A Long Island Story

by Rick Gekoski

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ he said, and hung up.

  They were all clustered round.

  ‘She’ll be at the station at 12.47,’ he said. ‘I will pick her up.’

  Becca held on to his arm excitedly.

  ‘Can we come?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ben. ‘You’ll see her when we get back to the bungalow.’

  In fact, Addie was arriving at twelve-thirty. The extra minutes would give them time to talk before she arrived home to a heroine’s welcome. Why is it that the worse you behave, the better you get treated? Something of the prodigal daughter about it. No wonder Frankie resented her so.

  Morrie looked at him steadily, fished in his pocket, proffered the keys to the Caddy without comment. He knew the LIRR timetable backwards. There was no train due at 12.47, Ben was buying time.

  When the train pulled into the platform, and Addie disembarked from one of the front coaches and walked down the platform towards him, Ben’s immediate response was: ‘That isn’t her!’ It was, of course, same face, same body, same gait, recognisable outfit: Addie. But not Addie, something added, the walk quicker, even assertive, her head held higher than usual, anxious to hold his eye, she looked like a lawyer coming to a meeting with an attorney for the opposition.

  When she got to him he almost expected her to hold out her hand to shake, but instead got a perfunctory nod.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said. ‘Thanks for picking me up.’

  Thanks? For picking her up? Why wouldn’t he, unless she was some sort of stranger? Stranger: that was what she was, not herself, something else, something . . . more perhaps? Other?

  All the collected calm that he had manufactured, working on himself as he drove to the station, was fractured. She had, with those few unwelcoming words, taken the ascendency, dictated whatever agenda was going to follow.

  He stood in front of her stupidly.

  ‘Hiya,’ he said.

  They walked down the platform to the parking lot, he unlocked the Caddy, opened the door for her, closed it after she sat down, traversed the car, breathing steadily and deeply, got into the driver’s seat. The driver’s seat. That was where she was. He should have given her the goddamn keys.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said. ‘Maybe in Heckscher Park?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  It seemed to carry some sort of risk, to utter the next words, and neither of them spoke during the ten-minute ride to the park, Addie staring intently out of the window, as if taking in strange sights, Ben breathing as studiedly as a swami attaining a higher plane of consciousness. It didn’t work, but at least he wasn’t hyperventilating.

  He parked, turned off the car and got out to open her door for her, as if she were a visiting dignitary. On her dignity, was that the phrase? Formal, withheld, superior.

  My God, was it possible, could it be possible that she had decided to leave him? Could she do that, would she? Her bearing announced that she had nothing to do with this chauffeur who had collected her, and would have nothing to do with him when he dropped her off at last and went back to his work, to collect someone else.

  She took a few steps away from him, looking at the trees, stretched and yawned, as if tired, or bored, and began strolling towards the pond, without looking back to see if he was following. He followed.

  She was walking quickly, as if on reaching the pond she was going to throw herself in, or perhaps wait until he caught up and throw him in. She stopped at the water’s edge. A family of ducks pottered across the water quacking excitedly, looking up imploringly, sensing bread. She waved her hand dismissively. Scram, ducks.

  Catching her up, Ben stood by her side, wishing he had some bread or something to say.

  ‘Nu?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ she shrugged.

  ‘What’d you do in the city? Bought something nice, I hope . . .’

  Good Lord, he knew he was trying to ingratiate himself, so cut himself off, made a flipping gesture with his hand as if discarding some pellets of bread. The ducks looked hopeful, then disappointed, quacked.

  ‘I got back early . . .’ Addie began.

  Early? Early for what?

  ‘. . . so that you could make connections to get back to DC . . . To Alexandria.’ DC was where that woman was. ‘There’s a train from Huntington just past four-thirty that makes a good connection. You’ll be back in plenty of time.’

  He was rather shocked.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ he said. ‘The kids will be upset, won’t they?’

  ‘Not at all! Tomorrow is Monday. It’s a working day. For those of you who actually work. You need to be there in your office.’

  ‘I thought maybe I’d go back on Tuesday. That would give us a chance to gather ourselves, have a longer talk tomorrow, do something with the kids in the morning . . .’

  She gave herself a little shake, as if insects were all over her, tiny shocks and itches coming from their transit across her skin, shook herself again.

  ‘That is not going to happen. I am not sleeping with you, the very idea makes me ill. Go back to Alexandria, do what you need to do . . .’

  Need to do? Was she suggesting that if he slept with anyone it should be Rhoda? Surely not. Must be ‘need to do’ as in: give notice of quitting the job, finish up whatever paperwork and personal work needed finishing, get his internal house in order and external apartment packed, get ready to move. And then, when they were in the new apartment, where was he going to sleep? In a basket, like a dog?

  Best keep shtum, anything he said now, anything at all, would aggravate her and the situation.

  ‘OK,’ he said compliantly. ‘We can have a nice lunch with the family and then Morrie can take me to the train with the kids . . .’

  ‘Good. And one more thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’re moving to New York.’

  He made another, more forceful flipping gesture, the ducks moved in expectantly.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘No, we’re not!’

  She’d made the announcement to provoke him and it worked.

  But she was aware, saying it, having made her faux announcement, that she didn’t mean it, not entirely, perhaps didn’t mean it at all. The long evening with Ira, which ended with too warm a hug and the quickly rejected possibility of taking a cab together somewhere with a bed in it, had only confirmed what she knew already. When Ira asked for her phone number, just prior to leaving the bar, she’d hesitated, and he’d reacted quickly and irritably.

  ‘I’m not doing this again,’ he said. ‘Once was more than enough, either this is . . .’

  ‘Is what?’ asked Addie. ‘Is what? We came out for a drink. You chose to come. It has been good to see you again, almost too good. But what is the point of you having my number?’

  ‘First of all, you have mine. It’s in the book, and yours isn’t, and I’m not calling you at the goddamn bungalow. But the real point is that you simply cannot once again enter my life and then disappear.’

  ‘I am not entering your life! And I did not disappear! You knew I was at Penn!’

  ‘Sure, Adele, how wonderful! I could call Information and ask for Adele Kaufmann at the University of Pennsylvania. And after you left there, for a phone number anywhere in the world . . .’

  She went quiet, knowing he was right, and not knowing what she ought or wished or needed to do. Ira was not the answer to her problems, nor was a quick roll in the hay likely to make things better. It wouldn’t help. Nothing was the answer to her problems. She gave Ira a quick hug and got into a taxi, without giving him a number.

  She slept heavily and woke up late, groggy and hung-over. She rarely drank too much, that was Ben’s forte, he could hold his booze, rarely suffered afterwards. When she didn’t respect her limits – two drinks maximum – she paid for it. She soaked for a long time in the bath, took a few aspirins, laid her head back, tried to think.

  She’d been a fool, that was for sure. But w
hat sort of fool? For not following her inclinations – could she call it her heart? – and getting into bed with Ira? Following up, following through. Doing it. And having done it – it would have been so sweet, made her feel a girl again – done what? It, again?

  There was no room for Ira in her life. No room in her life at all, no air to breathe, no satisfying emotional choices to be made. That stupid Groucho show that Ben loved so much: You Bet Your Life? She’d bet hers. And lost.

  How was she to keep in touch with Ira, or he with her? She had no room of her own, no office, no sanctuary. No privacy. She was a function of her marriage, controlled by it, not in control of her life, as Ben – damn him! – was of his. Her phone number? Fat chance!

  Out of the bath, dry, her head and stomach settling down, she picked up the phone and called Ira’s office. (She didn’t have his home number, he hadn’t offered that!) She did so not knowing why, or what she wanted to say, but she needed at least to say she was sorry and that, perhaps, they might try again. Try what? When, where, how, why? She almost put the phone down when his secretary answered.

  She asked for Ira, there was a pause. Who was it calling, please?

  The secretary knew.

  ‘Adele Kaufmann.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘He is away for a few days. I will tell him you called.’

  She turned her back on the ducks, and on Ben again, leaving him to enjoy the residue of his momentary assertiveness, and walked back to the car. He stayed for a few moments at the side of the pond, communing with the importuning ducks. Nice little family, they were, simple beings with simple needs. He wished he had some crusts of bread.

  The chauffeur took her back to the bungalow in silence, but honked as he entered Lane L. By the time the car was at the top of the driveway, the kids were clambering round, clasping the door handles before it had even come to rest. Becca on the driver’s side, Jake opening Addie’s door. They looked more than delighted, Ben thought. They looked relieved. All together again.

  Soon holding Addie’s hand, Becca asked, ‘Did you bring us a present?’

  Addie looked pleased. ‘You bet I did!’

  She fished round in her bag and pulled out two buttons, with pins at the back. ‘I got them at Union Station. They were selling like hotcakes. I think I got the last two!’ She pressed them into the kids’ hands. Ben moved round, looked with interest, began to laugh.

  Jake grabbed his and pinned it to his T-shirt.

  ‘Thanks, Addie, that’s so cool! You’re the best! A kid at school has a button but it just says “JOE MUST GO” and that’s stupid because it could be any JOE, even Joe DiMaggio!’

  Becca was still studying hers. Ben read it out to her.

  ‘What’s a Fuehrer?’ she asked, pronouncing it ‘Fewer’.

  ‘Hitler, stupid! It’s Hitler!’ Jake reached out for the pin, but Becca wouldn’t let go.

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  Ben lifted her up, put his arms round her in a bear hug.

  ‘It means that we don’t want a bad man like McCarthy bossing us around like he was Hitler . . .’

  Becca considered this for a moment.

  ‘I don’t!’ she said. ‘I’m going to keep mine in the bedroom and pin it on Teddo!’

  What a dumb idea, her brother could be seen thinking. Ben put a finger to his lips.

  ‘Ben,’ Jake said, ‘I’m not taking mine off until that hairy creep gets lost. Or somebody kills him! I wish he was dead. He’s a big fat schmo!’

  Ben looked at his son proudly.

  ‘He sure is!’ he said.

  At last Becca caught on.

  ‘JOE! JOE!’ she yelled, dancing round the grass.

  ‘THE BIG FAT SCHMO!’ Jake added, twirling round, holding his sister’s hands.

  ‘JOE! JOE! THE BIG FAT SCHMO!’

  In a moment Ben and then Addie had joined in.

  ‘JOE! JOE!’ they chanted, waving their hands.

  ‘THE BIG FAT SCHMO!’ the kids responded.

  They laughed, all of them.

  Though they were used to their father’s comings and goings from occasional weekends at the bungalow, the children were clingy when Ben got into the car to leave. Once again they asked if they could come along, and once again were told no. It was a bad sign. Addie and Ben ‘need to talk’, they were told. So what? They always talk when we are there. What’s so special about talking now?

  Perle had accompanied them into the driveway, shhhed them up and led them to the freezer. ‘Let’s have an ice cream, shall we?’ she said, itself a bad sign. Ice cream between meals gave you a stomach ache.

  There were a number of afternoon trains, so there was no hurry getting to the station. Ben couldn’t get on the train, he knew, until he broke his news to Addie, weathered the ensuing storm and got her agreement to signing the lease with the Silbers. Her announcement that they would be moving to the city was sheer bravado, he knew that. It was an attitude that couldn’t abide, but might take time to abate, for it accompanied her current anger. As long as he stayed toxic, she might hold on to this idiotic counter-move. But how to bring her round?

  ‘Before I go,’ he said, in a tone intended to be neither compliant nor aggressive, in a friendly but business-like voice, ‘we need to make some decisions. Time is pressing . . .’

  ‘We can talk when you get back to Alexandria,’ she said. ‘It’s not a good time now.’

  ‘And it’ll be better then? Let’s be realistic.’

  She bridled, turned from looking at the road ahead, glared.

  ‘Going to lecture me, are you? On making realistic plans? On putting the family first? On thinking what is good for the children? On how to lead an exemplary moral life!’

  He tried to take her hand, and failed.

  ‘I am so sorry. I was weak and stupid. I promise you it is over and will never happen again . . . And weren’t we all happy and together singing JOE! JOE! – that is what is real, that is!’

  She shook her hand as if it had flies on it.

  ‘Once a thing like this happens, all bets are off. You did it once, you could do it again!’

  He paused, thought it worth taking a risk.

  ‘Surely you have been tempted sometimes? We’re still young and attractive – especially you – family life wears you down. You remember “Track Shoes”, don’t you?’

  ‘The one where it’s me that has the affair and you’re the good one?’

  ‘That wasn’t us!’

  ‘Yeah! Yeah! And of course you are right. I get tempted same as you. Only difference is that I don’t act on it!’

  He laughed bitterly.

  ‘Only because you don’t have the opportunity, the time or the place. Don’t you keep masturbating your wrist with that goddamn bracelet Ira gave you? That is unfaithful too, and distressing. Don’t be a hypocrite!’

  She pulled over onto the side of the road, a block before the station, and turned off the car.

  ‘Get out! I’ve had enough of this, enough of you!’

  Ben turned in his seat and looked at her steadily.

  ‘I’m starting to feel the same. But we’ll get over it. We have to.’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘Before I go, though, there is one thing I have to tell you. Yesterday I went to see Charlie Silber . . .’

  ‘You what? Why would you—’

  ‘. . . and I told him that we will take the apartment and that you would be in touch with them in the next couple of days to sign the lease.’

  He turned away from Addie, put his hand on the doorknob, turned it and got out of the car, closed the door again and leaned in the open window.

  He bent lower to get a full view. Addie was sitting stiffly, her hands gripping the wheel, immobile, staring out the window.

  ‘I am so sorry to have caused this,’ he said. She didn’t respond. ‘We can work it out, just bear with me, please. With us. With all of us. I’ll call from Alexandria tomorrow and start doing what needs to be done. There’s n
othing left to discuss really, just things to do. Leave it to me, no need for you to come down, I quite understand that. Perhaps you could explain to the kids, they’ll be a bit puzzled . . .’

  That got her attention.

  ‘No! You explain it to the children. You caused this. They know something is up, they’ve been acting out. Becca is withdrawn, Jake moons about and won’t look up from his book. So why don’t you write them one of your charming letters with illustrations, reassuring them that everything is going to be all right? You might even tell them about Daddy’s little adventure . . .’

  He’d turned away by then, begun walking towards the station. He had a train to catch.

  6

  Elementary schools smell of disinfectant: too many little ones unable to get to the toilet quickly enough. Jake sniffed and made a face.

  ‘It stinks in here!’

  ‘It’s just chemicals from the cleaning,’ Addie said. ‘Nothing to worry about, you’ll get used to it.’

  It would take time, she knew that, for a boy used to the open spaces, clean air and green fields of his progressive school, with only wholesome farmyard smells in the air, to adapt to the cramped and insalubrious conditions of this suburban dump. She looked up, casing the joint, a large three-storey brick building suggesting a reform school not a haven for little ones. She had a sharp desire to take his hand and light out for the territory, anywhere but here. What right had she to inflict this on her children?

  Mind you, Becca had been OK on her induction – came along, held hands, biddable and only slightly anxious. Miss Saul, her new teacher, stooped down to child level to give her new charge a hug.

  ‘Aren’t you lovely!’ she said. ‘Are you called Rebecca, then?’

  ‘No, Becca.’

  ‘That’s a nice name. I will introduce you to the others in a minute, and I’m sure they will be pleased to meet you. It’s a very happy class!’

  There’d been only a slight sign of sniffles as Addie left, turning at the door as she did, but Miss Saul was firmly in control and Becca had already gathered herself, was standing up straight as Granny Perle had recommended, not looking down at the floor. She looked a nice little girl, the other kids would surely take to her.