by Mona Simpson
The waves broke huge, about ten feet and rounded like perfect glass.
“But, don’t worry, because there’ll be other men in our lives. I’ll catch another father for you, you just wait. Who knows, maybe it’ll be Josh Spritzer. Wouldn’t that be fun to have a doctor and a doctor like him, who looks like that? Everybody likes him, Ann.”
“Even if you marry him, he won’t be my father, though.”
“I don’t know. I think he would. I’ll tell you, a father is someone who. DOES for you and GIVES to you. Not just take, take, take. I mean, what makes your dad your father? Just a little sperm. And genes. What did he ever do for you?”
I shrugged and pulled my collar up. She was right. I couldn’t say anything to that.
“And I’ll tell you, if we play it smart with Josh Spritzer, he may end up being THE adoring dad. Just watch. He told me last night that his kids give him OODLES of trouble. You can’t even imagine, Ann. These kids really have problems. After dinner, we were having coffee and we talked and talked and talked about how worried he is with Andy. He doesn’t even know if Andy can get into college, with his grades, Ann. Can you imagine, with a school like Beverly High and money? You’d think he’d have everything going for him. And he can’t even get the grades. Not even for UCLA. But don’t say anything to any of your kids. Even to Amy. They’re trying to keep it quiet. I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this, because he hasn’t even told Amy. But he thinks Andy may be on drugs.
“Then, at the end, we were just going to leave, he looked at me and smiled—he’s got this huge, bright smile—and he said, I’ve been talking and talking about my kids, and you haven’t said a word about yours. You must have problems with Ann, too.’
“And I said, ‘Well, no, as a matter of fact, I don’t.’ He said, ‘You don’t?’ And he looked at me, like this, you know, and said, ‘You don’t worry about drugs or her getting in with the wrong group of kids or anything?’ And I said, ‘Well, actually, we have pretty good communication. When she has a problem, she tells me and we work it out together.’
“And let me tell you, he was impressed, Ann. He was thinking to himself, Why aren’t my kids more like her? You can bet.”
We kept walking. She had no idea. I didn’t tell her my problems. But I just jammed my hands farther down in my pockets. I wasn’t going to fight now. I liked Dr. Spritzer.
She yawned. “I’m getting hungry. Should we trek up and see if Alice’s is open?”
The pier seemed a long way off, but we could see the restaurant, with its shingled turret, from where we were. We started diagonally up the sand.
“Wouldn’t you love a dog on the beach? Maybe we should get a dog!” My mother’s voice boomed loud. The ocean always made her optimistic.
The sand became darker and dirty, when we got up near the restaurant. We stood and looked until we found our car, more than a mile down, by the side of the road.
My mother slapped her thigh. “Well, we can eat whatever we want and the walk back will work it off. We need that little exercise.”
She grabbed my hand, right as I turned from the water, to follow the pebbled path to the door. “You know, we made the right choice, coming here. It was hard at first, but look at us now. Look at you. You’re getting braces. With your teeth straight, your face will be just perfect and you’re in Beverly Hills High with the richest and the smartest kids in the world. Really, Ann. The very top, top kids in this world. We never could have had any of this in Wisconsin.”
She stood looking down at my face, waiting for something.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“You’re really going to be somebody some day. These kids you meet now will be your connections, your milieu, for the rest of your life. I only wish I’d had the chances you’ll have.”
Where we walked in there were overturned chairs stacked on tables. A broom was pitched against the wall. At the front, farther down on the pier, a waitress walked between tables with a coffeepot. Her thongs flapped loudly on the floor.
We took a table next to the window. There was one surfer, far away. “He shouldn’t be out there all alone,” my mother said. “Do you see another one? They’re always supposed to have a buddy.”
The waitress came to give us coffee. She didn’t ask, she just slapped two mugs down and filled them. The skin on her face seemed tight and her toes looked old with wrinkles. But her hair was bleached white and her legs and arms were downy. She probably wasn’t much older than I was. Her name, on a plastic pin, was Dawn.
“Isn’t this great being up early? It’s just seven now. We’re not usually even up yet. Look at that. Did you see that wave? Absolutely amazing.”
We ordered huge, sloppy omelettes that came with herbed potatoes and raisin wheat bread.
“We’ll get a good breakfast and start the day with protein,” my mother said. After one date, we already felt richer.
“So, when are you going to see him again?”
“Next Saturday night. He’s going to take me to the opera.” My mother sighed. “I’m going to need clothes for all this.” She started biting her hand. She did that when she was nervous. It made her look terrible.
We felt rich for about as long as it took us to eat our food. Then the dread came back. All we’d have to do. Our plates lay almost empty; only crusts and the rind of a pineapple slice. It would be light in Dr. Spritzer’s apartment now. He would be up, moving around. Loose.
“I’m going to have to have clothes and get my nails done. Let me tell you, Ann, there are plenty of women who’d give an arm and a leg to go out with this man. And they can spend all day in the beauty parlor with the manicures and the hairdressers and the leg waxes. And I just can’t.”
“But he liked you.”
“I know. But let’s face it. He saw me in my best thing. The green. And that’s really all I have that’s new.”
“I need clothes, too.”
“Oh, no, Honey. You really don’t. You’re just a child. Remember, I’m the one who has to catch us a man.”
“I’m almost fifteen.”
“I know you are, but believe me, I’m the one who has to find you a father—you really don’t need clothes now. When you really need them is in college. You’re not going to marry any of these boys you know now. They don’t really get serious about you until college. And don’t worry, because by then, you’ll have the clothes and a great big house to bring your kids home to. I think we will by then, Ann. I really do.”
She stared down at her plate and dutifully ate her crusts.
I looked around the restaurant. Then I saw three girls from my school, their black flippers on the floor next to their feet, their hair wet and combed. I panicked. It felt like my mother at Baskin-Robbins. I didn’t want them to see me. They sat across from each other, talking and sipping coffee. I wanted to leave.
“There’s some kids from school behind you. But please don’t look now,” I whispered. Now I hated the clothes I had on.
My mother immediately turned. “Where?”
“Over there, but would you please—”
“Well go say hi to them. Go on, I’ll pay the check and you go over and say hi. Go on. You look real cute.”
“I don’t want them to see me.”
“Don’t be silly. Go on. You know what it is, it’s your insecurity. And you shouldn’t be insecure. You look darling. Really.”
For a second, my eyes lifted, and at that moment, one of them saw me.
“Hi,” she mouthed. “Come on over.”
“They see me,” I said in a low voice.
“Well, I’ll pay the bill, you go on.”
While my mother walked to the cash register, I skipped up the two steps to where they were. They pulled over a chair for me. One of them got up and took a cup from the waitress’s station and poured me coffee. They moved quickly and easily, rearranging themselves and changing like the waves outside.
Huge breakfasts lay in front of them on the table. They each had omelett
es with potatoes. There was a bowl of fruit and yogurt and a large plate of thick french toast with powdered sugar in the middle. They had a side order of ham. I felt hungry again. They must have seen me looking.
“Surfing makes you eat a lot,” Leslie said. “We’ve been here since five.”
“They got me out that early.”
“Feels good when you’re in though.”
Windows surrounded the table and the light played now from here, now from over there. They were girls I knew from school, smart girls, who sat near the front of the class and asked questions.
“I better go, I think my mom’s ready to leave.” She stood by the cash register holding her closed purse in front of her. When I looked at her, she smiled.
“That’s your mom? She’s a fox.”
“You guys surf?”
“Leslie surfs. We swim. It just feels good to be out in the morning. What are you doing here? Having breakfast with your mom? You do that a lot?”
“No, she had a big date last night, her first big date in California. So she woke me up and we came here so she could tell me about it.”
Their chins sank on their hands. Their mouths fell loose. They leaned forward on the table.
“She tells you?”
I nodded. “We’re pretty close.”
“Did it go all right?” Leslie whispered. “The date?”
“So far. But you never know. They’re so innocent.” I turned and looked at my mother. “You could break her heart with a blow dryer—you guys don’t want this food?”
“You hungry? Here. We’ll order more. Isabelle’s got her dad’s credit card.”
“Do you think she slept with him?”
I nodded. “She did.”
Susan gasped, then caught herself. “Today’s assembly, you know. We don’t have to be there for first section. Until ten. We could give you a ride if you want.”
“Yeah. Stay with us.”
They picked at their food carelessly.
I walked down to my mother. She smiled at me. For once, it was me who touched her arm.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You looked like you were all having fun up there. I was just watching you. Real cute girls. We’ll do something with them once maybe. I’ll take you kids out to dinner or a movie.”
My mother was walking to the door, as if we were leaving. I followed a little back, trying to slow her. Finally, we were there at the door. She opened it.
“Come on, Pooh.”
I shrugged. “There’s an assembly today, we can come late, so I’ll stay here with them and they’ll give me a ride.”
My mother’s mouth twitched, then remade itself, but differently. “How can those kids drive? They’re only fourteen.”
“Susan’s a junior. She has her license. She got a car for her birthday.”
My mother ran her espadrille on the sand. She was outside already.
“I don’t know if I want you going back in that car with them. We don’t know how she drives, anything. You could be dead.” She shook her head. “I’ll worry all day. Why don’t I just drive you and we’ll take them out some other time. I could even bring the bunch of you here to the beach. Some Saturday or Sunday. You kids can lie in the sun. I’ll bring a book and go sit by myself a little so you kids can talk alone.”
“If you drop me off now, I won’t have anything to do until ten.”
“You could study in the library. Get ahead with your work.”
“I want to stay,” I said.
“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, have a good time.” She looked enviously back at the restaurant. “I have to get going or I’ll be late. You make sure she drives carefully. Okay, promise me that.”
“I will.”
She walked a few steps then turned back. “Wear your seat belt.”
I’d never worn a seat belt in my life. My mother and I never used them. “Okay,” I said.
I stood at the door watching her. When I turned back towards the table, I couldn’t help thinking of how she was walking alone, all that way back to where our car was.
CAROL
9
HAPPINESS AND ACCIDENTS
When I look at those old pictures I hauled out for you, I see things I didn’t see at the time. Mostly Hal, I guess. How unhappy he was. He’s always got some goofy expression, holding his fingers up, rabbit ears over your head or making a face. Never anything just sincere or natural. Never a smile. I suppose Hal had it hard. Jimmy traveled three, four days a week those years, when Hal was growing up. He went on the road selling water softeners. Jimmy was Northeastern Regional #1 for Aqua-Max. And even just Brown County is a lot of little towns. I knew his route by heart in those days and I used to keep a little patch from the Wisconsin map torn off and taped up by the telephone. I put pins in it, so Hal would always know where his father was.
Benny was just happier, you can see it, in all the pictures, he’s got that grin. That just looks like Benny to me. There he is in his costume by the boat. He was ring bearer for Brozek’s wedding. You know, we did a lot, we really did things, when the boys were young. We had the boat and the snowmobile, and then for a long time we went up to the trailer.
We went to Disneyland, the four of us, we drove out in the mobile home. That was the first trailer and it wasn’t a big one, but we had fun in it. It had bunk beds where they each slept and a kitchenette. We saw a lot that way, driving. Didn’t you go to Disneyland too once with your mom and dad? I thought you and your mom flew out there. She was like that, whatever we did, you had to do, but better. So, if we drove the trailer out, you flew. But it was the same Disneyland we saw once we got there.
We traveled a lot then because Jimmy won trips as bonuses. And did he ever sell the water softeners! That was a good time for us and we liked the water softener people. They had fun. When you went somewhere, like a convention with them, they partied. We’d go out. These people with the Rug Doctor are all Jehovah’s Witnesses. And they really sort of stick together. They come with their families, they bring the kids along to everything. And they don’t drink or dance, so there’s not much you can really do with them. They’re nice and all during the lectures and the meetings, but then, after, in the evenings, they don’t really socialize with you if you’re not one of them.
And you, too, look at you. You’re real happy in those old pictures. You can tell you and Benny are friends, even though you’re not looking at each other—you’re each holding up your toys, he’s got his roller skate hanging down and his drum, you’ve got your deer. And all those packages behind you. Your mom always went overboard at Christmas. I think we still have that dollhouse somewhere in the basement. But look at your eyes and mouth. You look so grateful, like you’re almost going to cry. I remember how you were. You and Benny had a good period when you were little, lot of people don’t even have that.
I think you did change after your dad left, you and your mom both. Or who knows, maybe it was just getting older and going to school. You seemed quieter. I think you always studied a lot. But you didn’t have that smile with the open eyes that you had when you were real small. When you were small, you always looked so grateful, nothing like your mom. I think Benny always kept that, but then Benny had it easier.
I worried about you. We felt bad for you with your mother. We thought you’d be the one to have it hard.
I remember once you wanted to go to school with Benny. He was in kindergarten then, not even real school, and I wrote a note and so you went. And Ann, you loved it, you just always liked school. You wanted to go again, and you went once or twice more. Then they were having a field trip. They were going to go on a bus to see Hansen’s Dairy. The teacher sent a note home, the parents had to sign permission, a few days before. Oh crumps, all those years of notes and permission forms, every time you’re absent, you have to have an excuse when you’re sick to get out of gym. They really are hard on kids. Harder than needs be.
Well, I wrote your name in, too, and signed it, but when you came o
ff the school bus that day, you and Benny both had notes pinned to your sleeves from the teacher. You weren’t a five-year-old, she said, you weren’t in the class, no, you couldn’t come, you’d have to wait until next year. Now that seems mean, doesn’t it? I don’t know, maybe she had enough in her class already. But you wouldn’t think one more would be any trouble. They had those ropes with the loops on them and you kids would each put your hands in one loop and go like that, roped together, when they took you across the street. It looked pretty in spring, when all the girls wore their nice summer dresses. I suppose they took those ropes along on field trips. So they never had to worry about losing you.
I remember telling you that, that you couldn’t go to the dairy. You had to stay home. You were just mortified. I said it real fast, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, I was probably doing something else, unloading groceries, who knows what anymore. Well, your chin puckered up and wobbled, I could see you just trying your hardest not to cry and you didn’t, not that I saw. You walked out of the screen door, with your hands real stiff by your sides and your head high. Your mother probably taught you that.
But with all your mother’s messes, you turned out okay. Our kids were the ones who had the trouble. I will say this, your mom was right about one thing: education.
We didn’t put as much stress on school. Hal had good marks all through grade school and the highest in his class on the Iowa Basics. I always thought that was why Adele liked him; she figured they were two of a kind, both smart in this family of averages. Benny always came home with Cs. I tried to help Ben with his schoolwork, but Jimmy didn’t care too much. After work, he’d take Ben outside and toss a football until it was time for supper. He thought they should learn more outdoor things. Sports. I suppose that’s normal with boys.
I sometimes wish I had a daughter. I would have liked that, I think. You know, going shopping and just talking, the things you do with a girl. You were a little like a daughter when you lived here.
