by Betsy Carter
“Where’d these come from?” she asked him.
“What the hell you doin’ going through my things?” he shouted. His face turned gray.
She told him she was looking for the nail clippers.
“Don’t you ever, ever go through my stuff again,” he said. “Do you get that?”
“What’ve you got to hide, anyway?” she asked
“Nothin’,” he said.
“Sure doesn’t sound like it.” Her voice was playful, taunting if you wanted to hear it that way.
“Just stay the fuck out of my things,” he said.
Out of nowhere, a fist slammed into her right jaw. It was as sudden as a bad dream. Before the pain, she felt a gap where her bottom incisor used to be. The tooth was floating in a pool of blood. The blood tasted bitter, metallic. The two of them put their hands to their mouths in disbelief.
“Oh my God, honey, I am so sorry.” He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.
“You touch me and I’ll kill you,” she said, then ran inside the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She rinsed her mouth, ran water over the tooth, wrapped it in a piece of toilet paper and tucked it inside her pants pocket, just in case.
Donald was mewling at the other side of the door. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean anything. You know what a hothead I am. I swear, this will never happen again.”
She opened the door, moved him out of the way without looking at him. Went to the closet and pulled her valise from the top shelf. He watched cow-eyed as she threw her clothes into the bag.
“C’mon Victoria, you gotta gimme another chance.”
“Not on your life,” she answered and walked out of Donald Pierson’s life forever. She hitchhiked to Gainesville, where she stayed with a sorority sister.
“The weird thing is, I never found out if the hairpins were his or someone else’s,” she said.
“Where is he now?” asked Jésus.
“Dead. He volunteered when the war broke out and was killed in Italy. That’s the last I heard, anyway.” She gave a little laugh.
It pained Jésus to think of someone wounding his beautiful friend. He stroked her right jaw.
“It ended all right,” she said. “I met Maynard Landy three weeks later. The kindest man I’ve ever known. He was generous, you know what I mean? Dressed well, didn’t ask too many questions about my past. We went out for a while, and then he asked me to marry him. I didn’t hesitate for a minute. There was a man I could depend on. He’d make a good living. He’d always respect me. These are the important things when you’re thinking of building a life with somebody. Physically, it was okay, but between you and me, that’s never been the big thing between us.”
Peace of mind, that was worth more to Victoria than all of it. Maynard was a strong man. His thick arms and barrel chest were a barrier between her and the rest of the world. No one in his right mind would pick a fight with a guy built like Rocky Marciano. If someone takes a punch at you from out of the blue once, there is never a time when you don’t think it could happen again.
Whenever Victoria felt restless or like Maynard wasn’t paying enough attention, she’d pull out the little music box he had given her one Christmas. It had a skater figurine on top, which twirled in circles, while the box played its frothy version of “As Time Goes By.” Lying like a jewel on the green velvet lining inside was Victoria’s old incisor. The center of the tooth had long since rotted, but the carcass remained. Her only link to Donald Pierson, a reminder of how far she’d come.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” she asked Jésus.
“Of course,” he said.
“Do you ever feel safe?”
“I always feel safe. I am an American citizen.”
It never dawned on Victoria that for many people, that was enough.
“And you? Do you feel safe?” he asked.
“Not for one iota of a second,” she answered. “My daddy left when I was eleven. Seven years later I got married. Life is a matter of avoiding one hazard after another as far as I’m concerned. Lord knows, without shopping I would be a psychological wreck, always worrying about what it will be next.”
She laughed as pieces of freshly cut hair trickled down her neck.
“If I may say, Mrs. Landy, sometimes it is just matter of allowing yourself to be okay. Because you are waiting for the next bad thing doesn’t mean you can keep it away. It is unfortunate to waste the times in between.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” shrieked Victoria.
“What is it?”
“You’re right, I do look like Ann-Margret!”
CHARLIE SWAMPED HIS mother with attention when she came home with the short curly hairdo.
“That’s very modern,” he said.
“Oh sweetheart, I am so glad you like it. You know how a little thing like a new look can shape a person’s attitude. Jésus is an artist. What that man knows about hair, I swear, he could write a book.”
Charlie never said he liked it, but his mother seemed less edgy, almost giddy, and so silently he thanked God for the brilliant and gifted Jésus Baldisarri. That night, when Maynard came home from work, he pulled her into a hug.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you, honey,” said Victoria, nuzzling into his chest.
“How about we open up a bottle of nice Rosé and get an early start on the party?”
Every Memorial Day, the Landys had a family barbecue. The tradition was that they’d each do some sort of performance. This year, they invited Dinah and Tessie because, as Ella put it, “Poor souls, to be alone on Memorial Day is a crying shame.” Victoria had little interest in meeting the girl’s mother. She could barely stand having the girl around.
Still, on issues of what was right and wrong, Victoria was always on shaky ground. She had the self-awareness to recognize that about herself, and to yield to Charlie, Maynard—even Ella—all of whom she felt had a greater sensitivity toward other people than she did. So begrudgingly, she invited Tessie Lockhart to the barbecue.
“If the merry widow is half the jackass that her daughter is, this will be one zippydeedoodah Memorial Day,” she said to Maynard.
“You are so graceful with the English language,” he answered.
Victoria never knew whether or not he was kidding.
DINAH TRIED TO prepare her mother for her meeting with the Landys. “She’s a snob,” Dinah said. “For all the times I’ve been there, I don’t even think she knows my name.”
Dinah didn’t say that Mrs. Landy made her embarrassed about being poor and not having a father. “The only thing she’s ever said to me was that she had this fancy beautician who knew everything about hair straightening.” And she surely didn’t mention that time in the bathtub.
“Well that’s pretty awful,” said Tessie, who’d been agonizing about the invitation for the past week. She’d already figured out that, since the barbecue was called for seven, she could have a glass of wine at six in the privacy of her own home.
“You’re dreading this, aren’t you?” Dinah asked her on that afternoon.
“I’ll be honest, I am a little. I mean these people don’t exactly sound like my cup of tea.”
Dinah thought about how her mother hadn’t visited anybody since her father died, nor had anyone visited her.
“Mom, you haven’t had a cup of tea in four years,” said Dinah.
“That’s so, isn’t it?” said Tessie. “Well, I’ve had cups of other things.”
THE HOUSE WAS even grander and fancier than Tessie had imagined. “What am I supposed to say to all this?” she wondered as Ella took them through it to the backyard: “Nice place you have here?” She decided against saying anything and joined Maynard and Victoria in a semicircle of lounge chairs by the pool.
Conversation got off to a desolate start. “So, how are you snowbirds enjoying Gainesville?” Maynard asked as Tessie sipped her Rosé and Victoria picked at her cuticles.
“I have a wonderful new jo
b,” she said. “Lithographics, the printing plant on old Butler Road.”
“Of course,” said Maynard. “It’s the biggest one in central Florida.”
“I’m the office manager,” said Tessie embellishing her position.
“I know Senior and Junior,” said Maynard. “We’re in the Rotarians together. Devout Baptists, both of them. Can’t drink, can’t cuss, can’t gamble. Junior comes into the store every once in a while looking as guilty as an underage kid. ‘I just need one of those little bottles of Scotch,’ he’ll say. And each time, he reminds me, ‘Flora doesn’t have to know about this now, does she?’ Nice guy, but scared to death of his wife.”
Tessie was buoyed by the knowledge of Glenn Jr. being a little henpecked. The thought emboldened her to remark on some of Lithographics’ clients, as though they’d all been friends for years. “There’s this fella who comes up from Fort Lauderdale, he runs the Jai Alai fronton down there. We print all of his programs.”
“The Baron!” said Maynard.
“You know him?”
“Everyone in the state of Florida knows the Baron,” said Maynard. “He used to be a starving painter in Paris. Now he’s a businessman worth more than a million. Fascinating story.”
“Quite a character,” said Tessie, trying to sound neutral.
“A horny one at that,” laughed Maynard. “Though he’s a monk compared to the Baroness.”
“The Baroness, who’s that?” Tessie cocked her head.
“Fran Antonucci. Barone’s wife. The former—quote, dancer from Teaneck, New Jersey, unquote.” Maynard raised his eyebrows. “Whoo, that woman can drink any man under the table. And she’s built like a brick you-know-what house.”
Tessie took another sip of the wine. “I’ve heard that,” she lied.
Just then, Victoria jumped up and clapped her hands together. “All right now, it’s showtime. Crystal and her friend have prepared a song for us.”
Dinah’s right, thought Tessie. That woman really doesn’t know her name.
The girls had made up their own dance to the popular song “Lollipop.” They snapped their fingers, bent their knees, and wiggled their hips in time to the simple rhythm. “Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolli lolli lolli . . .” Charlie sat behind the girls, playing the bongos as they acted out the song. He watched his sister with a smile. Crystal could put a bag over her head or jump up and down in place, and she’d still be cute. She danced with the ease and confidence of someone who didn’t worry how she looked. But the other girl, Dinah, there was an awkwardness in her step, something hesitant about the way she kept looking to Crystal for confirmation that she was doing it right. If Crystal abandoned herself to joy, Dinah seemed intent on keeping it at bay.
He watched Mrs. Lockhart take deep drags on her cigarette, her eyes darting as if to take in the ceramic birdbath, the pool, the brass sundial, the fountain that cascaded into the pool, the cutting garden, the grasses, the enormous house that went as far as the eye could see. Nervous, he thought. She wonders what she’s doing here. She can’t figure out how a nice man like my father ended up with a spoiled woman like my mother. She’s not bad looking. If she did something with that limp hair and wore less dowdy clothes, she would be quite attractive. God help me, I am starting to sound like my mother.
Victoria lit a Salem and lay cross-legged on her chaise. The nighttime air was smoky and sweet with frangipani. There was a soft breeze. “For all the misery in the world, there is this night,” Victoria said to Maynard and Tessie. The girls were winding it up, thrusting their arms forward, and rolling their l’s from the back of their palettes. “. . . oh lolli lolli lolli. Lollipop!”
“Whoever wrote that song had the IQ of a water bug,” Maynard whispered. Victoria laughed and swatted him on the thigh. Tessie wondered what Victoria could possibly know about misery. Everyone clapped for the girls. Then Victoria stood up again and announced, “Charlie has a special song he would like to sing. And he will accompany himself on the guitar.”
Charlie stood next to the grill, his wide face backlit by a citronella candle. He strummed the guitar and bobbed his head up and down before he began to sing. The song started out innocently enough—something about an old man and his cat. But then came the chorus:
The cat came back, the very next day
The cat came back, we thought she was a goner
But the cat came back, she just couldn’t stay away.
He never took his eyes off Tessie. When he finished, Tessie clapped harder than anyone. Dinah tried not to stare at her. “What could he know?” she wondered. Crystal nudged her on the arm and whispered, “I swear, I never told him a thing. He’s just weird that way.”
Victoria followed with some song she’d learned in her sorority: “It’s a great big wonderful world we live in, when you’re in love you’re a master of all you survey, you’re a gay Santa Claus . . .”
Her voice was sweet and warbled and slightly off tune. It was one of the few times she seemed nakedly vulnerable, and when Maynard got up to do his imitation of Nat King Cole’s “Mona Lisa,” he dedicated it to her. They all tried to get Tessie to sing, but the most she would do was chime in on the “Mona Lisa” chorus. Afterward, they ate barbecued ribs and killed three bottles of Rosé. At the end of the evening, Victoria actually used Dinah’s name when she said, “Thank you for coming, Tessie and Dinah. This is one of those nights we’ll never forget.”
“So was it as bad as you thought?” asked Dinah later as she and her mother drove through Cypress Woods.
“If a woman is built like a you-know-what brickhouse, does that mean she’s attractive?” answered Tessie.
“It’s a compliment, Mom, like va va va voom.”
Tessie got lost in her thoughts. How did Dinah know about all this? How could a married man send the kind of notes that the Baron had written to her? What else did Dinah know that she didn’t?
“I had a very nice time,” she finally said.
“Yeah, it was pretty neat,” said Dinah. “The brother’s nice.”
Neither of them mentioned the cat.
SEVEN
On the second day that Eddie Fingers didn’t show up for class, Mr. Reilly stood in front of the class, his hands clasped and his head bowed like an altar boy’s. “I have an announcement. You know our friend Eddie Howell? He will not be back for the rest of the school year. Why? Because he is sick and will have to be in the hospital for a while.” Mr. Reilly continued, as though he were a ventriloquist using two different voices. “What’s wrong with him? The doctors think it might have something to do with his heart, but they’re going to do their darndest to find out.”
Normally, Dinah and Crystal would be biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing. But they didn’t even exchange glances. Dinah knew how people could disappear forever, and Crystal knew that her friend had a strange attachment to Eddie. That’s why she never revealed what Charlie had told her months earlier. Eddie had caught his eye at the end of a school assembly. “How ya doing?” Charlie had asked. “Can you help me?” Eddie had answered. “I’ve wet my pants and need to get to the men’s room.” Charlie told Crystal that Eddie seemed to have a wheeze in his voice. He also said that the way Eddie had spoken to him, so straight forwardly and without embarrassment, made him think that Eddie was used to asking for help.
All day, Dinah thought about Eddie. About his bluish fingernails, the way he slumped in his desk, how he looked thin and used, like a much older person. While she hated listening to her mother talk to her father each night, she was certain that this boy was the direct connection to her father. Should she write him a card? What would she say? Maybe she should send a present. She couldn’t imagine someone her own age being in the hospital. With him not at school, how would she talk to her father?
IF JERRY LOCKHART was in heaven, he wasn’t having much fun. Between doling out advice and devising cryptic numerical codes to transmit through a six-fingered fourteen-year-old boy, when would the poor man have tim
e to indulge in the glories of his new location? For the past week Tessie had besieged him. What about the Baron? June 4th was only two days away. Should she have lunch with him? And now there was a wife. Her notes were becoming more desperate.
One night she wrote: “It seems like a betrayal to think of any other man but you. Of course you are the only one.” And on another night, after she’d had a couple of glasses of wine, she’d slipped this note into his box: “You know, Jerry,” it began with a tone of belligerence. “I am a woman and have desires sometimes. It is so strange to me that you are not here and that I have to think about these things by myself.”
ON THE MORNING of June 4th, Tessie woke with a start. She’d dreamed that she was driving Victoria Landy around Cypress Woods, looking for Crystal and Dinah. The women were lost, and the longer they drove, the further away their daughters seemed to get. “We might never see them again,” Victoria said. It was as if her words took shape and ran in front of the car. Tessie slammed on the brakes and heard the awful noise of shells breaking beneath her wheels. “Don’t even say that,” she shouted, then woke up. She jumped out of bed to get as far away from her dream as possible. She threw on her vermilion robe with beige flowers, the same robe she’d worn for fifteen years. “Rise and shine,” she said, trying to sound chipper as she opened Dinah’s door.
But Dinah had long since risen. She lay in bed, her head propped up against the pillow, her eyes narrow and swollen. “Didn’t sleep much,” she said. “Can’t go to school today.”
