She came home, well kissed and well petted, at two in the morning. Not many hours later, she was awakened by a ringing phone, her mother knocking on her door. The light in her window was still gray. “Leave me alone,” she said. “I’m sleeping.”
“Your brother wants to talk to you.”
“Tell him I’ll call back after church.”
“Tell him yourself. I’ve had enough of taking messages.”
The intensity of Becky’s irritation cleared the sleep from her head. She threw on her Japanese robe and stamped past the doors of her sleeping father and younger brothers. In the kitchen, she fumbled with the phone, pressed its cold plastic to her ear, and heard her mother hang up on the third floor.
“Sorry to wake you,” Clem said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“How about calling at a decent hour?”
“I already tried that. Like, eight times.”
“Give me your number. I’ll call you back after church.”
“I have a job, Becky. I can’t just talk when it’s convenient for you. Which apparently is never.”
“I’ve been really busy.”
“Right. Although somehow you’re free every night for your boyfriend.”
“So what?”
“I just don’t get why you’re avoiding me.”
He seemed to think he owned her. She seethed with silent irritation.
“Is it that thing I said about Tanner? I’m sorry I said that. Tanner’s fine. He’s a perfectly decent guy.”
“Shut up!”
“I can’t even apologize?”
“I’m sick of you poking around in my life.”
“I’m not poking around in your life.”
“Then why did you call me? What did you wake me up for?”
Over the phone lines, from some unpicturable room in New Orleans, came a heavy sigh. “I’m calling,” Clem said, “because everything’s gone to shit and I thought you might sympathize. I’m calling because I’m fucked. The draft board fucked me over.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they don’t want me. Their quota was tiny, and they’d already filled it. I could still theoretically get called up, but not for Vietnam. Everybody there is coming home.”
Far from sympathizing, she was wickedly pleased his plan had failed. “You’re probably the only person in America who’s sorry we’re getting out of Vietnam.”
“I’m not sorry, I’m just frustrated. I thought I’d be in basic training by now.”
“Then maybe you should volunteer. If killing people is so important to you.”
Another sigh in New Orleans, more patronizing. “Did you even read my letter? It’s not about wanting to fight. It’s a question of social justice.”
“I’m saying, if that’s so important to you, why not volunteer? Or do you just passively do whatever the draft board tells you?”
“I took an action, Becky.”
“Yeah, you scored your point. Too bad it didn’t count.”
Stretching the phone cord, she filled a glass with water at the sink.
“I made a mistake,” Clem said. “I should have quit school a year ago. Do you think I’m happy about it?”
The water was deliciously cold, February cold.
“No,” she said, “I’m sure it’s very frustrating. When do you ever make a mistake?”
“I called you because I was thinking of coming home for a while. You’re not exactly making me want to.”
“What did you expect at seven in the morning?”
“How else was I supposed to reach you?”
“I’m really busy. Okay? I don’t care if you come home, but don’t do it for my sake.”
“Becky.”
“What.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m really happy. At least I was until you woke me up.”
“I turn my back for one minute, and it’s like you’re a different person. I mean—the Baptist church? Seriously? You’re going to the Baptist church? You’re giving away your inheritance?”
Now she saw why he’d been trying to reach her: he had no other way to control her from a different city. She additionally resented her mother, for telling tales to him.
“I’m not your baby sister anymore,” she said. “I can do my own thinking.”
“You don’t remember talking about this? You don’t remember me fighting with Dad about it? You said you were keeping the money. You said you wanted to go to a great school.”
“That’s what you wanted for me.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I still have enough money for two years at Lawrence or Beloit. I can do the rest with financial aid.”
“But I don’t want your money.”
“If you don’t understand Christian charity, there’s no explaining it.”
“Oh, there we go. Is this something Tanner talked you into?”
“You mean, because I’m too stupid to think for myself?”
“I mean the Holy Roller thing. He was always kind of a Jesus freak.”
She was flooded with pure hatred. Clem had managed, in a single breath, to insult her intelligence, her boyfriend, and her faith.
“For your information,” she said coldly, “Tanner loves First Reformed. I’m the one who doesn’t.”
“And he goes along with it? ‘That’s cool, babe, whatever you say’?”
So much for his being sorry he’d called Tanner passive.
“Tanner accepts who I am,” she said. “That’s more than I can say for you.”
“Accept what? That you believe in angels and devils and Holy Spirits? That I’m bound for hell because I don’t believe in fairy tales? Forgive me for thinking you were smarter than that.”
“Do you have any idea how sick I am of hearing that?”
“Hearing what?”
“‘You’re too smart for this, you’re too smart for that.’ You’ve been saying it all my life, and you know what? Maybe I’m sick of being made to feel stupid.”
“Yeah, well. I guess you don’t have to worry about that with Tanner.”
She was too offended to speak.
“Maybe you should go ahead and marry him. Pop out a kid, forget about college, join the Baptist church. Nobody will expect you to be smart there. I’ll be roasting in hell, so you won’t have to worry about me.”
“This is why you woke me up? You needed to insult me?”
Something rustled at Clem’s end of the line. “I was pissed off,” he said, “that you never call me back. But you’re right—I get it. If I were you, I’d rather be out boning a rock star myself. He has such a cool van.”
“Jesus. Are you drunk?”
“You think I give a shit who’s boning who? You’ve got your rock star, Dad’s got his little parishioner—”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about penis and vagina. Do I really have to explain it to you?”
She was appalled that she’d ever confided in him, appalled that she’d admired him.
“What parishioner?” she said.
“You didn’t know about that? Him and Mrs. Cottrell? Why do you think Mom is on strike?”
Becky shuddered with disgust. “I don’t know anything about that. But I would appreciate you not making false assumptions about me.”
“Whoa. Really? False assumptions?”
“Yes, really.”
“You’re, what—too Baptist to go all the way? Or do you just like controlling him?”
“Fuck you!”
“I’m sorry, but it’s kind of pathetic. If you’re not even having sex, I honestly don’t see the point. The least you could do is learn something about yourself.”
Her hatred had entered a new dimension—Clem seemed outright evil to her. His antipathy to God, his contempt for every prohibition, had destroyed his soul. Her hand was shaking so badly, she coul
d hardly hold the phone.
“You’re the pathetic one,” she said, shaking. “You think you’re so superior and rational, but your soul is dead.”
“My soul? That’s another fairy tale.”
“I don’t know what happened to you, I don’t know what your girlfriend did to you, but I don’t even recognize you.”
“I’m the same person I always was, Becky.”
“Then maybe I’m the one who’s changed. Maybe I’m finally old enough to see how totally different we are.”
“We’re not so different.”
“How totally different! You make me sick!”
She slammed the receiver into its holster. Then she lifted it again and set it on the floor, to forestall his calling back, and wandered out of the kitchen, sick with hatred. She tried going back to bed, but her hatred wouldn’t let her sleep. When Tanner picked her up for church, two hours later, she was reluctant to look at him, for fear of polluting him with Clem. At the Baptist church, she sang hymns and sat through the sermon with hatred in her heart.
Only at the end of the service, during the final prayer, did she reconnect with Jesus. Picturing the face of her Lord, the infinite wisdom and sadness of his gaze, she was seized with pity for her brother. She would never understand why he’d tried to go to Vietnam, but going to Vietnam was what he’d set his heart on, it was what he’d proclaimed to everyone that he was doing. Beyond his disappointment, he must have felt embarrassed when his plan fell through. Unhappy in New Orleans, presumably friendless, working the deep-fry station at Kentucky Fried Chicken, he’d repeatedly left messages for his sister, who in the past had always been there for him, and when he’d finally reached her on the phone she’d rejected him. In her sinful pride, her offended vanity, she’d lashed out at a person who’d loved and protected her all her life. If he’d lashed out at her, too, it was only because he was hurt and embarrassed.
She returned to the parsonage intending to call him and apologize, but when she went upstairs and saw his empty bedroom the sickness boiled up in her again. A visceral loathing, compounded by his contempt for everything that mattered to her, overwhelmed her sentimentality. Clem had actively attacked her, she’d merely defended herself. It seemed to her that he, not she, should be the first to apologize. For the rest of the day, and for several days afterward, she expected him to call her again. Even a small gesture of regret and respect, if he’d offered it sincerely, might have opened the door to her better self. But apparently he had his own pride.
In her abundance of happiness, as February turned to March, their fight receded in her mind. Tanner had sent letters to a dozen festivals in Europe, along with copies of a solo tape he’d recorded in his basement and clippings of a newspaper review of the Bleu Notes. Becky had helped him with the letter, rewording it more assertively, and the two of them now dwelt in states of parallel anticipation, he waiting to hear from Europe, she from Lawrence and Beloit. After a thorough, Crossroads-flavored discussion of her readiness to give herself to him, they also shared the anticipation of a week alone together in the parsonage.
Whatever Clem might think, she wasn’t stupid. Though it had warmed her heart and deepened her faith to share her inheritance with her brothers, she’d kept enough money to attend an expensive private college, surrounded by people as ambitious as her aunt Shirley had encouraged her to be. She’d encouraged Tanner to be similarly ambitious, and if he happened to get a record contract, and started touring nationally, she could see herself taking time away from college to be part of that. But going along with him to gigs had made her aware of how many other musicians had the same ambitions, how much competition even a brilliant talent faced. She didn’t like to think of Tanner languishing in New Prospect while she moved into new social spheres in Wisconsin; it didn’t bode well for their future as a couple. But her own personal future held two equally luminous possibilities, either the glamour of the music world or the privileges of college, and she was very happy.
On the Friday before Palm Sunday, as she walked home from school, her heart began to race. Easter vacation had commenced; her moment of falling was suddenly at hand. She and Tanner had chosen Monday as the night. She’d wanted to make him something special and European for dinner, possibly a cheese soufflé, but after consulting with her mother, who actually knew how to cook, she’d settled on beef bourguignon. She’d already bought two long candles for the table and, boldly, at the liquor store, a bottle of Mouton Cadet red wine. For the night to be perfect, it had to be about more than just sex.
She came home to a house in the process of emptying for her and Tanner. Her father had left for First Reformed, and Perry’s duffel bag was packed and waiting by the door. The only sign of her mother was a note asking Becky to drive Perry to the church. Upstairs, she found Judson neatly packing his own suitcase for his Disneyland trip. He didn’t know where Perry was. Returning to the kitchen, she heard a dull clank from the basement. She opened the door and peered into its gloom. “Perry?”
No answer. She turned on a light and ventured down the stairs. From the far corner of the basement, where the oil burner was, came an odd huffing, another clank of metal.
“Hey, Perry, you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready, can’t a person be alone?”
“If you want a ride to church, now is when I’m offering it.”
He came sauntering out from behind the oil burner. “Ready.”
“What are you doing down here?”
“The question seems more apposite to you. You’re supposed to be a creature of the light. Why aren’t you shining in the world where you belong?”
He skipped past her and up the stairs. She didn’t smell pot, but she wondered if he might be doing drugs again. For a short while, at Christmas, she’d enjoyed the novelty of hanging out with him, but their “friendship” hadn’t taken off. Since she’d added a shift to her schedule at the Grove, to earn money for Europe, she’d barely spoken to him.
Emerging from the basement, she saw him lugging his duffel bag into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?”
“A moment of privacy, sister, if you would be so kind. Would do me that gentle favor.”
He locked the bathroom door behind him.
“Hey, listen,” she said, through the door. “You seem weird. Are you okay?”
She heard him huffing, heard the rasp of a heavy-duty zipper.
“If you’re doing drugs again,” she said, “you need to be open with me. Remember what we said about walking away? I’m not the enemy.”
No confession was forthcoming. Behind her, in the kitchen, the telephone rang.
She expected the caller to be Jeannie Cross, but it was Gig Benedetti, asking for Becky. She hadn’t known Gig even had her number.
“This is Becky speaking.”
“Ha, didn’t recognize your voice. How is our beautiful girl today?”
“She’s fine, thank you.”
“Do you have a second?”
“Actually, it’s better if you call me back a little later.”
“Reason I’m calling is—Tanner tells me he’s going to Europe with you. Were you aware of this plan? Did you know about this plan and not tell me?”
Her heart clutched. Apparently she’d betrayed their special understanding.
“I talked to him this morning,” Gig said. “I’ve been working my butt off, booking him into the Holiday Inn circuit, and what do I find out? He’s ditching the band and taking you to Denmark!”
“Well—yes.”
“Do you realize what a toilet Europe is, professionally? Do you know why his Danish pals are so happy he’s coming to Aarfuck? It’s because any act with half a brain can see it’s a freaking waste of time! I thought you and I were on the same wavelength!”
He was yelling, and she wanted to tell him not to. She couldn’t stand being yelled at.
“We are on the same wavelength,” she said. “This is only for one summer.”
“Only one summer—I
like that. Only one summer. And Quincy and Mike? While the lovebirds are off on their honeymoon, Quincy and Mike are supposed to do what? Twiddle their thumbs and hope you send a postcard? It’ll take Tanner four months, minimum, to put together new backup and break them in. Suddenly we’re in 1973 and nobody remembers him. Does that sound like a plan to you? I thought you were smart.”
“There’s a huge folk scene in Europe,” she said stiffly.
“Pfff. If we were talking about the UK, it sort of halfway might make sense—the labels still scout London. But the Continent? Are you kidding me? Can you name one Top Forty hit that ever came out of France or Germany?”
“It’s not just about the labels, though, right? It’s about developing an audience.”
“Damn straight it is. And how do you do that? You play the Holiday Inn Rockford and then you move on to Rock Island. Hit enough big little cities, you start to get a name, and that’s what the A&R guys are looking for. You’ve got to trust me on this, Becky. Your guy is literally better off playing Decatur, Illinois, than Paris, France. There’s an act I booked into Decatur eight months ago that just signed a major-label deal. I’m not lying to you.”
“But he can still do that—I mean, the Holiday Inns. He’ll come back even better, with new contacts.”
“Listen. Baby. Sweetheart, listen. Your guy’s okay. I admit I kind of signed him as a favor, because I like your style, but I’m not keeping him on as a favor. He’s a pro, he takes direction, he’s a hit with the ladies, everybody’s making money. But my honest opinion? I’m not in love with his original material, and neither are the audiences. Time will tell if he’s got better songs in him, but there’s a million and one acts at his level. The best thing he’s got going is he’s young and super easy on the eyes, and you know what they say about the record business—the vampire thirsts for youth and beauty. The last thing your guy needs is to sit on the shelf for a year.”
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