Linda reenters the living room as Ted hits upon the idea of employing the coasters in order to demonstrate to Hayden how a person gets appointed to the president’s cabinet. Only Hayden is restlessly wandering around the room, pretending to study the lithographs of ships that line the far wall. When he does catch a glimpse of Ted yammering away, all he can concentrate on is the way his son-in-law looks like a horse raising a thick upper lip as if about to bite down on an apple.
“You know, Dad, you’re welcome to come and live with Ted and me,” Linda says as she refills her father’s glass with expensive Chivas Regal. “I mean, if it’s too much of a strain being with Diana.”
It’s all Hayden can do not to laugh at the very notion. Move in with Linda and Ted? Talk about dying a thousand deaths. He coughs and then clears his throat. “Yes, well, it’s awfully kind o’ you, but Diana needs me to watch Joseph while she’s at work.” My God, did he just say Joseph? Something about the vaulted ceilings, dark stone fireplace, and Ted’s blue blazer with the bright gold buttons makes him feel that a high degree of formality is in order.
Diana walks into the room leading Joey by the hand and with Rosamond following a few steps behind. “I think we’d better be heading on home,” Diana announces, her voice still quavering from being so upset. “I have to work in the morning.”
“Of course, your new job!” says Linda and gives her big phony smile. “It must be so exciting.”
But Diana is certain her meaning is more along the lines of Diana rarely holding a job for more than a year, and that she shouldn’t be working in the first place with Joey off from school for the summer and not away at an expensive camp.
They all exchange stiff hugs and kisses, except for Rosamond and Linda, who coolly shake hands. Rosamond musters her inner resources to hide how hurt she is. But then she chastises herself for thinking of her own feelings at such a difficult time for the family. She resolves to pray to Our Lady of Perpetual Help for Linda’s sorrow to be lifted and to be freed from all her sufferings, whatever they might be.
As Diana backs the car out of the perfectly edged driveway Hayden lets out a sigh of relief and says, “Hurry up so I can get home and have a drink.”
“You just had three drinks and if you dare pour another one when we get home I’ll turn around and bring you back here for good,” threatens Diana.
“You drive a hard bargain woman, but I’d much rather drown in your prune juice than have to hear how Ted is solely responsible for Newark airport winning the best safety rating of any transportation center in the Northeast.”
chapter thirty-three
By the first week of August the summer heat lies in a thick blanket across the ground. The air no longer cools during the night and the pitch in the driveway adds a sticky residue to anything left on it for more than a moment, including a person’s foot.
On Sunday morning, Hayden, Rosamond, and Joey pile into the station wagon and travel down Atlantic Avenue toward the intersection of Utica and Pacific, in the neighborhood known as Bedford-Stuyvesant. Flags from Honduras, Haiti, and Jamaica announce the types of cuisine at the various restaurants. Islamic and Catholic schools stand directly across the street from each other. Hayden finds a parking spot on Pacific Avenue and the three make their way to the Grace Tabernacle Christian Center Church of God in Christ.
Inside the hot sanctuary sits a predominantly black congregation, with a few tan and white regulars, and several rows of Evian-clutching tourists in the back pews. The chance that a parishioner is wearing a neatly pressed suit or a fancy dress and a matching woven hat with cloth flowers and netted veil increases with proximity to the altar. The women in the front pews clutch well-worn Bibles and plastic lace fans that click like metronomes as they stir the heavy air. Both Bibles and fans double as disciplinary devices for the swarm of little children in their Sunday best who squirm and giggle and run pell-mell between the rows of wooden benches.
Rosamond is amazed at the contrast between this busy and lively place of worship and the hushed atmosphere of the convent chapel, where noise by humans is viewed as a disruption. Whereas here the confusion of people bustling about seems to contribute to an ambience that soothes and reassures.
“If anything is going to make me a believer it’s gospel music,” Hayden whispers to Rosamond as the service begins. “Wait ’til you hear this.”
The soaring but rhythmic hymns reach deep into the souls of the congregation and many close their eyes and wave a hand or a purse-sized Bible above their head or rock back and forth as if in rapture of the Lord. All three clap their hands to the uplifting choruses and harmonies of “Oh Happy Day.”
An African American woman wearing a brightly flowered dress adorned with two strands of large white pearls and a corsage of orange carnations and baby’s breath shuffles to the front of the choir. The only incongruity to her outfit, which would be more than appropriate for a wedding, is the pair of fuzzy pink bedroom slippers on her feet.
There’s an air of expectation and everyone sits up a little straighter. For a few moments she simply stands before them, swaying and nodding down at the floor as if in a trance. At last she is upright and looking out at the crowd with large brown luminous eyes and a knowing smile, the way a cleanup batter sizes up the pitcher and the playing field. And the congregation seems to collectively inhale as if anticipating that she’s deep in concentration, preparing to hit one out of the ballpark. The woman produces a few preemptive murmurings as the choir continues to clap and hum and build up the backbeat, as if they’re the launching pad that’s going to assist in sending this rocket heavenward.
She takes a deep breath using her entire body, and it appears that something monumental is about to happen, but she suddenly pulls back, and returns to swaying. The tourists glance around to see what could have caused the false start. The regulars, on the other hand, know that the atmosphere must be perfect for the spirit to come, and that such hesitations can occur another four or five times. But these only serve to increase the impact when it finally arrives, and after the next round of preparation, the moment is right. The woman seizes upon such a lungful of oxygen that she has to lean forward to catch it all and when she comes upright it’s only to bend so far back that she’s pointed way above their heads. When her mouth opens a stunning solo takes to the air that can make dreams come to life with its powerful message of praise, sacrifice, and hope. The final “Jesus” momentarily stops the pulse of every person in the sanctuary as the last s hovers in the air long past any remembrance of the middle s. The note goes straight up past the altar and directly to the gates of heaven. As the vocalist comes in for a landing the worshipers bow their heads in thanks for being blessed by experiencing such a moving encounter with the truly divine and otherwise inscrutable.
Following the service Hayden manages to shake hands with half the congregation and gets invited to a revival meeting along with the annual pancake ’n’ prayer breakfast. Then the trio clamber back into the sweltering car and head to the waterfront village of Red Hook, with its cobblestone streets and old-fashioned clam shacks. The neighborhood is cut off from the rest of South Brooklyn by the Gowanus Expressway, out on a peninsula that even the subways don’t reach. Hayden explains how during World War II it was a bustling center of shipbuilding, shipping, and warehousing.
Now the streets are quiet except for summer Sundays when a converted barge acts as a stage for vaudeville acts, jugglers, comedians, and sleight-of-hand artists. While Joey and Rosamond compete with each other to figure out how the magic tricks are accomplished Hayden becomes bored and wanders across the street to argue with some nicely dressed Jehovah’s Witnesses handing out copies of their spiritual newsletter Awake!
On the way home they pull up in front of a ramshackle shop on Court Street in Carroll Gardens to pick up fresh mozzarella, as per Diana’s orders, so that she can make lasagna the next day. The local scene is reminiscent of the movie Goodfellas, where a good cannoli takes priority over most everything els
e. As they pass the bakery favored by both the Colombo and Gambino families, Joey begs Hayden, “Can we please get napoleons?”
They pause in front of the bakery where the windows are filled with cookies and chocolate éclairs and the luscious smell of fresh baked bread drifts out onto the street.
“What are napoleons?” asks Rosamond.
“Pastry with custard cream.” Hayden points to the flaky pieces of cake topped with a delicate coating of brown-and-white icing. “Best baked goods in the world! I sure wouldn’t mind a chocolate éclair.” And though it’s only forty-five minutes until dinner, they rush into the bakery.
Hayden orders Joey’s napoleon and the chocolate éclair for himself. After torturous indecision Rosamond finally settles on zabaglione, a foamy custard flavored with Grand Marnier poured over fresh raspberries.
While enjoying the forbidden treats they stroll through the old section of Carroll Gardens where the row houses are set back from the street behind lush gardens containing painted Madonnas, Saint Francis birdbaths, and plaster sheep. Old folks relax in folding chairs on the lawns and children romp in plastic bathing pools. There’s no traffic to break the serenity and it’s possible to hear the birds scuffling in the trees above while the crickets tune up for their nightly concert. The narrow sidewalks are canopied by foliage and beyond the treetops the evening star flickers like a lamp just lit. It’s a perfect summer evening.
Even Joey realizes that the moment is special, as if the unstoppable river of time has temporarily been brought to a standstill. He suddenly looks up at them and somehow articulates exactly what Hayden and Rosamond are both thinking. “I wish this—this right now—could be forever.” He stretches his lanky young arms out wide in an attempt to describe the indescribable.
“Just enjoy the moment, Joe-Joe,” says Hayden, contentment in his voice, though he takes his grandson’s hand as if to say that he, too, wishes the soft summer twilight would never turn to darkness. “It’s a gift. That’s why they call it The Present.”
Joey reaches over and takes Rosamond’s hand so that he’s strolling down the dead-end street safe between the two of them. Rosamond is surprised, not by his gesture, because they’d often held hands, but because she’d envisioned heaven so many times while praying. It was always a mansion in the sky bathed in golden light with an endless number of rooms where God and the angels lived among all the souls granted salvation.
Only now she has another version of paradise to contemplate, entirely different from the previous image. Heaven is a tranquil street in Brooklyn where one can eat fresh raspberry custard and walk hand in hand with a sweet young boy. And on the other side is the ever-confident Hayden, who possesses the miraculous ability to cure the sad and make them happy again. Rosamond is convinced that nothing bad could ever happen with Hayden around.
chapter thirty-four
In the morning Father Hank is expected to arrive at any moment to continue his work restoring Hayden’s faith. “And remind me just who is supposed to be converting whom here?” Hayden asks Rosamond.
“May the best man win.” She grins.
“And what do I get if I win?” Hayden demands to know in his best dealmaker’s voice.
“Eternal damnation,” Rosamond tells him with mock sweetness. Though she doesn’t accompany the remark with her usual good-natured smile.
“C’mon, I’ll bet you two dollars he throws in the collar.”
Rosamond automatically gasps at the idea of wagering. Look at what happened to poor Job when Satan made a bet with God over his ability to remain steadfast in the face of tremendous suffering.
But Diana isn’t swayed by Hayden’s bravado or Rosamond’s apprehension. She calmly sits at the kitchen table in her nightgown reading the newspaper and catching up on all the latest disasters. Her dark beauty is even more outstanding at moments like this, when she’s without any makeup, her raven hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s concentrating on something, completely unaware of her appearance.
Diana takes a sip of coffee and wipes her mouth with her arm like a sailor at the end of a bar. “You’re on!” she says, surprising them both. “Twenty bucks for converting Hank.”
Before Hayden can attempt to raise the wager, knowing that even though his daughter is in debt, she’s employed and therefore still considerably more flush than someone just out of a convent, the phone rings. Diana picks up the receiver and they can all hear Linda’s high-pitched voice squawking on the other end.
“A lawyer?” Diana says with surprise and waves Hayden and Rosamond away as if to indicate that she’ll deal with her meddling sister alone. But they stand in stunned silence and so she takes the phone along with her coffee mug and goes upstairs.
Hayden is very much aware of how upset Rosamond has been since their visit to Linda’s. Most of the time the two converse so easily that it feels as if they share each other’s dreams. But when it comes to Linda, she won’t be reassured.
Hayden attempts to convince Rosamond once more. “There’s no reason to let her bother you.”
“I don’t understand why she doesn’t like me,” says Rosamond, thoroughly perplexed. At the convent there were occasionally petty jealousies and even differences of opinion, but the objective was to quickly eliminate such nonsense because it interfered with the overarching commitment to contemplation, prayer, and of course God.
“She’s always been insecure,” says Hayden.
“Linda acts as if I’m trying to . . . to be with you, or something,” she tells him, her voice filling with dismay.
Hayden is startled to hear Rosamond bring up the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. Maybe this is his chance to revisit the relationship issue—specifically that he wishes she would try to “be” with him, especially since he thinks about making love to her almost all the time. “Now, now, she’s just concerned about my health. Don’t be put out by her sourpuss behavior. It’s just that . . . never mind.”
“What? If I said or did something to offend her, then please tell me.”
“No, no.” Hayden sighs, which is unusual for him. “Diana has always had people remarkin’ on how attractive she is, even as a baby. While Linda was the straight-A student and perfectly behaved. We—Mary and I—we always told the girls that it doesn’t matter how you look so long as you’re a good person. And it doesn’t matter how smart you are as long as you try your best. And not ten minutes later some well-meaning friend or relative would say to the girls, ‘So you’re the smart one and you’re the pretty one!’ And soon they were marked, or scarred, for life—Diana thinking she’s stupid and Linda convinced that she’s ugly.”
“But Diana isn’t stupid, and Linda isn’t unattractive.”
“Of course not. But I don’t claim to understand you women.” With Diana upstairs he takes advantage of the opportunity to make another pot of coffee.
For a moment Rosamond feels guilty. As a nun she’s supposed to have sympathy for those who are unkind to others. She’s been taught that people behave in such ways in an effort to find the love that is missing in their lives, and oftentimes the faith that has been lost. For that reason alone it’s her duty to show compassion and pray for Linda to find whatever it is she seeks.
However, Rosamond quickly decides that she’s no longer a practicing nun and therefore she doesn’t have to like Linda and she’s not about to. No one has ever been so mean to her. The worst thing anyone had done to Rosamond at the convent was report that she’d pressed wildflowers in a hymnal during her first year and so she had to beg soup for her supper.
Rosamond exhales as if to agree with Hayden that the situation truly is hopeless. She takes her polishing cloth out of the drawer and heads off to work on the picture frames in the living room. Polishing silver always helped her to relax while she contemplated difficult matters.
chapter thirty-five
When Hank’s car finally pulls up Hayden is out on the front stoop enjoying the exuberant morning sunshine and trying to come up with a
fix for the Linda problem. Hank apologizes for being delayed. One of the altar boys had forgotten about an egg salad sandwich that he’d left behind a pile of hymnals in the vestry and Hank had been charged with tracking down and eliminating the noxious odor.
Hayden laughs over the story and then asks, “Are you sure it was an accident?”
“An accident of youth,” Hank offers generously.
The two men sip coffee ice cream floats concocted by Joey and eventually pick up their conversation from the previous week. For Hayden has discovered an additional incentive to succeed in bringing Hank around to his way of thinking about God, other than to satisfy his salesman’s ego.
Hayden genuinely likes Hank. And he would feel a lot better about leaving Diana with a guy like him around the house. Not to mention that Joey will probably grow up to become an expert on infectious diseases if there isn’t some rational being on the premises to offset his mother’s highly developed hypochondria. Hank had played sports in high school and rebuilt car engines, and except for those little stumbling blocks of celibacy and the priesthood, seemed like a pretty good catch.
“You know, Hank, some of the Apostles were married,” says Hayden.
“Yes, well, they’ve changed the rules a bit since then.”
Hayden tries another approach. “So tell me why women can’t be priests? Now that doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”
“Because they don’t share a physical likeness with Jesus.”
“If that’s the requirement then why don’t all priests wear beards? And why aren’t they all Jews?” Hayden slaps his hand on his thigh so hard that he almost knocks over his mug.
Hank scrunches his forehead, looking more like a college student contemplating a calculus exam for which he hasn’t studied than a seminarian trying to come up with answers to The Big Questions. Finally he says, “Let me tell you a story.”
Last Call Page 18
