired again and felt myself
growing more reluctant to drive. we went further. Julie was
silent. watching the scenery pass by the side window. There
was a sign for the park at the next exit. I turned off and

finally we were free of the highway.

I was sitting on the old stone bench. looking out across
the pier. Julie sat on the ground in front of me. her head
resting on my knees. The sun was barely over the horizon.
just an edge. creeping upward. slowly spreading gold across
the pink and purple sky. I fingered Julie's hair-~it was
as gold as the sun.

”It's going to be a good day. Julie."

”Think so?”

”I think so."

31

"There used to be a lot of them". she said. "You know?
When we were kids.”

”I know." I said.

"But now you're married."

She paused.

”And I'm crazy.” she finished abruptly.

The chill was lifting from the air. I could feel it going
in degrees as the sky lightened. I lifted a strand of Julie's
hair so that it caught gold in the sun.

”It's the same thing. Julie." I said.

”What?"

Julie looked up at me and I felt old. old as if I were
our grandmother. wizened and white haired as I imagined her.
rocking wisely in her favorite chair.

”Well. isn't it?" I said.

Julie was looking at me. searching with those pale blue
eyes.

”Isn't it?” I repeated.

"Maybe it is.“ Julie said finally.

She settled back against my knees again. We waited
until the sun was in full view and the factory whistle
sounded. low and mournful over the bay. In another half

hour Peter would be gone to work. Then we could go home.

3.

The weeds were growing up again. Determined little
plants. they pushed their way through the black dirt. creeping
constantly nearer the petunias. I have often wondered who
decided that some flowers are acceptable and that some are
weeds; it doesn't seem fair that the sturdiest plants. the
plants that would win out if left up to nature. are the plants
that man decides must go. They try so hard to live that some-
times I feel guilty for pulling them. But that's what I was
doing. on my hands and knees. pulling the weeds in the side
garden.

I had planted hybrid petunias in along the side of the
house. They were evenly spaced. in uniform rows. Watered
well and weeded. I even kept all the brown. shrivelled
blossoms picked off. But without me. the weeds would have

W011.

Beyond the city limits there are fields of flowers.
growing wild. Julie and I found them one day. She had
exclaimed over them. making me stop my bike too so that we
could run through the mud lilies. throwing ourselves into
them. and picking a huge bouquet to take home.

Ruth had refused to let us display them on the table.
She insisted that we keep them in our bedroom or not at all.

I can remember waking slowly on a summer morning. the first

32

33

thing visible was sunlight exploding along the orange lilies.

I sat back on my heels and looked at the pile of weeds in
front of me. They would all have turned into flowers if I
had let them grow. I have considered planting a wildflower
garden and I still smile to think what Peter's reaction would
be. If I planted it in back where it wasn't too obvious he'd
only ridicule me and try verbally to make me turn it under.
If I planted them in the front beds though. the beds that
border the whole length of the front drive. he'd be out there
himself as soon as he realized it. cursing at me and muttering
as he shovelled them under. I think the sight of Peter with
the shovel might almost be worth the effort that I would
spend in planting them.

I started to pull again. this time it was the second bed.
the one planted with the deep. velvety purple flowers. I
looked up at the sound of a car horn and saw Ruth's powder
blue Chrysler pulling into the drive. My gardening was over
for the morning.

Ruth was waiting for me in the kitchen. She was wearing
a Sporty navy blue suit and sensible blue shoes. Here and
there was a fashionable touch of red. I had never seen her
look anything but perfectly groomed. She left her bedroom
in the morning completely dressed. her blonde hair wound
smoothly in a coil. her makeup carefully casual..

My own hair was hanging in damp strands along my face.

I started to push it back and realized that I still had my

gloves on. I pulled them off and brushed the dirt from my

34
pants.

”Good morning. Mother."

"You're a mess. Laura." she began. "Why don't you and
Peter hire one of the youngsters in the neighborhood to take
care of the lawn? Certainly Peter makes enough that you can
afford to.”

Ruth never stopped mentioning that I had done well
financially by marrying Peter.

”I guess you could say that they met because of me.”
Ruth would say. smiling to her business acquaintances who

already knew Peter. ”Indirectly. though." she would add.

Peter's car had rammed into the back of Ruth's as I
waited in the parking lot to pick her up from work. He
apologized profusely and offered to settle the costs out of
court. He was in a hurry. He said that he had an appoint-
ment in a few minutes. I didn't know what to tell him.

I'd never been in an accident before. and besides the car
was in Ruth's name. I told him that it was my mother's car.
and he said he'd call her the next day to talk about it. He
gave me his card and asked for Ruth's name and number which
he wrote in his notebook.

”And what's your name.” he asked. "I can't let the
opportunity to meet such a pretty girl. go by."

He was lying. Any mirror can prove I am not pretty.
but Peter has a beautiful smile when he uses it. It was
turned on full for me that day. and I knew my cheeks were

pink.

35

”I'm Laura." I told him. "Laura Sheridan."

He called the next day and talked to Ruth. She had been
angry with me when she saw the damaged bumper. but while she
talked to Peter. I noticed that she laughed a lot. She in-
vited him over for dinner to talk about the settlement and I
realized that I had finally met someone who could charm my
mother.

”He owns a dry cleaners just down from the office." she

said when she hung up the phone. "I know who he is."

"Really. you are disgustingly dirty.” Ruth was saying.

”I like to get dirty." I told her. ”It feels vulgar."

I knew Ruth would grimace at that one. deep in her soul.
though never on the visible surface.

”There's a streak of dirt on your nose. Laura.” she said.

She was obsessed with filth. I rubbed at my nose with
the back of my hand.

”Better?“ I asked.

“No." said Ruth.

I wetted a paper towel and dabbed at my nose. trying to

see the offensive smudge in the chrome of the coffee pot.

Ruth had been excited when Peter told her that we were
getting married. Her cheeks had flushed with excitement
and she had actually hugged him.

”You'll be happy. I'm sure." she said to me over his

shoulder. ”Not like some.”

36
Not like me with that lousy bastard. your father. She

didn't really say it in those words. but I knew that the
thought was there. My father left on the morning of my eighth
birthday. He took his trumpet instead of his briefcase and
caught a plane to Jamaica instead of the 8:15 express. On

his way out the door he had kissed myself and little Julie.

We hadn't seen him since and Ruth had long ago stopped men-

" tioning his name.

"Where's Julie. Laura?"

Ruth wasn't wasting any words today. There was no subtle
build-up. none of the sweetness and smiles that she radiated
when there were others present. I was just family now. there
was no need to be gracious.

"Julie?” I asked carefully. ”I don't know. I haven't
seen her in a couple of weeks.“

”You knew that she left? That she took all her things
and left?“

And some of yours too. I'll bet.

"I knew that she was thinking about it." I said. I tried
to sound light. ”How's my nose now?"

“You encouraged her to leave.”

”She's of age. Ruth. She's old enough legally to decide.”

”She isn't capable to decide! You know her. Laura! You
know the trouble she's had yet you still encourage her
toward more!"

Ruth was almost yelling. It was a Ruth that few people

ever saw. I should have appreciated such a rare performance.

37

"Where is she Laura?" The anguished lover. beseeching.

It used to be hard to lie to Ruth. As children we recog-
nized something in her eyes that could see through any attempted
lie. something that made us certain we'd suffer for the telling.

“The eye of Shiva." Julie had whispered once. ”It's the
evil eye. Laura.”

But Julie had fallen victim to it's omniscience more
times than myself. I looked down at my shoes. There was mud
caked all along the soles.

Filth.

"I don't know where she is.” I lied deliberately. "Really.
Ruth. I don't know."

I didn't know if Ruth believed me or not. It didn't
matter anymore though. Somewhere between Ruth's arguments
with Julie and my own words with Peter. I had stopped being
afraid of my mother.

”Would you like some coffee. Ruth?"

”No thanks. dear. I really have to be going.”

She was back together again. Her plaster public mask
was hardened into place again.

"You're sure you don't know where she is?"

I nodded.

"Well. good-bye then.” Ruth sighed.

She kissed my cheek. a dutiful peck. and let herself

out the door.

When the Chrysler was gone from view I turned from the

38
window and went back to the kitchen and mixed myself a large
gin and tonic. Taking it with me. I went upstairs to the
bathroom.

There are three bathrooms in the house. this one is just
off the master bedroom. There is another leading from the
guest room. and the third one is downstairs. near the kitchen.
This one is my favorite room in the whole house. Peter had
let me decorate it entirely to my own taste. It has old
fashioned fixtures. a large rounded white tub that stands
on ornate legs with clawed feet. an equally quaint sink. and
a.Eur0pean toilet with a long pull suspended from the ceiling
that you pull to flush. They had tiled the floor with pat-
terned white tiles. The walls were done in lavendar. trimmed
with the same white.

I had bought an old cheval mirror at an auction to
stand along one wall. Everywhere else possible. I had put
plants. They hung trailing green and overflowing from huge
pots along the skylight. A large palm stood in one corner.

a dragontree in the other. I

The room was mine entirely. When it was finished. Peter
had declined to use the room.

“I'd be embarrassed to take a piss in the middle of all
that.“ he admitted.

We had laughed over it and then the decorator had fixed
the second bathroom to Peter's liking. He never used mine.
nor did I use his. All the same. I locked the door behind

me.

39
I sat my drink on the soap stand and started the bath

water. It was almost a ritual now. I looked forward to each
afternoon when for an hour or so I could submerge myself in
the warm. scented water and pretend that Ruth didn't exist.
that I had never met Peter. or sometimes that I was not even
Laura at all.

I lowered the curtains along the window and taking the
matches from the drawer. I lit the tall candle that I kept by
the mirror.

My reflection in the mirror was softer now. She slipped
the pins from her hair one by one until it hung loose around
her shoulders. She smiled at her reflection and slowly began
to unbutton her shirt. Her breasts were full and rounded.
still firm. still young. She moved her hands along them.
gently cupping them in her hands.

Michel had held her like that. She could remember his
hands. brown and strong with their calloused palms. She
let her hands slide along her stomach to unfasten the zipper.
and stepped easily out of the pants. enjoying the smoothness
as they slipped along her thighs.

It was the real Laura who looked back at me. naked.

It was the real Laura who slipped into the softness of the
bath and closed her eyes to remember.

It was in the spring of her senior year that she went
to Quebec. There were twenty students altogether. living
with French-Canadian families. attempting to master the
French language in three months. In June. when the others

left. Laura stayed on. Mme. Arnaud invited her to stay for

40
the summer. to help with the cooking and with the children.
Laura settled happily into the routine until halfway through

June when Michel Arnaud came home from the university.

He was sleeping. his back toward her. Sweat lay in beads
along his shoulders and she traced it down his back with her
finger. A muscle in his shoulder twitched and he turned to
face her as she had hoped.

"Laura. it's too hot."

She laughed and shifted so that they were shoulder to
shoulder. but not touching.

"Some people just cannot hold a good fuck." she said
conversationally. "They just can't wait until it gets dark
and the air cools off.”

Michel grinned and reached for her without even opening
his eyes.

"You enjoyed it." he said.

"Yours is very nice. I must admit."

"Laura!” he said and then they were both laughing. "You
say the damnest. you know?"

"Thank you." she said demurely.

”Bitch!” Michel burst out between laughing and gasping
for air. “You think you're one up on Sally housewife. don't
you?"

”Sally's making tea right now.” she said. "She wouldn't
dream of being in bed."

”How about under the privet hedge with the gardener?"

”Oh. no! Would she really?"

#1
"She just might." he said. "But it isn't likely. It's

not moral if they can see it you know. they have to wait until
after dark."

”They?" Laura asked. "Gardeners?"

"No. idiot. Sally and her overweight cronies. They wait
until it cools off. too. Only at certain temperatures and at
selected times. during the night. only when the moon is right
and the stars are left...."

"Stop.” she protested. her shoulders still shaking with
laughter. "Michel. you're terrible."

"You're nasty and cruel to poor Sally."

”Never."

"You're nasty and cruel to me."

”Never. never."

”Then stay with me tonight. too.” she said.

Michel pushed himself up on his elbow and then sat up.
Laura liked to watch his back. to watch how the muscles moved
across his shoulders. He had freckles on his shoulders. too.
She hadn't known that at first. it wasn't something that you
could guess by looking at him clothed.

”I can't stay tonight.” he said. "You know that. In
fact. the whole family may be back at any second.”

”I could meet you somewhere." she offered.

”I am already engaged tonight.“

”But with a woman?"

”Yes." he said slowly. "With a woman."

”I see." she said finally.

#2

She started to sit up but he turned and pushed her back
against the pillows.

"Smile when you said that.” he ordered in mock serious-
ness.

She made a smile.

"Better than that."

She grimaced this time. pulling on the corners of her
mouth with her fingers so that her teeth showed to the gums.

”I never made any promises." he reminded her.

"You never did." she agreed. "And there aren't any rules
to this game."

"No rules at all."

He leaned over to kiss her and she pulled him down to her.

”No rules." she reminded him with a grin.

Michel smiled too and eased his hard body along hers.

"My parents will be back by six." he said.

"You've still got a couple of hours.”

"I guess I do." he admitted. His hand moved slowly along
her thigh. seeking the softness. moving inward. ”A couple

of hours.“ he mumbled into her breasts.

”Laura!"

Peter's voice cut through my thoughts. I could hear
his footsteps pounding up the stairs and then a rattle as he
tried the door.

"Laura. are you in there?"

"I'm bathing,” I called back.

"Well listen. I've got to go to Cincinnati for the weekend

43
and my plane leaves in an hour. We have a chance to Open
a store there--just cleaning. no tuxs."

“I'll be out in a minute." I called.

"I've got to pack." he said and I could hear his foot-
steps heading off into the bedroom.

It was only Thursday. That meant Friday. Saturday and
Sunday without Peter. I towelled quickly and blew out the
candle. My hair was still loose but I decided not to bother
pinning it until Peter had gone. When I opened the door he
was bent over the bureau drawer. tossing socks in a pile on
the bed. He was whistling.

"You're in a good mood."

”A store there could do real well for us.“ he said.
"Have you seen my blue plaid socks. Laura?"

"Socks are in the second drawer." I told him.

”Is that how it works? Laura. sometimes you still amaze
me."

He looked around. smiling and I saw his eyes widen as he
caught sight of me.

”You haven't worn your hair like that for a long time."
he said.

"I was all set to wash it." I said. "But I figured I'd
better come out and kiss you good-bye first."

I leaned over and kissed him lightly. He tasted of
whiskey.

"Have a good trip. Peter.“

I meant it to be a quick gesture. but he didn't let me

go.

an

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean?"

He was holding me so tightly that it hurt.

"You're my wife. Laura.” he said. "Can't you show a little
more feeling than that?"

He was more drunk than I thought.

”You're hurting me. Peter." I said.

"I don't care if I break you." he said suddenly. pushing
me down to the bed.

His hand was tangled in my hair. pulling my head back so
that I had to look at him. His face watched me with a strange
expression.

”You hate me. don't you.” he said.

"Sometimes." I admitted.

”Now?” he asked.

”No. not now.“

It was the truth and he seemed to accept it. He was
gentler then. slipping the robe from my shoulders while I
unfastened his belt. A few minutes later he was gone. racing

to make his plane. I started the water for another bath.

A.

I parked the Audi in the lot at Casey's Drugs on the cor-
ner. I could have parked directly in front of the apartment
building. but that would involve at least half an hour's time
in parallel parking. I probably wouldn't have change for the
meter either.

"You're definitely better off in out of the way places.”
Peter had told me once after I spent nearly an hour trying to
get out of a parking space in front of Haven's Department
Store.

I leaned over to lock the door and realized that I was
following Peter's instructions again. even though he wasn't
here. I unlocked the door. then changed my mind again and
slammed the lock down once more. I got out and locked the
other door as well. Then embarrassed at my own indecision.

I hurried across the lot without looking up.

Number sixty-four Stanton Street was a large brick buil-
ding. Julie was staying with "an exceptional friend" in the
number ten apartment. The name on ten's mailbox was Vincents.
I started up the worn wooden steps. squeaking a little on
each step and actually groaning on the landings. The walls
were either dirty green or grey. I couldn't tell for sure
in the dim light. The whole place smelled of mildew and rot.

I found number ten on the third floor. The ceilings
here were lower. but the hallway was bright from the sunlight

streaming through a large oval window. I discovered that
1+5

46

the walls were actually green.

I knocked and waited to hear footsteps behind the door.
There were none. and I knocked again. The door was thrown
Open so suddenly that it startled me and Julie stood there
wearing only a man's blue robe.

"Laura!“ she cried and threw herself into my arms.

”Laura. Come in!" and turning back she yelled. "Arno! Hey.
Arno! Laura's here! It's my sister!"

Arno emerged from behind a bead curtain with no little
amount ofciattering. still carrying a dripping spoon. He had
a flowered apron tied around his jeans.

”Hello!” he cried and shook my hand vigorously. ”Hello!

Do you like omelets?"

I felt obliged to yell also.

”Yes." I said loudly. ”I love them!”

“Two minutes more then!” yelled Arno as he ran back to the
kitchen. The curtain rattled closed behind him.

"Isn't he marvelous?" said Julie.

"Marvelous.“ I agreed looking around the apartment.

The.whole place was painted bright yellow and trimmed with
purple and red enamel. Everywhere I boked there was a painting.
They were hung on all the available wall space and were propped
two and three canvases deep along the floor. An easel was
set up in one corner. the canvas on it. covered.

Julie sat on the rumpled sheets of the unmade sofa bed.

”You like it?”

"I like it." I told her. “Whose paintings?"

"Arno's. of course. He's very good. I think.” she said.

A7
"He's doing one of me now, but no one. no one at all can see
it yet. Not even me.”

”He does a lot of nudes." I noted.

"He's fascinated with the body." Julie said. a little
smugly. He really likes mine.“

"Does he?"

"He treats me well.” she said evenly. watching my eyes.

"Then it's good." I said.

"Yes. it's good."

Arno dashed through the curtain again. this time balan-
cing a platter of omelets in one hand and three glasses in
the other.

”Bloody Mary's too!” he announced.

Julie went to find forks and the three of us sat cross-
legged on the sofa to eat.

"Do you sell much of your work. Arno?” I asked him.
"Not too many." he said between bites. He shrugged.
his fork in mid-air dripping egg and cheese. ”I am not too

popular yet. you know?”

I nodded. my mouth full of omelet.

”So it goes!" cried Arno.

"So it goes!” chorused Julie. holding up her drink.

”So it goes." I echoed.

I was beginning to get a headache. The yellow and red
was beginning to melt into a sickening conglomerate along
the wall. I looked out the window to avoid it.

”It's a nice day." I said.

”It's a market day.” said Julie. "With these eggs we

#8

have eaten the last of the food. Amen. So it is market day.
We never know when it will be. so it's always exciting! True?"

"True!" answered Arno.

They were beginning to sound like parrots in a game of
parrot talk.

"Should we?"

“Shouldn't we?"

"Would we?"

"Wouldn't we?"

”Could we?”

"Couldn't we?"

Ha ha ha ha.

Laugh.

”Yes.”

"No."

"Yes."

"Let's."

”Would you like to come with us to the market?" asked
Julie.

”Could you come with us?" asked Arno. "You could give
us a ride in your car."

”I'll give you a ride." I said. ”But I don't think I'll
go with you. Can you get back?"

”Sure.“ said Arno. "Usually we take the underground any-
way. It's not too far."

”It's far enough." said Julie.

I could see nothing but yellow and purple with violent

dashes of red. The omelet began to turn in my stomach and

to
I shut my eyes.

"Let's go then." I said. trying still to sound cheerful.

Arno grabbed the dishes once more and headed back toward
the kitchen. Julie dropped her robe to the floor and quickly
pulled on her jeans and a shirt. When Arno returned he had
exchanged his apron for a squashy little orange hat.

”Ready!”he cried. opening the door.

”Ready!" echoed Julie.

I had one more glimpse of the yellow and red and then we
were in the hall. The stairwell was so dim after the apart—
ment that I had to hold on to the railing until my eyes
adjusted. Julie and Arno ran down both flights. shrieking
and were waiting for me by the door. Arno made a little bow
and opened the door for us. Julie stood aside for me to leave
first. and then followed me solemnly. herself followed by
Arno.

”Amen.” he said as he shut the door.

”The car's in the lot over here."

They followed me across the street and when I had un-
locked the doors. I handed my keys to Arno.

”You drive.” I told him. ”You know the way.”

I got in back and Julie and Arno took the front. Arno
handled the car well and I settled back against the seat and
closed my eyes. After a few minutes the swirling yellow
stopped. and I felt it safe to open them again.

We were passing De Mellio's bakery. Its pink and green

sign was more faded than I remembered. but it was the same.

50

"Julie! We aren't going to the Northside market are we?"

”We're going exactly there."

"What other market is there?" asked Arno theatrically.
"It is THE market. And in a genuine. authentic Italian
ghetto. What could be better?"

”We used to live around here." I said. "Do you remember.
Julie?”

Julie looked down at her feet.

”No." she said. "I don't remember it at all.”

She had watched the floor when we left too. Clutching
her Raggedy Ann. her tears had drippedalong the doll's
flowered pinafore.

"Stop that. now. Julie." Ruth said. a trifle too sharply.

"Do you hear me? Stop it."

"We're going to like our new home." she continued.
”Aren't we. Laura? It's a new apartment and on the third
floor so you can ride the elevator up. It'll be a lot of
fun. won't it. Laura?"

But I hadn't been able to answer. I felt as if I was
choking. The light at the corner by De Mellio's had been
red and as I watched the familiar pink and green letters.

I knew that it was forever. There would be no old Mr.

De Mellio with his hooked nose and white hair to beckon through
the shop window on the way home from school. no more pieces

of licorice or star shaped cookies to eat before dinner. so
that you weren't hungry when it was time.

There was a finality in passing De Mellio's. I remembered.

51

There was a part of my life that I knew was over then. the

part that was chestnut trees. first grade. and my father.

5.

The wooden door to Gino's Underground swung closed heavily
behind me. I stopped for a moment. blinded by the sudden
darkness and then. gripping the hand I started slowly down
the stairs. The pile on the carpet was so thick that I
found it difficult to walk on it when I couldn't see where
I was going. The lighting at the bottom was still so dim
that I couldn't see my feet. I could see the hat-check girl
though. framed in her cubicle of light. and an old man in a
black uniform. vacuuming the carpet in the glow of light by
the ladies' room.

The girl was watching me. her eyes narrow beneath their
wire fringle of lashes. She was a blonde version of the same
girl that had been there a few weeks ago. visible from the
bust up only. She was face. arms and shoulders. casually
smoking a cigarette and caught in her square of bright light
so that she looked almost unreal. I half expected her to
announce that she smoked her brand because she liked them.
and then to fade into a football game. or the evening news.
Instead she just watched me.

I started to rub my eyes and discovered that I still had
my sunglasses on. Feeling foolish. I pulled them off quickly
and shoved them into my purse.

I could see her laughing now. behind her eyes. but her

mouth smiling only slightly. Her shiny red lipstick vibrated

52

53

before she spoke.

"You looking for someone. m'am?" she called. ”Or are
you just out for an afternoon lay?”

I thought I heard her say it. but I couldn't be sure so
I ignored it.

"Where can I find the manager?" I asked.

”Manager isn't in."

"Can you tell me who else I could see. then. to apply for
a job?"

There was a subtle change in the girl's expression. like
a tiny crack in her mannequin veneer that closed over instantly
again.

“We're not hiring." she said. She wasn't laughing anymore.

"There's an ad in the newspaper." I said.

"It's been filled."

"I'd like to see the manager anyway. When will he be in?"

"I told you. we're not hiring." she repeated.

"I still want to know when he'll be in!"

The girl shrugged.

”Maybe tomorrow. maybe not. They don't pay me to know
everything. Why do you expect me to know everything? You
think I should keep track of everybody's goings and comings?
Huh? Just for nothing? Not me. I just keep track of hats
and coats. You want your coat checked? No? Then leave me
alone lady!”

She slammed the sliding door across her window and I
heard it click sharply as she looked it. I looked at it and

now that it was shut. I couldn't be sure that it had ever

5h
been open.

Julie was always insisting that people spoke to her in the
night. that fat men tried to rape her on the way home from
school. that her dog had spoken to her. or an angel. that
she was poor and homeless with no clothes to wear. Some of
her imaginings were funny. Sometimes I have had to try hard
not to laugh as I picked Julie up at the station. nude again
and with a new excuse.

The stories were not always so funny to me now.

”I spoke with her." I said aloud.

"Hey. lady.”

His hand on my shoulder startled me. I whirled to face
him. He was a very old man dressed in a very old custodian's
uniform. His eyes were pale blue and watery. the skin around
them gathered in hundreds of wrinkle lines.

”Hey. lady." he said again. ”You looking for Mr. Angel-
glo? Mr. Angel—glo?"

"Is he the manager?”

”He's the boss. lady. He hires and fires. hires and fires.”

"Yes." I said. ”I'm looking for him. Do you know where
he is?”

"Three doors down. that is his office.lady."

"Thank you." I said.

I turned to go but he interrupted me.

"Lady." he said. ”Lady. you don't want to work here.”

”What?”

"Maybe you need money.” he said nodding. "Yes. we all

need money. Lady."

55
He kept nodding as if talking to himself.

”Why shouldn't I work here?" I asked him. "What's the
matter with me? First that girl and now you!"

”Her! She is a whore!"

He shook his head again. slowly rocking back and forth.

"We're all whores that work here. Lady.“ he said softly.
”All of us."

"You said the third door?" I repeated finally.

He nodded.

"All of us." he said again as I left.

“Excuse me." I said pushing the door open. "Is this the
manager's office?”

”Yes. it is."

He was a small man impeccably dressed in a navy blue
jacket and white pants. He wore white shoes as well and
his neck scarf had touches of red. It was fashionable this
summer. the red with navy and white. His skin was evenly
tanned and smooth. I noticed traces of make-up along his
collar and a hint of blue shadow on his eyelids. He was
smoking a filter tipped cigar. '

”I want to apply for a job.” I told him.

His smile was a trifle less cordial. He rummaged through
a drawer and emerged with a printed job application.

”Fill this out and bring it back to me. You can sit at
the table in the employees' lounge. two doors down.”

”Thank you.”

Smile.

The lounge was stark. I pulled a folding chair up to

56

the battered wooden table. Cigarette butts and ashes over-
flowed onto it from the makeshift pie tin ash trays. The
linoleum floor was dirty. Along one wall was a row of lockers.
I wished that one of the waitresses would come in and change.

I was curious to see what they looked like in street clothes.
without their heavy make-up. and without their wired brassieres.

Name.

Address.

AGE.

The other waitresses as I recalled. were younger than
myself. nearer to twenty than to thirty. But they might
check with my driver's license. I decided not to lie.

Agg--twenty-seven. almost twenty-eight.

They wanted to know my high school. my college. Was I
married? Could I type? What other machines was I qualified
to operate? How did I consider myself qualified? Did I ever
have rheumatic fever. surgery. or other? How many words a
minute could I type? Would I be willing to take a typing
test?

Who knew me and could vouch for me. but was not a relative?
How did this person know me since he wasn't a relative? For
how long had he known me in this manner? What did he do for
a living? Did I ever have pleurisy. rickets. or coldsores?
How much does 1765 and 3.987.h56 equal? Have I ever taken
drugs? Did I plan to in the future? Did I belong to the AA?
Have I ever been arrested? How often? Did it result in
incarceration for myself or others?

What jobs have I held? Was I fired? Which did I like

57

better. television or books? Michaelangelo or Dali? If I

chose Michaelangelo. please describe who or what he was or is.

and why. Did I swear that this was the truth and sign here?

his

Amen. Praise God. Alleluia.

I took the application back to his office.

"Well. how did it go." he asked. smiling as I returned.
"Fine. I guess."

”Good."

He drawled the word. by his emphasis on it. emphasizing
doubts.

”Laura. is it? Well. let's see. You've never had a job

before. Laura?"

”That's right."

”And you've been out of school for over ten years."
”Yes.”

"And you've never had a job?"

”That's right.”

“I see."

He paused for a moment. reading ahead.

"What gig you do between school and now. Laura?"

What did you do. Laura? What did you do? What happened

to you?

"I went to Quebec for a summer." I said to all of them.

"then I came home and got married.”

"Married?” they asked. Married?
“It says so on the application."
”Ah. yes. here it is. item #9. married."

He looked at my left hand. The diamond was nearly a

58

carat. it had belonged to Peter's mother.

"Children kept you busy. huh?"

“No children."

”No children?"

"That's right." I said.

“And you've never had a job?"

"No job."

”And no children?"

Only the dead ones! I wanted to yell at him. My souvenir
from Canada had miscarried a week before my wedding. and Peter's
son was stillborn a year later.

”I have a garden." I said.

”I see."

He droned the words automatically while lighting a fresh
cigar. and I noticed his make-up again. Even his eyelashes
had been darkened. It struck me suddenly that he was like a
corpse. desperately painted to hide its inevitable darkening.
A cold tingle moved down my back and I wanted to leave. He
wasn't finished though.

”Well. ah. Laura. isn't it? Yes. Laura. We really don't
have any openings right now for inexperienced help. We like
our girls to be familiar with this sort of work before they
ever come here. We like them to know that they like this
kind of work. Being a cocktail waitress is more than a job
here. it's a career. We want our girls to be used to working.
to pleasing our customers so that there are never any awkward
moments of adjustment. never any situation that might dis-

turb a customer.”

59

He paused for half a second and then plunged right in
again. It sounded almost like a recording.

”We don't want girls here who will discover in a week
that they don't like waitressing work. And we have a rule
here. an age limit of twenty-five. We like a certain age
group. Notthat you aren't as good. dear. We just have a
rule. We like to think that we offer the best to everyone
who comes here. a happy establishment with happy customers
and happy employees.”

I thought of the hat-check girl. happy and polite. under
25. Whores. the old man had said. all of them. whores.

"Thank you for your time." I said politely as Ruth had
conditioned me to.

"Of course.” he said.

I stood up and started for the door. but his voice
stopped me.

"If you don't mind my asking. though. just why did you
want this job?"

“I always wanted to be a whore." I told him.

The street was still bright. but it was late afternoon
sun now. not the searing white daylight savings sun that had
been out at two o'clock. Store owners were rolling back
their awnings for the night. and locking their doors. Flocks
of short-skirted shopgirls and moustached. plaid jacketed
salesmen swarmed into the street. laughing and calling

good-byes across the intersection.

60

They all looked young to me. too young even to be younger
brothers and sisters of the people that I went to school with.
They separated at the corner. some of the crowd heading
toward the municipal parking ramp. and the others moving
toward the Brooke Street station for the underground.

I couldn't remember the last time that I had been on the
subway. Julie and I used to take it every Saturday when we
were in grade school. We paid fifteen cents then to ride
around the city all day. eating warm cashews and spraying
ourselves with the coin perfume dispensers at each restroom
where we stopped. We always came home. sick from too many
nuts and reeking of at least ten different scents. We were
always late enough. too. that Ruth would be gone for the
evening. She would leave a note for us to fix ourselves
dinner and not to mess up the apartment. signed dutifully
with love. If she was feeling particularly dutiful. she would
buy us T.V. dinners or a frozen pizza and two cans of Coke
apiece.

It was always late Sunday before Ruth got back. so Julie
and I would have plenty of time to clean the debris and air
out the cigarette smoke before she returned. Ruth never
talked about the men she went out with. and we never asked
her about them.

”She's a whore." Julie had whispered when she learned

what the word meant. "Whore!“

61

I turned toward the subway station and was caught up in
the pushing crowd. I moved with them. down the stairs. and
then pushed my way through them toward the flower shop. These
shops beneath the street were always run by old women. They
always had Chrysanthemums and roses. and only sometimes tulips
and daffodils. The shops sold newspapers. too. and coffee or
lemonade in plastic cups. and cigarettes. The old women
wrapped the flowers in yesterday's news. They were always the
same. toothless and smiling with their tight permanented white
curls and hairnets.

"There you go. dear. Ain't they nice posies? Two dollars
and fifty. please.”

I paid her and hugged my news-wrapped roses close as I
tried to cross over to the car. The cars were filled by then
and the doors banged shut before I got there. The train
pulled away and I walked down to the bench at the next stop.

My diamond sparkled under the station lights but the light
that it reflected was a wierd green instead of the pure fire
it should have been.

Why do you want this job. the manager asked.

Whores. said the old man. All of us are whores.

But why do you want this job?

I pulled at my rings. forcing them off my hand. twisting
until they came free over my knuckle. I dropped them into
my purse just as another train entered the station. It
pulled up with a screeching of brakes and a shower of blue
sparks.

Bayside. It didn't really matter where I went. since

62
I'd have to come back anyway. so I took it. I found a seat
next to the window and the car started off with a terrific
lurch.

As we gained speed. I watched my face reflected in murky
yellow light on the window glass. An advertisement for Camel
cigarettes passed through my forehead and then flew by. A
bearded face was reflected next to mine. He wore heavy black-
rimmed glasses and his head bent closely over a book. I tried
to see what book it was that he was reading. but it was im-
possible to tell in the reflection.

The lights were flashing through my face for the next stop.
amber and then green. Drink Pepsi. I could read along the
station wall. Shelburne Station was exactly like Brooke
Street. the vendors. the advertisements. the benches. PeOple
pushed to get on the car while others pushed to get off. The
young man next to me kept reading. His shirt had something
lettered across it. and an emblem in the center. It probably
said Trenton College and he was probably reading philosophy.
He looked a little as if he could be Jewish with his wild.
dark hair and scraggly beard.

Another stop passed by and then we were traveling in
darkness for a while. There were no ads in this part of the
underground. just an occasional electric green filament lamp.
glowing wierdly though the tinted window. Sometimes when we
passed close by them. I could see the rough wooden beams
that have buttressed the subway for nearly a hundred years.

They must be rotting by now. they must have rotted in so

63
many damp and dank years buried under the ground.-

I've seen people rot too when they're buried. standing
politely in the dirt. In all appearances they're still
holding up their lives. but inside they've rotted through to
musty mold. If they rotted and then died of it. it was good
because no one would ever know. If they rotted obviously.
but silently. it was acceptable. But if they screamed and
lamented as they decayed. it was unpleasant for the world to
watch. or it was disgusting. or it was insane. You have to
smile when you drink Pepsi though your teeth rot to black
cores from it.

"Amen!" cried the young man beside me. slamming his book
closed.

Not philosophy. but the Bible. I thought.

"An excellent book." he said. his teeth gleaming through
an opening in his beard. He held the book up for me to see.

"Women in Love." he told me.

"I've never heard of it."

”Really?" He sounded shocked. "This is one of the greats."
he said. "An early bit of kinkiness."

"I've never read it." I told him again.

"You simply have to.” he said. jumping out of his seat.
”Is this the Waterford stop?"

I looked out. The station looked the same as all the
other stations.

"I guess so." I said.

"I've got to go." he said. grabbing his jacket. "Look.

it's only a secondhand paperback. I'll give it to you if you

6#

promise to read it."

He held the book out to me. His eyes were brown. I noticed.

"I'd like to read it." I said. taking the book. "Thank
you.“

”Sure thing!" he said cheerily.

He turned to go but I stopped him.

"Here." I said and thrust the paperwrapped flowers at him.
”I'll trade you. Hurry now. or you'll miss your stop."

He made a dash for the door and leapt to the ground. I
watched through the window as he unfolded the newspaper cone and
discovered the roses. The car started up again then. and he
turned to wave frantically as we started. I waved back and then
he was gone into the crowd of faces. He wasn't wearing a
college shirt afterall. I had seen. The emblem was a stylized

fetus and the slogan said. ”Trojans Never Fail”.

Bayside was the last stop on the run. I got out holding
my copy of Women in Love. There were hardly any people in
this station at all. I saw three nuns. moving silently with
bowed heads. an old man and his wife. and a young boy with
a tennis racket. They all moved quickly away to wherever
they were going and I was alone in the station. I walked
slowly across it. listening to my own footsteps echoing
along the pavement.

"Over forty percent of all muggings occur just after
dark in the subway.” said Miss Simons' raSpy smoker's voice.

Fourth grade.

65

Fifty percent of all the suicides in this area too. I
learned later. I crossed the metal footbridge that rose over

the wires and started up the stairs.

It was beginning to get dark. A dusty haze was settling
on all the buildings. I could feel the moisture heavy in
the air that blew in from across the bay. A fog horn sounded
twice and as I watched. all of the street lights lit in unison.
I guessed that it must be nearly 9200; I was getting hungry.

I had watched the sun go down in a perfect circle of red
along the water. and watched the trees turn into silhouettes.

And God made the night.

And it was good.

It was still Friday. Friday night--the social event of
the working class. the same as any other night to those whose
days were always the same. On Friday nights. Peter and I
often had dinner with another couple. at their home or at ours.
It was always an early night because Peter played golf every
Saturday morning at seven. He would miss tomorrow's game.

I recalled. and I wondered if he would wake up suddenly and
leap out of his hotel bed before he realized that the golf
course was at least four hours away. by plane.

Or maybe he didn't wake up alone on his trips. There
are hundreds of them waiting in Cincinnati bars too. I knew.
Hundreds of whores.

My stomach was rumbling and I decided that I wanted some-
thing to eat before I started back. I headed for the lights

along the wharf. There was Eddie's Bar and Grill shining

‘ 66
in pink neon just past a bait shop. Beer and wine lettered
on cardboard in the opaque window. I kept walking.

Past Eddie's there were only a few shops. closed for the
night. and the docks of the marina where a battered old tug
and some sailboats were moored. They looked almost like toy
boats. bobbing along the dock. their sails furled and shrouded.
I could hear the waves splash hollowly against their hulls. then
break to rush in under the dock.

”Spare change. lady?"

I hadn't noticed him sitting there on a bench next to
the dock. He was blonde. maybe twelve years old. in jeans
and a ragged T-shirt. He was smoking a cigarette.

"Got any spare change. lady?" he said again. "Help a
brother out?"

”What will you buy with it?" I asked.

He shrugged.

”Maybe some hamburgers. lady. Maybe a couple of joints.“

"I'll buy you a hamburger.” I offered.

"Just the money will be fine."

”I'm going to eat now anyway.”

”No. thanks. lady. I'm not hungry just yet."

“Later?”

”I'm fine like I am, lady."

"Sure?”

"Jesus Christ. lady!" he yelled. "All I want is some
spare change!"

"I'm sorry." I said finally.

 

 

'0

hr
la

Iia

67
I put a dollar on the bench next to him and started up

the stairway to the main street.

"Hey. lady,“ he called. "Thanks."

"Sure." I said. turning. "Sure thing. brother. Listen,
brother. maybe you can do something for me?"

”Like what?"

I could hear the distrust in his voice again.

”Where around here can I get something to eat. and maybe
a Coke?"

”You want a pick up. lady?"

”No." I said. suddenly tired. "I just want to eat."

"There's Nemo's Woman." his voice echoed out from the
dark. ”She's moored a couple of blocks down. On the old
pier. past the coast guard station. Best food around."

"The best food?”

"My cousin owns it. It's a boat.”

"Of course." I said. "Thanks. brother."

"Sure thing. lady."

His voice trailed after him into the darkness.

I found it where he told me. an old car ferry painted
bright red. her decks strung with bright-colored Chinese
lanterns that reflected red. yellow and green along the
water. A floodlight on the dock focused on the half nude
figure of an oriental mermaid. painted on the hull. She
looked part dragon but she was beckoning instead of flaming.
inviting her patrons aboard with taloned hands. From where

I stood on the dock. I could hear all the lyrics of the song

68
that was playing on the jukebox inside.

Everyone knew everyone at Nemo's Woman. I sat down at
a side booth facing the table where George had just bear-
hugged Angie. Karen. Joan. and Miranda. exclaiming loudly
over each of them and ending each hug with a kiss. He was
demanding to know what they wanted to drink. They were all
shouting to be heard over the music.

"A pitcher. George!" the redhead was yelling.

"Only beer? You can't be serious! Not you four!"

They were all about Julie's age. dressed casually in the
jeans and denim jackets that seem almost to be a uniform.
They were all laughing.

”Just beer. George." the girl said firmly. "Payday isn't
until next week."

"One drink on Nemo. then." George insisted.

”We won't turn it down!"

”You know us better than that. George!”

”Three Black Russians and one Something-with-Cream. on
the way!" he promised. ”Stomachs with ulcers shouldn't
drink beer. Karen." he added.

"It's healing.” said the girl on the left.

"No drinks but creamy ones. even so!” he called. hurrying
off toward the bar.

I took the menu from its pocket and Opened it: Beer.
wine. and cocktails served always-~soup and sandwiches served
sometimes.--spaghetti (Nemo's own special recipe) served
Sundays only.

"Can I get you something to eat?"

69

It was George. returning with the drinks and some potato
chips.

"A sandwich." I said.

"Sure." he said. "Hang on just a minute while I deliver
these."

He gave the girls their drinks and returned with an order
pad in his hand.

"We only have tuna and chicken tonight. Both on dark
bread.“

"Tuna will be fine."

”Anything to drink?"

”Pepsi.”

"Not even a beer? And this is Friday night!"

He was smiling at me as if I was one of the regulars.

"Just Pepsi." I said.

He wrote quickly. shoving the pad back in his apron
pocket even as he ripped the order off.

”It'll take a couple minutes.” he said. "Half of my
help quit this week.“

He didn't sound angry about it at all. in fact he was
still smiling.

”One tuna. on its way!” And he was gone.

For nearly an hour I watched the two girls with short
aprons hurrying between the bar and the tables. but neither
of them brought my sandwich. I hadn't seen George since
he took the order. The room had filled up rapidly. They
sat wherever they could find room and a large number of them

still crowded into the aisles. jostling one another as they

'70
looked for places to sit.

”Domingo. buddy!"

"Jose!"

Another reunion in front of my table. no less emotional
than the first.

"How long. amigo? Ten years?"

"Ten years. Holy Virgin! Too long!"

”Much too long. buddy!"

The rest of their conversation was in Spanish. Ten years.
they'd said. ten years. Too long to be apart from a dear
friend. too long by far to remain with one who wasn't dear.
Ten years without my own name. Ten years smiling.

”I'm really sorry." George said. "It's chicken."

He sat the sandwich and my Pepsi in front of me and
rummaged for his order pad.

"Look.” he said. ”It's late. it's cold and it's not even
the right sandwich. I'll just put this one down on Nemo's
bill. How's that?"

"I'll pay for it." I told him.

"But the service was so lousy.” he insisted. "And the
sandwich. you haven't tasted it yet. I mean. it's not p39,
it's just not spectacular food. you know?”

“George. who owns this place?" I asked.

”I do." he said slowly. ”Why?”

"Do you make any money on it?"

He sighed. rummaging through his pocket again. this time

returning with his cigarettes.

71
"Not always." he said. "We might tonight. though."

He paused to light a cigarette and then sat down across
from me in the booth.

”Do you mind?" he asked. "I don't think there's a chair
left in the place."

”Are you always this busy?"

”Only on weekends. and then it doesn't start until ten."

"We do some sandwich business at lunch." he added.
”You'd better eat your sandwich before it gets any colder."

He pushed the plate toward me.

"Eat."

I took a bite and surprised myself by finishing the whole
sandwich without a break.

”Ah ha!” said George. "You were hungry. weren't you?"

I nodded between sips of cola. It was impossible not to
be friendly with George.

"No." George continued as if resuming our conversation.
"Sometimes I really enjoy working down here. But then there
are days like today. when half of the waitresses quit. the
groceries don't get delivered. and the band cancels at the
last minute."

"The waitresses quit?"

”I don't pay them enough." he admitted. "I can't afford
to."

"George."

It was one of the remaining two waitresses.

"George. the ladies room just overflowed again."

72
"God damn that bitching pipe." he said calmly. "0.K..

Debbie. thanks."

He turned back to me.

"It's been nice talking to you." he said.

"Do you mean that?"

"Sure I mean it." he said. standing up. "Would I say it
if I didn't?"

I stopped him as he turned to leave.

"George. do you ever hire waitresses without any job ex-
perience?"

"Sometimes." he said. ”Why? You need a job?"

"Not the money." I tried to explain. "but I really need a
job."

He was watching me with a cautious expression on his face.

"You promise to work at least a month?"

"Yes."

"O.K. C'mon back and I'll get you an apron."

I think he expected that I wouldn't want to start tonight.
that I would wait until tomorrow for a full day's work. But
I jumped up to follow him. He grinned suddenly and I knew
for certain then that there were no whores at Nemo's.

"What's your name anyway?"

"Laura."

"0.K. Laura. you're hired."

I woke slowly. letting my eyes wander across the room.

absorbing the brightness of the sunlight as it streamed across

73

the pale green walls. I had chosen the color in here too. a
soft spring green that brought to mind ferns. or new leaves
uncurling slowly in the clean morning air. Somewhere I've

read that green is a magical color. the color of emeralds.

of elf hair and of luck. Perhaps I read it in one of the books
of tales that Ruth gave Julie and I to read when we were chil-
dren.

I didn't want to look at the clock. but I could tell from
the sun that it was late. Still I didn't want to move. The
arches of my feet ached and the muscles along my calves had
stiffened into cramps during the night. My shoulders ached
too. and my arms hurt if I even raised them slightly. I knew
I'd never be able to lift pitchers of beer this afternoon.
but I was going to try.

George told me that I did well last night.

"Two more days and you'll be ready for the Hilton. Laura."
he said while slapping a piece of chicken on the bread. I
plopped some shredded lettuce on it as I had seen him do
before. and he finished with the second piece of bread. A
flourish of the slicing knife and it was done.

"Behold the Sandwich. the Flesh of my Chicken. in whom
I am well pleased." he intoned.

He handed the plate to me.

"They're eighty-five cents."’

"Amen." I said. trying to find the proper column to enter
the price in on my check pad.

"Don't forget the tax. Laura."

7#
”Never!“

He put a friendly arm around my shoulders and hugged me
briefly.
"You're doing a quality job." he said on his way to the

next order.

I thought I heard the mantle clock chiming downstairs. but
only for a few gongs. I thought it was about eleven but when
I turned the alarm clock over. I saw it was already two. I
swung my feet out over the side of the bed and pushed myself
up. Even my neck ached. There wouldn't be enough time to
shampoo my hair. so I decided to wait and bathe when I got
back tonight.

George told me to wear whatever I wanted to work. so I
found a comfortable pair of corduroy slacks and a knit shirt.
I decided that comfortable shoes were necessary even if I only
wore tennis shoes like I had seen Debbie wearing last night.
I brushed my hair and tied it back into a ponytail instead of
its usual coil. My reflection smiled back at me. She looked
younger than I had seen her look for a long time. Younger
and happier.

I started down the stairs but stopped halfway. I could
smell freshly brewed coffee below me. And cigarettes. The
rustling of the New York Times was the only thing missing.

He was sitting in his usual chair. the newspaper still folded
on the table.

"Good afternoon. Laura." said Peter.

”You're back early.” I said.

75

"I know you're overjoyed to see me." he said sarcastically.
"But try to work up some enthusiasm."

"What do you mean?"

”I've been home since yesterday. You had quite a night out.
Laura.“

I ignored his implication.

"I thought you weren't signing the contract until tomorrow."
I said.

"We lost it." He lit another cigarette and exhaled in
smoke rings. "Well come here and give me a wifely kiss. Tell
me how glad you are that I'm back.”

I walked past him into the kitchen and poured myself a
cup of coffee. He was watching for me as I came back. I saw
again the dark lines under his eyes. He had aged noticeably
in the past year. his hair was receding dramatically and he
was heavier--still not fat. but in another year he would be
that too. I thought. I could almost feel sorry for him. I
sat down across from him.

"You've changed lately. Laura." he said. ”Changed a lot."

"So have you. Peter. Everyone changes. Life is change.”

"Even that. You always have a smart answer now. don't
you?”

"I've always had answers." I told him. "You're just
hearing them for a change."

He was blowing smoke rings again.

"Where were you last night. Laura?"

"Where were you. Peter?"

He looked past me to the window.

76

"Ruth tells me that a friend of hers saw you with Julie
yesterday. But you told Ruth that you didn't know where she
was."

"So you were at Ruth's last night." I said. ”All night?"

"I thought you might be there so I stopped by." His voice
was sarcastic.

"All night?"

He wouldn't look at me. he just kept staring out of the
window. and finally I understood that it was time.

”Just how was my mother?" I asked. "As good as your
Cincinnati whores?”

”Better than most!“ he snapped. turning from the window.
”You should've taken lessons."

My coffee no longer tasted of anything. I set it aside.

Whore. Julie had called her. both of them. whores. But
whores aren't for marrying-~there are other women for that.
softer women who are more easily bent. sheltered women these
daughters of whores. who don't know enough to judge men until
those men have bent them. too. into whores.

The clock chimed five. I had forgotten all about my job
and now I was late. Peter still sat there. looking at the
wall. I got my coat from the closet.

"I'm leaving.” I said. "I won't be back until late."

He just looked at me.

"What did you do with your rings. Laura?"

I looked down at my left hand where there was a white

line from the ten years that I had worn the rings.

77
"I took them off." I said.

He said nothing more and I left without turning to see

whether or not he watched me go.

"I'm late. George."

"And only your second day. The help gets worse day by day.”
he mourned as he lined up the slices of onion on the chopping
board. ”What ever happened to fear of the lord and of your
employer?"

I tied one of the aprons behind me.

"I'm not afraid of anything.” I said.

"Good. Here.” he said. handing me the knife. "Cut the
onions for a while. We're serving spaghetti.”

Nemo's spaghetti was beyond description. I was glad that
I didn't like Spaghetti to begin with because when I finished
it I was sure that I could never eat it again. After half
an hour of onions. camaalmost a whole bulb of garlic. endless
peppers. and three gallon cans each of tomatoes. tomato sauce.
tomato puree. I had to mix all this and then divide it into
three pots on the stove. stirring each one in its turn with
a giant wooden spoon while the sauce bubbled and spit. I
remembered Shakespeare's Macbeth. though I was one witch to
three cauldrons. I leaned over the pot. There were no pro-
phecies in the eddies of oregano. no visions as the peppers
sank into the tomatoes only to be spit back up in the next
bubble. Not even my own face was reflected. There was only
the oozing red tomatoes. churning in their own juices as they

coagulated into sauce.

78

79

"Hey. don't fall in!" said George behind me.

"I won't.“ I said. moving away from the stove. "What's
that?”

George was half-dragging. half-swinging an immense plastic
bag filled with lumpy grey stuff.

"The meat's here." he said. "Harry was so late today. I
was afraid we were going to have to Open with meatless spa-
ghetti."

”That's meat?"

"Hamburgers.” he nodded. "I buy them from the fast food
joints that make them up ahead. you know. like Hamburger
Heaven and MacDonalds? Instead of dumping the leftovers
every night. I have a deal with them so they throw them in
the freezer for me. At the end of the week I send someone
to pick them up and there you have it. Voila! Nemo's
spaghetti.

"You don't feed those to people!” I said. disbelieving.
"That's got to be illegal."

"We pick them up after dark."

"You can't do that!"

For the first time. I noticed that George looked tired.
I watched his patience struggle across his face and lose.

”I certainly can!” he snapped. "And what's more. you're
going to too. just as soon as you finish grinding them up!”

He lifted the grinder from under the sink. slammed it
on the counter in front of me and left.

"I'm sorry." I found myself repeating. but there was

no one there to hear.

80

Some still had bits of buns stuck to them with mustard
and catsup. At first I tried to pick it off. but after a
while I just ground them all up together. A little before
five o'clock. Debbie came in. throwing her jacket at the
corner rack and tying on her apron all in one easy motion.

"George said to tell you to start the big kettles full
of water for the pasta." she said. "They're in the cupboard
next to the sink.”

”Thanks." I said.

”It's a task. isn't it though?" Debbie said looking for
her order pad. ”Usually we all do some of it. but since you

have to learn...”

She found her pad and started for the door.

”You'll get used to it. Laura. The first week is always
the worst."

"Sure." I said.

If I made it through the first week. I hadn't meant
to upset George. It's just that I was genuinely shocked by
the hamburger recycling. It probably made the situation no
better. though. I decided. Being truly revolted is probably
a worse reaction than pretending to be revolted. I tried to
phrase what I would say to him when the spaghetti was finished.
but I couldn't seem to get past the words. "I'm sorry”. I
had said them so often that now my first reaction to anything
was to apologize. After those two words I didn't have any-
thing more to say. For all my years with Peter those words
had been enough. but I didn't want to say them now. I

wanted to explain to George. not apologize. It should have

81
been simple enough. but I couldn't find words to begin with.

It turned out that I didn't say anything at all. The
booths were filled when I brought the first pot of spaghetti
out of the kitchen. and there were more people moving down
the aisles to the tables.

"Sit the sauce over here on the counter. Laura." George
said. ”There's a warming tray and candles somewhere in the
backroom."

When we had it all set up I stood behind the counter.
huge tongs to grab the spaghetti in one hand. and a soup
ladle for the sauce in the other. People formed into a line
at one end of the counter and as I watched the line grew down
the full length of the room. Debbie gave them their plates
when she took their orders. so when they got to me they just
waited. plate in hand. I had to catch a slippery bundle of
the worm-like pasta with the tongs and somehow get it to
each plate intact. A couple of times I just couldn't hang on
long enough and the whole tangled mess would fall on the
counter. Once a bunch even fell into the sauce. splashing
the front of my apron with greasy red-orange droplets.

The sauce was another trial. A full ladle was too much
and the sauce would stream over the side of the plate and cover
the customer's hand or drip on his feet. I heard myself
apologizing over and over. reaching for a towel to mop up
the mess. The line never ended--as soon as there was a gap
in the procession of clean plates. the dirty plates would
fill the line again starting on their seconds. or thirds.

George had warming trays full of pasta in the kitchen. When

82
mine was getting low he would whisk it away and return in a
few seconds with a fresh pan. These later mounds of spaghetti
were worst than the first. It had congealed along the bottom
of the pan into nearly solid forms. I had to tear the strands
apart with the tongs before they would even fit on the plate.
But people were eating it. and eating more. and more.

When the line finally dwindled away. it was almost eleven
o'clock. Across the entire room people were laughing and
talking as they lifted full forks to their mouths. Someone
had started the jukebox and a woman's country voice was
wailing about the man who had left her. who didn't really
love her. now in the end. over. gone. She sounded more angry
than sad.

I noticed a girl at the table nearest the counter who was
cutting her spaghetti with a knife as if it were a piece of
meat instead of winding it around her fork. She was sitting
by herself and I felt a little bad that she had to be one of
the ones to be served from the bottom of the pan.

”Can I have some more?”

A greasy plate was shoved before me and I looked across
to see a face that was getting to be familiar. His chin was
covered with dribbles of sauce that he hadn't even bothered
to wipe away. This was at least his fifth or sixth plate. I
must have hesitated because he seemed to grow impatient.

"C'mon." he said. "It says'all you can eat'!"

”I'm sorry.” I said as I had said all night. Even to

myself I sounded like a recording. His plate was so smeared

83

with the remains of his first five meals that it was hard to
hold on to. And I still could not bring myself to grab at
garbage with my bare hands. I grasped it by the edge with
only my thumb and forefinger. balancing the Opposite edge of
the plate against the pan Of sauce.

”Hurry up." he said.

I hadn't finished dipping the sauce when he snatched the
plate away from me. knocking the ladle and my hand into the
warming pan. The pan slipped from its rack and with a clatter
of metal on metal. spilled the greasy tomatoes along the
counter and down my legs to the floor. The candle fell on
my hand and I slapped at it to put out the flame.

"It's 0.K.. Laura." said George coming up behind me. ”GO
in the back and get the mop.”

"He knocked my hand into it...." I started.

”I saw.” George said. ”It's not your fault. Now go and
get the mop.”

“At least it wasn't a full pan." said Debbie as I passed
her.

My hand was starting to throb. I handed George the mop.

”I'm going to get cleaned up." I told him.

"Sure.” he said.

My right arm and my shoes had gotten the worst of it. and
along the top Of my hand the skin was already beginning to
raise a blister. I stuck my hand under cold water to relieve
the pain a little as well as to clean off the tomatoes. My

eyes smarted with tears and I blinked hard to control them.

8#

I couldn't remember a time in my entire life when I had
actually cried. but I knew I was very close there in the
Employees Only at Nemo's.

There was a knock on the door.

"Hey. Laura." called George. "DO you think you'll be
clean enough to carry beer for a while? We've got a constant
crowd tonight."

”Sure.” I called back. forcing my voice to be steady.
”Just give me another five minutes."

"Right!"

I could hear him running off through the kitchen again.
probably grabbing glasses and trays as he went. Tonight was
a good night for George. He'd make money tonight for sure.
I pictured him smiling as he hurried from table to table.

I took off my socks and wiped my shoes as best I could
with wet paper towels. From the knees down my slacks were
speckled with bits of meat. I wiped at the mess until it
sort of blended with the brown of my slacks. Then I switched
my apron for a clean one and straightened to look in the
mirror. It was cracked in one corner and broken off com-
pletely in another. The face that looked back at me was
green. Its shape was so distorted. first one huge eye and
then a swollen nose, that I could tell nothing from it. I
pinned my hair back into place and remembered to shut Off
the light before I went back to the counter.

"Bring me the last Of those pitchers. would you Laura?"

called George from across the room. His voice echoed around

85

the empty tables and chairs. I stopped wiping tables and went
to lift the tray. My right hand hurt too much to hold the
weight of it so I shifted it along my left arm and used my
right for balance. The skin had split along the burn and it
was oozing a clear fluid. Its throbbing had already given

me a headache. I slid the tray of pitchers on to the counter
awkwardly. trying to spare my right hand as much as possible.

"Thanks." said George absently. not even looking up.

He had barely said anything to me since the bit with the
old hamburgers.

"George." I said. "George. about the hamburgers-—that is.
about what I said about them--".

"What?"

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I'm sorry."

"What are you talking abOut. Laura?"

"The hamburgers--." I started again. "The spaghetti--."

"Laura." George said. "Just forget about it. O.K.? Why
don't you go on home now? It's past time."

He was watching me with a strange expression on his face.
not tired as I would have expected. but gentle. I nodded and
pushed my hair back out of my eyes. George stopped stacking
pitchers.

"What did you do to your hand?"

"The spaghetti...." I started once more. "The spaghetti...
it's burned."

George sighed.

"Laura." he said finally. "I really don't think that

86
you're out out for this type Of work."

"What?"

"You try really hard." he went on. "But you're just not
suited to be a waitress."

"Waitress!" I said. "You call chopping onions and grinding
stale hamburgers being a waitress? You think I should know
everything on only my second day here? How can you say what
I'm suited to do! You don't even know me enough to..."

I couldn't finish; I turned away and started to walk
blindly. I stumbled into a chair and hit a table but it
didn't matter. I just stood there looking at the wall in
front of me and crying. Not even in the privacy of my own
room. I was crying. George came up behind me and put his
hands on my shoulders. turning me to face him. My face felt
like warm putty. melting off my bones. I couldn't control
it any longer. I let my face dissolve while George looked
at my hand.

"You should have put something on that." he said. "Why
didn't you say something earlier?"

I shrugged and tried to smile. but the tears wouldn't
stop even though my mind was back together.

”It's O.K..” I tried to say. but the words were broken
in the middle by hiccups.

"Let's get out of here." said George suddenly. "I'll
drive you over to the hospital and they can put a dressing
on it."

”NO! It's O.K.." I said.

87

"Would you rather I took you home?"

"Home?"

I could sense the tears starting in a fresh flood. I
shook my head.

"No." I managed to say. "Not home." The thought of Peter
and Ruth together in my bed started me laughing through my
tears. I laughed and laughed until I cried again. though
my eyes had never stopped streaming the whole time.

Finally I was tired. completely and overwhelmingly tired.
I didn't care if I had to sleep on the floor of Nemo's. I
just had to sleep. I remember George pushing me out the door
and somehow my jacket way there too. He helped me into the
car and I saw streetlights flash along the windshield. I

slept until we got to his apartment.

"Sidney!"

It was a highpitched little shriek followed by a thud as
a weight hit my stomach. The thud moved with careful footing
along my chest. I opened my eyes and found myself face to
face with a cat. The cat stopped when it saw that I was
awake and sat calmly on my rib cage. A second face appeared.
a child's face. watching me with the same intent expression
as the cat. The room wasn't familiar to me. but my jacket
was draped over the chair and my spattered shoes were sitting
neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. I remembered the
spaghetti then. and my hand. and George. This must be George's
bedroom. I realized. and his child? I guessed the child to

be a girl.

88

"Is this Sidney?" I asked her. motioning toward the cat.

She nodded. her eyes solemn and wide. never leaving my
face.

"He wakes up awfully early. doesn't he?"

She nodded again and then as if changing her mind. decided
to Speak after all.

”He wakes me up all the time." she said. stressing her
words with child-like importance. "Sometimes he wakes Daddy
up too.“

"I bet Daddy loves that." I said. The pillow beside me
still showed a dent where his head had been. and the wrinkled
blankets were slightly warm yet. I hadn't known that George
had children. It surprised me somehow. as if it was something
I should have known.

"Daddy throws Sidney at the wall sometimes." the little
girl said suddenly. She grabbed the cat and lifted him Off
me as if afraid that I would throw him too. Sidney dangled
reluctantly from her arms. Offering a few feeble meows as
she dragged him off. I pulled the blanket closer and sat
up. My hand still throbbed a little and my eyes felt swollen
and stiff as if I was catching a cold. I didn't even want
to think of what I must look like.

The little girl had moved across the room. She pinned
Sidney against the floor and was attempting to dress him in
a doll's dress and bonnet.

”Stop it. Sidney." she said calmly as he writhed beneath

her grip.

89

"Jennie. come out here and be quiet."

It was George's voice. speaking softly yet firmly. His
voice came from the doorway but I couldn't see him.

Jennie looked up at him and then over at me.

"She's awake." she said. turning back to Sidney.

George's head appeared at the doorway.

"SO you are." he said smiling. "How's your hand?"

"Better.”

"Good. Paper here yet. Jennie?"

”Yes." She continued to adjust Sidney's bonnet while
George looked around the room.

”Where is it?" he finally asked.

"Outside."

He vanished again and came back with the paper under his
arm. stooping to kiss the top of Jennie's head on his return.

”Good morning. Jennifer.”

"Morning.”

George was wearing pajamas now and his pajama legs.
visible beneath his robe. were made of the same blue cotton
printed with pink rabbits that Jennie was wearing. Neither
of them wore slippers.

"This is Laura. Jennie." George said. nodding toward me.

”How do you do." she said politely as if we hadn't spoken
at all earlier.

"Hello Jennie."

”And this is Sidney." George said.

"We've met." I told him.

90
George laughed and straightened.

"I'll bet you have. Look. Laura." he continued. "There's
a bathroom and all the etceteras down the hall if you want to
indulge. and in the meantime I'll start the coffee. 0.K. with
you?”

"Fine."

He paused and then smiled broadly.

"Good morning. Laura."

"Good morning." I said.

The bathroom was not at all extraordinary but the shower
felt wonderful. I even shampooed my hair. removing every
possible scent of spaghetti. I towelled quickly and brushed
my hair straight. leaving it hanging free to dry. The smell
of coffee was already drifting down the hallway. I hung my
towel carefully and started toward the coffee. smiling. There
had been only two toothbrushes in the rack. one large and red.
the other a child's size with plastic pink rabbits.

George was sitting in the overstuffed green chair facing
the television. Jennie was on his lap and both of them had
huge bowls Of cereal with them.

“It's almost time for Captain Zocko and his Zany 200
Friends." George said. "Grab yourself a bowl of cornflakes
and pull up a chair."

”Or there's Krispies" said Jennie. lifting a spoonful
to her ear.

"The coffee's ready too." George called after me.

When I returned Captain Zocko was doing his theme song
and Jennie was doling out sections of the newspaper. She

91

kept the comics for herself and gave George the front section.

job.

you

"Which do you want?" she asked me.

"The classified section." I told her. "The want ads."
"Want ads?" asked George. "You aren't looking for a new
are you?"

"I don't know." I said.

"You don't have to. Laura. unless you want to."

"I don't want to." I admitted. putting the paper aside.
"Good!" eeorge was grinning again. "In that case. would
like to work this afternoon?"

"Are you serious?" I asked him.

"Yep."

"I'll have to change clothes. I'm still spaghetti

splattered."

"Sure." he said. "I'll give you a lift to your car."
"H-hush." said Jennie. "It's started!”

I swallowed a mouthful of cereal and picked up the want-

ads again.

”Apartments." I answered George's raised eyebrows.
”You can stay here if you like.”

"Thanks." I said. smiling at him "I just might.“

II

They almost made it that day. They would have. but she
had decided that they should cut through Pickert's cornfield
and they had found Aunt Joleen and Jos Pickert there. lying
near naked between the rows Of corn. the afternoon sun beating
down on the both Of them.

”What're you don' here?" Joleen called.

The girl didn't answer. Joleen should have been ashamed.
she thought. half-naked in front of her own sister's child.

"We're just takin' ourselves a shortcut.” said the boy.
"There war'nt no sign sayin' it was private."

Joleen pushed herself up. smoothing her tight cotton
skirt down over her hips. twisting at it to straighten the
seams. Her blouse was still unbuttoned but she didn't seem
to notice. The boy noticed though. and the girl saw that he
watched. She followed as he stared at Joleen's breasts moving
his eyes along them. looking from where they began. smooth
and white beneath the tan V of her neck and following down
as they dropped full and heavy. nearly to her waist.

"Where're you goin' with your Pa's good satchel. Ruth
Ann?" Joleen said.

”I'm goin' where I please." the girl said loudly. "And
Tom is goin' with me."

”Dressed like you was headed for a prayer meetin'.”

Joleen said. She squinted and started toward the girl.

92

93

“What's that you're wearin'?" she screamed. "What's that
around your neck?"

The girl had forgotten about the necklace. She pulled at
it now. snapping the chain as it broke free Of her neck. She
threw it at her aunt. Joleen grabbed it out of the dirt.

"That's my ruby necklace! It's my ruby necklace you were
stealin'!"

"They ain't real rubies." the girl said.

"They're genuine real. you whoring little bitch! You
ain't goin' nowhere. Ruth Ann Mapes! You're goin' right home
with me and takin' Off that Sunday dress and them shoes!"

"It's my dress and my shoes.“ she said. "I can wear 'em
where I please."

"And where're you two figurin' on goin' where you need
your Sunday best and a whole satchel full more? Just what're
you plannin' on doin'?”

"It ain't none of your concern.” said Tom. "Looks like
you got plenty concern of your own.“

Joleen looked half back at Jos Pickert who never did
bother even to fasten his pants. He lay propped on one
elbow snapping at horseflies with Joleen's pink brassiere.

"Cut that out!” she yelled at him. "You're gonna stretch
the elastic all out of it. and it ain't more'n two months
Old. It's my new one. you damn fool. put it down!"

”Let's go. Tom." said the girl. pulling at his arm.

"I said. where're you goin'?" yelled Joleen.

"We're goin' to get married." the girl said. and she

9#
couldn't keep the pride from her voice. even then. Joleen
had never been married. for all her nights in the Pickert's
barn. She was past twenty now. too. and not likely to be
asked. The girl expected that her aunt would be envious.
that she would turn toward her with envious eyes. silent.
But Joleen laughed. and laughed harshly.

"You ain't never goin' to find a judge who'll marry a
twelve year old girl. Especially when she don't look much
Older than ten!“

"Well we're goin' to go."

“There's gonna be near half a dozen state patrollers out
lookin' for you. Tom." said Joleen. smiling. ”Just as soon
as I tell her Pa.”

”Let's go." the girl said again. but Tom turned toward
her.

"You really only twelve?" he asked. ”You told me you was
past fourteen.”

”What's it matter how old I am?” she said. ”You said we
were gettin' married!”

"We ain't gettin' nothin'." he said. "We ain't gettin'

nothin' at all.”

7.

Peter had left her gift in the top drawer of her bureau.
nestled on top of her good black lingerie where she would
find it in the morning. The box was small and rectangular
with velvety ribbon and a fire red bow. She pictured him
putting it there. grinning as he thought of her face when
she'd find it. Before she opened the gift. she decided to
wear the black underwear that day. It wouldn't be noticeable
under her plain navy suit. and perhaps they'd have a couple
hours free. after the luncheon.

He picked a plain card. one of those embossed blanks Of
creamy paper that suit every occasion from weddings to birth-
days. Today was her birthday.

"Best Of everything. Ruth." he had written. ”Happy
Birthday.”

He scrawled it like a child. and she smiled as she thought
Of the strange combination of child and of man that he was.

She pulled the ribbon Off and lifted the cover slowly.

It lay on a bed of red velvet. a gold necklace-~three delicate
pieces of filagree each with a ruby and two small diamonds.
They were linked together with fine gold chain. Her throat
tightened as she looked at it. and for a moment. her eyes
blurred. You fool. she thought. you beautiful fool. Peter.
Not one word about how old she was and he had given her a

girl's present. a gift that a bride should own while she was

95

96
still as perfect as it was. She blinked hard.

"Don't be an ass." she said. In the mirror her face
smiled back at her and she fastened the stones around her
neck. It nestled in the hollow Of her throat. just where it
would nestle at some model's throat in an advertisement.

"It's beautiful." she said aloud. though she knew no one
could hear her. "It's beautiful. beautiful!"

Laughing. she whirled around the bedroom in her nightgown.
She must look ridiculous for a woman past forty. she thought.
but she didn't feel Old this birthday. She could have been
twenty-five. she could have been twenty. She heard the
laughter and knew it was her own. but she laughed again and
spun around the bedpost.

Julie was watching her from the doorway.

The laughter died in Ruth's throat and she found herself
thinking. please don't spoil it this time. Julie. just this
once. But then she was ashamed. She didn't give Julie a
chance. she just assumed the worst. Still. Julie hadn't
said anything. she just watched. Ruth smiled at her.

"Isn't it beautiful. Julie?" she said. "Peter gave it
to me for my birthday."

The wide blue eyes looked at all of Ruth.' They moved
across all of her body. but came to rest on the necklace each
time. Julie walked over and fingered the chain along Ruth's
throat. Slowly Ruth felt her grip tighten until the chain
ground into the back of her neck.

"Julie, don't..." she started to say. "Don't spoil it

97

for me."

Julie's eyes turned to hers and again their emptiness
frightened her.

"Don't." she repeated. pulling away from Julie's grip.

"You'll burn." said Julie calmly. "You'll burn in hell.
you whore!"

She turned and ran from her mother's room.

Ruth checked the back seat of the car before she got in
to be sure that Julie wasn't hiding there. She even checked
along the parking lot as she left.

Since July. Julie had been increasingly difficult to
handle. She left early in that month. about the time that
Laura left Peter. Ruth didn't know where either of them was
until late August when Julie had been picked up by the police
once again. She hadn't been living with Laura as Ruth had
thought.

There were therapy sessions after that while Julie denied
that she had ever known anyone. much less Ruth or Laura. Then
Giani sent her home to live. In the past few weeks though.
she'd started staying away again. leaving for days or a week.
Unexpectedly she would come home. like this morning. either
silent or strangely angry.

Ruth decided not to tell Peter about the latest visit.
His car was parked across from her usual spot so she decided
to slip into his Office for a moment on the way to her own
desk. He was alone as she hOped he would be.

"Surprise." she announced.

98

"Surprise yourself!" he said. turning in his chair to
face her. "Well?"

"I love it. Peter!" she said and then she hugged him.
office or not.

"Ruth!" he protested.

"I'm sorry." But she thought that he was pleased. none-
ttueless. She straightened her jacket and tucked in her blouse.

"I'd better get going." she said.

"See you at lunch?"

"Of course. Mr. Makrianis. "We've got work to do during
lunch today."

He didn't rise to it. instead he smiled.

"Bitch. bitch," he said. "Give you one little present and
yCHJ expect all kinds of favors."

"It's perfect. Peter. Really it is."

"Good. You can wear it tonight. I've got tickets for
Tflle show at the Rickey Club."

"Business again?"

"No. Strictly birthday. And if you grab me again. Ruth,
you can't go."

"I promise." she said solemnly.

"Good. Now send in that frizzled blonde Tate girl on
lHIur way out. I've got some things for her to type."

"Yes. sir!"

"Don't be sarcastic. Ruth," he said. "It's not becoming."

Darlene Tate was one of the younger secretaries. those

tiny girls. all elbows and knees who spend most of their

99
days pecking bird-like at typewriters. Yet they are not exactly

unattractive with their razored hair and bright patterned clothes.
There was a certain boldness, Ruth knew. that men admired in
their long. straight legs and their tight plum asses. Darlene

was looking in the mirror of her compact. adding another layer

to her already blue eyelids.

"Mr. Makrianis would like to see you. Darlene. In his
Office please."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

She shrugged and put the mirror away. As she stood up she
smoothed her thin sweater so that it clung tight along her
brassiere and turned to wink at her friend. Jean.

"Hot already this morning," she drawled to Jean.

Ruth went into her own Office and started to sort the
morning mail. She shut the door deliberately so that she
wouldn't be able to see the goings and comings of the outer
office. She could finish the correSpondence before nine if

she hurried.

"That'll be it. Ruth." Peter said. "Can you have it on
my desk by ten tomorrow?"

"Certainly."

"A fine job. a pleasure doing business." said Sherman
Taller. She gathered her notebooks. the files and pencils

as they all stood to leave.

100
"I'll drive Ruth back." Peter said to his district manager.

Ruth excused herself to use the ladies room and when she

returned they were all gone except Peter. It was only quarter

of four.

”How about a drink. Ruth?"

"I could use one." she admitted. sliding along the seat

beside him. "Too bad secretaries aren't obliged to drink on

the

the

job. too."

”You got a free lunch." he protested absently. signalling
waitress. "Whiskey sour. please." he told her.

"I don't like whiskey. Peter."

"What?"

He was flustered for a moment.

"I'd like a martini." she told the girl.

"Sorry." Peter muttered.

"Laura drinks the whiskey." she said.

"I know."

He finished his drink and signalled the girl for another.

"Speaking of Laura." he said conversationally. "She's

divorcing me. I heard from her lawyer today."

"I'm sorry." she said.

He shrugged and then smiled deliberately.
"If you don't mind. I don't mind." he said.
"I don't mind."

"Good. Drink your martini and I'll drive you home to

change."

"What shall I change into?"

It was a game they played but she liked it. Arthur had

lOl

never cared what she wore. he had never commented on her
clothes. much less taken time to choose them for her. No
one had done that. until Peter.

"Wear something black." Peter said.

"Lace?"

"Definitely lace. A woman is never too old for lace."
he added absently.

"Old?"

She hadn't meant to say it. The word lingered in the air
between them even after she spoke.

He looked past her for a few minutes before he would meet

her eyes.

"Finish your drink and we'll go." he said finally.

It had been Ruth's fifteenth birthday the day she started
working for Rosalie Sheridan. A Mr. Johnson had been with
Rosalie in the front room when Ruth arrived. and she had to
wait until the black girl announced her.

"It's the new girl from Mrs. Bucks' service. Miss Rosalie."
the girl drawled. "Shall I take her to the sittin' room?"

"That will be fine. Ellen.” the voice answered. softly
that with each word carefully enunciated.

"Yes ma'm." said the girl. and it was done. Ruth found
Ifliat everything around Rosalie Sheridan's home was done with
lflle same combination of politeness and efficiency. Even
Rossalie's gentlemen came and went without the slightest ripple

in the household routine.

"Take care drivin' home now." Ruth heard from the hallway

102
zand the next instant she was confronted with Rosalie's smile.

"Hello. honey." she said. "I'm Rosalie. You're the new
girl?"

"Yes ma'm. I'm Ruth Ann Mapes."

"Ruth Ann?" There was distain in her tone.

"Yes ma'm."

"Do you mind if I just call you Ruth?"

"That's fine.”

"Good. You may call me Rosalie." she said. "Being called
iMrs. Sheridan just makes me feel plain old. I might have a
grown son. but I still don't think of myself as old. Would
you say that I looked old?"

"Oh no. ma'm!"

"Never refer to a lady as old." Rosalie was saying absently.
"A lady is never old."

"Yes ma'm." Ruth said. not knowing what else to say.

"You'll have to clean rooms." Rosalie said abruptly.' "And
run occasional errands for me. Did Mrs. Bucks explain that?"

"NO ma'm."

"DO you think you'd mind doing things like that?"

"Oh no. ma'm. It'd be just fine. I cleaned rooms at the
Ace Hotel for this year past."

”The Ace? Aren't you a little young for the Ace?" There
‘was a sharp edge on her voice and Ruth felt her face flushing
red.

"I cleaned rooms Effigy checkout." she said.

"Of course. dear." Rosalie said. charming once again as

if she had changed masks. ”Come along now and Ellen will

103

show you to your room."

Peter was quiet the whole way to the apartment. He seemed
preoccupied with the traffic and Ruth didn't disturb him.
though she knew she should tell him that Julie had been back.
She didn't want to start it again though.

"She's irrational." Peter would say. "How can you expect to
deal with an irrational mind? Face it. Ruth. Julie can't take
care of herself and you can't spend all your time chasing after
her. It would be the best thing for her if you sent her to a
sanitarium."

"I can't afford that. Peter. You know I can't."

"What about the state home?" he would insist. "They have
to take her at the state hospital."

"They take the insane at the state hospital. Julie is not
insane."

"They take others too." he insisted until she had refused
even to talk anymore. They hadn't talked about it since the
middle of the summer. but Ruth knew that if Julie met them
at the apartment door. the whole discussion would begin again.
more vehement than ever.

"Peter." she said suddenly. "Julie was home this morning."

"Is she still there?"

"I don't know. She was gone before I left. I left a key
for her though."

"How many times..." started Peter.

"I know." she said sharply.

10#

"But it is dangerous. Ruth. Do you want to come home some
night and find your room full of her friends. howling dopers.
literally crawling. shooting up in your living room?"

"Julie's not like that."

"Julie maybe. but what about her friends? What if she
brings them along? Or maybe just gives them the key? I
wouldn't trust her with a key. Ruth. I'd change the look."

"It's still her home." Ruth said.

"Shit!" Peter exploded. "It's your home. Ruth. ygggg.
You don't have to put up with her crap. She's of legal age
and sound mind. or so they insist...".

"Peter. please," she stopped him. "She probably won't be
there. but if she is. please don't antagonize her. For my
sake."

He turned into the parking lot and eased the car into her
space.

"All right." he agreed pulling the key from the ignition.
"I still think you're taking a big risk though."

At first it didn't seem that anyone was there. The apart-
ment was dark. the curtains drawn just as she had left them
in the morning.

"All that debate for nothing." she told him as she reached
for the light switch. But she saw that she was wrong. Julie
was sitting in the arm chair facing the door. staring at them.
Ruth found it somehow disturbing to think that she must have

been there in the dark for hours, waiting until she came home.

105
Perhaps thinking about me for hours. Ruth thought. or perhaps
not thinking at all. She couldn't judge what went on in Julie's
mind anymore. or if anything coherent went on at all. Ruth
saw that Peter was watching her own movements and she knew
that he would no longer believe her when she denied that she
was frightened by Julie. Julie seemed in a good mood now.
though, a changling face from the morning.

"Hello. Mother."

Ruth tried to sound natural.

"Hello Julie." she said. "This is a surprise."

"Yes. Yes it is a surprise. But it's your birthday. Ruth.
Birthdays are for surprises. aren't they?"

Julie pointed to the table and for the first time Ruth
noticed a huge arrangement of red roses. She crossed the room
to look at them and Julie followed her. She wanted to ask
Julie where she had gotten them but Julie was smiling still
and she leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek.

"Happy birthday." she said.

"Thank you," Ruth managed.

"Dinner's at seven. Ruth." Peter reminded her.

"Of course." she said. "I'd better change."

It took her only a few minutes. Rosalie had taught her
promptness.

"A lady should always be ready in her basics." she said.
"It's the basics. Ruth. the basics that count the most."

Julie was watching television when she came out. Peter
stood across the room from her. looking out of the window.

Probably they hadn't spoken to each other. she thought. But

106
perhaps that was just as well.

"Peter. could you fasten my necklace?" Ruth asked.

"With pleasure."

He made an elaborate little bow and Julie smiled. Ruth
blessed him silently for not making a scene. He stood back
to Observe the total effect and he nodded his head.

"It lg perfect for you." he said. "I thought it would
be."

"Thank you," she said lightly. "Are we ready now?"

"No." Julie said. "You need a flower."

She broke a rose out of the arrangement and brought it to
Ruth.

"Everyone needs flowers for a special occasion."

"True." Peter agreed.

She pinned the rose on her mother's coat and then patted
her shoulder. It was an Old ritual they had gone through when
the girls were young.

"Have a good time." Julie said.

"Don't wait up." Ruth told her.

Julie locked the door behind them and Ruth took Peter's
arm as they started down the stairs. There was one star out
already. the evening star caught low in the branches of a

willow tree.

The girls were waiting inside the foor. Ruth could tell
that they were all listening even though they pretended to be
busy. They all know we came in an hour late. together, she
thought. She smiled a little at Darlene Tate. whose eyes
followed her from beneath heavy blue lids.

"You had a phone call from the police department," Darlene
said loudly as soon as Ruth sat down at her desk. "They said
they tried to reach you last night and they want you to call
back right away."

Then she waited. Both cubicles of typists turned slightly
in their swivel chairs. waiting.

"Use my Office. Ruth." said Peter. "I've got to check on
things downstairs."

Ruth slipped her purse into her desk drawer and went
toward Peter's Office to make the call. The disappointment
that followed her was almost audible. There was a private line
on his phone. one line that did not light up on all the Office
extensions--one line that no one could listen in on.

"This is Ruth Sheridan." she said."I have a message to
call this number."

After twenty years as a secretary her voice responded
automatically on a call like this. but her knuckles were
White along the receiver.

"Are you Julie Sheridan's mother?"

107

108

"Yes.” She knew it had to be about Julie. everytime she
knew but hoped that she was wrong. They'll call me from the
morgue one time. she thought. and even now. she shuddered.

”There was a little problem last night. Mrs. Sheridan.
and we brought your daughter into the station. We'd appre-
ciate it if you could come down to the station this morning.
Ma'm.” The voice droned nasally. reciting its lines for the
hundreth time.

“You know about Julie's history?" Ruth asked.

”Oh. yes. Ma'm. That's why we'd like you to come down.
To discuss her problem."

Ruth knew she had lost again.

“It'll take an hour or so.” she told him.

Julie had been to the clinic enough times that the re-
ceptionist recognized her as they came in.

”Hello there. Julie." she said cheerfully. "We haven't
seen you for a while!“

Julie didn't answer her and the Nurse turned to Ruth.

"Mrs. Sheridan? Would you fill out these forms for us
please? I'll take Julie back to see Dr. Giani."

They were the same forms that she'd filled out each time
the police sent Julie to the clinic. and each time they still
asked that she fill them out again. Maybe they think Julie's
name will change. or her birthday. Ruth mused. But more likely
they compared her answers about Julie with her previous

answers. They're probably comparing discrepancies. she

109

thought. There were questions about their home. the address.
how many live there. was it an apartment? If she read all of
them closely. Ruth knew she should be able to figure out the
exact questions they were asking her. and the answers that she
was giving. They acted so innocent. these psychologists. so
subtle while they tried to map your private life-—they would
never ask her outright if she liked Julie. they only asked her
to fill out forms. Ruth couldn't remember what she had written
on the forms last time so she filled them out hurriedly. wri-
ting in the spaces half of the time instead of printing.

”That's fine.” said the receptionist looking over it.
"You can wait in the lounge at the end of the hall if you like.
Dr. Giani will let you know when he's through.”

“DO you know how long it'll be?" Ruth asked.

The nurse shook her head smiling the whole time.

"I really can't tell you." she said with the same smooth
cheerfulness that had greeted Julie.

Ruth followed the hallway where the nurse had gestured
to the lounge. It was a small room but made to seem larger
by a wall of mirrors. Though it was stylishly decorated with
glass-topped tables and a leather couch. Ruth had never felt
comfortable in it. She decided it was the mirrors that bothered
her and she wondered if they were two way mirrors. like the
double purpose questionnaire. She tried not to look at them
and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter.
There was no one else in the room. hers was the only image

reflected in the mirror. She chose an Old Newsweek from the

llO
rack and settled back on the couch. She leafed through it a
couple of times and then just started reading. It was an
article about sex changes and their increase in pOpularity.

"I've been so much happier." they quoted one 'woman' as
saying.

My God. I hope so. Ruth thought. You don't do something
that drastic without being sure. It crossed her mind that
they must counsel those types here at the clinic too. the
misfits who know who they are. as well as those who don't.
like Julie. What do they tell them to do, she wondered.
what do they tell them to do with their lives? Her father
had thought that he knew how lives should be run--when he was
hungry he demanded his meal. when he was too drunk to stand.
he expected that they put him to bed.

Even Peter. after Laura. still felt that he knew better

than most.

"I've told you what you have to do. Ruth." he had said
again and again. "You know she won't let you help her and
you surely know that she needs help. She needs someone else,
Ruth."

"I've taken her to the clinic."

"She needs more than that. She needs full-time care."

"I've given her what care I could." she said. "I've
tried with both Of them."

"You were never meant to be a mother. Ruth." he said
laughing. "You're just not the mothering kind."

"Will you please leave now!" she said.

"It's the truth, Ruth. You know it is. You don't give

111

a damn about being a mother."

"Get out." she told him then. "Get the hell out and take
Laura with you!"

"SO I can take care of her now. instead of you? You raised
two fine girls. Ruth. Two screaming neurotics. Are they all
such neurotics. the daughters of whores? Or just yours?"

"Get out!“

"It won't change anything now. They're still the same and
so are you."

"You knew what she was like when you married her." Ruth
said.’ She was screaming. "DO you know anything at all?"

"DO you know anything at all about being mother and father
all at once? I didn't ask to be stuck raising them by myself.
I didn't ask Arthur to walk out! He left us with nothing.

did you know that? He took the money out of the savings and
all the cash around the house as well. Why don't you tell

me what a good father he was. Peter? Tell me how much better
he would be than me! Tell me what a failure I am Peter!"

He didn't say anything after that. but he stayed that

night.

"Hello. Mrs. Sheridan."

Dr. Giani's voice broke into her thoughts. elaborately
formal as ever. each word carefully enunciated. Thin and
balding. he always looked the same. He had worked with Julie
since the beginning of her therapy sessions and he knew
Ruth well enough by now to call her by her first name. But

he persisted in first addressing her formally. Ruth couldn't

112

think of any possible information that this gave him about
her. but it was obviously part of some scheme.

"SO it's you this time instead of Laura." he was saying.
"DO you mind if I ask why?"

"Does it make a difference?" she asked.

"No." he said slowly. "Does it make a difference to you if
you answer the question?"

He spoke as smoothly as ever. smiling while he waited for
her to condemn herself. They had been through the same con-
versation before--Julie needs more attention. more affection.
more than Ruth gave her. more of Ruth's time.

"Of course not."

"Then why did you bring Julie this time instead Of having
Laura bring her?"

"The police called me this time instead of Laura."

"DO you feel that they should have called your daughter
rather than you?"

Ruth could feel herself getting angry. even though she
knew that Giani provoked her deliberately.

”I doubt that they could reach her." she snapped. "Laura
doesn't tell people where she lives these days."

"Is that so?" Giani said mildly. looking down at his
clipboard. "Has Julie been having any problems at home
lately?"

”Not that I've noticed." Ruth said. trying to keep her
V0 ice as calm as his.

"You work all day."

113

"That's right." He had succeeded once again. Ruth stood
up and reached for her coat. "As a matter of fact. I have to
go back to work." she said shortly.

"I'm going to keep her here for a few days." he went on.
"To see if she'll talk about last night. Is that all right
with you?"

”Fine." Ruth said. She pulled her coat on and pushed past
him to the door.

"Don't you want to say good-bye to your daughter. Mrs.
Sheridan?"

"No. I don't!" The door swung shut violently behind her.
Julie was in the hallway. though. sitting at the desk.
beside the receptionist. She looked up as Ruth came into the
hall. and Ruth found herself slowing as she neared the desk.

”Dr. Giani says he wants you to stay for a while." Ruth
said. "That's O.K.. isn't it?"

Julie nodded but her eyes never left Ruth.

"Will you pick me up?" Julie asked. Ruth was reminded
of when they were small girls. both Laura and Julie. waiting
for the bus to camp.

"Will you pick us up. Ruth?" Julie asked. Her voice had
quivered and for the first time. Ruth had realized that she
was near tears.

”I'll be there at the end of the week." she had promised.

She promised again now.

"Tell them to call me when you're ready." she said.

Behind her she could hear Dr. Giani's footsteps. She

leaned across the desk and patted Julie's shoulder.

11#

"I'll see you." she said and without looking back. she
walked out of the clinic. Her hands were still shaking when

she tried to start the car.

Gramma Lolly was crazy. They never knew if she was really
their grandmother but one day in the summer. Ma had gone to
fetch her and from then on the Old lady stayed with them. She
brought her rocking chair with her. tied on the top of Joleen's
Old Buick and some dresses packed in an old grocery box. She
never once spoke the whole time that she lived with them. but
every day Ma fixed her a bowl of farina for breakfast. braided
her hair onto the top of her head. and led her out to the porch
where her rocking chair was. Gramma Lolly spent the day there-
everyday the same. just rocking back and forth until Ma came
to fetch her for dinner. She never seemed to notice them.
she always looked ahead at something that wasn't there.

"You children leave that poor lady alone now. you hear
me?” Ma would call from the house. "You just cut out your
‘tricks on her!"

"We're only funning with her. Ma." Lyle would protest.

”We ain't hurting her none."

"I wonder what she's seein'." said Ruth Ann.

"Maybe she's got some of them x-ray eyes." Lyle suggested.

"But what's she seein'?"‘

"Dunno. Maybe she's lookin' at the neighbor's kitchen.
or watchin' Lucy Connors there in her bedroom!"

Lyle laughed at that one.

"Whew! That Lucy sure has 'em!"

115

116

"You got a filthy mind. Lyle." she told him.

"Well. since you know what I'm talking about. you do too!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!" he insisted.

She raised her hand to slap him but he saw it and ran
past her to the other side of the Old lady's chair.

"Can't get me now!” he laughed.

”Wanna bet?"

She stepped Off the porch and picked up a rock from the
dirt. Lyle ducked behind the high back of the rocker.

"You better not." he warned. "You'll hit Gramma Lolly!"

”She ain't gonna tell no one if I do.” she said. ”Besides.
I'm gonna hit you. not her."

"Ha! You ain't gonna hit nothing!"

”Ha yourself!”

She threw the stone and it went well over both of their
heads and landed beyond the porch. Lyle ducked when she threw
it. letting go Of Gramma Lolly's chair so suddenly that it
rocked violently and for a minute she thought that the Old
lady would fall. She bounced against the back of the chair.
her white braid flapping against the top Of her head. but
her expression never changed. Lyle started to laugh again
and when the chair stopped. he started it rocking again. first
slow. then faster and faster until the old lady tilted at
an impossible angle. She laughed with him and then their
mother's voice from inside the house stopped them.

"I told you two to leave her alone!”

117

"We ain't hurting her.” Lyle said. "She likes it."

”She don't know what she likes." their mother said. "Now
you get away from that porch an' find somethin' to do. before
I find you somethin' to do!“

Gramma Lolly stayed with them for almost three years.
then one day in the fall they came home from school and found
her laying on the porch. tipped out of her chair. dead. Their
Ma and Aunt Joleen had a funeral for her. and later that fall

their Pa came home to stay.

10.

A key rattled in the lock. She looked up and saw that it
was Peter. silhouetted in the light from the hall.

"My God. Ruth!" he said. flipping on the light. ”What in
hell are you doing?"

”I must have fallen asleep." she lied.

Peter laughed. turning on the lamps as he made his way
over to her. He patted the top of her head as he passed and
settled back into the chair across from her.

”You look like one of your daughters. sitting in the dark
and rocking in that chair."

He was laughing again and when he got up to fix himself a
drink he stumbled over the coffee table. Ruth realized that
he was drunk.

”Martini or Manhattan?" he asked her.

”Martini. How was your meeting with Arnold Chemicals this
afternoon?”

”Fine.” he said. "We now have an account with them and
ten thousand pounds of the newest cleaning solvent on the
market.

He made an elaborate bow.

"Thanks to me. of course."

"Of course. How was your steno?" she asked.

"She did O.K. Not like you though. of course." He went

through the bow again. "I took that Doreen. Darlette. whatever

118

119

her name is--the one with the hacked off blonde hair and those
absurd earrings. She's a decent steno. though. Ruth. But

she drinks these frothy pink things in the little stemmed
glasses. and she ordered one at lunch too. You should have
seen their faces! Pink drinks instead of scotch! It was
crazy! She didn't miss a word. though. They had to admit it.
not one word."

He shook his head. still grinning as he handed Ruth her
drink.

"Speaking of crazy things. where's crazy Julie?"

"Julie is not crazy." she corrected him rather sharply.

”Not yet. maybe. But she's sure gettin' there fast! Even
you have to admit that!"

”You're pretty drunk. aren't you. Peter?"

"Why?" he asked. "Do I sound it?”

"Yes."

He sighed.

”Well. you know Ruth. I am. I think maybe I'm very drunk.
Completely very drunk. And I'm not sorry about it. and I'm
not going to be."

"I'm not asking you to be sorry." she said.

”Good! A man's entitled to his liquor. you know. His
liquor. his whores. and his own profitable business to buy
them all with!”

"I think you need some coffee." Ruth said.

”I think you need a drink." he said.

In the morning he was awake before her. She could hear

120
him in the shower and the smell of fresh coffee was throughout
the apartment. She poured herself a cup and waited for him
in the kitchen. Peter didn't say anything before he poured
his coffee. but he did manage a wry smile.

”Good morning." Ruth said as he sat down.

"No sarcasm. please."

"Did you find the aSpirin?"

He nodded and although they finished their coffee in silence.
Ruth struggled to keep from smiling. Peter sat his cup aside
and reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

”You can stop laughing. now." he said. "I know it was my
own fault.”

“Was it those silly pink drinks that are so crazy?"

She couldn't resist asking and then they were both laughing.
It was one of the things that had drawn her to him in the be-
ginning. the laughter. They seemed to laugh together so often.
and it had been so long before that since she felt even like
smiling.

"More coffee?" she asked when they calmed down.

"I probably could have used more last night.” said Peter.
handing her his cup.

”I did suggest it." Ruth said.

"Really? I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised.” she said.

"Let's forget about it. O.K.? That was yesterday."

"O.K.." she agreed.

"Is Julie still asleep?"

121

”She's at the clinic. Giani wants to keep her for a week."

She hadn't really wanted to talk about Julie with him. but
when he asked so suddenly. she'd automatically told him.

“Well there's a week of peace. and of profit for someone.
How much do they make off each of patients' visits to the
clinic? I'll bet the institution gets a commission for each
one admitted. not to mention the physician's fees for treat-
ment."

"Do you really think Dr. Giani is taking advantage of me.
Peter?”

"Hell. yes!"

"You honestly think that?"

"Look Ruth.” he said more calmly. "Giani's been seeing
Julie for over six years and if anything. she's worse than
ever.”

"She still can't seem to deal with the world--either she's
irrationally angry about something she's made up in her head.
or she's off stripping naked in public and defacing public
buildings. And getting arrested. or she would if the cops
didn't know her by now. What are you going to do when they
don't let her off anymore. Ruth? Laura isn't around to bail
her out anymore. and you can't make excuses for her forever."

"At times she's better." Ruth insisted.

"Sure she is." he said. ”Like the other night when she
was so friendly. even to me. before we went out. But what
about after that? Face it Ruth. You're going to have to

find someone who will help her. if that's possible. Or else

122

you'll have to find someone to take care Of her."

"I've paid for her therapy. I've paid a lot."

"They'd take her at the state hOSpitals."

"What do you mean?"

"If she's declared incompetent and has no funds of her
own. the state has to assume responsibility for her."

"Do you mean having her declared insane?"

Peter didn't answer.

"Julie is n25 insane." she said.

"She's not normal either.” Peter said.

They went to Smithfield in the afternoon. Peter didn't
tell her where they were going. only that he wanted to visit
a friend.

”It'll be a nice drive. Ruth." he said. ”Want to go?"

"Sure." she said. "Should I pack sandwiches? We can make
a day of it." '

"Pastrami." Peter said. "Pastrami would be perfect."

SO they stopped at the Deli first. and then headed out
the highway toward the south. They passed through farmland for
almost half an hour when Peter turned off onto a smaller road.
It wasn't until they went through the arched stone gateway.
and Ruth saw the sign for the hospital. that she realized
where they were.

"Now don't get angry. Ruth." Peter said before she had a

chance to say anything.

123

"I told you I didn't want to talk about this anymore."
she said.

"We're not going to talk." he said. "We're going to look.
Besides. Alan Caine is a friend Of mine."

The gates hadn't been locked. in fact they were wide Open
and unguarded. Smithfield looked more like the farm that it
had once been. than the hospital that it was now. The old red
brick house still towered at the top of the drive. flanked
by twin maples. The trees were beginning to turn color already.
she noticed. She hadn't realized how nearly over the summer
was--they'd all be yellow and orange in a few weeks. and in
a few weeks after that. bare.

There were more buildings further back from the road. but
some of these looked as old as the farmhouse. too. One of
them was new though. a light brick trimmed in aqua paint. It
reminded Ruth a little Of the building where she had gone to
elementary school. The windows on this building were covered
with mesh-work. but no where could Ruth see bars or locks.
Here and there. in fact. peOple sat out in the yard--in wheel-
chairs or on the painted wooden benches. As they parked by
the house a girl in a bright pink uniform wheeled an old man
onto the porch.

Alan Caine was a small man with a tight mass of blonde
curls and so many freckles that his face seemed almost dis-
figured. Ruth had met him before in Peter's Office and when
he spokeshe remembered his high voice and the way he constantly
cleared his throat. He was smiling now as he rose. his pale

eyes wide with pleasure behind their thick lenses.

12#

"Peter!" said Caine, extending his hand. "This is a
surprise!"

They shook hands and Ruth told herself that she had judged
him harshly.

"I'll bet he has warts!" Darlene had whispered when he
was in the Office. and a giggle had made the rounds before
they went back to their typing. Ruth had found him physically
repulsive too. She hoped that he couldn't sense it now. and
she tried to smile at him.

"We've just come to look around a bit. Alan." Peter was
saying. "Ruth has all kinds of antiquated ideas about what
goes on in a state hOSpital."

”Whips and chains. eh?" Caine said to her. "Not anymore.
Ruth. We gave them up about a hundred years ago. Before my
time. in fact."

They were both smiling at her. and in Spite of her un-
easiness. Ruth felt better.

"Come here. Ruth." said Alan Caine gesturing toward the
window. "Come and see how we torture our patients."

It was like an autumn picnic scene. The window faced the
backyard Of the house. a whole field Of grass and trees. just
beginning to turn gold. There were people everywhere. some
on benches. some in wheelchairs along the walk. and through-
out it all. a scattering of pink uniforms. The sky was clear
and blue above them.

"Most of our patients are geriatrics.” Caine was saying.

"People who've simply grown too old to take care Of themselves.

125

If they have no one to take care of them. the state takes care
of them. Sometimes the social workers find them. living alone
usually. Sometimes starving or injured. or Sick. They all
end up here. We clean them. feed them. If they're able to
walk we let them go where they want on the grounds. We don't
have any fences here--there's only the gate at the front and
even that fence doesn't enclose the property."

"What about the young ones." she asked him. "What about
the ones who can walk further?"

"We watch them. of course. They're always supervised.
Ruth.”

He had seemed ready for her question. Ruth looked toward
Peter. who hadn't said anything. He looked away and she won-
dered just how much he had told Caine. Perhaps Caine already
knew about Julie. she thought. It would be easy to have all
the right answers if you knew the questions in advance.

Caine was pointing to the new building. the one that looked
like a school.

"We do have mesh grates on those windows." he said. "But
it's to protect the patients. not us. Some of the younger
patients are there--a lot Of them are drug cases. either on
permanent trips. or totally catatonic. There's a couple floors
of the true nuts too." he said. smiling at his choice of words.
"Of course they have to be watched all the time."

"What do they do?" Ruth asked.

"They can be violent." Caine admitted. ”Towardthemselves

or others. We have therapy sessions with them. Sometimes

126
they improve--occasionally enough to live in another complex.
but not usually. Usually they just stay there.”

”What does it take to get someone committed here?" Peter
asked. after a moment.

Ruth whirled to look at him. He was leaning against
Caine's desk. lighting a cigarette. He didn't look at her.
Caine was chuckling.

"Such a bald statement. Peter! We usually refer to
'admitting' our patients. not 'committing' them. The state
courts decide who is to be.admitted.” he explained. "After
the competency hearing. it takes no time at all before we
get them here."

"You don't examine them here?"

"Not for admittance.” said Alan Caine.

"But could you?" Peter persisted. "Are you qualified to
judge a person's sanity?”

"I can give a professional Opinion.” said Caine. ”But
the final decision is up to the court psychiatrists."

”Could you give me your professional Opinion on someone?"
Peter was saying. "I'd pay you..."

"Excuse me!”

The room seemed stifling to her. Ruth pushed her way
past Alan Caine and out of the room. Sunlight was streaming
at the doorway. She went onto the porch and leaned against
the stonebacked bench. She didn't look at anything for a
while. but slowly her attention started to focus on the old

man across from her. He was in a wheelchair. his knees

127
covered by a green blanket. His mouth moved up and down as
if he was speaking to someone. but he didn't say anything. He
didn't even seem to notice that she was there. As Ruth watched
him his mouth began to smack faster until he was shaking all
over. and then he began to cry. quiet and whimpering like a
baby. saliva drooling in fine streams from the corners Of his
mouth.

They're just old people. Alan Caine had said. But they
weren't even that anymore. They were just whining. toothless
babies who couldn't even control their own spit. This is
what happens when you outlive your time. she thought. or when
you get old without someone who cares. when you don't even
have someone to lead you to your rocking chair.

The Old man moaned and Ruth shut her eyes. expecting that
next she would hear him gasping. his throat rattling for its
last breath. Her hands were digging into her palms. and
though she knew that it hurt. she couldn't stop.

"Well now. Tim. what's the problem. dearie? Feeling
lonesome? Or have you wet yourself there?“

She'd come silently onto the porch in those sterile.
silent white shoes. She looked young to Ruth--too young to
be a nurse. But she was wearing one of the hot pink uniforms
that marked the state employees. and she didn't seem at all
upset by the Old man's wailing.

”It'll be fine.” she told him. "Come on. let's go change
your clothes for some dry ones. She wheeled him away. pulling

him backwards into the building.

128

It seemed colder now. And darker. Puffy grey and white
clouds pushed in a steady stream across the sun. patterning
the field with their shadows. The trees. gold in the sunlight.
were brown in the shade. Alan Caine said that none of the
patients ever went beyond the hospital grounds. none of them
ever walked as far as the woods. But Ruth knew that Julie
could walk that far. even someone her own age could walk that
far. Ruth wondered if anyone had ever walked away from Smith-
field. and whether they sent anyone after them if they did.
They might just let them go until they starve in the woods--
or murder someone on the road. But the crazy ones have mesh
on the windows. she remembered. They weren't really crazy
at Smithfield. Alan Caine said. just sick. just old. just
crying as they looked at nothing.

"Ruth?"

It was Peter's voice behind her. cautious. almost apolo-
getic. She didn't turn until she felt his hand on her shoul-
der.

”I want to go home." she told him. "I want to go home

now.”

11.

Ruth didn't hear anything from Giani or the clinic until
Thursday. when she got the bills. Together they were over
eight hundred dollars.

"Don't pay it.” Peter said. "If you refuse her bills
then she'll either have to be held accountable for them her-
self. or judged incompetent. Since everyone knows She's nuts.
they'll be no problem!”

”I can't keep paying these!” Ruth said.

”I told you. you don't have to!” Peter yelled. reaching
for the bottle of scotch on the counter. ”You want another
drink?"

"Only a little.” she insisted. "I think we've already had
a lot.”

"We haven't had that much.” he said. ”Besides it's the
beginning Of my divorce! We have to celebrate that!"

“Divorces aren't for celebrating.“ Ruth said. but Peter
wasn't listening.

"We have to celebrate the fact that the whole office
knows!" he said. "Let's have another toast! A toast to
Laura. your lovely bitch Of a daughter. who had a copy of the
divorce papers sent to my Office! Not even to me. but to the
office in general! SO everyone could read them!"

”Divorces aren't for celebrating." Ruth said again.

”They should have posted it on the bulletin board in the

129

130

lounge! Or maybe had everyone initial it to be sure they read
it!” He was yelling but Ruth didn't feel like answering.

"Maybe I should resign.” Peter said. burping. "or fire
everyone. Shit. every tight-assed bitch in that Office is
going to be blabbering about it."

"SO what?" Ruth said. "You're still their boss."

"They'll be laughing their damn asses Off."

"So what?" She said again. but louder this time. "So
what? Does that make a difference to you?“

"Yes it makes a difference!”

"What difference? Maybe they won't flirt much with you
anymore? What difference do those stupid girls make anyway?"

"They make a lot.“ His voice was sullen.

"Maybe they won't wiggle their asses for you anymore?"

"Maybe they won't screw with me on coffee breaks anymore!"

”They don't do that.” She said.

"Oh. don't they?"

"NO!" She meant to say it confidently but her voice
caught a little. "They don't do that!“ she said again. loudly.

”If you say they don't then I guess they don't. right
Ruth? You always know goddam everything. so I guess you know
who they screw."

”Shut up!” she said.

"You have daughters their age. don't you Ruth? You've
raised daughters. so you know all about young girls-~and
you raised such great daughters. too! A frigid bitch and a

lunatic."

"I didn't ask to raise them." Ruth said. "I didn't ask

131

to be anyone's mother."

"Well you're not." Peter snapped. "You aren't a mother
to anybody!"

"Get out!" she told him. "You don't know anything about
being a mother!"

"Some mother you are. Ruth! Making the moves on me before
the wedding reception was even over. I mean. Jesus. you couldn't
even give me a chance to get tired of her!"

"Shut up!" She was screaming now and she didn't even
care.

”You're the one who was so anxious that Laura and I get
married. You're the one who picked the date and the place in
such a big hurry. not me. not Laura. It was all your big pro-
duction. you wanted us to get married in such a goddam hurry.
And for what? SO you could screw me and keep it in the family?
Jesus. Ruth. that's a hell Of a reason!"

"That's not true!" she said.

"Of course it is. What logic. Ruth!"

"Shut up!" she told him. "You don't even know what you're
talking about!”

"I was there. I know how it happened."

"DO you? Then you know that Laura was two months preg-
nant when you married her.”

”She was not!" he said. "She couldn't have been."

”Think about it. Peter. Why else did she decide to marry
you in such a hurry?"

"You're lying!" he said.

132

Ruth found herself suddenly tired.

"It doesn't matter now. anyway.” she said.

"You pimped me!" he yelled at her. "You pimped me into
marrying her."

"Peter. for god's sake..."

With a sudden motion he threw his glass at her. It hit
her cheek and fell smashing on the corner Of the table. Her
eyes burned full of whiskey and she could hear someone in the
background screaming. She woke up once after that and she
was on her bed. still dressed but her clothes and hair were
stiff in places. and sticky. Peter was sleeping beside her with
his mouth Open. His breath was foul. Ruth remembered that
she pulled off her shoes. but when She woke again it was mor-
ning. and she was ill. Peter was gone and sunlight was
streaming through the uncurtained windows. It hurt her eyes
to look at it. She tried to block it out with the blanket.
but still it was too bright.

"Oh God." she said aloud as she sat up. When she stood
the room spun out of focus but she made it to the window and
pulled the drapes. After that she ran for the bathroom and
was sick again. When it was over she leaned back against
the cool tiles and shut her eyes. but the pounding in her
head hadn't stopped. It had been like that one time before
that Ruth could remember-~the only other time in her life when
she had been sick from drinking. Arthur had been sick then
too and he was trying to hold his own head as well as hers

while she vomitted endlessly in Rosalie's lavendar toilet

133

bowl.

"Getting drunk wasn't such a good idea." he said.

Ruth just moaned and buried her face in a towel.

"Shh!” Arthur cautioned her. "For god's sake don't wake
Rosalie!"

"I want to die." She said into the towel. "Just let me
die."

She could hear him being sick after that and she pulled
the towel over her ears to block the sound. She was laying
on the bathroom floor. her back pressed against the tub. After
a few minutes. Arthur pulled himself over beside her and
stretched out as much as he could.

”Look Ruth." he said. "Everything will be fine. I'll
think of something."

"You thought of the bar." She said from beneath her towel.

”Sorry."

He was quiet for a long time and Ruth was almost relaxed
enough to sleep.

"We can always get married." Arthur said.

"Married?"

"Yeah.“ he said. "Why not?"

”I don't want to get married." she said. "Not like this!”

"Well you can't undo what's done.” Arthur said.

”We almost made it.” Ruth said Slowly. ”We should have.
It's been a whole summer. and next week you'd be back in
Maryland. We should have made it through the summer."

"Well we didn't. So what are you going to do. put the

l3#

baby up for adoption?"

"1 don't know."

"Rosalie will fire you. you know that."

"It's her grandchild!"

"All the more reason. You're going to have to decide.
Ruth."

”I want to sleep." She had told him. "I just want to
sleep."

She slept for a while there on the floor and then Arthur
helped her into her bedroom. Rosalie was at the club by then
so they both slept through the afternoon. It was dusk by the
time they awoke. and by then Ruth had decided to marry him.

Ruth opened her eyes. surprised to find that it was still
morning. She felt better.but hesitated to move. It was the
sight of her bed that finally did it--the thought of sinking
back into a pillow. closing her eyes for hours. She pulled
herself to her feet and shut her eyes. moving toward where
she knew the bed should be. She lay back against the pillows.

trying not to be sick again and after a while. she slept.

Arthur was crawling up the steps toward her, reaching
for the bannister in slow motion. but each time his hand

would Slip.

”Aren't you going to hold my head?" he moaned. "Aren't
you going to help me?"

The baby leaned over Ruth's Shoulder to look down at him.

"He's drunk." she said in Julie's voice.

135

"You can't talk yet." Ruth said. "How can you be talking?"

But she wouldn't say anything after that even when Ruth
told her to. She just watched her mother and laughed.

”You all think it's funny.“ Arthur said. "But wait until
you're in the same position. It won't be so funny then. It
won't be funny!"

‘”I'm not laughing." Ruth said.

"Well make them stop!"

Ruth looked down and saw that Laura was beside her too.
She was about five then--she was wearing a gingham dress
that Ruth bought for her to wear to the kindergarten picnic.
Laura was laughing and pointing her finger at him.

"Make them stop!" he told her. "Can't you even control
your own children?”

"They aren't mine." she kept insisting. "They aren't
mine! I don't.want them!"

”Get them out of here then." he said. starting toward
her again. "Get them out Of here before I throw all of you
out!”

”It's my house." Ruth said. "You can't throw me out of
my own house.”

”I'll throw you where I please!"

He was standing now and moving toward them. grinning.
but not friendly.

"Stop it. Arthur." she said. Then she realized it was
Peter. Laura was screaming. The sound vibrated along the
stairs and rose again to surround them.

”Stop." Ruth kept telling them. "Stop!"

136

It was the phone and it didn't stop. Ruth reached for it
when She finally realized what it was. and Giani's voice
rolled out at her.

"I tried at your office. but they told me you weren't
in. They were concerned that you hadn't called." he said.
"Is everything all right?”

”I'm ill today." Ruth said.

”Nothing serious. I hope?"

"A touch Of the flu." she lied.

"I see. DO you think you'll be well enough to pick Julie

up tomorrow? I'm releasing her.”

Julie was waiting at the reception desk. exactly where
Ruth left her the week before. The receptionist looked up
from her desk. smiling automatically as Ruth came in.

”Good Morning. Mrs. Sheridan! I guess you can go now.
Julie!"

"Are you ready?” Ruth asked Julie.

She nodded and walked out to the car ahead of Ruth. She
didn't say good-bye to the nurse. in spite of the woman's
cheery attempts at conversation. and Ruth almost smiled. She
probably talks non-stop whether anyone is there or not. she
thought. She should be a patient instead of the nurse.

”How was last week?” Ruth asked Julie when they were in
the car.

She shrugged.

”It was O.K.." she said. and turned to watch out of the

137

side window.

"There isn't much food at home." Ruth said. trying again.
"DO you want to stop for groceries on the way home? You can
pick out some things that you'd like."

”Anything's fine." Julie said without turning from the
window.

But when she parked in the lot at Orpal's. Julie got out
too. and went into the store with her. She checked the num-
bers on all the grocery carts and finally pushed three Of them
aside to get to the number she wanted.

“Is is really that important?" asked Ruth.

"It's seventy-two.“ she said. ”I always choose seventy-
two.“

Ruth couldn't tell if Julie was being serious or not. but
She gave no outward signs Of being amused and started pushing
the cart toward the first aisle.

“It means we have to buy seventy-two items. or they won't
let us out.”

She smiled at Ruth over her Shoulder. and Ruth relaxed a
little.

"Of course.“ she said. playing the game.

Despite her game. Julie seemed to be in a somewhat stable
mood. She was more animated in the store than she had been
in the car. but she was not over-excited as Ruth had seen her
many times before. It didn't look like she was shop-lifting.
either. Ruth tried to watch her as they moved from aisle to
aisle. but as far as she could tell. everything that Julie

took Off the shelf was in the cart. She stacked it neatly

138

in the cart. re-arranging from time to time.

"The big things have to go on the bottom." she told Ruth.
"It won't be right. otherwise."

She took the beef roast that Ruth had put in the cart and
moved it to the other end. under a box Of crackers. Julie
chose things at random. Ruth noticed. She paid no attention
to what Ruth picked up and chose another bunch of broccoli.
just after Ruth put some in the cart. Ruth didn't say any-
thing about it and they went on to the canned goods. Julie
chose anchovies there. and a can of pumpkin. Ruth remembered
that Julie used to beg her for pumpkin pie when she was little.

"DO you want to get the rest of the ingredients and make
a pie?" she asked.

Julie didn't answer. She turned tb look at Ruth. then
shrugged and took the pumpkin out of the cart.

“I didn't mean that you couldn't have it.” Ruth said.
but Julie put it back on the shelf anyway. and pushed the
cart further down the aisle. Ruth picked up the pumpkin
again and when they got to the checkout line she put it on
the counter with the rest of the things. Julie must have
seen it. but she didn't say anything.

They made it home without any further incidents and Julie
went into her bedroom at once.

"I'm really tired." she told Ruth. "1 think I'll sleep."

Ruth checked on her during the afternoon. but she was
really sleeping. The afternoon went slowly. Ruth read for

a while and then started the roast for dinner. even though

139

it was only four O'clock. We can eat early. she thought. we
didn't have lunch. Then she remembered the pumpkin.

Try. Dr. Giani had told her. you've got to try to be
friends with Julie.

"I'll try." She said aloud. "You won't say I didn't try."

She couldn't find the recipe book at first. but it was in
the back Of the cupboard. buried behind the popcorn popper
that she no longer used. The book fell Open to Sunshine
Cake and Ruth saw that it was marked by a birthday card. The
card was addressed to Laura and she recognized Arthur's
writing.

”Happy Birthday. Laura.“ he had written. "I'm sorry that
I can't be here tonight to tell you in person but I hope
you'll understand. I've got a present for you too. It's
not new. but I think you'll like it. I've left it upstairs
on my dresser. Have your mother help you reach it. Love
always. Dad.”

He left her his harmonica. Laura made Ruth go up and
find it as soon as the children had all gone.

"Can't we get it in the morning?” Ruth asked her.

"But I want it!" Laura wailed. "Why doesn't he come home
and give it to me?"

"I'll give it to you." Ruth said then. "Maybe he'll be
home in the morning.”

But he wasn't. and he wasn't home the day after. or the
day after that. Laura watched for him every night. that
week. and the week after as well. She didn't play the har-

monica. she just sat in a chair by the window. holding it and

1#O

watching for her father.

"Where did he go?” she asked Ruth every night.

"I don't know. Come on. now. It's time for dinner."

"But when will he be back?”

"Laura. I told you I don't know! Now come and eat dinner.”

But she wouldn't eat. She pushed at her food with her
spoon until Ruth was through feeding Julie and then asked to
leave. She took the harmonica with her everywhere she went
and she played it in the evenings as she sat by the window--
the same two mournful notes. every night until Ruth couldn't
stand it.

"Put that damned thing away!" she snapped. "And get away
from the window. Don't you understand that he's gone?"

Laura ran to her room and though Ruth felt badly. she
couldn't force herself to follow the child. She heard the
harmonica again and Ruth let her finish this time. But when
Laura had fallen asleep. she took it from her and hid it in
the top drawer of her bureau. The child never said anything

about it. and eventually she stopped looking for it.

Ruth replaced the card in the cookbook and turned to the
section on pastry. There were three versions of pumpkin pie
and she couldn't remember which one it was that she used to
make.

"It doesn't matter. I guess." she said.

12.

Ruth pulled out into the stream of morning traffic and
headed toward the office. She missed her turn at Fourth
Street and as She eased her way over to the next exit. she
knew that she didn't want to go in today. They'd have talked
about it all by now. the divorce. the fact that Laura sent a
copy Of the papers to the office. and her own name linked
with Peter's. Her absence on Friday would have been noted too--
she hadn't called in sick as she should have.

Worst of all though. would be facing Peter. The eyes
would all be watching her when she faced him. He hadn't
called or stopped by since Thursday and Ruth knew that the
nausea rising in her stomach was fear. But she knew. too.
that she'd have to see him. She could tell how things were
once she saw him. and she would know how to coax him back into
good humor. At least She had always known how before. But
this time they'd said a lot. TOO much. she thought. but they
had both been drunk. You both said the truth. though. a
voice in her head added. She knew that she had to see him.
that she wanted tO--but not now. not in front of the whole
Office. not with twenty pairs of eyes watching.

Her hands were shaking as she turned into the parking lot.
She looked for Peter's Audi but it wasn't in its usual space
and she didn't see it anywhere in the lot. When she got up-
stairs she found that the door tO his Office was closed and

l#1

1#2

the lights Off. The outer Office was filled though. and she
noticed a lull in the steady rhythm of the typewriters when
she entered the room.

"Is Mr. Makrianis in. Janice?" she asked the girl at the
front desk.

"He's ill." she said. "He left ill on Friday afternoon
and he's not back yet. He said it was a touch of the flu."

"The flu seems to be hitting everyone." Ruth said. "I
was down with it myself on Friday."

"We wondered where you were.” Janice said. "You didn't
call in.”

"I was too sick even to call." Ruth said.

"Well. I hope you're feeling better. Everything is piling
up and we're still Short some people. Darlene is out with the
flu today.”

Ruth felt a little guilty about starting the flu epidemic.
and it would be an epidemic. now. she knew. One by one they
would all decide to come down with it for a day or two. It
was like that with any disease that could possibly be con-
tagious. After two people called in sick. the others would
declare themselves ill and collect a few days Of sick pay.
Usually she was irritated by their game. but today she was
almost relieved. If they were counting each others' sick
days and preparing for their own. they'd Spend less time
talking about her. The excitement about Peter's divorce
might even die during such a week. and Ruth hoped that it

would.

l#3

She spent the day sorting through the piles of mail that
had accumulated in her basket and catching up on correspon-
dance. NO one from the outer office came in at all. and
because Peter was not in. the phone calls were dealt with
briefly. Ruth waited until half past five to leave so that
the Office would be empty. I made it through the first day.
she thought as she shut off the last of the lights. but she
knew that it was a lie. She hadn't made it through anything
today. Julie had been easy to deal with and she hadn't had
to face Peter yet.

”You're a liar." she said aloud and her voice echoed the
whole length Of the corridor. The tapping of her heels was
loud along the tiles. punctuated by the occasional hisses
and clangs of the steam cleaners as they cooled. Ruth walked
down the two flights of stairs and she felt it again. the
cold feeling that came with being alone. Perhaps he'll call
tonight. she thought.

The door to her apartment was unlocked and as Ruth pushed
it open. the odor of cinnamon surrounded her. Julie sat in
the armchair. Ruth's five-branched silver candlebra burning
in full force on the table beside her.

”I hope you don't mind." She said. "I've always wanted
to see it lighted."

"Be careful that the wax doesn't drip on the table."
Ruth told her. She went into the bedroom to change. When
she came out the lights were on and Julie was in the kitchen,

beating eggs with a wire whip.

l##

”I decided to make omelets. but I didn't want to start
them until you got home. It's 0.K. to have omelets for dinner.
isn't it? I mean. other people have them for dinner. don't
they?"

”It'll be fine.“ Ruth said. "Do you know how to make
them?”

She said it without thinking and for a moment she thought
Julie was angry at her question.

"I've made them before." she said turning her back to
Ruth. "My friend taught me. he can make twenty different
kinds Of omelets."

"Do I know him. Julie?"

"Of course not. He's Italian." she went on. ”And he's
an artist. He did my portrait. you know. It's going to be
in a gallery.”

"A gallery?"

"I might get paid for it. Models make good money. you
know. Maybe five thousand dollars. maybe six. I could go
to Africa with it. They don't wear clothes there. you know.
It's very hot in Africa.”

The stories. there are always the stories. Ruth remem-
bered. NO matter how many hours of therapy she paid for.
no matter how long Julie stayed in the clinic. there were
always her stories. When she was small. Ruth had punished
her for lying. but it hadn't stepped the stories. When
she was in high school Dr. Giani explained them.

l”They aren't stories to Julie." he said. "To Julie

l#5

they're real. Perhaps she invents them at first. but by the
time she's told it to someone else. she believes it herself."

There had been an eskimo. Ruth remembered. a Texan. a
talking Spider. a shoe salesman. She made up stories too.
where the peOple were real--she lied to policemen about her
age. She told them that her mother was dead. that her father
gave her whatever it was that she was caught stealing. Some-
times it seemed to Ruth that Julie knew she was lying. that
she told the stories to escape punishment for things that She
knew She shouldn't do. and that she was laughing at all Of
them. the doctors. the policemen. and particularly at Ruth
herself.

She had learned somewhere to make omelets though. Ruth
was surprised as she watched Julie swirl the egg into the
pan with professional motions. When she slipped it onto
the plate it was puffed. light golden. and perfect. She
covered it to keep it warm and started on the second pair
Of eggs.

"Those look really good. Julie." Ruth said. "I remember
when you used to scorch scrambled eggs.”

”Scrambled eggs aren't an art.” Julie said curtly. But
then she smiled.

Ruth got two glasses from the cupboard and then started
for the silverware when the phone rang. Her hands closed
around the forks that she was holding and it rang again.

"DO you want me to get it?“ Julie asked.

"No." She said slowly. ”NO. I'll get it myself."

l#6

She went into her bedroom to answer it on the extension
there. but let it ring twice more before she picked it up. It
wasn't Peter.

"May I speak with Julie?” asked a woman's voice. There
was loud music and voices in the background. but Ruth thought
that the voice was familiar.

"Laura?” she asked.

"I want to talk to Julie. not to Laura.”

Julie was watching her from the doorway. still holding
the omelet pan. Ruth held the phone out to her.

“You can start without me.” Julie told her. "They aren't
very good if they're cold."

"Was that Laura?" Ruth asked when she returned.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Julie shrugged.

"You don't have to believe me.” she said getting up from
the table. She didn't finish her omelet. "Excuse me. I'm
tired." she said.

She went into her bedroom and closed the door. Every
night since she had come home this time she did the same
thing. Ruth wasn't sure if she slept. but she laid there
in the dark for the rest of the night.

Ruth tried to read for a while. but nothing held her
interest for very long. She found herself glancing over
to the phone until she lost her place in the book again.

If she called him. she would be making the first move--

l#7

and it would be better to see him in person. she thought. She
started to dial his number but halfway through it She hung up.
She poured herself a drink and finished it in two swallows.

Then She poured another. Never drink alone. it was one of the

rules.

"You'll be sorry if you drink alone.” Arthur told her as
he lifted the glass out of her hand.

"What if there's no one to drink with me?"

"Find someone.“ he said. "Even a stranger."

"That's a ridiculous superstition." she said. reaching for
her glass again. "Give it back.”

”Find someone to drink with you."

"I don't know anyone in this awful town!” she said. "And
you're never here!”

"I'm here now.“

He sat her glass on the counter and poured one for himself.

”You're very frustrating at times. Arthur."

“No one's perfect. Ruth.” he said. ”Someday you'll dis-

cover that you aren't either.”

She dialed Peter's number and let it ring fifteen times
before she hung up.

"Damn you.” she said.

She waited until she finished the bottle and then she
went to see him. Julie was asleep by then. but even so Ruth
tried to leave quietly. She smiled when she pulled up in

front of his house. Peter's Audi was in the drive and there

l#8

was a lamp on in the living room. She could see the faint
glow that it made against the curtains. I chose those cur-
tains. she smiled. and she knew that once She saw him every-
thing would be made right again. Peter was stubborn. but she
had always been able to break him down in the end. Ruth let
herself in with the key he had given her after Laura left.

They were on the sofa. sprawled across its length. Their
clothes were scattered and a fifth of scotch had tipped out
onto the carpet. Peter saw her first. poised above the girl.
laughing. his smile froze on his face. then hardened into
anger.

"Get out!" he said. "Get out of here!"

Ruth saw the girl then. her careful blue eyelids melting
a little at the corners. her cheeks flushed beyond the pink
of her rouge. Darlene was smiling at her and pulling at Peter
with her thin. white arms.

"GO to hell." she said to Ruth and She pushed herself
deliberately along the length Of his body. circling him with
her legs. catching at his mouth with her tongue.

Ruth ran. She didn't remember leaving the house but she
knew that she vomitted somewhere on the lawn. Arthur's
voice laughed at her as she stumbled to the car and somewhere
inside Ruth's head. Julie's eyes watched her. wide and pale.

with their strange emptiness.

In the morning Ruth drove Julie to her weekly session at
the clinic. but she didn't go on to work. She called the
Office when she got back to the apartment.

l#9

"I'm afraid I've still got the flu." she told Janice.
"I shouldn't have come back yesterday."

"Well. take care of yourself." the girl said.

"I'll try to make it in by the end Of the week." Ruth lied.

There wasn't anything to do at home. Ruth noticed with a
wry smile that the apartment was immaculate. there wasn't even
any dust to dust. Usually she was proud of the way it looked.
but today it reminded her of the clinic. She stayed there
until eleven O'clock. She wasn't sure just when Julie would
be back. but somehow she didn't want Julie to know that she
hadn't gone to work.

Cosini's was a small neighborhood bar where there was no
chance of running into anyone that she knew. She ordered a
grilled cheese for lunch and planned to stay for only a drink
or two. but she was still there. hidden in the corner booth
at five o'clock. She waited until quarter past before she
left so that she wouldn't get home too early.

”How was work?" Julie asked when Ruth came in.

"Just fine.” Ruth lied.

She went to bed when Julie did that night and the room spun
around her. For a moment she thought that she was going to be
sick and she damned herself. But the next day she did the
same thing.

On Friday Cosini's began to get crowded by three. They
were mostly factory workers. Ruth thought. heavy men in rough.
dirty clothes. The jukebox played. constant and loud after

they arrived. and Ruth noticed more than one looking toward

150
her booth. She left early and decided to tell Julie that
she'd finished work a little ahead of time.

At first Ruth thought that Julie wasn't home. The door
to the apartment was still locked and there was no Sign of
anybody in the living room. Ruth went to the bedroom to
change. AS she pushed the door open She saw Julie. bent over
her vanity table.

”What are you doing?" Ruth asked her.

Julie jumped and straightened.

“I want to borrow something.” she said quickly. "I need
to borrow some earrings.“

"Earrings? For what?"

"It's tonight. tonight is the gallery. my picture. I need
them. I need them tonight.“ She was half turned away from
Ruth. her movements quick and jerking. "My friend. he called."
she was saying. "My friend..."

Ruth remembered the story then--the Italian artist it had
been that time. She knew that it did no good to deny Julie's
stories. so she tried to reason with her in a different way.

"You know you can't go. Julie." she said. ”Dr. Giani
told you about it. You can't go anywhere this week. you have
to stay with me."

"No!" she said. "I have to go!"

"I'm responsible for you and I tell you. you can't go."

"I'll be back tonight." Julie said. "I promise I'll
come back."

“That's not the point." Ruth insisted. "I said you can't

151

go!"

"I can go!"

Julie screamed the words and as she whirled to face her.
Ruth saw what her hair had hidden before. Peter's necklace
glittered darkly in the curtained room. It was half-obscured
by the collar on Julie's shirt.

"Where did you get that?" Ruth asked. She tried to keep
her voice calm. but it rose in spite of her efforts. Julie's
hand rose automatically to cover the necklace and she began
to back away from Ruth. her pale eyes. wide.

"You took it out Of my drawer. didn't you! You broke into
my drawer and you took it!"

"NO!" Julie said. and again. "NO!”

”Take that necklace off!" Ruth told her. "Take it Off
now!“

Julie had reached the wall. She flattened her back against
it. still protecting the necklace with her hand.

”Give it to me." Ruth said. reaching out as she stepped
closer.

Julie tried to wrench away and Ruth caught at the
necklace. snapping the fine chain so that it fell to the
floor. Ruth only meant tO get the necklace back but somehow
she was hitting Julie. slapping her across the face and then
shaking her until the girl's head snapped back and forth.
banging against the wall.

"It's mine! Do you hear me?" Ruth told her. "The neck-

lace is mine!"

152

Ruth was still Shaking Julie when the girl went limp. Her
shoulders slipped out from beneath Ruth's grasp and she flopped
over to the floor with a thud. She moaned a little as she lay
there.

“Julie!" Ruth said loudly. "Stop it. Julie. You aren't
hurt."

Ruth thought that she said something. but before she could
get close enough to understand. Julie's voice had risen. high
pitched and constant into an even scream.

"I didn't hurt you.“ Ruth insisted. “Now get up. Julie!”
But her own voice broke on the last word. and she could feel
the coldness moving through her.

”Get up. now." she said again.

She tried to lift Julie by the shoulder but as soon as she
touched her. the girl shrieked louder and her shoulders began
to jerk convulsively.

Ruth ran to the phone and dialed for an ambulance.

She had given them Giani's name when she called and he
walked into the emergency room shortly after they arrived at
the hospital.

"What happened?" he asked Ruth. as he moved toward Julie's
stretcher.

The intern had sedated Julie before moving her to the
ambulance so that she lay calmly now. childlike as she slept.
There was a small cut on her lip and Ruth could see the

flesh on her right cheek. already beginning to darken into

153

a bruise.

”I don't know what happened." she told Giani slowly.

"I came home from work and I found her there. screaming."

”She was alone?"

Ruth nodded. "Is she all right?" she asked.

"She's got some bruises." Giani said. straightening. "We
won't know about the rest until the sedation wears Off. You
might as well go on home. Mrs. Sheridan. Julie won't be
awake until morning.”

"I'd like to stay." Ruth said.

“There's no need for it." he told her. "You can't do
anything more for her tonight."

”But I want to.” Ruth insisted.

Giani shrugged.

”There's a visitor's lounge.down the hall. You can stay
there if you feel you have to."

”She's my daughter." Ruth said and Giani turned to look
at her.

"Since when?" he asked. He motioned to the orderly and

then followed Julie's stretcher through the double doors.

By noon Giani had the admission forms ready for her to
Sign.

”There are several private hospitals in the area." he
said. ”Or if you feel you can't afford that. she'll be sent
to Smithfield State Hospital.“

"Smithfield?"

15#

"What does it take to get someone committed here?" Peter
had asked.

”Admitted. not committed." Alan Caine was laughing.

”But Julie isn't crazy.” Ruth had insisted.

"Come here. Mrs. Sheridan. and I'll Show you what Julie
is.” Giani said. She followed him down the corridor and
waited while he unlocked a series of heavy mesh doors. The
door to Julie's room was unlocked. but she was strapped into
the bed. She was no longer screaming. just moaning and hitting
her head against the pillow in spite of her bindings. Saliva
trickled along one corner of her mouth to her chin.

”We can't take care Of her here anymore.” Giani was saying.

”Help her.” Ruth interrupted. "Can't you help her?”

"I'm sorry.” he told her. ”Not this time.”

13.

Ruth leaned back into the curve Of the rocking chair. It
was dark now. She'd watched the light fading along the wall.
There wasn't a sun to go down today. just grey that slowly
turned to blue. and then black.

I'm tired. she thought. surprised a little that she hadn't
noticed before. She knew that She should Sleep. but She
rocked instead. watching the shadows sometimes. and sometimes
watching nothing at all. Julie's portrait was across the
room from her. propped against a chair. Ruth knew that it
was yellow and purple and red. though now she could barely
distinguish the outline Of the canvas.

This afternoon the colors were swimming. swirling in a
pulsating river that threatened to drown her. She tried
to avoid it. to look out the window. to watch the floor. but
everywhere it was bright. like sunlight magnified into
floodlights. It was blinding. Optics had something to do
with it as well. the intensity of the colors he had chosen.
She had shut her eyes until the colors stopped spinning and
her stomach calmed. then she tried again.

Julie's face was orange on one side. striped through
the cheek with glaring pink and green. One eye looked out.
pale and empty blue from its deep-set socket. Her breasts
were the focal point of the whole picture. Exaggerated in

their fullness. they writhed with yellow and purple lines.
155

156

swelling grotesquely to cherry red nipples. A curling stream

Of the red trickled from one of them down to her navel.

There was blood at Smithfield. Two orderlies were scrub-
bing the stones of the patio. hosing the red into rivers of
pink while somewhere on the third floor. an old woman was
screaming. Ruth hadn't expected blood-~Giani hadn't told her
that there had been blood. When he called this time. she
never thought to be afraid.

”Julie's made a lot Of progress.“ he had told her the
day before.

”She jumped Off the roof.” he told her that day. and Ruth
had gone to Smithfield. but not to visit.

”A shower of blood." she heard one Of the nurses telling
another. ”My God. I've never seen anything so awful."

”Yes.” Alan Caine said. “She hit one of the lightening
rods as she fell. It Severed her arm.”

And an old man stopped her on the stairs with a claw-like
hand.

“She flew to heaven.” he said. ”She had white wings and
she flew to God.”

”There'll be an investigation. of course.” said Alan

Caine. ”I'm sorry. Ruth. so sorry.”

The young artist had said he was sorry. too. when he gave
her the painting. That was only this morning. Ruth discovered.
it's still the same day as this morning.

By mid-morning it had started to snow. tiny flakes that

157

barely hit the ground before they melted. But they would come
back. she knew. again and again. until the streets were covered
with them and they turned sooty black as semi-trucks and buses
ran over them. It wasn't like that in the South. It was De-
cember when they buried Joleen's baby. Ruth remembered. The
air had been cold. but there hadn't been any snow. not like
this morning when the air was white.

Her casket had just been released and a chunk of dirt
tossed after it. The priest stood beside the grave intoning
his endless litany Of prayers and everyone watched downwards
as the dais slipped lower and lower into the ground. An old
woman beside Ruth crossed herself. her wrinkled hands quiver-
ing with her voice in the prayer. Ruth didn't know her. Laura
was standing on the other side of the grave with Julie's
artist. Ruth couldn't remember his name. but she saw that
he was crying. He wept silently. tears streaming along his
cheeks without at all distorting his face. He didn't seem
to know that he was crying.l Laura's expression was calm
and Ruth knew that it must mirror her own face.

The Mapes family had never been ones to cry. Joleen had
been dry-eyed. though solemn when they buried her little
boy. even though Jos Pickert had wept like a baby.

"Shut up your snivelin'." Pa had bellowed out a him.

”A child born in sin don't deserve to live!"

"Jackson Mapes. you leave this place. right now!“ the

preacher said. "We come to pay respects to this innocent

child who never asked to be born. in a sinning way or not.

158

Now. you either pay your respects or get on out of here.
This here's a Christian burial."

Ma never cried either. not even as her cheeks flushed red
with shame as Pa dragged her out of the cemetary. And she
didn't cry later in the afternoon when he threw his empty
whiskey bottle at her and twisted her arm so hard that after
it broke. it would break again easily. and never really heal.
Ruth watched him from the doorway. and Lyle had seen too.
but neither of them cried. After that Lyle would cry in his
sleep sometimes and Ma would come in quietly. careful not to
wake Pa. and she'd hold him and rock him. But even then. Ruth

never cried.

The priest closed his book and after a comforting hand on
Ruth's shoulder. he left. The others. each in their turn.
stopped for a word with her before leaving. Her mouth hurt from
the smiling. but she talked with each of them. nodding as they
patted her hand. Laura and the artist turned away without saying
anything. and started up the hill toward the road. They were
nearly there when Ruth saw Peter moving unsteadily toward
them. slipping on the wet grass as he worked his way down the
hill. While she watched. he caught his heel on a small grave
marker and nearly tripped. He righted himself and even where
Ruth stood. She could hear him cursing.

”Hello Laura!” he called loudly.

He stumbled again and almost fell at her feet. Ruth had
expected him at the funeral. though she had been glad that he

wasn't there. It was the sort of thing that Peter would do.

159

attend funerals when he thought it was expected of him. She
saw now why he hadn't been there. He pulled himself up.
trying to brush the mud off his elbow and smeared it down the
length of his sleeve.

"How've you been. Laura?"

His words were slurred but his voice carried. Ruth couldn't
tell what she said to him but he nodded.

"This your new boyfriend?" he asked her. jerking an arm
toward the young man. "This your hot new bed-partner?"

Laura didn't say anything and Ruth started toward them.

Peter was pumping the man's hand.

 

”How're you doing. man?" Peter was mumbling. "I'm her
husband. you know. her last big..."

”Ex-husband. Peter." Laura said.

”Ex-husband." he echoed and then Ruth was beside him.

"Hello Laura." she said.

Peter turned toward her.

"I'm late." he said. "I tried. Ruth. but I'm too late
for the funeral."

"You're drunk. Peter."

Ruth's voice sounded harsh. even to herself.

"A little.” he said. his voice cracking. Ruth didn't
look at him.

"You remember Arno. Ruth." Laura said. "Julie's friend."

"Of course.” she said. smiling one more time. "I'd
forgotten your name though. I'm afraid."

”That's O.K.." he said. He was crying again.

160

"Arno's taken Julie's picture out of the gallery." Laura
said. ”He wants you to have it."

Ruth noticed again how much Laura looked like Julie.
especially now. with her hair hanging free to her waist. It
was almost uncomfortable to look at her. to meet her eyes.
blue as Julie's had been.

”Julie modeled for Arno last summer." Laura said.

 

"Yes. she told me.“ Ruth lied. 5-
"Did She?" ‘
Laura was watching her with a careful expression. waiting

for her response. What is it you want me to say. Ruth asked

silently. what answer am I supposed to give you? Arno finally e

broke the silence.

"I brought the painting with me." he said. "I'll put it
in your car if you like."

Ruth nodded.

"Thank you." she managed to say.

Laura went with him to the car and Ruth followed a little
behind. She had never been able to answer them. she knew.
either Of them--She had never been able tO-figure out which
answers they were asking for. Arno slid the painting into
the back seat and opened the door for her.

"I'm sorry." he said. as Ruth drove away.

"I'm sorry. too.” Ruth said now. as she rocked back and

forth in the darkness.

 

”'IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEs