by Belva Plain
Cecile and Peter had made an indoor garden of their three rooms. Vines on a silvery background climbed the spring green walls and tipped over into a border on the ceiling. A scattering of blossoms that might have fallen from the vines lay on an earth brown rug. In a corner next to a table piled with books was a scarlet wing chair; on its other side an enormous, living fern grew out of a scarlet Oriental pot.
Amanda stood and gaped. “Whatever have you done?”
“This is all just odds and ends that my grandmother left, along with paint and wallpaper. Come have lunch,” Cecile said.
The table was set in a green-and-white nook, where more plants stood on the windowsill. On the floor, in a hooded wicker basket, lay a white Persian cat.
Cecile introduced her. “That’s Mary Jane. Isn’t she gorgeous? Look at her blue eyes. Peter saw her in a pet shop window, and he couldn’t resist her.”
It had been a long time now since Amanda had felt this awkward. The last time had probably been on her first visit to the Balsan house. She had not even felt awkward on her first visit to the Newmans’ country house. But she was feeling that way now.
If there could be such a thing as perfection, it was here, even to the cat. The monogrammed white linen place mats had crocheted edges. The silver was polished, the salad was crisp, and the rolls were warm. Cecile’s pink cotton dress was untrimmed, and her only jewelry was a wide gold bracelet. Even in college, she had looked different from other people, and this past year had made her more so. The fact was simply that Cecile had class, and most people didn’t. That was it: a thing indefinable, and yet a thing that you recognized when you saw it. Maybe everybody doesn’t recognize it, thought Amanda, but I do.
Her eyes went wandering. On a shelf within view stood the wedding photograph of Peter and Cecile. There they were, caught for all time, in front of the rose hedge. Autumn Damask, they were, she remembered, as she remembered everything about that day. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have something like that to remember?
“It’s a good thing Peter didn’t go into that firm in town. This way, he has only shared space and a shared secretary with another man, so he’s free to take courses toward the advanced degree.”
“What in?” asked Norma. “Historic preservation?”
“What else? He loves it. We’ll be in Washington this summer, and of course that’s a treat, with the Virginia countryside, Fredericksburg, the plantations, and all those lovely houses to browse in. But believe it or not, I’m going to miss my work, too. My God, the things I learn can tear your heart! There’s the most darling little girl who has lung cancer; they’ve operated, and maybe she’ll be all right, but her mother’s a prostitute. They live down on Lane Avenue, and what care is she going to have when she goes home? It makes you sick.”
There was sober silence until Cecile broke it. “Looking at those books on the floor, Amanda? We’re running out of space. Someday we’ll have to have a room, a large one, with shelves floor to ceiling and wall to wall, for Peter’s books.”
“I can sympathize. I’m always buying books, paperbacks because hardcovers are too expensive, but paperbacks are better than nothing.”
I never get around to reading much, Larry says. When I get home, I like to relax in front of the TV.
Amanda wondered about Peter. What was he like, really like? What did they talk about when they were together in the evening?
“Is anything happening with you yet on the job front, Amanda?” Cecile asked. “Any decision?”
“I’ve looked into paralegal work, but I haven’t decided on it.”
Norma nodded. “I didn’t think you were ever really enthusiastic about it.”
“Then Larry said they might be opening another branch office out in Derry, and I’ve been thinking maybe I could work on their computers, keep records for them or something.”
Norma objected. “It’s a bad idea for a wife to work next to her husband all day. What does Larry think?”
“I haven’t even mentioned it to him.”
Now Cecile asked, “What do you really want to do?”
“Go on to graduate school for a degree, probably in English literature. That’s what I’d really want if I could. But it has too many problems. I don’t see myself as a teacher, so the only other job would be in publishing. And practically all of the publishing companies are in New York. Anyway, there’s no university here, and if there were, it would cost too much.”
Amanda heard her own voice dying away. Did everybody’s moods fluctuate as hers did? Only a few hours ago, she had felt closer to contentment than she had ever felt in her entire life.
“I have an idea for you.” Cecile spoke decidedly. “I had planned to keep it till after lunch, but now you can hear it along with dessert. It’s this: My mother has a friend, Mrs. Lyons, who owns a beautiful shop in Cagney Falls, right on the square. It’s a fashion boutique, mostly European imports, expensive stuff. It’s been a hobby of hers for years, buying things and getting ideas in Europe every year. Now she’s getting older and doing much less. But even though she certainly doesn’t need the money, she wants to keep the shop going. She needs somebody young and energetic to take charge. So here’s where I thought you might come in.”
“Who, me? You’ve got to be joking. What on earth do I know about running a shop?”
“No, listen to me. I’ve already told her about you, naturally without mentioning your name, and she’s interested. You don’t have to be trained to do this, Amanda. All you need is to be a responsible person. There’s a seamstress for alterations who’s been there from the beginning; there’s a saleswoman, Dolly, who is great with the customers, lots of friendly personality; and there’s a bookkeeper who comes in regularly to keep the books straight. All you need to do is to see that everybody works smoothly with everybody else.”
“Who’s been doing it up till now?”
“A young woman who’s leaving, moving away. She can show you everything before she goes.”
Here I’ve just said my idea is an advanced degree in English literature, Amanda was thinking, and this is what she recommends. She ought to know better.
“It pays very well,” Cecile continued. “I was surprised. And you said you’re in a hurry to earn some money.”
Had she really said she was “in a hurry”? She must have. It must have slipped out somehow. But it was true. She was in a hurry. Still, a dress shop?
Cecile was urging, “This won’t last forever, in case that’s what you’re thinking. And you can still take night courses while you’re working, you know. After a while, you’ll have a baby and you’ll quit.”
Amanda was still searching for a valid objection. “The only work experience I’ve had is at Sundale’s, waiting tables. I’m too young to have had much experience.”
“You’re not too young. The woman who’s leaving is twenty-eight, and you’re nearly twenty-three, which isn’t much different. And you’re a whole lot smarter than she. I know because I’ve met her.”
A dress shop, she thought again. It may pay very well, but it’s not what I wanted. Still, it’s probably not nice of me to refuse without taking a look at it.
“All right, I’ll go see it,” she said. “Tell me when.”
“How about now? It’s a lovely afternoon to go prowling around Cagney Falls, anyway.”
“Just looking today, Dolly,” Cecile said. “I’m not buying a thing. I only wanted to show the shop to my friends.”
Dolly was the kind of woman who, while still in her thirties, behaved like a chatterbox teenager. During the ten or more minutes they had been in the shop, she had not stopped following them.
If I were to work here, Amanda decided, we would be friends. You can see that Dolly is a very nice person. She bubbles. Customers must like her.
“Beautiful stuff,” Norma murmured, “and beautiful prices.”
“True,” Dolly said, having overheard, “but you don’t find things like this on every street corner.” She held out a white ca
shmere cardigan embellished with flowers. “Look here. Hand embroidered. No, you’ll never see yourself coming and going when you wear this.”
Not at these prices, thought Amanda, echoing Norma.
Every nook, shelf, and corner held a treasure: a paisley handbag with a tortoiseshell handle, a suit of rough, peach-colored wool, silk dresses pleated from neck to hem, a plain black evening gown with a cascade of marvelous white lace. Amanda was fascinated.
Perhaps, after all, it might be fun for a little while, at least…
Outside again, they began to walk back to the car.
“It was an eye-opener,” Amanda said. “This whole town is an eye-opener.”
“Well, what do you think about it?” Cecile asked.
“I surprised myself, and I suppose I’ll surprise you. Yes, I’ll try it if Mrs. Lyons likes me. I really would like to try it, for a while, anyway.”
“Good. She’ll like you. I’ll phone her the minute I get home so that you can meet. Now, shall we start back?”
“Can we just walk around for a few minutes? I was here one day with Larry, but everything was closed, and besides, he hurried me, the way men do. This is a place where you need to take your time and feast your eyes.”
Cecile agreed. “It’s a beautiful little town. I wouldn’t mind living in this area, not right in the town, but near it.”
Norma pointed out a clock in a window. “It looks like brass, doesn’t it? But it’s not. It’s lacquered wood. I saw one when I had dinner at the home of one of my students. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Look at those silver frogs! And the music box!” Amanda cried. “All these beautiful, beautiful things that people make with their hands! Let’s go in for just a minute.”
A spacious interior was crammed with chests, pictures, chairs, clocks, objects of porcelain and of silver, all of them in orderly display. Amanda was dazzled.
To the dapper, dignified gentleman who approached them, Norma said, “We’re just browsing, if you don’t mind.”
“Please do, and if there’s anything you want to know, just ask me.”
“Oh, look at this bureau!” exclaimed Amanda. “Isn’t it pretty? Our bedroom set has two bureaus, but one’s much too small. There’s an empty space on one wall, and this one is really lovely. Look how delicately it’s painted.”
The gentleman, who had been hovering nearby, corrected her. “Oh, dear, no. Not paint. That is inlay, called marqueterie, the most painstaking woodwork, all satin-wood.” Murmuring, with his eyes upon Amanda, he seemed to be exceedingly amused.
“All you need is money,” remarked Norma, nudging Amanda to the other side of the room, where Cecile, who had not heard the little encounter, was examining another chest of drawers.
The gentleman, following, now approached Cecile, who had a question. “This block-front chest. I have one very like it. Is it about 1770, would you say? That’s my guess, at least.”
“You’re close. This is dated 1781, made in Rhode Island, like most of them.”
“I thought so. It’s typical, isn’t it? I’m curious. What are you asking for it?”
“We’re asking seven. It’s in excellent condition, as you can see. This is the original hardware.”
“Seven hundred dollars for that!” cried Amanda with intent to thrust her scorn into the man’s smug face. “For one piece of furniture, four drawers on four feet, simply because it’s old and bears the term ‘antique’? That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, it may seem so to you.” The gentleman was now unmistakably on the verge of laughter. “But there are those who would think it a find at the price, which is, as it happens, seven thousand, and even though it’s not part of a set.”
“Come on,” said Norma. “It’s already half past three, and we all have to get home. We’ve no time to waste in this place, anyhow.”
On the sidewalk again, Amanda spoke out of her raging sense of humiliation. “He positively smirked! Did you see his face? Trying to make a fool of me. Who does he think he is?”
“He’s an insignificant snob, that’s who he is,” Norma said roughly. “Forget him.” And no doubt seeing the tears starting in Amanda’s eyes, she said more gently, “One has to expect every now and then to meet a person who’s completely insensitive. Get used to it.”
Ah, yes! Her legs. She still hasn’t gotten used to insensitive people, though.
With her usual calm candor, Cecile gave advice. “Of course, he was horrible. Why should everyone be informed about expensive antiques? Most people couldn’t care less. And anyway, all there is to know about them, all the basic information you need if you should ever care to learn, can be found in a handful of books. It’s no big deal.”
Norma was in a hurry. “Let’s put a move on. You haven’t forgotten that you and Larry are eating with us tonight, have you? And that my father is one man who can’t stand it when people come late?”
* * *
Larry had looked reproachful when Amanda and Norma arrived barely two minutes ahead of the dinner hour. Now he was listening with severe disapproval to an account of the day’s achievement.
“What is this all of a sudden? You’ve been wanting to be a paralegal. What is this?”
“I guess I didn’t want it enough.”
“What? Amanda, if you told me once, you told me a hundred times that it’s what you want.”
They were sitting side by side, so that when she turned to him, their faces were only inches apart. It was incredible that she had never before observed his eyes so clearly: They were not really brown, as she had assumed, but a queer yellow kind of brown.
“Taking a long drive every day to stand on your feet in a shop and sell clothes—it makes no sense.”
Norma came to her assistance. “It’s not a long drive, Larry. Only three quarters of an hour from your house, that’s all.”
“No matter. It’s stupid. Why did you say you wanted to be a paralegal if you didn’t want to?”
“It popped into my head. You wanted an answer, and I said the first thing I could think of.”
Lawrence Balsan was listening. He actually looks as if he’s enjoying this, Amanda thought. His expression was ironic, as it often was. His son, on the other hand, had a baffled expression.
“I can’t understand the whole thing,” Larry muttered.
“I suggest that you stop trying,” Lawrence said abruptly. “This argument has been going on for twenty minutes by my watch.” Drawing back his sleeve to reveal the heavy gold watch, he continued, “Amanda wants it, and there’s no harm in it. Take the job, Amanda, if you can get it. You won’t be married to it. You can quit whenever you want and go do something else. So let’s not have any more wrangling.”
It was astonishing that this man, of all people, should come to her rescue, and that he should flash in her direction the brilliant look that so rarely illuminated his rather austere face.
It was less astonishing that Larry should accept this dictum at once. The surprise would have come if he had dared to disagree with his father.
So it was settled. Yet now that it was, Amanda was not so sure that she wanted it. Is it possible, she asked herself, that I only wanted it the more because Larry opposed it? For it had been such a strange day, beginning with lunch at Cecile’s apartment, then the delightful shop, and then that horrible man with his antiques. Her very spine still felt his sting.
At home, preparing for bed, Larry asked for the third or fourth time, “So you had a good day? Pretty out there, isn’t it?”
“It’s beautiful. Cecile wants to move there eventually.”
He shrugged, as if to acknowledge the obvious. “Why not? With the Newmans’ money behind them? They’ll probably spend two years in the apartment and then move. I’m surprised they didn’t get a house right away. Gee whiz, we did.”
We’re not talking about the same kind of house, she thought, or the same kind of anything. And as she sat down to remove her shoes, she looked around the room at the “colonial” matchin
g set—the bed, the night tables, and the bureau with the wedding snapshot of herself and Larry standing among the tables at the inn. None of all this had come cheaply, either, but it was so drab, without imagination or charm; it was tasteless and banal, like every other house on this street that she had seen. It was commercial factory stuff turned out by the millions for people who didn’t know any better. And she had been one of them…. She saw again the cascade of green vines on the ceiling at Cecile’s apartment, and the silver-framed wedding portrait near the eighteenth-century chest. She saw the treasure-filled shop, and felt again the sting of that man’s insolent smile.
And without meaning to burst out, she cried, “You should see Cecile’s apartment!”
“Nice, is it? Well, it can’t be much nicer than this. God knows, we paid enough for all our stuff. But it’s worth it. Good furniture lasts a lifetime and more.” Unbuttoning his shirt, Larry stretched and yawned. “The only thing we might have to do is add more to what we’ve got if we should ever get a bigger place.”
“A bigger place? You know, with your real estate connections, it might not be so hard to find a house near Cagney Falls. You can’t be sure.”
“Honey, I can be sure. That stuff is just about doubling up while you look at it. No, if we ever do move, and I don’t say we will, we’ll probably take my father’s house. You know, Norma’s been saying she wants a place of her own, a nice convenient apartment near Country Day. Then maybe my father won’t want to rattle around by himself in the house. Gee, I wish Norma could find some nice guy like Peter, for instance. Somebody to take her out to dinner, for God’s sake. She’s too young to live the way she does. It must be hard on her to see her friends, Cecile and you, being so happy, on top of the world. All she does is go to the movies with a couple of women, or sit home by herself to read or play the piano. Even my father goes out more.”
That was interesting. “He does? With women?”
“Sure. What do you think? It’s a question you don’t ask your father, but after all, he’s still a young man, fifty-two last birthday. Good-looking, too, don’t you think?”
Balsan—in her mind she thought of him so—was nothing if not distinctive. It had been quite a startle this evening to see his haughty face, with its high-ridged aristocrat’s nose and his cool gaze, light up like a candle.
