Part 7 (1/2)
”Listen,” my mother said. ”I have an idea. I can call James and ask him if he wants to come over and drink some of it. Maybe he can bring that friend of his I told you about, Sam Larkin? The reporter. They live on the same block. You would like him, I think.”
”Oh, I don't know. I'm not dressed or anything.”
”You look fine, Pat. It'll be fun.”
”Well, I don't know.”
”Every encounter is not a major thing. Look, you don't have to marry the man. I'm only suggesting that they come over for a drink. Informal, friendly, no big deal.”
”Oh, all right,” Pat said. ”I'll have to use your hairbrush, though. I left mine home.”
So my mother went to the living room to phone James, and they arranged that he would ask Sam and call back in a few minutes to let her know. While she and Pat sat around waiting for his call this jittery feeling crept into the air, like they were two kids waiting for their first date. One of them would make a remark and laugh a little, then it would die down and the creepy silence would come back. To pa.s.s the time they sipped from the drinks lined up on the table, first one then another, as if it didn't matter which.
”What is he like, anyway?” Pat asked.
”Who, James or Sam?”
James.
I took my homework into the living room and shut the door, because if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is to hear grown women sounding like the high-school seniors who have taken over our pizzeria. They are both revolting, but at least the seniors are going through a normal phase for their age. I could still hear everything through the door, though. My mother told her how intelligent, good-natured, witty, etc., James was. Prince Charming himself, except for the horse. ”Still, he's very reserved about some things,” she said. ”His privacy is important to him. I get the message that I shouldn't push anything. Not that I want to. I feel the same way myself.”
”How about in the rocks department?” Pat asked, and she laughed.
”Pat, honestly, you must be looped.”
”You're blus.h.i.+ng, Barbara. Well, how about Sam? What is he like?”
Since my mother had only seen Sam twice there wasn't much to say, fortunately, as I was becoming sicker and sicker. After all, they are supposed to be mothers, though you'd never know it. First they spend the whole evening fooling around and drinking, with no self-control whatsoever, then they arrange this date, which will probably turn out to be a drunken orgy, music and laughing and everything, and I will have to go to my room to avoid it, then Sam will take Pat home and James will want to stay over and my mother will feel funny about it because of me, but in the end she'll let him, and I'll hear them whispering in her room, and in the morning he'll be gone before I get up and my mother will have that bright rosy but slightly guilty look, eyeing me like she's thinking, I dare you to say one word about it, and I'll go to school feeling all alone in the world and to top it off I will most likely meet a few dozen spitters along the way, not to mention pregnant women, since spring is almost in full bloom.
So when the phone rang about ten minutes later I dashed to get it first. My mother had taken Pat into the bedroom to give her the hairbrush and show her the new Frye boots.
It was James. He made his usual awkward attempt to be friendly, then said, ”Can I speak to your mother, please?”
”Oh, she went out to meet some people. She just left.”
”That's funny. I was supposed to call her back and come over with a friend.”
”Yes, well, she got another call meanwhile and rushed right out. I think she was tired of waiting. Sorry.”
There was a long pause. ”I see. My friend's line was tied up before. Will you tell her I called, please?”
My mother appeared then. ”Is that for me, Jodie? I'm expecting a call.”
”Okay, 'bye,” I said. ”See you,” and I hung up fast. ”It was just Jennifer about the math homework.” Jennifer calls every other night about the math homework.
”Oh.” She looked like she was shrinking right before my eyes, very small and sad. ”Well, listen, don't tie up the phone. James might call. He might be coming over.”
They went into the kitchen again. It was very quiet. I could hear the gla.s.ses clinking on the table every now and then. Pat said, ”Did you know Lisa had an abortion?”
”No! How awful.”
”It wasn't so bad. She had broken up with him weeks before.”
”Still,” said my mother. ”I'm glad I never had to. I don't know if I could.”
”You've never ...”
”No. Just lucky. Also careful.”
Long silence.
”What do you suppose happened to them?” Pat asked.
”I don't know.”
”Maybe the signals got crossed or something. Why don't you try again.”
”Oh, all right. I don't like to but I will.” She came into the living room and dialed. I watched her. Her shoulders slumped as she wound the cord round and round her wrist like a bracelet. I got a little scared, but it turned out to be a false alarm. ”There's no answer,” she told Pat back in the kitchen.
”Maybe he's on his way.”
”I doubt it. He's not like that. He would have called first.”
”Something must have happened.”
”I'll wash out these shakers,” my mother said. I heard water running for a few minutes, then silence again.
”I thought you and he were getting along so well,” said Pat.
”So did I. You never know what they're thinking. They're so peculiar, all of them. Maybe he didn't like the idea of my asking him on the spur of the moment, or of asking Sam. Who the h.e.l.l knows.”
”There must have been a mix-up. Don't you think you ought to try once more?”
”Pat, I don't want to call again, all right? I'm going to make some coffee. I don't like those fancy drinks. I'm getting a headache.”
”You're upset.”
”No, it's nothing. I just thought it was different. ... I'm sorry about Sam.”
”Don't be silly. I never even met him. I'm sorry about ... Finally Pat said she'd help clean up. ”We might as well throw all this in the sink, right?”
”Yes, go ahead. I'm certainly not going to drink it. Jodie,” she called, ”you should be going to bed, you have the dentist tomorrow.” Then she said to Pat, ”I wish I had never thought of calling, then this wouldn't have happened.”
”Don't get so upset. He'll probably turn up tomorrow with some perfectly reasonable excuse.”
”That's the whole trouble,” my mother said. ”They always have wonderful excuses.”