“My stomach.”
“But where?”
She moves her hand in an indistinct circle around her abdomen, as if waxing a tabletop.
“Does it feel more throw-uppy, or more poopy?”
She shrugs, looks away, suddenly delicate.He has the feeling ofhaving misspoken on a date.
“How long have you had it?”he asks.“Since dinner?”
“Every day,”she says.She reaches for the remote control;Daniel pulls it away from her, but she persists, and he gives it to her.She presses the on button and the set comes on just as one ofthe soldiers inPlatoon catches a bullet in the back.Her face is so impassive, Daniel can’t tell if she has registered the image.She begins to scroll through the channels, one after the next, looking for a station showing cartoons.
“Where’s Cartoon Network?”she asks.
They have had a satellite receiver on their rooffor months now, but with hundreds ofchannels to choose from, Daniel is still the only one who knows where the various networks and cable stations are on the scroll.
Even Kate, a hard-core aficionado ofCNN, often asks Daniel for her show’s three-digit address.He is the one who brings the groceries home, who lugs them from the car, he is the one who mows the lawn, rakes the leaves, shovels the snow, salts the icy sidewalk, carries the firewood in from the shed and stacks it next to the hearth, he is the one who opens the flue in November and yanks it shut again in May, he is the one who pushes the reset button on the boiler when it inexplicably shuts down, who sets the Havahart traps for the squirrels in the kitchen, who traps the milk snakes in the dirt-floor cellar, who opens the windows so that the occa-sional bat can escape, he is the one who changes the batteries in the smoke detectors—what in the world will they do without him?
“It’s too late for cartoons,”he says to Ruby.
”What time is it?”A note ofdesperation in her voice—she knows what’s coming.
“Almost ten,”he answers, yawning.
”Where’s Mom?”she asks.
”She’s sleeping, too.Come on.”Daniel stands.He grips her by her armpits, the heat comes straight through the fabric ofher cotton turtle-neck.He lifts her, she grips his ribs with her knees.What ifthis is the last time he ever lifts her into his arms? Ofcourse it’s not, he tells himself.
But he also knows that day will come.In the end, she may come to love him again, but first there will be hurdles to jump in a long steeplechase ofhate.
The usual bedtime ritual for Ruby—the washing, the brushing, the stories, the back scratching—usually runs close to an hour, but tonight she allows herselfto be put to sleep in twenty minutes, after which Daniel checks in on Kate again, and after that he goes downstairs, puts on his overcoat, and leaves.The night air is cold and tastes ofwood smoke.The stars pulsate like wounds.He slides into his car, starts the en-gine, and backs away from the house without putting on his headlights.
When he is safely away from the house he switches on his lights and sur-prises two deer who have been standing on the side ofthe road.He won-ders ifhe is making a terrible mistake—the kind you can never live down, the kind that defines your life, that creates a before and an after—byleaving Ruby alone in the house with her mother.But he comforts himself:Isn’t that how the world goes?Aren’t there at this very moment millions ofkids in their little beds, with their drunken parents right down the hall?
When he has put that proverbial country mile between himself and his house, Daniel realizes that once again he has no destination.The Bistro is closed for the holiday—though surely halfits clientele could use a place to repair to—and he neither wishes nor dares to drive by Iris’s house.He finds his cell phone in the glove compartment and dials her number.One ofDaniel’s clients, a postmarital stalker, from whom Daniel has unconsciously learned certain desperate techniques ofinfor-mation gathering and track covering, has told Daniel that ifyou want to make a phone call and don’t want your number to show up on caller-identification hardware, or to have your number retrievable by the re-cipient’s pressing*69,then you can block your number from coming up bydialing*67before making the call, which Daniel does now before di-aling Iris’s number.His plan:IfIris answers, ask her to meet him at his office;ifanyone else picks up, simply terminate the call.
The call is answered on the second ring.A man’s voice.Hampton.
Fucking hell.Daniel hits the offbutton on his phone, tosses it aside, and steps on the accelerator, plunging the car deeper into the night.
Guided only by the logic and habits ofdriving, he speeds through the village and turns onto a little two-block stretch offrame houses, given the grandiose nameVanderbilt Drive;from there, he takes a left onto Hammersmith, to his office.IrmaThomas is playing on his tape deck:It’s raining so hard I can scarcely catch my breath…He pulls into the driveway that leads to the parking area behind the building, which is just an un-lighted patch ofblacktop, with amateurishly drawn yellow lines indicat-ing the parking space for each ofthe building’s clients, and he doesn’t notice Iris’s car until he is turning into his own slot and the outer edge ofhis headlights sweeps against the side doors ofher blueVolvo.
He bangs his fist against the steering wheel, rocks back in his seat.
Iris has gotten out ofher car, she is walking toward him.He opens the door.He hurries toward her, takes her in his arms.
“It’s you,”he says, talking and kissing her at the same time.
”I was just going to leave,”she says.
”Do you have time?”
She shakes her head no.“Do you?”
“Kate’s asleep.Passed out, actually.”It strikes him as a terrible thing to say, but even as he realizes that he proceeds to make it worse.“I actu-ally feel nervous leaving Ruby alone with her.”
“You should go back.We both should.”
“How did you know I’d be here?”Daniel asks.
“I didn’t.I just had to get out ofthe house and I decided to come here.Hampton’s brothers Jordan and James—”
“I met James,”Daniel interjects.
”And his sisterVictoria are completely obsessed with this fucking video game James brought over.All that brotherly competition, it’s re-ally exhausting.And they’ve got Nelson all gooned up over it.It’s the worst kind ofviolent fantasy game for a kid like Nelson, but try telling that to Hampton.He just laughs, like there’s something cute and naïve about my concerns.”
“Leave him then, live with me.”
Without any particular change ofexpression, the look offrustration and anger on her face changes to melancholy, it’s like moving a radio dial the breadth ofone cricket leg and hearing completely different music.
”Don’t,”she says.“It’s not funny.”
“Am I laughing?Am I even smiling?”
“Where were you all my life?”she says.“Why weren’t you there when it was time to get married?Where were you?What were you doing?”
“I don’t remember,”he says, pulling her close.“Let’s go upstairs,”he murmurs into her ear.
They have already been at each other a few times in his office;they have made love on the floor, with Iris on Daniel’s lap and Daniel in his chair, with Iris naked and bent over the desk, propped up on her elbows, her hands clasped as ifin prayer, or with her arms outstretched and her hands grasping onto the edge ofthe desk for traction while Daniel emp-ties himself into her from behind.As they walk in tonight, and Daniel turns on a floor lamp and then steps behind Iris to help her offwith her coat, they both realize that more than any other single room, this utili-tarian space, with its sense ofgrievance and redress in the glassed-in bookshelves, with its evidence oftime wasted and time standing still in the standard-issue magazines on the low table in the waiting room, and the tax-deductible elegance in the blue-and-gold weave oftheTurkish rug Daniel bought at an auction at a Holiday Inn across the river, this two-room suite, this place ofbusiness, this professional outpost ofa man who willfully jettisoned his main chance to make any kind ofname for himself in his field, this is a
s close as anything they have to call their own.
Where in the world can they go?They have used her house, going from room to room, trying to find a bed in which they don’t feel criminal, they have parked like teenagers along various dirt roads and woodland paths, and they have been together at the Catskill Motel, the Bittersweet, the Stuyvesant Motor Lodge, a Sheraton, a Motel6,the Flying Dutch-man, and in Cabin3ofa squalid scatter oftiny tourist cabins calling it-selfthe MorpheusArms, always checking in under assumed names and paying in cash, sometimes only able to stay for a halfhour, and never re-turning anywhere a second time.
“Where does everyone think you are?”he asks her, hanging her coat on the coatrack, and then putting his own over hers.
“Hampton’s mother wants some Pepto and I said I’d find someplace open and get it for her.”She glances at her watch, shrugs.“We actually have some in the house—Pepto-Bismol is to theWelles family what chicken soup is to Jews—but I just hid it in my purse so I could have an excuse to get out ofthere.”She takes an unopened bottle ofthe lurid pink liquid out ofher pocketbook and shows it to Daniel.
He is thrilled by her cunning.Its dishonest, calculating nature doesn’t disturb him at all.
“Kind oflow, isn’t it?”she says, dropping the medicine back into her bag.
“I think when people love each other, they’ll do anything to be together,”Daniel says.“Everything that is in the way has to get either shoved to one side or beaten into dust.You do whatever is necessary.”
“Great.Let’s go on a killing spree.”
Daniel gestures toward the oak file cabinets.“Most ofmy cases, there’s not much passion behind them, but now and then I have to rep-resent someone who’s driven by some desire—for another person, for money, whatever—and I never understood how someone could risk wrecking their life, or ruining the lives ofpeople around them, or actu-ally hurting someone, just to get what they want.But I think that’s be-
cause I never really wanted anything myself, I mean really wanted it, the way I wanted you.”
“You mean you don’t anymore?”
“Now more than ever.It’s the only real thing.”
“There’s no place in the world for us, Daniel.Nothing will ever come ofthis.Just memories, fantastically painful memories.”
“That doesn’t have to be true.”
“Too much is against us,”Iris says.“Do you see how people look at us when we’re in public?”
“Fuck them.”
“Well, one day we’re going to be tired ofbeing in a freak show.”
“That’s because we’re here inTinyTown.We could go to a city.”
“Where could we go?”
“Anywhere.New York.”
“NewYork?That belongs to Hampton.I could never.Where could we go?We couldn’t stay here.OrWashington, Atlanta, San Francisco, Chicago.He’s got family in so many places.Where could we live?”
“Anywhere.London.Hong Kong.Amsterdam.Oslo.What difference does it make? I would go anywhere.And I’d do anything.I’d crawl through broken glass ifI could just be sure that at the end ofthe day I’d be getting into bed next to you.”
“You’re too focused on what you want, Daniel.”
“I can’t help it.I think I was hardwired to be with you.I’m telling you, Iris, nothing else matters.To me.”He has grabbed her elbows and is pulling her closer to him, but she turns her face away.
“I love being with you,”she says.“I love what you see in me, and I like who I am around you.”She looks at him, with such sudden seriousness it almost makes him laugh.“It’s the greatest freedom I’ve ever known,”she says.He is about to say something but she stops him.“But what are we going to do?”she says.“IfI ever tried to leave Hampton, it would be like a war.”
“Fifty percent ofmarriages end in divorce,”Daniel says.
”Not fifty percent ofHampton’s marriages, or anyone else in his fam-
ily.With them, every wedding is a royal wedding, part ofsome grand al-liance.They’re all demonstrating some idea they have ofperfect family life, and I can guarantee you one thing, he would make my life hell.He’d be merciless.In terms offinances…”
“Who cares about that?”
“I do, Daniel.Come on, be realistic here.This is my life we’re talking about.And Nelson’s, too.He’d go for custody, Hampton would, he would try to hurt me in any way he could.”
“He could try for custody.That doesn’t mean he’s going to get it.He won’t.The courts are used to these guys who suddenly are Father ofthe Year.Hampton’s not set up to raise a kid.And he’s not that great with Nelson.He bullies him.”
“You know, these family court judges,”Iris says.
”Idiots,”says Daniel.
”Yes, well, a lot ofthem areAfrican-American.African-American women.I think they’d give Hampton whatever he asked for.They would, wouldn’t they?Tell me I’m wrong.Please.I wish you would.But you can’t! I’m not going to lose my son!”
“Iris…”
“And I’ll tell you another thing,”Iris says.“IfHampton thought I was leaving him for a white guy, that would make it all the worse.”
“I’m not all that white.”
“I’m being serious, Daniel.”
“Sorry.But he’s not all that black, that’s for sure.”
“What are you talking about? He’s not all that black?You don’t really know what you’re talking about.Hampton is a black man, he feels it, his world is based on it, his social life, his business, his identity, he may be light-skinned and think like a banker, but I can promise you ifhe ever found out I was fucking some white guy, he’d be Louis Farrakhan before the day was out.It would be the ultimate betrayal.”
“Is this what you came here to talk about?”Daniel says.He lets go of her, and, just as he feared, his touch was all that was keeping her close.
She drifts away from him, stands at the window.Drops ofmoisture—rain? snow?—are forming on the black glass.
“No.I wanted to come someplace where you might be, or at least somewhere that belongs to you.I’m just so crazy about you, it’s ridiculous.”
The phone on his desk rings with a sound as sudden as a rock through a window.Daniel thinks,This is either a wrong number or trouble.The an-swering machine picks up, SheilaAlvarez’s soothing voice.After the tone, Kate’s voice:“I just called you on your cell phone but you’re not answering, so I’ll leave this happy holiday message for you at your office, Asshole.I woke up from the little nap you so considerately convinced me to take, and guess what I found?An unattended child and a sink full of dirty dishes.So, Asshole, are you having fun?”
Daniel finally rouses himself and turns the volume offon the machine, so the only evidence ofKate’s continuing diatribe is the light—as red as a pinprick ofblood—blinking offand on.
[13]
There was a break in the black sky and the platinum moonlight poured down on them.The whites of Hampton’s eyes glittered.His shirt was dirty, his khaki trousers were covered in burrs and black with mud at the knees.Daniel looked down at his own hands.There was a scrape on the heel of his hand.And then the crack in the sky healed, and the moonlight disappeared.
TwoSundays later, there is an afternoon party at Eight Chimneys, to inaugurate the Eight Chimneys Foundation, which MarieThorne has set up as a first step in turning the old house into an official NewYork State Historical Site.Despite Susan Richmond’s antagonism to the proj-ect—she can’t bear the thought ofticket-holding strangers traipsing around her property, and she also knows that the entire scheme has cre-ated a little dome ofprivacy, a secret spot in which Ferguson and Marie can carry on their repulsive flirtation—leaving the planning ofthe party itselfto Ferguson and Marie is beyond her powers offorbearance.Fergu-son is as domestic as Buffalo Bill, and Marie’s ideas for the party are pa-thetic, culled from some grotesque guide to“elegant living”—caterers cooking and serving hot appetizers, expensive booze, chamber musicians from Marlowe College, vases filled with Casablanca lilies.Marie, des
pite having been born and raised on the property, seems to have no idea that such froufrou touches have no place at Eight Chimneys, where one en-tertains simply and cheaply.Susan feels that ostentation is the province of the middle class, who always seem to be saying“Look what we have!”
whereas at Eight Chimneys one likes to behave in such a way that implies
”We’ve all had enough chamber music and porcini tarts, and the long, tiresome trek through the gardens ofplenty has led us to believe it’s a hell ofa lot more fun to fill up a few bowls with potato chips, get store-brand sodas at the Price Chopper, jeroboams ofcheap wine, and not make such a big deal out ofeverything.”Susan cannot resist a chance to express her own artistic talents, and on each ofthe ninety invitations sent out she cre-ates a tiny watercolor, usually just a few wavy blue lines to symbolize the river, but sometimes a finely wrought chimney, or a cow.
The invitation in Kate’s hand has been personalized with the wavy blue lines.Beneath the times ofthe party, from2:00to4:00p.m.,there is a line that readsdonation: twenty-five dollars per person.On Daniel and Kate’s invitation, Susan has drawn a circle around the amount, with a line running offthe circle that leads to the messageno exceptions!Kate has been going on about the boorishness ofthis re-minder since its arrival onTuesday, and now, sitting at her dressing table, putting on her lipstick, with the invitation propped up against the mir-ror, she suddenly sees Daniel in the glass and begins again.
“Does Susan Richmond really think we’re going to try and sneak in without paying?”she asks.She doesn’t turn to face him but watches his reflection in the mirror.His hair is still wet from the shower;his eyes are dark and startled in the middle ofhis scrubbed face.He has lately be-come meticulous about his grooming, as he has with every other detail ofdomestic life, from getting up with Ruby every morning and making breakfast for the family, to the dutiful little good-night kisses he places on Kate’s cheek at night.He is like a British officer in captivity, keeping up his own morale with close shaves and crisp salutes.
“I’m sure it’s a joke,”he says.He checks the time.“You look very nice.”Which is his way ofsaying,“Hurry up, it’s time to leave.”
A Ship Made of Paper Page 27
