3. There is a big market out there for remote-control video recorders.
4. Golf carts do not make much noise because they are propelled by electricity.
5. LL Bean is the best catalogue for mountaineering gear.
6. Microwave ovens come in several sizes.
Extra! Extra! Read all about it! I remember thinking, throw me into a Siberian tidal pool. Anything, anything, but having to sit there nodding while Trey Phillips, the Ripley of the eighties, reveals the amazing truths of modern living. I’d rather discuss cancer and allergies until the Second Coming if that’s what it took to keep this guy away from me. I would even do a doctorate in mucus formation.
Things took a turn for the worse with the arrival of the main courses. By now he had run through his repertoire of consumer tips and moved on to his A Thousand and One Tales of IRS Tedium.
I tried to protect myself by keeping my eyes on my (cold) fish. But he just wouldn’t get the hint. He kept saying things like, ‘There was this guy once who …’ or, ‘One of the most interesting cases I ever had was once when …’
My efforts to silence him became more and more desperate. ‘Did you say you wanted some more wine?’ I kept shouting. I’d pour him some, I’d pour myself some. I’d look down the table and pretend to lift my glass to you, pretend not to hear the tail-end of whatever mangled anecdote my so-called partner and so-called doctor were telling you at my expense – doubly at my expense …
And then wham, there he was again, drawing me into another endless monologue about the joys of taxation: ‘I’ll tell you what people always forget to figure in when they’re calculating their expenses and that’s property tax. Even Prop 13 did not alleviate the drone drone drone. I knew a guy once and he drone drone drone …’
I tried to feign tolerance. A look of interest being beyond my range. But then – it was at about the same time as they passed out the dessert menus – my patience snapped and I made a number of uncalled-for comments.
When I asked him, ‘How many people you audited had cancer?’ he took my question at face value.
‘Gosh, you know? I don’t think I ever even …’
My sadism encouraged by his witlessness, I continued. ‘How many were allergic to milk?’
‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I even …’
‘How many had cancer AND milk allergies? And of those, what per cent were in nursery school?’
‘That’s easy. None of them. I only audited adults.’
‘But are you more or less likely to have your property assessed if you have a nursery-school education?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ said Trey.
‘That’s for sure,’ I said.
This was when Becky saw fit to intervene. ‘Would you stop this nonsense? It’s not even funny.’
‘I wasn’t trying to be funny,’ Trey said.
‘I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Mike.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s making fun of you.’
‘Why is he doing that?’
‘It may have something to do with his emotional age.’
Trey turned to me. His face was starting to flush. ‘Why were you making fun of me?’
‘Because I found your conversation boring.’
‘That’s really great,’ he said. ‘If it’s not entertaining then it’s not worth talking about – is that what our country’s come to?’
‘That’s what people say. If it’s boring, forget it.’
‘That’s really great,’ Trey said again.
‘But don’t worry, dear,’ said Charlotte. ‘You’re not the only one. Apparently we’re all boring this evening. Apparently it’s what happens to people who settle in San Francisco.’
‘Oh, he’s not on that kick again,’ said Becky. ‘Complaining about all the people in this city who think they’re interesting because they used to read? Telling you exactly how many bookstores there ought to be here and how many there are in actual fact? Yeah, I’ve heard all that before. But tell me, did he get around to saying I was an autodidact because I didn’t go to college?’
‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’
And she said, ‘Fuck you and all you stand for.’
As you know, I had always had a harder time with Becky than I did with the others. Because there were times when we got along, times when I had even confided in her. Times when she, too, got fed up with all things West Coast and talked to me like a fellow-sufferer. But then, for no good reason and usually with no advance notice, she would turn on me, use my own words against me, and whenever she did, I felt doubly betrayed. Also – there is something horrible about a woman who manages to give you the finger while also managing to keep an infant feeding at her breast.
By the time the desserts arrived, no one at my end of the table was talking. We were all five of us like pinless hand grenades waiting to be pushed over the edge. This meant that we had zero patience for, but no way of not listening to Mitchell and Kiki as they updated each other on their two favourite topics:
Restaurants:
1. The Hayes Street Grill was a really good restaurant.
2. The original Mai’s was also a really good restaurant.
3. The calamari at Caffe Sport were out of this world, especially if you got them with spinach pasta.
4. The nut loaf at Green’s was definitely worth a try, and so was the pasta. But it was still a better deal for lunch. (‘Especially since they go slow on salt.’)
5. There was a new place in Oakville that was worth a detour. (‘They oversalt things, though.’)
6. The new North Indian place on Van Ness gave good value for money. (‘And surprisingly enough …’)
7. Alice Waters grew her own vegetables, but her portions were too small. (‘But at least she goes slow on salt.’)
8. The Hunan did not use MSG. (‘You should see how they pour on the soy sauce though.’)
9. If you wanted Cajun food, the place to go was still that one up on Fillmore. (‘Although that is one place where they go positively apeshit with the salt shaker.’)
The World of Finance:
1. The man to talk to at Crocker Bank was Joe Blow-job. (‘Yeah, I’ve heard of him,’ said Kiki. ‘He plays golf.’)
2. The man who knew everything there was to know about windfarms was Paul Preposterous. (‘Right. I’ve heard of him. We have a mutual tennis partner.’)
3. If you ever wanted to go into corporate bonds, however, the firm to contact was Boredom & Boredom. (‘Sure, I know them. They handled a deal for my cousin’s brother-in-law.’)
4. If, however, you wanted the lowdown on the mini storage racket, the man to talk to was Bob Even More Boring. (‘But what a backhand!’)
It was while I was sitting through the above competing monologues (and smoking openly) that my sense of desolation at our wasted evening turned into rage. Why were you putting me through this? Why had you stranded me at this end of the table? Why weren’t you defending me? Why were you allowing Mitchell and Kiki to be so boring?
I wasn’t the only one. Trey was shredding his napkin. Becky’s breast-feeding manner was going from peremptory to dangerously rough. Charlotte and Ophelia were communicating their dissatisfaction with distended nostrils. It was a question of who would snap first. It turned out to be Trey – just as Kiki was giving us the name of the man to contact at City Hall if we had too many parking tickets.
‘I guess you think breaking the law is funny,’ was Trey’s opening comment. His face was scarlet.
‘I’m sure you won’t believe it could happen here, in a democratic stronghold, but did you know there were people in this city – and I’m talking reputable businessmen and women – who think they can get away with claiming parking tickets as legitimate expenses?’
Silence. Everyone stared at him glumly. Particularly Kiki, who, I later discovered, had been doing this for years.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mitchell said. ‘I d
on’t do crazy stuff like deducting parking tickets …’
‘You just don’t pay them,’ snapped his wife.
‘OK, but so what? What I am trying to say is, I think the best thing is to take the cowboy approach. Get liquidity today. Even if it means balloon payments. And you know? The same holds true for Uncle Sam. I mean, why should I go by the book if I can play the game?’
‘Mitchell.’
‘What, hon?’
‘Mitchell, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but now is not the time to talk about taxes.’
‘Why not, hon?’
‘We’re in a bad mood down at this end of the table here, that’s why. We’re in a bad mood about taxes, particularly property taxes.’
‘But I wasn’t talking about property taxes.’
‘No, and don’t,’ Becky said, but still he didn’t get the hint.
‘Oh, so you mean you’ve already told them what I did.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Did you hear what I did?’ Mitchell asked Kiki. ‘No? Well, what happened is I made friends with the assessor.’
‘Mitchell, this is the last time I’m going to warn you.’ Becky’s voice was shrill now.
‘Warn me about what? What’s going on here?’
‘They’re laughing at me,’ Trey told him. ‘They think I’m funny because I’m an idealist.’
‘Well, ha ha ha,’ said Mitchell. ‘Is that what you wanted me to say? So anyway, there was this assessor. When he came in I could tell where he was coming from even though he looked real straight. So I sat him down with a glass of Chardonnay, asked him where he was from …’ Slap went Becky as she threw Baby on to Breast.’… and I asked him where he went to college, and before you know it we’re sitting there sharing a joint and rapping about Bolinas …’
Pop. As she was pulled off Breast One, Baby let out a yell that was smothered – smack – by Breast Two.
‘… and it turned out that he has a friend who knows the ex-lady of a friend of mine … and then he tells me he’s just bought this farm outside Santa Rosa … but that the guy who did the plumbing fucked up …’
Pop. Yell. Slap.
‘… and so I say, listen, man. Let’s do a deal. There’s someone who owes me one and he lives in Sebastopol. He’s really a sculptor but what he does for a living is … you guessed it, plumbing.’
Pop. Yell. ‘So how about this?’ Slap. Silence. ‘I tell this guy, let me give this sculptor plumber friend of mine a call and …’ Pop.
‘… and ask him …’ Slap. ‘Let’s ask him to do your plumbing for free. And in return you’ll let me tell you what this here house looked like before we poured all that money into it, and you can …’
This was when Trey interrupted him.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘You should be careful what you say to other people about your shady dealings. Especially someone who has put his name to your tax returns and staked his reputation on their contents.’
Slap! Slap! Slap! Becky had totally lost it. And now it was my turn. I vaguely remember standing up and telling her not to use Baby like a club. I also remember telling Mitchell to shut up before he landed himself in jail. I remember pointing at Trey and making the cuckoo sign. I remember saying something to Kiki that made him look as if I had slapped him across the face, although I do not remember it being anything that anyone could construe as a racial slur. And I remember telling you, or rather the giant lilies that I thought obscured you, that we had all suffered enough now: it was time for the bill.
I remember panicking when I discovered you weren’t there. I ought to have assumed you were in the bathroom, but somehow I got it into my head – it must have been because the other women were away from their seats at this point too – that your friends were abducting you. I do not remember the lecture I apparently gave them (and everyone else at that end of the restaurant) when you all returned to your assigned places. I particularly do not remember telling them that it was a woman’s lot to follow – or that it was a man’s privilege to wear the pants.
12
When I woke up I was lying behind our living-room sofa. The room was dark except for a shaft of light coming in from the dining alcove. I tried to remember the chain of events that had brought me to this strange position. I couldn’t remember anything after the restaurant, and what I could remember about the restaurant was so bad that I hesitated before getting up to join you in bed.
Did I want you to be next to me when I woke up in the morning? Could I bear to listen to the list of all the horrible things I had done before I had a chance for a cup of coffee? Better, perhaps, to stay out here, maybe go out early and get some things for breakfast, face you after I had already made an appeasing gesture.
Why did I always do this to myself? It was while I was lying there, lacerating myself with reproaches, that I heard you clearing your throat, in the dining alcove. There was the sound of a can being opened. Then I heard you saying, ‘Thanks.’
Then a man cleared his throat and said, ‘What I think is … well, I don’t think much, so it doesn’t matter.’
It was Gabe.
What was he doing here? And what were you doing giggling at his half-hearted joke in such a throaty, brazen manner? Since when had you and Gabe been so close? What had been going on behind my back? Nothing you said to this guy over the next half hour had you ever said to me. It was like listening to a stranger, except that no, it was much worse, because up until now I had thought I knew you. But as I lay there behind the couch and listened to you play up to this other man, I realized I didn’t have a clue. My wife was a stranger. The woman I loved did not exist.
‘The only time I feel like an adult is when I’m with you,’ I heard you say to him.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Gabe asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ you said. ‘I guess you make me feel as if I’ve learned something. You’re just so young, Gabe!’
‘I don’t know if I like your attitude,’ said Gabe.
‘Well, take your attitude to the future. You consider your options as if they were empty houses that will stay on the market indefinitely while you make up your mind.’
‘Why rush?’ he said.
And you said, ‘Well, exactly. If you did, you wouldn’t be so cute. And I like listening to what you say about Audrey. That’s cute, too.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because you don’t even know each other. You’ve never argued over a utility bill, you’ve never sat on a plane together, never had a joint account. The only things you’ve ever shared are beds and tables.’
‘Then why can’t I stop thinking about her?’
This made you laugh.
‘You can’t stop thinking about her because you’re both playing hardball and she’s winning. And you know what? I feel for you, of course, but you deserve it. You weren’t so nice to her, were you? You know, it’s not enough just to love someone. But you seem to think that it’s how you feel that counts in life, and not what you do.’
‘You’re a hard woman,’ said Gabe.
‘That’s what Mike used to say.’
‘Poor guy.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ Here you paused. ‘Did I ever tell you he had hair longer than yours once? It’s hard to believe now, but he was adorable.’
‘Like me,’ said Gabe.
‘That’s right, like you. He was always changing his mind like you, too. In one breath he would say he wanted to join the fight against Pinochet, and in the next breath he’d say he wanted to travel around the world in a yacht. And you know, the stupid thing was, I used to hate him for it. I didn’t want ideas, I didn’t want contradictions. I wanted results. But what was the hurry? Now that I know what growing up is really like, I wish I had put it off.’
‘You have to put up with more than most,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t worry about it. It was just one bad night.’
‘How often is he like this?’
‘Well, he doesn’t usually tr
y to throw himself off the balcony, and he doesn’t always hide Mrs Smith’s teeth in the freezer, but I do often have to liberate his car keys.’
‘How do you manage all this and stay so cheerful?’
‘Oh, you’re making too much of it.’
‘Don’t you feel trapped?’
‘The way I look at it, I made a choice. I had a chance to live differently and I didn’t take it. He still hasn’t given up, though.’
‘Who hasn’t given up?’
‘This person I almost married. He still calls me up. I don’t tell Mike because it’s not important. His name is Stavros. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know why he hasn’t given up. I mean, it’s nice to get flowers, but as far as I’m concerned that’s not love.’
‘It sounds sort of crazy,’ said Gabe.
And you said, ‘As far as I’m concerned, you don’t really love someone until after he’s betrayed you.’
What? (I nearly shouted.)
‘You build on the ashes,’ you went on. ‘Because that’s all you have left when you get married and have children.’
To my unspeakable horror, you then went on to explain what it was like to be at home with a baby, on the day after the day you found out the full implications of men not being able to breast-feed. What it felt like to watch a man get up rested at nine in the morning when you had been up since four, what it felt like to watch him take a shower, read a paper, and know that it was all forbidden to you – the eight-hour rest, the shower, the newspaper, the outside world. That you were never going to be able to do anything again that you couldn’t combine with holding a baby.
‘What about babysitters?’ he asked.
You tried to explain about babysitters, not very successfully in my view. He protested common sense. You conceded that eventually it eased up. Eventually there were babysitters. But they didn’t make up for the horror of knowing you had walked into a trap under false pretences.
‘What trap?’
‘The family trap.’
‘What false pretences?’
‘That it has become possible for men and women to be equal.’
The Stork Club Page 8
