by Delia Ephron
“You two really should see a marriage counselor. You’re not communicating.”
Claire hung up.
“She’s gone,” said my father.
“Right.”
“I wonder where she went.”
“See, Dad, listen, you are hooked. You like having these arguments.”
“Did you see Georgia in People?”
“Yes, for the fifteenth time.”
“That’s some office she has. I called her and told her I knew she was a success when I saw her plants. She’s got one that hits the ceiling. Bet she doesn’t have to water it. Bet they do it for her.”
“I really think you and Claire need help.”
“Her kid’s a giant,” said my dad.
“So? What’s that got to do with anything? She’s a successful model.”
“I should never have left your mother.”
“Dad, she left you.”
Joe reached over my shoulder and took the phone. “Hi, Lou, it’s Joe.… Yeah. I’m sorry you’re having problems.”
He handed me the UPS box, and paced with the telephone, making comforting sounds. “Mmmm, uh-huh.” This went on for a while. “Sure, talk to you soon.” He hung up, then looked over at me with a grin so wide you could swim laps across it. “I took care of it,” he said proudly.
“That was weird.”
“I’ll say.” Joe downed the rest of his champagne and poured himself some more.
“I mean it was weird that you took the phone out of my hand. I was dealing with him.”
“Eve, honey, he’s calling ten times a week to complain about Claire. Believe me, you’re not dealing with him.” Joe started hunting through the cabinets. “We need something to go with this champagne. We need”—he laughs—“remember Cheetos?”
“Cheetos still exist.”
“They are an amazing color,” he said, shoving bottles and cans aside, looking for something to eat. Joe even went through cabinets in an exuberant manner. “Who’s the box from?” he asked.
I read the label. “It’s from Georgia, for Jesse. Joe, suppose we get a separate phone and tell the new number to everyone we know but my father. Then we won’t have to take his calls.”
“And what do we tell Jesse? This is a number your grandfather calls on and we don’t answer it? Bingo.” He pulled out a package of Goldfish crackers, ripped it open, and tossed a few from his palm into his mouth. “Look, what’s the big deal. He’s a pain in the neck, that’s all. A pain in the neck but harmless.”
“Right.”
“Do you want more champagne?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I wandered out into the living room. Joe followed me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I plopped down on the couch, feeling suddenly gloomy. “I think it was weird of you to do that.”
“But I thought you’d like it.”
“I did, but …”
“What?”
“I did.”
The next Saturday, Joe and I spent the morning decorating for Jesse’s party. Joe taped “Happy Birthday” signs all over the house—across the entryway, on the doors, above the fireplace. They were more than “Happy Birthday” signs, they were happy-family proclamations.
I had not worked for three years after Jesse was born, but I now had a part-time job planning promotions and parties at L.A. Events. This meant I could get a discount on helium balloons. In celebration of Joe’s good news and Jesse’s birthday, I went crazy: fifty of them were nudging the living room ceiling, all with long ribbons attached.
While Joe and I buzzed around decorating, Jesse sat on the floor playing with his new toy telephone.
“I think someone’s here, Jesse.” Jesse ignored me, pressing numbers on the phone, then a button to make it ring. “Hello, this is Jesse Marks speaking,” he said.
“He has the phone gene,” said Joe as Maddy let herself in, floating gently into the room, moving along like a rippling wave. Her long hair was pulled back into a braid, and she had adopted an ethereal walk. This all signified something new, but what? She had one arm out behind her, and it turned out that her index finger was linked to the index finger of a man whom she pulled in after her. Was he linked to someone else, was this a daisy chain? No, it stopped there, with this man who was wearing a leather vest and no shirt on under it. There was curly black hair on his head, arms, and chest, and he was built oddly, with a big burly top and a narrow waist and bottom. His shoulders were so wide you could shelve books on them. “Carlo, meet my family,” said Maddy. Carlo flipped his free hand up, kept it there like a stop sign, and then flipped it down again.
“She’s dating a silent wonder,” I heard myself preparing to tell Georgia.
“Hi, Carlo, how are you doing?” said Joe. Carlo gave him the thumbs-up.
Maddy grabbed Jesse and swung him around, “Hey, birthday boy.” Her clothes were different too. For months, ever since she had seen the movie Flashdance, she’d been wearing sweatshirts with scissor-cut necklines that dropped down off one naked shoulder, and she had developed this habit of rubbing her shoulder against her cheek. “Very fawnlike,” Joe had observed. But today she wore a peasant dress, an itty-bitty flowered print down to her ankles, which billowed now and then as she moved along rhythmically, one might say spiritually. Perhaps she had discovered God.
Guests started arriving—mostly parents and kids from Jesse’s pre-kindergarten class. The parents introduced themselves as someone’s mom or dad, and they stood around talking while the children rushed together and collided like players turned loose on a football field. “I’m really pleased to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about Jesse.” I kept hearing some version of that over and over. Then Minnie Mouse appeared. I had hired her, sight unseen, on the suggestion of my boss at L.A. Events. She was a cute girl wearing a Mouseketeer hat, tights that turned her legs into barber poles, high heels three sizes too big, a leotard, and a short felt skirt. She didn’t look like Minnie Mouse, more like something that leapt out of a cake at Mickey Mouse’s bachelor party. “Who’s the leader of the club?” she asked. “You,” screamed the kids. Except Jesse, who was fighting over the toy telephone with a boy named Dakota.
“Do you need help with anything?” asked Maddy, following me into the kitchen.
I pointed to a stack of napkins with G.I. Joe on them. “The party hats are over there. Put one at each place.” I slid two pizzas into the oven to heat.
“Are these apples washed?” She took one out of a bowl.
“Yes.”
She bit into it, took the piece she had bitten from between her teeth, and examined it. “You’re serving pizza and chocolate cake?”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
Maddy popped the piece back in her mouth and chewed.
“Is there something wrong with what I’m serving?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It’s just so completely unhealthy.”
“What’s so unhealthy about pizza?”
“Processed cheese.” She opened the refrigerator and gazed into it. “I swear, Eve, you’re the only person I know who still eats white bread.”
“Did you see the thing on Georgia in People?”
“First I bought it. Then Dad sent me a copy. Then he sent me another copy. All he does is call up and talk about Georgia.”
“I know. Doesn’t it drive you nuts? He always picks a day when I’ve done nothing but schlepp Jesse from one place to another. I think he has antennae for when I feel especially drippy.” I nodded toward the dining room. “Don’t forget the table.”
“Oh, right.” Maddy closed the refrigerator, took the paper napkins and hats, and froze.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just remembered something. This is really terrible.”
“What?”
“Well, Carlo has this friend who’s a fashion photographer—”
“Yes?”
“And he heard that Georgia—Oh God, this i
s so upsetting?”
“What, Maddy?”
“She could lose her job.”
“But why? Why would Georgia lose her job? She just got it last year.”
“Ad revenue is way down.” Maddy dwelled on the word “way.”
“Oh, dear.”
Maddy and I were silent a second, already psychologically at Georgia’s job funeral, grieving our heads off. Maddy absentmindedly tried on a birthday hat and snapped the elastic strap over and over. The beat provided a funereal accompaniment to our thoughts.
“Should we say something to her? Does she know about it?” I asked.
Maddy shrugged.
“God, she gets fired right after she’s in People. How embarrassing.”
“I wouldn’t be in People magazine,” said Maddy, pulling the hat off and smoothing her hair. “Well, I might be, when I become famous and need to publicize something, like myself. And I would be on Johnny Carson but, like, not …” She twirled her long braid around and around her index finger while she thought, but she couldn’t come up with any TV shows she wouldn’t be caught dead on.
“Famous as what?” I heard crying in the next room. Then screaming. Unmistakably Jesse.
“I’ve decided to become an actress,” I heard as I rushed out.
Jesse was clutching his telephone to his chest. Dakota was crying, and his mother was kissing his forehead. “Jesse hit him with the receiver,” she said almost apologetically.
“You’re not allowed to hit.” I tugged the phone out of Jesse’s arms and presented it to Dakota. “Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” Jesse mumbled.
“Did you hear what I said?” Maddy asked.
“I heard.” I picked Jesse up. “You want to be an actress? I’m surprised. You came in with a sort of earthy, peasant aroma.”
“Aroma?”
“I mean style. I wasn’t expecting—”
She interrupted. “I look centered, that’s all.”
“But aren’t you old to become an actress?” I pulled down a balloon for Jesse to hold. “Dakota will play with the telephone for a while and you will play with the balloon. When do you want to open your presents?”
“Now.” He wiggled, trying to get out of my grasp.
“I don’t see how you can say that,” said Maddy.
“Why? You’re almost twenty-eight. That gives you only twelve years, and you haven’t even taken a class yet. Isn’t forty the end of it for actresses?” I set Jesse down. “Now, behave, okay?”
“Okay?” Maddy groaned. “Eve, for God’s sake, don’t ask his permission.”
“I do that too,” said Dakota’s mom, as she went by, carrying Dakota and the phone.
“Didn’t Georgia run a piece called ‘Five Careers You Can’t Have After Forty, and Five You Can,’ and wasn’t actress a can’t?”
“I wouldn’t know, I read Vogue. I’m not surprised they’re firing her if she runs articles like that. Carlo’s twenty-five and he says I look much younger than him.” I glanced over at Carlo, who was sitting on the couch in the middle of jabbering five-year-olds, reading California magazine. “I can pass for twenty-three. No one needs to know if you don’t tell them.”
“Who would I tell? I don’t know anyone.”
“That’s for sure,” said Maddy, looking around the room.
“I think Rachel’s dad is a producer. He’s the tall one in the sweats. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
We waded through the guests, Maddy doing her lilting walk and bestowing on each and every one a beauteous, if mirthless, smile. I had to speak to several people on the way—a circumstance she dealt with politely, though she poked me in the waist when I chatted too long. “Alan, hi,” I said finally. “I’d like you to meet my sister, Madeline—”
“Madeline Lee,” interrupted Maddy. She extended her hand and widened her smile. To go with her new career, new boyfriend, new clothes, new walk, and maybe even new firm handshake, she had a new last name.
I left them, Maddy tugging on her braid, engaged in an intense conversation about life change.
“Come on, everyone,” I called. “It’s time for Jesse to open his presents.”
As I put Jesse in an armchair with the gifts stacked around him, I noticed that Joe was talking to Minnie Mouse about what it was like to walk in gigantic shoes. “Joe, I need help here.” The doorbell rang again. “Would you please get that?” I called to Katie’s mom.
“Hand me the cards when you open the presents,” I whispered to Jesse. He obediently passed one over. “This is from Dakota,” I announced.
“Me.” Dakota jabbed the air with his small fist. Behind him, I saw my father lurch into the living room.
The party stopped. Everyone looked at the wild man.
His hair, which was now gray and getting sparse, stood straight up, and his eyes were popping. He looked as if he’d been shocked—his hair spiked, his eyes boggled, and like this they had remained ever since. He held a dirty blue TWA bag, and jammed into the lapel pocket of his rumpled sports jacket was a plane ticket.
I caught Maddy’s eye across the room. “Hi, Dad,” I said. “Jesse, look who’s here. Your grandpa!”
“Who?” said Jesse.
I saw a woman hold her hand in front of her face, and then the smell hit me too. Scotch.
My father batted at the ribbons hanging in front of him. “I ran away,” he announced.
Joe took him by the arm, coaxing. “Come on, Lou.”
My father dug in, not moving. “Looks like D Day,” he said, tilting his face up at the balloons.
Joe pulled his arm. My father yanked it away.
“This is my son’s birthday party,” Joe said firmly. “We’re going into the kitchen.”
“You first.” My father grinned.
Joe headed that way. My father swayed after him.
Jesse ripped open a present. “Look what you got!” I sold the excitement of it in a mommy birthday voice, and everyone at the party started functioning again. “Thanks,” Jesse said to Dakota, looking at the Hot Wheels, then throwing the cars down without taking them out of the plastic. He grabbed another present. The doorbell rang again. “Maddy, would you get that?”
She moved over to my side. “It’s probably Claire,” she whispered.
We stood cemented. “Carlo,” she said finally, “would you get the door?”
Carlo dutifully put down the magazine, climbed over some children, and went to the door. I read another card. “This is from Rachel.”
“It’s a Cabbage Patch doll,” Rachel shouted, waving her own as an exhibit.
All the parents were watching Carlo disappear into the hall. “Do you want us to leave?” asked Katie’s mom. I shook my head.
“It’s the cabdriver,” yelled Carlo, without even sticking his head back in sight. “He wants his money.”
“Do you have money?” I asked Maddy.
“Me?” she squawked. “I’m an out-of-work actress.”
“I’ll take care of it,” said Katie’s mom.
“Thank you.” I called to everyone, “Would you excuse me for a minute?” and went into the kitchen.
My father was standing in the center of the room with his arms across his chest and his mouth in a pout.
“I’m not giving you a drink, Lou, so forget it,” Joe was saying.
“Claire’s a bitch, we’re getting divorced.”
“I don’t give a damn,” I said.
“Take it easy,” said Joe.
“How dare you? How dare you come to my house drunk? This is Jesse’s birthday.”
“I’m calling her up.”
He walked past Joe boldly, bravely. Now he didn’t just have the bullet, he was John Wayne himself, daring Joe, the bad guy, to do something like shoot. If Maddy turned out to have acting talent, this would surely be where she got it.
My father turned his back to us while he dialed. “Claire! Answer the fucking phone, Claire!” he shouted. Behind him, through the door, I could
see a slice of the living room, all heads craned this way. Jesse started crying. Maddy picked him up.
Joe took the receiver from my father. “Sit down, Lou, and shut up.”
“No, get out.” I started pushing my father, hitting him on the shoulders, knocking him backward. “Get out and don’t ever come back.”
I could feel my forehead tighten and my jaw lock, some strange paralysis setting in. I was squeezing every feeling into a tight little wad. I reached around him, pulled the back door open, and pushed him out. He stumbled backward down the steps and landed on his ass.
“Don’t ever come back to our house. Ever.”
“I saw you talking to the mouse,” he told Joe.
“What?” said Joe.
“I know what you’re up to.”
“Out of here,” I screamed.
He pulled himself up, holding on to the ivy hedge. The ivy broke, and he seized the wire fence behind. He managed to stand, but rocked like a capsized boat that had flipped back upright. “Your mother was right about you,” he sneered. “‘Throw that one back.’ That’s what she said.”
“She was right about you too,” I shouted. “Get lost, get lost.”
Joe was pulling me into the house. He shut the door.
“What happened?” Maddy stood there carrying Jesse.
I put out my arms and he went into them.
“What?”
I just shook my head.
“I’ll take care of the party,” said Joe. He went back into the living room.
“What did Dad do?” asked Maddy. I shook my head again and turned so I was facing the wall. I wanted to scream. I wanted to howl. But I just hugged Jesse tighter and tighter and started making those faces you make to stop your face from doing what it wants, which is to break into a million wet pieces. “I hate him. I hate him so much.” I turned around. “Madeline, I’m never speaking to him again. I’m never letting him set foot in my house. If he calls, I’m hanging up.”
Maddy nodded.
“I’m not kidding.”
She nodded some more.
“Oh God, I feel awful.”
Maddy stood at the counter, biting her lower lip and looking wilted, slumping, her long peasant dress sagging into a pup tent. “Aroo,” she said.
“Right, aroo.” I put Jesse down. “Go find your father, sweetie.” He ran off.
