You didn’t even bother to press your suit, Andy said. Your other one was at the cleaner’s. You had to wear the one with the too-short pants, and the only clean socks you had were white.
White socks, he said. Wendy could see him wanting to take the story slow.
Remind me again what month it was, his sister asked.
April twenty-fifth, he said. It was raining like you wouldn’t believe. And we were scheduled to play outside. They’d put a tent up, but I was worried about my bass. I told Roberto I’d never forgive him if my bridge got warped on account of one lousy Rahway wedding gig.
You loved that bass more than anything.
He looked at her for a second. That was true back then, he said.
Remind me, said Andy. Did you meet Janet right at the beginning of the dancing, or near the end?
He wasn’t ready for that part yet. First, there was the part about how the bride’s father had met them at the entrance to the country club, or wherever it was, and said, Listen, I feel bad about this, but we’ve come up a little short on the cash here and I’m going to have to cut you guys’ pay a little. So maybe you could just play an hour and a half instead of three? Or one of you fellows can sit this one out?
Something about that—this is Roberto for you—made us decide we were going to blow them out of the water that day. Instead of the bargain-basement package they were suggesting, we were going to deliver the best wedding jam ever, God knows why. That crazy rain maybe.
It wasn’t really a jazz crowd, he said. We knew that already when the groom told us they wanted “Wind Beneath My Wings” for their first dance. So we played it, and for the first few bars you could even tell that’s what song it was, too. Then Omar busts out with this amazing trumpet solo and Frankie comes in on drums and I’m pumping it so hard I think my thumbs might fall off. We follow that with “My One and Only Love,” and we don’t even stop, just ease right on down into “They Say It’s Wonderful.” All mellow for a moment, because the bride’s dancing with her father now and it’s a sweet moment.
Then the groom’s got his mom out on the floor, and even though she’s what you might call an ample woman, she’s a pistol on the dance floor. So we bring it up-tempo and the four of them are rocking it out, which is when everyone else heads out on the floor. This one little brunette in a yellow dress being first out of the gate, of course.
My mom, said Wendy. She hadn’t meant to come into the kitchen for this, but she was wanting to hear the story, too. Never mind she knew it better than Pokey Little Puppy or any of those.
After that I didn’t even notice if anyone else was dancing, he said. Who could? She had this way of moving on the floor. I must have played a few hundred weddings but I never saw anyone dance like her.
You knew the cat she was with was nobody. He didn’t even exist on the same planet. This woman needed a real partner. Small as she was, you knew she had energy enough to keep going all night.
You could have kept up with her, said Andy. Only you were playing.
It didn’t even matter that I wasn’t out there with her. We looked at each other and that was it. The whole rest of the night, I knew she was dancing for me. Same as I was playing for nobody but her.
It got to the point in the wedding where the bride throws the bouquet, and they ask all the single women to line up in a row. You might think she’d have hung back along the sidelines, not taking it seriously, especially considering there were all these younger types, college girls, junior bankers or something, the kind that probably get a subscription to Brides magazine before they even meet the guy.
Not her. She positions herself right in the middle, and you can tell from the look on her face as the bride turns her back to the group and takes aim that she’s actually concentrating on catching it. She bends, with her arms held out a little. Slim arms, but I could tell how strong she was.
She always says she’ll die before she ends up with those flaps of skin hanging down like her grandmother, said Wendy, then regretted it. The word die hung heavy, and they all knew it.
I can just picture it, said Andy.
So the bride tosses the bouquet, said Josh. And it looks like it’s heading straight toward one of the junior banker girls. Some blonde in a strapless dress that a lot of the guys there were probably thinking was hot.
Only just when Junior Banker’s reaching out to catch it, there’s Yellow Dress, stepping out in front of her. Not pushing her out of the way exactly, but close. The bouquet’s hers. You can see Miss Junior Banker looking a little put out for about two seconds. Then everyone laughs, and we’re supposed to break in with a real up-tempo number so the dancing can start again, but all I can think about is the woman in the yellow dress holding that damn bouquet over her head with this smile on her like she just won the lottery. She wants to dance, but her date’s had enough, evidently. He’s hanging out with a bunch of guys, talking about basketball, I’m going to guess. That or the stock market. Not that this stops Yellow Dress. She heads out on the dance floor all by herself and starts in with this dance.
They waited for him to say more, but his voice broke. The three of them sat there, nobody saying a word.
The way she danced, he said.
And you had to keep on playing, said Andy. Even though all you really wanted to do was go over and introduce yourself.
But I wasn’t worried, he said. Earlier I was. When I first caught sight of her, I’d been cooking up all these different ways I could get to meet her and counting the minutes to the break. But after the bouquet, I knew it would happen. Not that I was ever some kind of lady-killer type. I just knew she was the one, and I knew she understood that, too.
After the last song, he’d packed up his bass, not even with any particular speed, though he could remember the way his heart was pounding. Sure enough, she was waiting at one of the little decorated tables near the podium.
You probably thought someone was giving me a ride home, she said. He had to leave early for some kind of play-off game. He gave me his car to take home.
Not a compact, I hope, Josh said. Some cars wouldn’t be big enough to hold a bass, but the ex-boyfriend’s was.
They drove back to his apartment and he invited her up. He cooked her dinner, this great stir-fry with a bunch of cumin and coriander, and set a plate of goat cheese and a sliced pear in front of her.
So what song do you want the guys to play for the first dance at our wedding? he asked.
Wendy spent most of Friday watching television again. They were saying the rescue workers were hoping to find air pockets in the rubble where people were alive, but nobody was sounding as hopeful as they did at first.
She couldn’t turn it off, even though it made her feel sick, looking at the images of the wrecked buildings, the acres of dust and debris. She didn’t want to picture her mother huddled in her sandals and red dress in some dusty air pocket. Better to think of her wandering around New Jersey, barefoot, with her hair flying.
After the Turkish earthquake of 1999, people were known to survive on rainwater in the rubble of wrecked buildings for as long as a week, one of the television reporters said. There had been no rain here. For the third day in a row, they were having perfect, golden weather.
The other news, about the men who had flown the planes, Wendy barely listened to. She knew a lot of people were going crazy about that part, but to her it didn’t matter who’d done it. Her mother hadn’t come home was all.
Corey’s mother called. I just wanted to let you know I took the boys to orientation day and everything went as well as could be expected, she said. Louie’s still kind of hyper, but that’s understandable. When I picked them up, he wanted to show me his cubby and the play kitchen area. They’re having a nap now. He’s out cold.
She asked if Josh might like to speak to her. He’s not here, Wendy said.
He was doing the rounds of the hospitals again. A lot of families who were missing someone were going over to the armory on East Seventy-third Street
to give the workers there hair samples and dental records, but when his sister suggested that, he looked as if he might murder her, and she didn’t bring it up again. Some man who’d seen one of the flyers had called to say he’d met a woman at Bellevue who looked just like her mother, but Wendy didn’t believe it. He said a bunch of other things—how just as the woman in Bellevue was about to get crushed by some shaft of steel, a bunch of angels had come down and shielded her and now she’d told him she owed her life to the Lord.
Amelia came over after school. It was the first time they’d seen each other since it happened. When she came in the door, she flung her arms around Wendy and burst into tears.
It’s the most insane thing that ever happened, she said. If it was my mom, I’d be having a nervous breakdown.
With Amelia, Wendy didn’t need to worry about thinking of what to say next, because Amelia kept talking.
How’s your dad doing? Horrible, right?
He never goes to bed, Wendy said. He’s either doing the rounds of the same hospitals he just finished going to or sitting in the kitchen staring at pictures. My little brother went to stay at his friend’s house.
Well that’s good anyway.
Wendy wished they could talk about something else, even though she knew it was impossible. How was school? she asked.
Weird, said Amelia. We had this assembly with a priest and a rabbi and some Buddhist-type person and we sang “Amazing Grace” and “God Bless America.” Buddy Campion had on a T-shirt with a picture of Osama bin Laden that said WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, and Hallie Owens had to point out how the Constitution says everyone is innocent until proven guilty and we’d be no better than the terrorists if we all started shooting people before we know the whole story.
Wendy didn’t care about this part. She wanted to hear something ordinary, like what was for lunch, or if Mr. Hutchinson had worn those pants of his with the belt halfway up his chest again.
I put up a bunch of flyers about my mom, Wendy said. So far, we’ve gotten three calls, but nothing real.
There’s two other kids that had someone in the towers, Amelia said. One girl had a friend of her mom’s that worked on the hundred and second floor. This other kid’s older sister’s boyfriend was a fireman. But we all agreed your case was the worst.
Josh keeps saying she’s probably got amnesia, said Wendy. He says he can feel it, that she’s out there someplace.
And how about you? asked Amelia.
I can’t feel anything, Wendy said.
All this time, Wendy still hadn’t cried. She thought it might be a relief, but she couldn’t do it. The dull Novocain sensation that had begun taking hold that Tuesday had overtaken her now. The whole world, everything around her, had turned flat and colorless.
A couple of times she had even gone in her room and closed the door. Told herself, Okay, now let it go. You’ll feel better if you cry. Nothing.
Now, though, Amelia was here.
Your mom, she said. Just that. The two of them dropped to the floor, and Wendy let her head fall into Amelia’s lap.
Wendy thought her tears might go on forever then. She cried so hard, she couldn’t see. She could hardly breathe, and her body, with her friend’s arms encircling her, was shaking. She heard sounds come out from a place deeper than she knew was inside. A wail like the sound a ship might make, stranded in the fog, or some instrument that hadn’t been invented yet, not brass or woodwind or string, and no note that had ever been played. She remembered the cries her mother had made when her brother was being born, but she’d known that they would only last awhile and when it was over there would be a baby. Now was different: Fleeting pain had not produced this sound. This was sorrow without end.
Even Amelia, as talkative a person as she was, must have known there was nothing to say. The two of them lay on the floor, holding each other, until very gradually the crying slowed to where it was only long, sad sighs. Then, finally, quiet. Even after that, they just lay there awhile.
Maybe we should have some Haagen-Dazs, Amelia suggested. It seemed as good an idea as anything else.
A week before, when the letter came from California, Wendy had called Amelia. My dad wants me to come see him, she said. She had to whisper.
Oh my God, said Amelia. Now you’re going to leave and I’ll be all alone with Seth at lunch, waiting for his voice to change and watching the pimples spread across his whole entire face.
Probably not, Wendy told her. My mom won’t let me go. She says I can’t miss school.
Like sitting in some old geometry class listening to Mr. Hutchinson talk about the square root of the isosceles triangle is more important than going surfing in California and being with your blood father, who’s only the coolest person in the universe, said Amelia. The truth was, her father had never mentioned surfing, and Wendy knew his real sport, if you could call it that, was fishing.
My mom said this is a really important semester for me to get good grades if I want to apply to Music and Art, Wendy told her, but that’s not the real reason. She’s just afraid I might start loving him more than her. Which I probably would.
Your mom’s not so bad, said Amelia. She’s way better than my mom.
You don’t know, said Wendy. All she really cares about is Josh and my little brother. I’m just this big old ugly reminder of her old life that was so terrible.
Even as she said this, Wendy didn’t exactly believe it.
After the letter came, my mom started in the way she always does, saying all this awful stuff about Dad, like how he just wanted to make himself look good by inviting me out there. She started talking about how she had to sell her stereo to pay for food one time when they were married. Like all that matters is money. I can see why he left. He isn’t the kind who cares about material things the way she does.
Your dad is so awesome, said Amelia. She hadn’t ever met him, but she’d seen the pictures. I can’t imagine my dad doing anything artistic.
He builds houses now, too, Wendy told her. But art’s his real passion. Unlike my mom, who gave up her passion to be a dumb secretary, for money.
I hope I never sell out like that, said Amelia. If I ever start, stop me, okay?
You, too.
They sat now in the living room, the only light the blue glow of the TV set. They were eating ice cream, which was mostly what Wendy lived on these days, since Josh had stopped cooking or shopping. The thought had actually occurred to her, after Tuesday, that now she was likely to get really skinny. But in fact, she could tell from how her pants fit that she’d probably put on a pound or two.
I guess you wish now you hadn’t said all that stuff about your mom, Amelia said.
Wendy couldn’t speak.
I’ll never tell anyone, Amelia said. Just because you were mad at her didn’t mean you wanted a building to fall on top of her. Sometimes people say things. You should hear what I say about my mom.
Wendy had, of course.
Whatever happens, you can’t just stop breathing. Your mom wouldn’t want that.
Wendy got up and refilled their ice-cream bowls. She changed the channel on the TV, but every station was the same.
I like her hair, said Amelia. They were tuned to NBC now. Maybe we should do ours like that.
I like it too, said Wendy. She put her head on Amelia’s shoulder. You know what’s so funny, she said. I really miss my little brother.
She dreamed her mother was in an air pocket—air, but no light. In the dream, she was calling out for them to get her, but there was so much rubble and dirt on top of her that no one could hear. Her mother had a package of animal crackers in her purse that she kept for emergencies, like when she was coming home on the bus from day care with Louie and he was cranky.
In the dream, her mother let herself have one bite of a cracker every day. Water was more of a problem, but Saturday it had rained and she collected the drops in the things she had in her purse—the top of her lipstick, a pen cap, her sunglasses case.
&nbs
p; Is there anything you don’t keep in that purse of yours, Janet? Josh used to say.
Now Wendy was kneeling on top of the mound of rubble, digging with Louie’s Pokemon spoon.
You have to take a break, her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Volt, was telling her, but she didn’t. Louie was there, too, but all he could do was suck his thumb.
Stop that, she told him. They’ll laugh at you in preschool.
Ease up on him, Wendy, her mother said. He’s having a rough time.
What about me?
In the dream there were flyers blowing around Wendy with pictures of people on them that she didn’t know. Her mother was telling her things—phone numbers of Louie’s friends and when he needed his next booster shot. I wanted to take you to see Contact on Broadway, she said. I never got around to telling you about sex.
Wendy was calling out that she was sorry about the fight they had at Macy’s, when she wanted the kilt. I don’t care about kilts, she said. She was sorry she wished gym class would be canceled that day. The list was so long, all the things she was sorry for.
You’re the best mother, she said. Just come home.
I wish I could, honey, her mother said. But it’s not looking likely. I’m dying on the vine.
It was past eleven. Josh was asleep for once, lying on the couch. She could tell from his breathing. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked out the window at the brownstone across the street. There was a man watching television, and below that room, someone else was also watching television. On the sidewalk, a girl went past on a bicycle, with a bag of late-night groceries in a basket on the back. Ordinary life.
Wind rustled through the leaves of the branches of the tree in front of their building. Soon the leaves would turn color and then fall. When she was Louie’s age, she and her mother had gathered the brightest ones and laid them between sheets of wax paper to hang in the window. After that came construction-paper pumpkins and turkeys. Then snowflakes with lacy cutout designs. After they’d made them, they swirled Elmer’s glue on the snowflakes and sprinkled glitter on, shaking off the extra into their hair. Their snowflakes, too, she hung in her window, and when the season for snowflakes was done, it was time for the hearts, the four-leaf clovers, the eggs. All the way through the year, till they were ready for the leaves and wax paper again. Josh kidded her mother that there wasn’t a week in the whole year she hadn’t found some holiday to celebrate.
The Usual Rules Page 6
