Like Normal People

by Karen Bender

  Ella did not talk much to Lena about Vivien’s pregnancy. What few facts she did mention, Lena tucked away and asked about them again and again. As Vivien grew closer to her due date, Lena talked more about her dinner party, which was taking months to plan. And Vivien talked more about helping her. She repeated her offer of the Jell-O mold and asked whether she could bring a gift for Simone. Lena said no; she simply wanted everyone to meet the cat.

  Finally, a date was set. The day before the party, Ella took Lena to the supermarket and guided the cart through the luminous aisles while Lena plucked items from the shelves. “I want to have my favorite foods. Chips. Licorice.” Her eyes got dreamy. She chose a polka-dot paper tablecloth and matching napkins and plates. They had arranged the transfer of money in advance. Beside a massive display of Hostess Ho-Hos, ten feet from the cash register, Ella passed Lena a few fives, then leafed through a magazine, as commanded, while Lena handed the bills to the cashier. Ella stopped at a glossy photo spread: “The New Young Americans,” featuring pictures of handsome people—actors, writers, artists—laughing, clutching cocktails at a New York garden party. One caption said: Constance, despite her delicate features, hunts big game. Another said: The Young Americans—in touch, outgoing, far out, way in—jumping nimbly from subject to subject. What do they talk about? The Common Market, the artichoke’s place in gourmet cooking, Greece.

  “Here,” Lena said proudly to the cashier as she placed her items on the counter. Ella watched the young girl, regal with boredom, ring up Lena’s purchases. And she saw the happiness fill her daughter’s face.

  As a final preparation for Lena’s dinner party, Ella made a casserole to make sure there would be something everyone could eat. At seven o’clock, Ella, Lou, Vivien, and Mel poured down the walkway toward 237 La Casita. The four of them sparkled tenderly in the warm blue night. Vivien wore a silver metallic sheath that draped over her large stomach; her Spanish red pocketbook matched her shoes. Mel wore the cotton navy blazer he used when conducting services—like a magician’s, it had a faint sheen. Ella wore a sleeveless sequin-covered top and pearl earrings; Lou carried his dinner jacket over his arm, because the temperature was 90 degrees. Lena and her husband were giving a dinner party. This filled them with strange wishes, for it was an event none of them had dared to imagine. It was as though a rare and wonderful present was being placed in their hands, and they did not quite know how to hold it. All they knew absolutely was that it was important to dress up.

  Lena was waiting on the terrace. “Hi!” she called. “I thought you’d forget it was here.”

  “Look at our hostess!” said Ella. Lena’s face was burnished with powder and her hair was neatly combed. Vivien held forth the Jell-O mold. “I made it especially for you—”

  Lena took the plate. “Thank you,” she said, politely, “But I’ve decided that we can only eat foods made by me.”

  Vivien looked taken aback. They followed Lena into the apartment. Propped on the couch, like a group of guests who had come early and formed their own clique, were several bosomy bags of potato chips. The tablecloth had been spread across the carpet. All the lamps had been dragged into the living room, which was as white and bright as a movie set. Bob was picking up something from the rug.

  “Bob!” Lena said. “Don’t eat that chip!”

  Bob quickly dropped the broken potato chip. He was wearing a rumpled pair of black tuxedo pants and a shiny sharkskin shirt; Lena wore a sleeveless, lime-green beaded dress with a large ink mark on the back. They had pulled this finery from the Goodwill employees’ bin; earlier in the week, Ella had sewn up the holes. Bob held out his right hand and damply shook each of theirs.

  “How about a blessing, Mel?” said Lou. “Show us those rabbi tricks.”

  “Well,” said Mel, with a hollow laugh. They looked at him, expectant.

  “A housewarming prayer,” said Vivien, eagerly.

  “A housewarming prayer?” Mel asked, bemused. “I’ll improvise.”

  Standing in the middle of the living room, he lifted his arms and let forth a torrent of Hebrew. The others stood around, not understanding the words, but grateful for them.

  “Well, that was very nice,” said Ella when he finished; he seemed to need affirmation.

  “What happens?” Lena asked, bouncing up and down.

  “Now it’s official,” said Lou. “It’s a Jewish house.”

  This was the first time so many people had been in the apartment. Lena and Bob watched, mesmerized, as Ella set cut roses into a vase. Then Bob whispered something to Lena. “Everyone!” Lena called. “We would like everyone to meet Simone.”

  Lena set the Jell-O mold beside the tubby cat that was sleeping on the couch—a primitive, thuggish beast snoring loudly, with abandon. At the presentation of the Jell-O, the cat opened its large eyes, stretched, and slowly rose. Its fur stuck up on one side, as though the creature was coming off a three-day drunk. It delicately licked the Jell-O with its rosy tongue.

  “It is not cat food,” said Vivien.

  “She’s not just a cat,” Lena said.

  The cat shook itself further awake, rolled over on its back, and made a rumbling noise. Lena rubbed its belly, and the cat’s stubby legs wilted with pleasure.

  “That cat has had a hard life,” Ella said, eyeing it.

  “This cat is ours,” said Lena. She picked up the cat, a tad roughly, and clutched it to her chest. Simone stared at them with a trapped, irate expression, as though she understood, quite clearly, that she had just missed being a person. Lena kissed the cat’s head and Bob stroked its coat. The rest of the guests stood around, left out.

  “I’ve heard that orange cats have the best temperament,” tried Vivien.

  “It has nice fur,” offered Lou.

  “You can each have a piece of fur to take home,” Lena said.

  The guests were silenced by this.

  “The party has started. Please sit.” And she delicately placed Simone on the couch. The cat gazed at them with a sort of longing, as though it yearned to jump out of its parallel universe.

  Bob brought out paper plates piled with potato chips, set one in front of each guest, and stood back, trying to smile. Ella noticed that he had adopted Lou’s posture—shoulders forward slightly, hands on his hips. On Bob, Lou’s stance was too large.

  “And what is this?” asked Lou, looking at the plate.

  “Salad,” said Lena, eyes narrowing as though daring him to disagree.

  “Why don’t you sit down and eat with us?” asked Ella.

  “Okay,” Lena said, although she clearly wanted only to watch them eat. She and Bob sat cross-legged on the tablecloth. “Is everyone having a good time?” Lena asked.

  “Of course,” said Vivien. “This is a delicious chip.” She looked suddenly intent. “I was reading in Vogue last week,” she said, “how to make original dinner conversation. You’re supposed to try never to say something you’ve said before.”

  “Then what do you say?” asked Ella.

  “You want to avoid questions like ‘Have you read the best seller?’ Or ‘Who is the most influential columnist?’ Or ‘Where is the real money located today—in the banks, the insurance companies, or elsewhere?’”

  “I like that question,” said Lou. “Where?”

  Vivien ate another chip. “The article said you should respond to a question like the one about the best seller by saying, ‘Of course, but have you read the worst seller?’”

  “Why would you want to read the worst seller?” asked Lou.

  Lena and Bob tried to follow the conversation; they appeared jumpy. “How’s your salad?” Lena asked.

  “Wonderful,” Ella said.

  “Where is the real money?” asked Lou, dreamily. “Not in shoes.”

  Mel had been pondering Vivien’s question; he looked up. “How about, ‘What is your stand on God?’”

  “Now that’s a conversation stopper,” said Lou.

  “Well,” said Mel, taken aback, �
�everyone has a point of view.”

  “You, you’re a professional in the religious field,” Lou said. “What is your stand?”

  Mel seemed pleased to have been asked. “In my studies,” he said, sweeping his lush hair back with his hand, “I’ve decided that God is an open term, subject to an evolving definition. In fact, the question is perhaps less important than the work we do to help solve the problems of our local and global communities—”

  “I think it’s when everyone in the temple stands up as you take out the Torah,” Vivien said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Ella.

  “Or when everyone stands up at a dance contest to give a standing ovation.” Vivien squinted thoughtfully into her plate. “You know . . . those moments when everyone’s united.” She paused. “The same.”

  “I have my own stand,” Lou said.

  “And what’s that?” asked Ella.

  “The more customers who buy, someone’s on my side. The less customers, someone’s not. Sometimes it’s the right advertising. Other times you can’t explain it.” Lou leaned back, obviously surprised at himself.

  “Is there any kind of customer who makes you think someone’s on your side?” asked Mel.

  “Ones who spend a lot,” said Lou. “Ones who don’t take too much time deciding what they want.”

  Mel laughed. “I’ll agree with that,” he said.

  Lena, her face red with her desire to contribute, said, “I think whatever Simone thinks. That’s my stand.”

  “That’s nice, honey,” said Ella. She did not know her own stand on God. Taking a deep breath, she examined the animal, and was disturbed by its long, rabbit-like feet, its thin black lips, and its pointed teeth.

  Vivien was struggling to sit in a more comfortable position. “It is just impossible to move,” she said. She rocked side to side on her hips for a moment and then was still.

  “Can I get you a chair?” Lou asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” The conversation came to a halt as everyone stared at Vivien’s stomach.

  “What’s its name?” asked Lena, sweetly.

  Ella, suddenly chilled, said, “Lena, that’s Vivien’s business—”

  “I was just asking,” said Lena. Her tone became bossy. “It needs a nice name.”

  Vivien looked intently at her sister, trying to see her through the fog of her own thoughts. “We . . . honey, I don’t think we’ve come up yet with a name we love.”

  “I think you should name it Doily,” said Lena, picking one off the tablecloth and holding it up.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s pretty!”

  Lena’s voice was too loud, as though she had an innate sense that her suggestion would be ignored. For a long moment, Vivien didn’t speak. Then, resolved not to deny her sister her contribution, she said, “We’ll think about it. Doily.” And quickly added, “Lena? You want to feel? Sometimes you can feel the baby kicking.”

  Lena scooted forward on all fours; Vivien’s eyes followed her palm as she placed it on her sister’s stomach. Lena’s face was filled with awe. Vivien held perfectly still and put her hand on top of Lena’s, as though to comfort her. It also appeared that she was holding Lena’s hand to one designated place.

  After a few moments, Lena lifted her hand. “I don’t feel anything,” she said in a haughty tone. Vivien gently rubbed her stomach.

  Simone leaped nimbly from the couch, walked into the middle of the circle, and nibbled one long claw. Lena brightened up. “She likes to wave her tail so we can kiss it. Watch.”

  Lena stroked the cat’s brown tail, and it floated up like a plant waving in the sea. Simone trotted around, oblivious, while Lena lunged at her, trying to kiss her tail. Bob joined in. Their faces glowed with pleasure as the air hummed with kissing sounds. The two of them seemed giddy, grateful for the pure act of loving Simone, and when they stopped, they were limp, breathing hard. Lena looked around at her guests, her face organized around one thought. “Now, everyone kiss her tail.”

  The guests were silent. The cat’s tail was frazzled; Ella wondered where the animal had been. “Honey, we’re eating your dinner now,” said Ella.

  Vivien touched Lena’s shoulder. “I’ll kiss her tail,” she said, struggling to sit up in the appropriate position.

  Lena sensed resistance. “I want everyone to do it!” She stamped her foot. “You don’t want to,” she said to Ella.

  “No,” said Ella, “it’s just—”

  “Why not?” Lena asked.

  “Well,” said Ella, “does the cat really want all of us—”

  “I want you to!” Lena said, and angrily ran into the kitchen. Ella began to rise to comfort her, but Bob got to Lena first.

  From the living room, Ella could see Bob and Lena standing together in the cramped kitchen, Bob’s hands on Lena’s shoulders, he was whispering to her. His shoelaces were untied, and his hair was sticky with marshmallows, but his forehead touched her daughter’s as though he were about to tumble into her. Ella watched them speak to each other in voices so intimate that no one could hear.

  Ella rubbed her arms; she was trying to think. If Lena was not a child, she did not know what she herself could be. She let out a long breath and looked around the apartment. Lou, Vivien, and Mel were now involved in their own private conversation.

  Through the windows, the night appeared a deep and wistful blue, the balcony lights casting misty beams on the swimming pool below. The world was so awkward in its beauty, Ella thought. She wondered how long it would take for Vivien and her to clean up the kitchen; she wondered how long Lena and Bob would be able to live in this apartment.

  Lena and Bob came back, holding fresh paper plates: one was piled with red licorice sticks, another with pieces of toast, a third with pastel-colored marshmallows adorned with chocolate chips. Simone padded lightly into the circle again and gazed at Ella with its clear yellow eyes. Tentatively, Ella reached toward it. The cat allowed Ella to touch its ears; they felt like flower petals, exquisitely soft.

  Ella asked Lena, “What other things does Simone like to do?”

  Lena rocked forward, thrilled to have been asked the question. “She likes string.”

  Bob took a piece of string from under the couch, and Lena dangled it in front of Simone’s face.

  Ella watched her daughter and her new son carefully run around the living room while the cat chased them. Simone’s yellow eyes were jewels; the cat trotted after the couple, its ears flattened coolly against its head. Bob and Lena stepped lightly, as though they had done this many times. Ella could see that the three of them belonged to one another; she did not know how she would remain part of them. Simone leaped forward with a scream. The cat’s eyes were set on the little prize as though it held everything necessary in the world. Whipping her body through the air, the cat brought the string down with her. Lena and Bob knelt by Simone, their faces tender. “Shh,” Lena said, cradling Simone’s tiny head in her hands while the cat silently thrashed her body around the bit of string.

  Fourteen

  WHEN LENA AND BOB moved into their apartment, Ella had—carefully—taught Lena how to cook. She went through each dish a few times, making sure that Lena understood every step. And Lena watched, mouth open, sampling each item as though she had never before tasted it. Ella demonstrated the Tuna Fish Sandwich, the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich, and Baloney on a Plate by Itself. There was to be no frying in their household, because she did not trust Lena with hot oil, and no baking unless Ella was there to turn off the stove. Lena learned to add lettuce to her tuna fish sandwich, to place slices of Swiss cheese on her baloney plate.

  After a few months, Lena told Ella that she did not like to cook anymore.

  “Tuna,” Ella suggested, over the phone. “It’s easy. You just spread it on bread.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Peanut butter and jelly,” said Ella.

  “Bob doesn’t like it,” said Lena, sounding proud.

  “He can man
age it one night a week,” said Ella.

  “No,” said Lena. “My husband deserves the best.”

  “Lena,” said Ella, “stop being a coffee commercial.”

  Lena was quiet. Then she said, “Mother, I want to be a good wife. He hates peanut butter. Don’t make me make peanut butter . . .”

  Ella headed over with a pound of chopped meat and showed Lena how to mix it in a bowl with onions and bread crumbs. They sat in the living room and waited while the meatloaf baked; Lena wandered from room to room, sniffing the familiar smell. Ella took the finished meatloaf from the oven, sliced it, and put the slices on a platter.

  When she got home, she called Lena. “I forgot. Cover it with foil to keep it warm.”

  “I can’t,” said Lena.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s gone,” Lena said.

  “What, it’s gone?”

  “I ate it,” said Lena.

  “All of it?”

  There was silence. “All of it,” said Lena, in a quiet, guilty voice.

  By their eighth month in the apartment, Lena and Bob were going out to dinner every night. When Ella was preparing dinner for Lou, she sometimes looked out the window and saw them hurrying through the cool dusk. They were off to Denny’s or the House of Pancakes, and they walked a little faster when they passed her house. The cost added up; Ella had told them not to spend more than three dollars on dinner. “Tell your waitress,” she said. “Remember. Show her your money and tell her that’s what you can spend.” For three dollars, they could buy two hamburgers with fries and cole slaw, two Cokes, and one order of Jell-O to split.

  A couple weeks later, Lena ran home to Ella’s from House of Pancakes, leaving Bob in the House of Pancakes.

  “We need MONEY,” Lena said, flushed, slapping the bill on the kitchen table. “Now.” She was almost sobbing; her fist unfurled, and coins and crumpled dollars fell out of her sticky hand. The bill said $4.07; Lena had $3.75.

  Lou leaned back in his seat. “Well,” he said. “Almost.”