by Noah Bly
Arthur drops his meaty arm over her shoulders and shakes his head at me in disbelief. “For God’s sake, Hester,” he growls. “Don’t start. Not here, not now.”
It’s as if the moment of rapport in the concert hall a few minutes ago never happened.
Bonnie eyes the rest of us and makes a graceless attempt at redirecting the conversation. “Hester. That was a tremendous class. Really.”
With her nervous mannerisms and emaciated body, Bonnie always reminds me of a Chihuahua. She takes my arm and tries to lead me apart from the others. “I especially appreciated your insights into the Chopin. I was just saying a moment ago that no one knows the Romantics like you do.”
I rip my eyes away from Arthur’s protective embrace of Martha and turn to Bonnie. “That’s very generous of you, dear. Yes, I’m quite fond of Chopin.” I give a conspiratorial chuckle and plant my feet in the ground, refusing to be herded. “Even though he was a bit of a scoundrel, really. For instance, did you know that while he was in a supposedly monogamous relationship with George Sand, he was also having an affair with a brainless, unbathed, stubby little village girl?”
Martha blanches and Arthur looks as if he’s having a grand mal seizure. He grinds his teeth together and tugs at his gray beard with his free hand. “I’m warning you, Hester.”
“Warning me about what, darling? I thought you’d rather enjoy hearing about another musically famous lecher with deplorable taste in mistresses.”
Bonnie’s grip on my arm tightens. “Please, Hester. Stop this.”
Silence is forming around our small group as other people in the vicinity become aware of the altercation.
I wince, and lie. “That’s my bad arm, Bonnie.”
She flinches and lets go, but then narrows her eyes at me. “It isn’t either. You broke your left wrist, not your right.”
“Oh, yes, silly me. What I meant was, mind your own business, Bonnie. This has nothing to do with you.”
She tightens her jaw. “Anything that happens in this building between faculty members is my business, Hester. Watch yourself.”
“Excuse me?” I can’t believe my ears. This yapping little bureaucrat actually thinks she can rein me in. I draw myself up to put her in her place, too, but all of a sudden Caitlin reappears on my other side and interrupts for no apparent reason.
She gives a cold nod to Arthur. “Hi, Dad.” She examines him with hostility. “You look ridiculous with that beard. How have you been?”
It’s heartening to see she now despises Arthur as much as she despises me. That’s a relatively new development; up until this last year she always reserved the lion’s share of her wrath for me, and basically ignored Arthur. But much can change in a year.
His nod is equally chilly. “I’m well.” He waits a moment before deciding to simulate polite behavior. “And you?”
“Fine.” Caitlin shrugs. “Ever since I disowned both you and Mother, my life has been quite good. But thanks for asking. Really.” She sniffs. “I so much appreciate your pathetic mimicking of fatherly concern.”
The hurt on Arthur’s face is unfeigned. He’s not used to the change in their relationship, and whatever psychic armor he’s constructed thus far to ward off her attacks is woefully inadequate. Caitlin may not be a virtuoso on the piano or the violin, but she has a genius for hatred.
“That’s unnecessary,” he says. “I don’t deserve that from you, do I?”
The cruelty in her smile surprises even me. “Are you really going to attempt to take the high moral ground here, Dad? I wouldn’t bother, if I were you.”
He bristles and starts to say something else but she turns to Martha before he can get the words out.
Her voice, oddly, becomes almost civil. “Hello, Martha. You look wonderful today.” She pauses. “Have you lost weight?”
If I didn’t know better, I could swear she was being sincere.
Martha, surprised, puffs up at the compliment. “Thank you, Caitlin.” She gives me a pointed glance before going on. “Yes, I’ve found a terrific diet and it’s doing wonders.”
I nod with enthusiasm. “It certainly is!”
She gapes at me.
“Honestly, Martha, I’m being serious.” I play with one of my earrings. In truth, she’s gorgeous, and it makes me furious. “I really do believe you’ve lost at least a chin or two since I last saw you. Congratulations.”
Bonnie seizes my arm again and pinches me. “That is absolutely enough.”
Martha purses her lips. “You have no right to speak to me like that.”
My control begins to slide. “And you have no right to speak to me at all, Martha. Lying whores should be seen and not heard.”
Tears of fury spring into her eyes and she begins to sputter. Arthur is so irate he’s trembling. He looks at me for a long time with complete scorn, all the while fussing with his beard, then he turns his head back to Martha and squeezes her shoulders again.
“Don’t pay attention to Hester, sweetheart,” he murmurs loud enough for us all to hear. “She’s just bitter because she lost her looks so many years ago.” His hand drifts up to stroke her hair.
“Arthur!” Bonnie barks. “Not another word.”
“Don’t, Dad,” Caitlin whispers.
Arthur ignores them both. “And not only that, she also knows I never loved her the way I love you.” He kisses her cheek twice. “Ever.” He fixes me with his arctic gray eyes, unblinking. “So pity poor old Hester, but don’t let her get to you, okay?”
In some dim corner of my mind, I’m aware that the rest of the room has now fallen silent, except for a few nervous coughs somewhere behind me. Someone tosses something into the garbage; I can hear the creaking of the hinged metal lid on the top of the trash can as it swings back and forth. Out of the corner of my eye I see Viktor, watching me with concern. He’s standing a few feet away with his arms folded over his soiled sweater. He looks like a lost little boy. Miranda Moore is here as well, in a cluster with several of my other students.
I feel dead inside. It’s queer how dead I feel. “That’s true enough, I suppose.” I grope for words. “And far be it from me to argue with you about the quality of your so-called ‘love.’”
I take a deep breath, recovering, and reach around Bonnie to retrieve a plastic cup full of pink fruit punch from the end of the refreshment table. “But then again …”
They’re all watching me. Arthur, Martha, Bonnie, Caitlin, and the entire lobby full of people. Arthur’s mouth is pressed into a thin, angry line, Martha has a triumphant gleam in her eye, Bonnie seems torn between sympathy and indignation. Caitlin, though, just looks resigned, as if she knows what’s coming. She catches my eye, and a sad smile flickers across her face.
My smart girl. She’s always been my smart girl.
“… but then again,” I repeat, “how could I possibly compare to Martha? It’s not a fair contest.” I cough before continuing. “After all, I’m just a human being, Arthur. If I’d known about your perverse fetish for flabby, bucktoothed Jersey cows, I never would have married you in the first place.”
The stillness in the room is almost unbearable. Arthur releases Martha in a convulsive motion and takes a heavy, threatening step toward me, but then he seems to remember where he is and grinds to a halt again.
The dead feeling is gone, ousted by a sudden, cleansing wrath.
I raise my glass and salute him. “Well, kudos for your defiance of those bothersome bestiality laws, dear.” I salute Martha as well. “To your health, Martha. Or, as you’d say it in your charming native tongue: MOO.”
There’s a gasp or two behind me, and what I could swear is several people trying very hard not to laugh.
Oh, my. Martha is so agitated her adorable Roman nose is quivering. And Arthur is clearly beside himself, too; he’s almost panting with fury.
Without warning, Martha snaps. She cocks her arm back and with a loud hiss she flings her plate of cookies at me. I duck to get out of the way, but it turns
out to be unnecessary; her aim is terrible. Aside from a half-eaten Oreo hitting Bonnie with some force in the stomach, all the rest of the goodies fall short and land harmlessly on the red carpet at our feet. The paper plate itself careens off Caitlin’s thigh and glides under the table.
We all stare at Martha in amazement.
“How dare you!” she screams. Her whole body is shaking. “You vicious, horrid old cunt!”
I calmly inspect my drink. “Why are you so upset, sweetheart? Is my bovine pronunciation incorrect? Let me try again. Moo. Is that better?” I draw out the vowels for her. “Moooo? Moooo!”
She screams again and lunges forward. Arthur catches her arm as I toss my fruit punch in her face, ice and all. Her eyes go wide and she stands frozen in horror as the punch cascades down the front of her pretty dress.
Bonnie and Caitlin have disappeared somewhere when I wasn’t looking. The cowards.
“Oh, dear,” I cluck. “That’s likely to leave a stain.”
Arthur’s words are quiet. “You’ll pay for this, Hester. I swear to God, you’ll pay for this.” He grunts profanities in a steady stream as he moves to comfort Martha. He steps on a green-frosted sugar cookie on the way, crumbling it into dust.
The entire room seems to be holding its breath to see what will happen next. The show isn’t over, not by a long shot. Martha is a serious drama queen, and we’re all expecting a marvelous tantrum. Divas are so predictable.
Bless her. She doesn’t let us down.
She turns into a madwoman. She throws herself at me again and again, but Arthur has both arms wrapped around her and won’t let her go, and she howls and spits like a cat in a bathtub.
I applaud. “Bravissima, Martha! What a lovely aria. You’ve never been in better voice.”
She covers her face and wails and bleats. “Make her staaaahhhhhp, Arthur, make her staaaaahhhpp! Pleeaaasse! Aaarrthuuuuurrrr …”
This is the happiest I’ve been in months.
I wait for her to quiet down again so I can say something else. Maybe I can actually cause her to have a stroke.
From out of the blue, Bonnie and Caitlin, working in tandem, seize me from both sides and escort me, protesting, to the lobby entrance. Caitlin is wearing her coat and Bonnie is carrying mine, along with my purse.
“What are you two simpletons doing?” I demand. “Have you lost your minds?”
Neither answers. I get one last glimpse of Arthur’s splotchy, enraged face, then Bonnie pushes me through the door and out into the cold. I struggle to get away from them, but they don’t let go of me until we’re standing several feet away from the entrance. I continue to berate them even when we finally come to a stop on the concrete steps of the fine arts building. Caitlin ignores my tirade and moves to the side, breathing hard.
Bonnie stuffs my coat in my arms and tells me to shut up. Her voice is ragged and tired.
I bridle. “There’s no need to be rude, Bonnie.”
She hugs herself for warmth and searches my face.
I’m in no mood to be scrutinized by a dull-witted harpsichordist. “Is there a problem?” I demand. “I really don’t appreciate being manhandled, by the way. I’m tempted to file a complaint.”
She shifts her weight and grimaces. “I may have to fire you for this, Hester.”
I stare at her for a long time. “I’m tenured. You can’t fire me for something this trivial.” My breath turns to mist in the air and I put my coat on automatically, shivering.
“Don’t be so sure about that.” She hands me my purse when my hands are free. “Your tenure may indeed be an obstacle to your removal, but I promise that if I decide to get rid of you, you’ll be gone, one way or another.” She kicks at a piece of ice on the top step and rubs her temples. “In any case, don’t bother to come back to work again until I call you.”
With an abrupt nod to Caitlin, she turns away and disappears into the building again, leaving my daughter and me together outside. While the door remains open I can hear the ongoing pandemonium in the lobby. Martha is still bellowing at the top of her lungs and no one seems to know what to do with her. The door shuts again, showing me my reflection in the steamy glass.
The exhilaration I was feeling a moment ago is altogether gone, banished by shock and a sudden, horrible weariness. Arthur’s apoplectic expression as I was being ushered out of the reception flashes through my mind; I don’t think I’ve ever seen such hatred on a human face.
Surely that’s not the reaction I wanted. Was it?
Surely not.
I examine myself as if I were a stranger, and my throat closes up. Dear Lord, I’m tired. From my shiny black shoes to my thin white hair, I look terribly old. Old and feeble.
I very much want to go home now.
I button my coat in silence before glancing at Caitlin’s image in the door.
She frowns at me. “You’ve looked better, Mother.”
I sigh. Good old Caitlin. I can always count on her when I’m feeling down.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, thank you, dear.” I pat my hair and open my purse to get my gloves and car keys.
She doesn’t answer, and when I look up again her face in the glass is expressionless. Her eyes probe mine in the crude mirror, no doubt looking for a weakness to exploit.
Damn her.
I may be down, but I’m not so far down as that.
I force a smile and turn around again. “But a little wear and tear is to be expected, don’t you think?” I have to fight to control the tremor in my hands as I tug on my gloves. “After all, these formal receptions take a great deal out of me. They’re so dreadfully boring.”
There’s a long silence, but eventually the corners of her mouth turn up, just as I knew they would.
“God, Hester.” She shakes her head. “You really haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
She spins on her heels then and leaves me alone on the steps, wondering if I only imagined the faint note of tenderness in her voice as she spoke my name.
CHAPTER 10
“I don’t want to do this, Mother.”
Caitlin was standing by the piano, clutching her flute in front of her stocky chest as if it were a talisman against evil. Her thirteen-year-old face was twisted in misery as she glared at each of us, sitting together in a knot a few feet away from her. Arthur and I were sharing a piano bench in the middle of the room, and the boys were sprawled on the floor in front of us, leaning against each other and giggling like old drinking buddies at their favorite bar.
Caitlin was preparing for an audition with the St. Louis Youth Symphony the next day, and Arthur and I had thought it would be wise for her to play her orchestral excerpts and scales for an “audience” prior to the audition itself, to help her get over her pre-performance jitters. She had agreed with our plan at first, but now that she was on the spot in our music room, she was digging in her heels.
“I know you don’t want to, dear, but it’s for your own good,” I told her. “And there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re your family.”
Arthur nodded. “Besides that, we’ve all been through this sort of thing more times than you can count, and you couldn’t ask for a more sympathetic set of ears.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That’s right,” Paul chimed in. “Just play, Caitlin. Jeremy and I promise not to make fun of you.”
I reached down and ran my fingers through his clean brown hair. Arthur and I had spoken to both boys about being kind to their sister when it came to her musical endeavors, because we all knew how sensitive she was about her modest skills on the flute and the piano.
“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “We’ll just smirk behind our hands. You won’t even notice we’re doing it.”
I jabbed him in the kidney with my toe. “Ignore him, Caitlin. There will be no smirking.”
She held her flute tighter. “I said I don’t want to.”
Arthur’s well of patience, never very deep, was quickly drying up. “For God’s sake, c
hild. Just be a good girl and trust that your mother and I know what we’re doing, okay? It will only take ten minutes, and you’ll feel much better about your audition when you’re done.”
I didn’t know why she was being so obtuse, but thus far I wasn’t taking her behavior too seriously. It was a superb spring afternoon outside, and the sun coming through the windows was lighting up the forest painting on the sides of my piano. Every time I looked at this imaginary forest, I saw something new. This morning I’d found what appeared to be the tail of a black squirrel, hidden in the crook of a tree.
I tried to jolly Caitlin along, so we could be done with this and enjoy the rest of the day. “The sooner you get through this, darling, the sooner you can go back to reading in your room and pretending none of us exist. Why don’t you just start with a few major scales? You’re quite competent at those.”
“No,” she said, adamant. “This dumb audition was your idea anyway, and you never even asked me if I wanted to be in the stupid symphony in the first place. You’re just worried I’ll play badly tomorrow and embarrass all of you in front of the whole world.”
I blinked. “That’s an absurd thing to say. Of course we want you to do well, but the only way you could possibly embarrass us is by doing what you’re doing right now.”
She stared at the floor. “No.”
Jeremy spoke up.” If you’re nervous, just picture Mom and Dad in their underwear. You’ll be so traumatized you won’t have to worry about anything else.” He shuddered. “Oh, shit. Forget I said that, okay?”
The corners of her mouth quirked up, in spite of herself.
Paul laughed. “Yeah, that’s good. Think about Dad in a pair of tighty-whities.” He cackled. “And wearing one of Mom’s bras, too, while you’re at it.” He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. “You’re starting to get man-boobs, by the way, Dad. I’ve been meaning to tell you that a bra might be a really good idea.”
Arthur leaned over and gave Paul a shove, causing him to lose his balance and topple into Jeremy. Jeremy fell over, too, and both boys ended up flat on the floor, chortling.
