by Sally Mandel
She trod with clammy feet across Commonwealth Avenue and nearly slipped on the icy trolley track. Her parents used to argue about money. In fact, that had been the only habitual source of contention between them. Now and then the battles had gotten pretty wild. Every week her father would leave the household allowance on the kitchen table. It always seemed like pitifully little to Quinn, but Ann was a wizard at stretching dollars. She clipped coupons, frequented sales, and knew the exact prices of canned goods in every chain in the greater Boston area. One day Ann had asked John for an extra five dollars to buy a leg of lamb on sale at Buy-Wise. He accused her of extravagance—she could have set aside some of the weekly allotment for such a contingency. Quinn sat curled up in a ball on the living-room couch and tried not to listen as they shouted at one another. The sounding board in the piano shook and hummed when John slammed out the door. For three weeks the atmosphere was cold but cordial. For three weeks the household money accumulated in a pile on the kitchen table. Somehow Ann had managed to prepare filling meals without laying a finger on the money, though Quinn suspected a surreptitious raid on the Christmas Club fund. The Mallorys ate spaghetti, lasagna, ravioli, omelets, manicotti, and scrambled eggs amid polite requests to pass the salt. The stack of bills made an eloquent centerpiece. About ten days into the siege Quinn decided that she would never be dependent on a man for her survival.
When she got home, John was at the door to meet her.
“Sorry I was so tough on you,” he said.
“It’s all right,” Quinn answered, but she avoided his eyes as she hung up her jacket.
“Things went wrong all day. Somebody got hurt at the plant and then the car froze over. Not that it’s any excuse to take it out on you.”
Quinn faced him now. “There’s money for the call in the drawer.”
“You keep it.”
“No. I insist.”
John swiped at her hair. “We’re not going to fight about that, too, are we, lass?”
“All right. Let’s use it to buy roses for Mom.”
“Done. Hungry? Soup’s on.”
After dinner John wandered into the living room and snapped the television on to Ted Manning’s program. Quinn had admired Ted Manning since she was twelve years old and had watched him take Senator Joseph McCarthy apart at a televised news conference. Manning had been the first media personality to cross-examine his subjects on national television, and within a year of the McCarthy interview he was hosting his own show. Quinn had observed carefully as Manning exposed the prominent clergyman’s sympathy for the Ku Klux Klan, a film director’s contempt for his actors, a federal judge’s cozy relationship with organized crime. The interviews were always conducted with skill and dignity. Under Manning’s persistent encouragement private personalities emerged from behind the press-agent cartoons. Quinn gave Manning credit for triggering her fascination with world affairs. She regarded him as a contemporary artist at work in the medium that had become the focus of modern communication.
As soon as she heard the introductory music to On the Line, she was beside her father. “Giving up Huntley/Brinkley without a battle?” she asked in amazement.
“I guess I can put up with this jerk once in a while.”
Quinn planted a noisy kiss on his cheek and settled back to watch Ted Manning interview Robert F. Kennedy.
At the end Manning’s suntanned face was earnest. “… remains to be seen,” his voice resonated, “whether Senator Robert Kennedy will capture the support of his colleagues in Washington as effectively as he has captured the votes from his home state of New York.” There was the barest emphasis on “home.” The camera flashed to Kennedy’s face. Manning’s irony had not slipped past the senator, and he grinned appreciatively. As the closing credits played over the men’s faces, Quinn sighed.
“He’s wonderful,” she said.
“His brother was. I haven’t made up my mind about him yet.”
“No, not Bobby. Ted Manning.”
“Give me Chet and David every time.”
Quinn reached out to switch off Mr. Novak. “Did you see how he got Kennedy to talk about his father’s shenanigans? I can’t wait to work with him.”
“Ah, it’s work with him now.”
“You think I won’t?”
“Sure, I think you’ll do whatever you set out to do.”
Quinn studied her hands. They were sturdy and freckled, with rounded fingertips and trim nails. Not elegant, but capable. “You know, sometimes I feel like some kind of freak. Maybe I shouldn’t have been a girl.”
“You’re a damn pretty girl.”
She dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “That’s not it. I keep wondering if something is missing in me, or maybe I’ve got some extra weird kink that makes me want to … to accomplish.” She shook her head. “It seems as though every other girl in my class is either getting married this summer or finding any old job while they wait to get married.”
“You think that’s how Cleopatra felt? Or Queen Elizabeth or Catherine the Great or Jane Austen—”
She interrupted him, exasperated. “Oh, come on, Daddy. I don’t want to conquer Western Europe. I want to be normal.”
“Well, then, what’s normal.”
“Mom.”
“Okay. She’s got a family and she works, too.”
“Yeah, and look at the conniption fit you had.”
“That’s different,” John said.
“Uh huh.”
“All right, maybe I resisted it a little at first.”
Quinn laughed. Then she thought for a moment and continued. “You were a real creep about Mom, but the thing is, you always made me feel like I could do anything the boys could do. I had it all figured out. And then I met this … person, and now I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve known him a few weeks, and I’m already getting these sappy ideas about slipping into my apron and cooking him pot roast and rice pudding.”
John tugged gently on a lock of her hair. “You can have it all, honey,” he said.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
She reached over to kiss his cheek again. “You’re a pretty cool guy.”
“Oh, yeah, I know that.” He was already on his feet. “I’m ready for a beer. Want one?” Quinn smiled and shook her head. Her father was always uncomfortable with praise.
Alone, she leaned back with her arms crossed behind her head and remembered the time she had run for class president in sixth grade. Until that particular year she had always been elected without opposition. Everyone had been shocked when Morgan Donohue stood up and nominated herself to run against Quinn. There was no contest; Quinn won hands down. But Morgan’s bitter, tear-streaked face had haunted Quinn and she’d brought her anguish home to John.
“You’ll have to make your peace with being a winner,” he had told her. “Oh, you can hide yourself under a rain barrel the rest of your life if you want to. But it looks like you’re born to lead the pack, and you might as well learn to live with it. That means being tough enough to look into the loser’s face.”
It hadn’t seemed so at the time, but the issues were a whole lot simpler then.
Chapter 13
Will flew East the morning after Quinn got back. He boarded a bus in Boston and spent the trip staring out the window. The landscape seemed flat; everything was the same leaden color, so that it was difficult to define exactly where the horizon began beyond the fields. Every now and then a grove of evergreens would flash past, but they seemed stunted compared to the towering pines back home. It was all so worn out, worn down, on this side of the country. Even the mountains were more like oversize hills with no edges to them.
As the bus neared Springfield, Will’s spirits began to rise. Quinn should be here already. He would call her first thing, and maybe she could get away from her cafeteria job for a quick bite at the union. Suddenly he missed her more sharply than he had all during vacati
on. The bus had slowed to a maddening crawl.
It was growing dark when Will walked into his room. Without bothering to flick on the light, he tossed his suitcase onto the bed. In the gloom he hadn’t noticed a sizable lump in the middle of his mattress. The lump yelped, and the suitcase toppled onto the floor.
A disheveled, bright pink face, then bare shoulders, appeared over the bedspread. Will took a corner and pulled. Quinn was stark naked.
“Hi,” she said.
Will laughed. He sat down on the edge of the bed to kiss her.
Quinn rubbed her hip. “You almost paralyzed me with that thing.”
“Sorry. At least I got you where you’re padded.”
“Hey.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I didn’t say plump. I said padded.” He stroked the spot that was already beginning to bruise. “I must say this is a fine how-do-you-do.”
“How do you do?”
“I’m glad to see you.” His hand began to wander across her belly and up between her breasts. He drew invisible circles around her nipples with his index finger.
“You going to take your clothes off?” she asked him.
“Don’t you think we ought to get reacquainted first?”
“No.”
She helped him undress. They didn’t even bother to lock the door.
Afterward they lay facing one another with legs intertwined.
“You’re very beautiful,” she whispered.
“I know it.” He touched his tongue to the tip of her nose.
“So how are things in the wild wild West?”
“Quiet.”
“You must have loved it.”
“Yup. How’s your mother?”
“Was there a pile of snow? We had tons.”
“A blizzard or two. How’s your mother?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn dropped her eyes. “I called you.”
“You missed me by five minutes. I called back but nobody answered.”
“Why didn’t you try again?”
“I did.”
“I liked your mom,” Quinn said. “She’s not nosy, is she?”
“No.”
“How come she didn’t know my name?”
Will looked bewildered. “Why would she know it?”
“Well, didn’t you talk about me at all?”
“No.”
“Not to anybody?”
“Well, come to think of it, I did.”
“Who?”
“Whom.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass, Will.”
“To my old English teacher,” he said.
“Does he teach Old English or is he old?”
“A little of both.”
“What did he say about me?”
“I told him your name. What is this?”
“I thought about you all the time. I didn’t like missing you. It was … unnerving.”
“I thought about you, too.”
Quinn was silent.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing. Did you see Marianne’s parents?”
“Yes, Christmas Eve.”
“How are they?”
“Sad. Is that what’s on your mind?”
All of a sudden Quinn began to cry. She tried to turn her face away, but Will cupped it between his hands.
“What’s the trouble? Honey, tell me.”
She could barely talk. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she choked. He held her, rocking her gently until her breathing calmed.
“People shouldn’t die,” she said finally.
“Marianne and your mother?”
Her chin began to quiver again, so, rather than try speaking, she just nodded her head. After a few moments she took a deep breath.
“Okay, that’s it for theatrics. Let’s find something to eat.” She got up, extracted her clothes from their hiding place under the bed, and started dressing.
“Somebody ought to come by five times a day and drop slabs of raw meat outside your door,” Will remarked.
“Fucking always makes me hungry,” she said cheerfully. The tears had left faint trails along her cheeks. Otherwise he would never have known she had just been crying.
Over coffee in the union, Quinn said, “I didn’t even get to talk to Ann’s jerky doctor.”
“How do you know he’s jerky, then?”
“Because I did speak with his nurse over the phone, and she’s a horse’s ass. If he hired her, then he must be one too. I couldn’t even get an appointment. But I called Van, and her father’s giving me the name of somebody I can see in Springfield. Doctor Horse’s Ass will send this guy Ann’s files. She ought to have another opinion anyway.”
“You sound discouraged.”
“I don’t get discouraged.”
“You don’t admit you get discouraged.”
“I won’t let anything happen to my mother.”
Will looked at her steadily until her face finally relaxed into a sheepish smile. “Anyhow, I’m working on it.”
“I can see that,” Will said.
They strolled back to her dormitory slowly, enjoying the physical sensations of being together. Quinn held his arm and rested her head against him. Their legs made contact as they walked.
On their way up the last hill Quinn said, “I made a decision over Christmas.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to work for Ted Manning.”
Will stopped.
“I can’t really say it was over Christmas. I mean, I told you I always knew I’d go to New York and work in television, with documentaries or news, something like that. I’ve written the first draft of my letter applying for a job. I want you to look at it.”
Will was experiencing a peculiar restriction in his stomach, a withering sensation. He kept his body very still and concentrated on his insides. Everything was crinkling up. His organs were retracting into wisps of dried paper.
“Will?”
His expression of dreamy abstraction belied the process taking place inside him.
“You’re not even listening!”
She’s trying to get a handle on it, Will thought. Her mother’s sick, and she’s scared out of her wits, and she has to impose some control over her life. But by now he was hollow inside, and there was a cold breeze blowing through. Finally he said, “I didn’t know you’d worked things out in such detail.”
“Well, I got to watch Manning every night over vacation, and there’re a few things I thought he could fix. I figured, what the hell, I’ll send him a letter and see if I can get a foot in the door.” She tugged at his arm. “Come on, if I’m cold, you must be freezing.”
“Where do I fit?”
“Don’t look so miserable. I didn’t leave you out.” She held his hand to her cheek. “You’ll come to New York with me. There’s kids in the city who are desperate to learn. They probably need teachers more than anywhere else. We can share an apartment, maybe find a place in Greenwich Village, or if it’s too expensive, Stanley says there’s some really nice areas in Brooklyn.”
“I don’t want to go to New York.”
“Of course you don’t. Now. But you don’t know anything about it.” She began stamping her feet to keep warm.
“Neither do you.”
“I’ve been there once. That’s more than you.”
“I haven’t the slightest inclination to live there. Not for one day or one hour.”
“Oh, Will, give it a chance. It might even be great.”
“New York is not my idea of great.”
He started toward the entrance of the women’s dormitory. Students were still arriving in taxis with their suitcases. There was laughter and the jubilant shouts of reunion.
Hurrying along behind Will, Quinn said, “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“You thought wrong. Don’t include me in your schemes when you don’t have any idea how I fe
el.”
“But, Will—”
“I won’t live in a place like that. Ever.”
They had stopped in front of the building. His face seemed far away, high above her head where she couldn’t reach. She wished it wouldn’t be absurd to stand on the fender of the nearest car. Anything to put her face within range of those eyes that seemed to be floating in extraterrestrial space.
“I think you’re being very close-minded,” she said.
“You thought I’d just tag along after you,” he said. “Well, no, I’ll be back home where I can breathe. This college is too Goddamn overpopulated for me.”
“Some reunion,” she said finally, and headed for the door. He didn’t try to stop her.
Will stood still, waiting for his equilibrium to return. It was as if their hot words had set them whirling around the sidewalk. He thought of the centrifuge machine that tests the astronaut’s tolerance for speed. Strapped in a capsule, he spins around the chamber at the end of a long arm, velocity intensifying until his face is distorted as if it were soft clay. Well, the mad ride was over now, leaving Will disoriented and sick to his stomach.
He chided himself for the depth of his shock and anger. Hadn’t she confided her goals to him from the beginning? Her sense of purpose had impressed him. But sometime between then and now he had allowed himself to forget the look on her face while she was describing her future. Somewhere along the way he had begun setting up house with Quinn in Idaho, just as she was hustling him off to their cozy apartment in Greenwich Village. What right had he to strike out at her?
He walked down the hill, oblivious to the greetings of other students. He wondered if he could coach his imagination to associate Quinn with Manhattan, like skyscrapers and Checker cabs. If the connection became automatic enough, perhaps eventually he would despise her with the same intensity that he despised the noise and filth of the city.
