“Sorry about that,” Al said. “I thought I was talking to my mother.”
“Are you afraid to go up in a plane?” I asked her. I would love to fly but something tells me I’d be scared. I heard my grandmother telling once how afraid she was to go to the ladies’ room the whole way to Minneapolis for fear that if she walked down the aisle she might make the plane tip. I think that’s the way I’d feel. But I’d like to have a chance to find out.
“It’s kind of spooky when the plane first takes off,” she said. “It’s exciting but spooky too.”
“I’ve got a good idea,” I said, “take your needlepoint along to calm your nerves.”
“Right,” Al said. “Listen, I have a favor to ask.” She gave me a piercer, so I knew it was something serious.
“Sure,” I said. “Ask away.”
“I want you to go over to my apartment after I’m gone,” she said. “Just to see if my mother wants anything. O.K.? She might get lonely or something, though I doubt it. Probably the minute the plane takes off, Ole Henry will put his feet up on the coffee table and start playing gin rummy. He plays an awful lot of gin rummy.”
“If you want,” I said. I had never been alone with Al’s mother. I mean, Al was always with me. When you have a friend, you usually don’t talk to your friend’s mother. Not really talk. She might ask you how your mother and father are or if you’re over your cold, but that’s all. Plus the fact that Al’s mother only calls me “dear.”
“She might not even be home,” Al went on, “but I’d feel better if I know you’re around in case she wants anything.”
“Polly might come over on Saturday,” I said. “But even if she does, we can go over.”
Polly can talk to anyone. I guess that comes from having your father in the diplomatic service and living in different places. You get to have poise. Polly could tell Al’s mother about Evelyn wanting to get married when she went to Boston and about how her mother wanted to change her name back to what it was before she got married. She could tell about wanting to be a really great chef. When you come right down to it, Polly was a lot more interesting than most people.
Al’s mother sent a crystal vase to Al’s father and Louise for a wedding present. Al told me it was real crystal. You could tell by flicking it with your finger. If it sang, that was crystal.
“They’re going to live in the country,” Al said, “so it figures they’ll have a lot of flowers. My mother says no one ever has enough vases. Especially crystal ones.”
Al had her knapsack all packed and ready four days before she was supposed to go. Then her mother went out and bought her a suitcase stamped with her initials.
“It’s kind of square,” she said, “but O.K., I guess. You know what she said when she saw my knapsack? She said, ‘People will think we don’t know any better.’ You know who people is, right? Louise, that’s who. My mother’s all hung up on middle-class values.”
“You sound exactly like Polly when you say that,” I said.
Al looked surprised. “I do?” she said.
On Wednesday night, Al came over to say goodbye.
“Well, I’m off first thing in the morning,” she said nonchalantly.
“Where ya going?” Teddy asked.
Teddy could be in the midst of a hurricane and say, “Wind? What wind?” Or he could be caught in a bank when somebody tried to rob it and say, “I didn’t hear any guns going off.” He must inherit this tendency from my father who tunes people and things out if his mind is busy elsewhere. Al had been talking about going to her father’s wedding only for almost two weeks straight, night and day.
“My father’s wedding,” Al told Teddy.
He snuffled. Probably if he’d been alone, he’d pick his nose. “No kidding? I thought your father was already married,” Teddy said.
My mother kissed Al good-bye. “Have a lovely time,” she said. “We’ll be waiting to hear all about it.”
“Don’t forget,” Al said when we were out in the hall. “About my mother, I mean.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Take it easy on the champagne.”
Al did a little belly dance.
“Have a weird day,” she said.
“You too,” I told her.
I watched her walk down the hall to her apartment. When she was almost there, I opened our door and went in so I wouldn’t have to say good-bye again.
17
When I called Polly Friday night, her mother said she was running a fever of a hundred and three and couldn’t come.
“I suspect it may be measles,” she told me. “There’s a lot of it around and she’s never had them.”
I said I was sorry. I was. Not only because Polly might have the measles but because that meant I’d have to go see Al’s mother alone.
“You want me to do the wash?” I asked my mother Saturday morning. She looked at me in surprise.
“I hadn’t really thought,” she said. “I haven’t worked my way beyond tonight’s dinner. Why do you ask?”
My mother is the kind of housekeeper who has to do things spontaneously. If she happens to feel like running the vacuum, she runs it. But if she happens to feel like writing a letter or reading a magazine, that comes first.
“Because Al asked me if I’d check in and see if her mother was all right, if she needed anything. She’s worried about her, I guess. I thought if I had to do the wash, then I couldn’t stay too long,” I said.
“Hey,” my mother said, “I like that, the child worrying about the parent. That’s a nice twist. Go check under Teddy’s bed. You’ll strike it rich.”
I went into his room. It smelled. Of quite a few things.
“Get under the bed and bring out whatever you can carry,” I told him. He was halfway under before he realized he was being bossed around. He started to back out, mouth open to moan and carry on. I strategically placed a sharp knitting needle against his rump. I carry this needle around for just such purposes.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” I told him, “or I may draw blood.”
He crawled back in, muttering and groaning as he worked his way through the old apple cores and orange peels. My mother said she has too many other things to do than to check under our beds for debris. That was our responsibility, she said. My mother is trying to bring Teddy and me up to be responsible citizens. It isn’t easy, as she’ll tell you at the drop of a hat.
I managed to half fill a laundry bag.
“I guess I’ll go over now,” I said.
“That’ll be a nice gesture,” my mother said, lying on the couch reading a book.
“You ought to be the one to go,” I said. “She’s more your age than she is mine.”
“A good point,” my mother said. “Let me read you this. It’s a riot.”
She knows if there’s one thing that drives me bonkers it’s to be read to from a book somebody else likes. I went down the hall to Al’s apartment.
I rang the bell. Maybe she wouldn’t be home. Sometimes she had Saturdays off, sometimes not. If no one answered, I could always say I’d tried.
“Why, hello, dear,” Al’s mother said when she opened the door. She seemed quite glad to see me.
“Come in and have a sandwich.” She didn’t even ask me what I was doing there. She seemed to accept me as a person, not like a friend of her kid’s. Before I knew what I was doing, I was sitting at the kitchen table while she made us both a bologna sandwich. I was relieved to see she used mayonnaise instead of butter, also that she put both mustard and relish on without asking. You can tell all kinds of things about a person by the way she makes a bologna sandwich.
“What fun!” she said. “I was going through our old photograph albums when you came. Now we can do it together. There are lots of pictures of Alexandra when she was a baby, when we lived in California, outside of L.A.”
When Al first came to our apartment house, she told me she had lived in L.A., among other places. I thought she meant Ellay. I told her I never heard of
a place called Ellay. She didn’t even laugh at me. I thought that was nice of her.
“I’m filled with nostalgia today,” Al’s mother said. “I guess it’s because Al’s at her father’s wedding.” She looked at her watch. “They must be having the ceremony just about now. I do hope she has a good time. You know, it seems like only yesterday that Al looked like that.” She put a mess of pictures in front of me.
All I can say is, Al was a pretty funny-looking baby. She’s much better-looking now.
“I’ll never forget how I felt when my mother-in-law came to the hospital to see Al,” she went on. “It was her first grandchild. I said, ‘I’m warning you, she isn’t a pretty baby. In fact, she’s funny-looking.’ I guess I wanted her to be prepared. Anyway, when she came back from the nursery, she said, ‘I’m not going to lie to you, she is funny-looking.’”
Al’s mother took our plates and put them in the sink. “And do you know, I cried for a long time after she left. My husband was furious at her, but what could he do? The damage had been done. I’ve never forgotten it.” She smiled at me.
“What a stinky thing to say,” I told her.
“Yes,” she agreed, “it was stinky. She was an extraordinarily tactless woman.”
We settled down to look at the pictures. The doorbell rang and Al’s mother said, “Oh, dear, that’s probably Mr. Lynch. When she opened the door, she said, “Hello, Henry.” She didn’t sound overjoyed to see him. “You know Al’s little friend. We were just looking at some photographs.”
“I thought you might be in need of some company today,” Ole Henry said. “Thought you might be a bit lonely, Al gone and all.”
“That was kind of you,” Al’s mother said. “I might have, but we’ve been having a fine time, talking and looking at these old photographs. There’s nothing like looking at old photographs to bring back memories.”
She went to the kitchen and made him a sandwich. Then the three of us looked at the pictures.
“There’s Al and her father and me in the park. Look at the length of that dress, will you! And the hair! You see that bonnet Al’s wearing? Some old lady knitted it and I didn’t want to offend her, so I put it on Al. It was pink. Her father said she looked like Barney Oldfield in it. He was a racing driver,” she said to me.
We looked at lots more pictures, she and I. Ole Henry got bored. He walked around the room, whistling under his breath.
“Oh, what fun we had in those days,” Al’s mother said. “We did nothing but laugh. Life was marvelous.” She turned the last page and we sat and said nothing.
“There’s nothing like your first love, I guess,” she said quietly. I think she was talking to me.
Ole Henry put his hand on hers.
“Each of my wives has been very dear to me,” he said. “Each dearer than the last.”
Holy Toledo, how many wives had he had? I made a mental note to tell Al to find out.
Just call him Bluebeard Lynch.
“I better get going,” I said. “Thanks for the sandwich.”
“You were sweet to come see me.” Al’s mother walked me to the door. “I enjoyed it more than I can say.”
“Same here,” I said. I meant it.
“I expect Alexandra will be over first thing tomorrow to tell you about the wedding,” she said.
“Tell her I’ll be waiting,” I said.
She shut the door and I pushed the elevator button for down before I realized I didn’t have my laundry bag. I was just reaching to ring her bell again, although I didn’t want to, when the door opened.
“You forgot this,” Al’s mother said.
I said thank you. I’d forgotten my excuse for getting away. I hadn’t needed it, after all.
18
Al called me about eight o’clock Saturday night.
“Hey baby,” she said, “it’s me.”
“Where are you? You’re not home already, are you?” I said.
“Of course not, dope. I’m at the wedding. I have to talk fast because they’ll probably want me downstairs any minute. I asked Louise if I could use the phone. I charged the call to our number. You can do that, you know. My mother will blow a fuse, probably. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell you about it. It was the most fun. You wouldn’t believe how great it was. The three little kids, my stepbrothers, are some super kids. They are named Chris and Nick and Sam. They have a pig and two cows and a barn. They grow practically all the food they eat, and they asked me to come back this summer and stay. I said I’d have to see. They had champagne at the wedding, and I took my shoes off. Those shoes really got to me. Nobody minded. They had a cake that a friend of Louise’s baked, with a little house made of sugar on top. My father took me around and introduced me to all his friends. ‘This is my daughter, Al,’ he said. If I’m talking a lot, it’s probably because I had two glasses of champagne.”
“Who said you’re talking a lot?” I managed to get in.
“Well, when you’re calling long distance you don’t want to waste a penny, right? Anyway,” Al went on, “as I said, I couldn’t wait to tell you all about it. They like me. I really think they like me a lot. They’re very nice people. Maybe I can bring you with me when I come back. I met this kid. I’ll have to tell you about him when I get home. Louise made the dress she wore. It was beautiful. It was like thistles. My favorite stepbrother is Sam, I think. He’s seven. I took a whole bunch of pictures. I’ll bring them home and get them developed.… Yeah, O.K., I’m coming. I’ve got to go, they’re calling for me to come downstairs,” Al said. “But there’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?” My voice sounded sort of hoarse. I hadn’t used it in so long.
“I got my period,” Al said.
“No kidding! Terrific!” I said.
There was a pause. I could hear voices in the background.
“It’s not so much,” Al said, “See you.” And she hung up.
19
“They all kissed me at the airport, even Chris and he’s ten, which is a little old for kissing.”
Al had gone to her apartment, changed her clothes and zapped over to see me. She took up where she’d left off the night before. If I closed my eyes, I’d think she was still on the telephone.
“What’s Louise look like?” I got in.
“Louise? Well, she’s not too tall, about as tall as me, and she’s sort of tender looking. She had this really low voice and she never hollers at the boys. They do what she wants. I think Sam is my favorite. He’s seven. He’s so cute. I took scads of pictures.”
“When’d you get your period?” I asked.
“Right before the wedding. That was lucky. No problem. It was like a fire drill at school. You know, you’ve practiced so much you know exactly what to do. My mother had packed my period readiness kit and, zap, there I was, all set.”
“Who’s the kid you met?” I asked her.
“What kid?”
“The one you mentioned over the phone. You said you’d tell me when you got home.”
“Oh, him.” Al looked at her sneakers. “He’s fifteen. He said he might write me. I don’t think he will.”
“Did you give him your address?” I said.
“Yeah, I wrote it on a piece of paper. He’ll probably lose it.”
“He’s nice,” I said, not asking her.
“He’s all right.” Al’s eyes were very bright. “He mows Louise’s lawn for her. His parents are friends of hers. He’d had a glass of champagne when he asked me for my address. Which is probably why he asked. So had I. Two.”
“You told me.”
“His name’s Brian,” Al said.
I looked at my fingernails. “I went over to see your mother,” I said. “We looked at baby pictures of you. I had a good time.”
“She told me,” Al said. “Thanks a lot.”
“I never really talked to her before,” I told her. “I enjoyed it. She made us a bologna sandwich. Ole Henry came over and she made him one too. I don’t think sh
e’s red hot on him.”
“I’m going to have to talk to my mother more,” Al said. “She and I don’t communicate enough. I feel different, since I’ve been to the wedding. You know how you worry and worry about something, the way I worried about the wedding? You want things to be perfect, but you know that almost nothing is ever perfect. Almost nothing lives up to expectations. But this wedding, the whole thing, was exactly what I hoped for. Nothing will ever be so perfect again. It’s like something I can take and hold in my hand and look at once in a while. You know?”
I nodded, although I didn’t really know.
“I’ve been thinking.” Al got up and started to pace.
“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I know I’m gullible but I draw the line somewhere.”
“I’ve decided my father is far from the ideal father,” Al said, without smiling at my joke. “He did go off and not see me for six years, right?”
I kept quiet.
“Not only that,” she continued, “he also walked out on my mother and left her to take the full burden of raising a child.”
I wondered who Al was quoting. Probably Ole Henry. It sounded like something he’d say.
“I know he sent me money and postcards, but what are money and postcards compared to the day-to-day stuff?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Zilch, that’s what,” Al said. “Nothing but zilch.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my father completely for what he did,” Al went on. “I think I understand him better now, and maybe when I’m old I’ll appreciate him more. Still, he shouldn’t have gone off and left me, then snap his fingers and expect me to jump.”
Al snapped her fingers. They barely made any noise at all. I’ve always been good at snapping my fingers. I can make a really loud noise. I can also make a loud noise when I put a piece of grass between my thumbs and blow. Not too many people can do that.
She sat down beside me and we both stared out the window.
After the silence had dragged on a bit, I said, “But it turned out really well, right? Better than you planned. You like them, they like you.”
I Know You, Al: The Al Series, Book Two Page 6
