The Fiend

(16)

It was Howard Arlington’s last night in the city for two weeks and he and Virginia had been invited to a farewell barbecue in the Brants’ patio. They didn’t want to go but neither of them indicated this in any way. Ever since their unpleasant scene the previous night, they’d been excessively polite to each other, to Dave and Ellen and Jessie, even to the gardener and the cleaning woman. It was as if they were trying to convince everyone, including themselves, that they were not the kind of people who staged domestic brawls — not they.

This new formal politeness affected not only their speech and actions but their style of dress. They both knew that Ellen and Dave would be in jeans and sneakers, but Howard had put on a dark business suit, white shirt and a tie, and Virginia wore a pink-flowered silk dress with a stole and matching high-heeled sandals. They looked as though they were going out to dinner and a symphony instead of to the neighbors’ backyard for hamburgers and hi-fi, both of which would be overdone.

The hi-fi was already going and so was the fire. Smoke and violins drifted into the Arlingtons’ kitchen window. Normally, Howard would have slammed the window shut and made some caustic remark about tract houses. Tonight he merely said, “Dave’s sending out signals. What time does Ellen want us over there?”

Virginia wasn’t sure Ellen wanted them over there at all but the invitation had been extended and accepted, there was nothing to be done about it. “Seven o’clock.”

“It’s nearly that now. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we’d better leave Chap in the house.”

“Yes, perhaps we’d better.” Her voice gave no hint of the amused contempt she felt. The big retriever was already asleep on the davenport and it would have taken Howard a long time to wake him up, coax, bribe, push and pull him outside. Chap would not be mean about it, simply inert, immovable. Sometimes she wondered whether the dog had learned this passive resistance from her or whether she’d learned it from him. In any case the dog seemed just as aware as Virginia that the technique was successful. Inaction made opposing action futile; Howard was given no leverage to work with.

They went out the rear door, leaving a lamp in the living room turned on for Chap, and the kitchen light for themselves. At the bottom of the stairs, Howard suddenly stopped.

“I forgot a handkerchief. You go on without me, I’ll join you in a minute.”

“I’d rather wait, thank you. We were invited as a couple, let’s go as a couple.”

“A couple of what?” he said and went back in the house.

Virginia’s face was flushed with anger, and the rush of blood made her sunburn, now in the peeling stage, begin to itch painfully. She no longer blamed the sun as the real culprit, she blamed Howard. It was a Howardburn and it itched just as painfully inside as it did outside. There was a difference, though: inside, it couldn’t be scratched, no relief was possible.

When Howard returned, he was holding the handkerchief to his mouth as if to prove to her that he really needed it. His voice was muffled. “Virginia, listen.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t suppose the kid told her parents about that twenty dollars I gave her?”

“I talked to Ellen today, nothing was mentioned about it. By the way, Jessie has a name. I wish you’d stop referring to her as ‘the kid.’“

“There’s only one kid in our lives. It hardly seems necessary to name her.”

“I thought we’d agreed to be civil to each other for the rest of your time at home. Why do you want to start something now? We’ve had a pleasant day, don’t ruin it.”

“You think it’s been a pleasant day, do you?”

“As pleasant as possible,” Virginia said.

“As pleasant as possible while I’m around, is that what you mean? In other words, you don’t expect much in my company.”

“Perhaps I can’t afford to.”

“Well, tomorrow I’ll be back on the road. You and the kid can have a real ball.”

“Let’s stop this right now, Howard, before it goes too far. We’re not saying anything new anyway. It’s all been said.”

“And done,” Howard added. “It’s all said and done. Amen.” He looked down at her with a smile that was half-pained, half- mocking. “The problem is, what do people do and say after everything’s said and done? Where do we go from here?”

“To the Brants’ for a barbecue.”

“And then?”

“I can’t think any further than that now, Howard. I can’t think.”

She leaned against the side of the house, hugging her stole around her and staring out at the horizon. Where the sea and sky should have met, there was a gray impenetrable mass of fog between them. She dreaded the time when this mass would begin to move because nothing, no one, could stop it. The sea would disappear, then the beaches, the foothills, the mountains. Streets would be separated from streets, houses from houses, people from people. Everyone would be alone except the women with a baby growing inside them. She saw them nearly every day in stores, on corners, getting into cars. She hated and envied the soft, confident glow in their eyes as if they knew no fog could ever be thick enough to make them feel alone.

Howard was watching her. “Let me get you a sweater, Virginia.”

“No, thank you.”

“You look cold.”

“It’s just nerves.”

They crossed the lawn and the concrete driveway and Ellen’s experimental patch of dichondra with a Keep Off sign in the middle. From the beginning, neither the dichondra nor the sign had stood much of a chance. The sign had been bumped or kicked or blown to a 45° angle, and between the dichondra plants were the marks of bicycle tires and children’s sneakers. The sneaker marks were about the size that Jessie would make, and Virginia had an impulse to lean down and push some dirt over them with her hand so that Jessie wouldn’t be blamed. But she realized she couldn’t do such a thing in front of Howard; it would only aggravate his jealousy of the child. So, instead, she stepped off the flagstone path into the dichondra patch, putting her feet deliberately over the imprints of Jessie’s.

Howard opened his mouth to say something but he didn’t have time. Mike was coming out of the gate of the patio fence, carrying some fishing tackle, a windbreaker, and three hamburgers still steaming from the grill.

Mike grinned at Howard and Virginia but there was impatience behind the grin, as though he suspected they would try to keep him there talking when he had other and more interesting things to do.

Howard said formally, “Good evening, Michael.”

“Oh hi, Mr. Arlington, Mrs. Arlington. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ve got some of the gang waiting for me. We’re going fishing at two o’clock in the morning.”

“That’s pretty early even for fish, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure whether fish sleep or not.”

“I’m not, either. Well, good luck anyway.”

“Thanks, Mr. Arlington. So long.”

Virginia hadn’t spoken. She was still standing in the dichondra patch looking vague and a little puzzled, as if she was wondering how she got there, and whether fish slept or not. Her high heels were sinking further and further into the ground like the roots of a tree seeking nourishment and moisture. For a moment she imagined that she was a tree, growing deeper, growing taller, putting out new leaves and blossoms, dropping fertile seeds into the earth.

Then Howard grasped her by the arm and it was an arm, not a branch, and it would never grow anything but old.

“For heaven’s sake, what are you doing, Virginia?”

“Would you really like to know?”

“Yes.”

She let out a brief, brittle laugh. “I’m pretending to be a tree.”

“You’re acting very peculiar tonight.”

“I’m a very peculiar woman. Hadn’t you noticed that before, Howard? Surely those sharp eyes of yours couldn’t miss anything so obvious. I’m not like other women, I’m a freak. There’s something missing in me.”

“Take my hand and I’ll help you out of there.”

“I don’t want to get out. I like being a tree.”

“Stop playing games. Are you going to let me help you?”

“No.”

“All right.” Without further argument he picked her up and lifted her out of the dichondra patch. He had to exert all his strength to do it because she’d made herself limp — arms, legs, waist, neck. “O.K., tree, you’ve just been uprooted.”

“Damn you. Damn you.”

“That’s better. Now suppose we go inside and you can start pretending you’re a person.” He opened the gate for her. “Coming?”

“I have no choice.”

“You’d have even less choice if you were a tree.”

They went into the patio and Howard closed the gate behind them with unnecessary force. The loud bang seemed to Virginia to be a warning, like a shot fired over her head.

“Come in, come in,” Dave said. “Welcome to Brants’ Beanery.”

He was standing at the barbecue grill wearing an apron over his Bermuda shorts and T-shirt, and drinking a can of beer. Ellen sat barefoot at the redwood picnic table, slicing an onion. Neither of them looked as though they expected company or particularly wanted any.

Even though Virginia had known this was how it was going to be, she felt a stab of resentment, aggravated by a feeling, a hangover from her childhood, that she was the one who was wrong, and no matter how hard she tried, she always would be. She had spent an hour dressing and fixing her hair but Dave didn’t even look at her. He had opened a can of beer for Howard and the two men were already deep in conversation, one on each side of the barbecue pit.

Virginia sat down beside Ellen. “Anything I can do to help?”

“It’s all done, thanks. I wouldn’t allow you to touch a thing in that dress, anyway. I’d feel so guilty if you spilled something on it. It’s simply gorgeous.”

Virginia had to take it as a compliment but she knew it wasn’t. Ellen’s voice was too objective, as though the dress had nothing to do with Virginia personally; a gorgeous dress was a gorgeous dress and it didn’t matter who wore it or who owned it.

“It’s not new,” Virginia said. “I mean, it’s just been lying around.” For a whole week it had been lying around, waiting for an occasion. Now the occasion had arrived, hamburger and onions and baked beans in the next-door neighbors’ backyard. She thought wildly and irrationally, damn you, Howard. You didn’t have to bring me here.

“I thought perhaps it was the one you bought last week at Corwin’s,” Ellen said. “You told me about it.”

“No, no, I took that back. I’ve had this dress since — well, since before you even moved here. That seems ages ago, doesn’t it? I feel so close to you and Dave and Mike and, of course, Jessie.” She glanced hastily in Howard’s direction to make sure he hadn’t overheard the name. He was still engrossed in his conversation with Dave. “Where is Jessie?”

“In the front room watching television.”

“I’ll go in and say hello. I have a little something for her.”

“Virginia, you shouldn’t, you’ll—”

“It’s nothing at all, really, just a piece of junk jewelry. I saw it in a store window this afternoon and I thought Jessie would like it.”

“She’s too young to wear jewelry.”

“It’s only a small ring with an imitation pearl. I had one exactly like it when I was six years old. I remember it so clearly. My hands grew too fast and it had to be filed off.”

“It won’t have to be filed off Jessie,” Ellen said dryly. “She’ll lose it within a week.”

“Then you don’t mind if I give it to her?”

“I suppose not.”

Virginia rose and crossed the patio, moving with unaccustomed agility as though she wanted to get away before she could be called back.

Jessie was curled up in a corner of the davenport, her chin resting on her knees, her arms hugging her legs. Her eyes widened a little when she saw Virginia in the doorway but it was the only sign of recognition she gave.

“Hello, Jessie.” Virginia went over to the television set. “May I turn this down a minute?”

“I... yes, I guess.”

“I haven’t seen you for two days.”

“I’ve been busy,” Jessie said, looking down at the floor as if she were talking to it and not Virginia. “My mother took me swimming this afternoon. To see if the salt water would hurt my hands.”

“And did it?”

“Not much.”

Virginia sat down on the davenport beside her. “You know what I did this afternoon? I went downtown shopping.”

“Did you buy something?”

“Yes.”

“Was Howard with you to pay for it?”

Virginia sucked in her breath as though the question had knocked it out of her. “No, no, he wasn’t. I paid for it myself.”

“But the other night he said—”

“The other night he said a lot of things he didn’t mean. He was tired and out of sorts. We all get like that sometimes, don’t we?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“When two people are married, they share whatever money comes into the house, whether it’s the man’s salary or the woman’s or both. If I see something I want and can afford, I buy it. I don’t need Howard’s permission.” But it helps, she added bitterly to herself. He likes to play Big Daddy, spoiling his foolish and extravagant little girl, as long as the little girl is duly appreciative.

Jessie was considering the subject, her mouth pursed, her green eyes narrowed. “I guess Howard gives you lots of money, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Every month my daddy gives money to the bank for this house. In nineteen more years we’re going to own it. When is Howard going to own you?”

“Never,” Virginia said sharply. Then, seeing Jessie’s look of bewilderment, she added in a softer voice, “Look, dear, I’m not a house. Howard isn’t making payments on me.”

“Then why does he give you money?”

“He doesn’t exactly give it to me. We share it. If Howard didn’t have me to look after the house for him, he’d have to hire someone else to perform the same services for him.”

“If he hires you, that makes him the boss.”

“No. I mean — how on earth did we get off on this subject? You’re too young to understand.”

“Will I understand when I’m older?”

“Yes,” Virginia said, thinking, I hope you never grow up to understand what I do. I hope you die before your innocence is torn away from you.

Jessie was frowning and biting the nail of her left thumb. “I certainly have tons of stuff to learn when I grow up. I wish I could start right now.”

“No. No, don’t wish that. Stay the way you are, Jessie. Just stay, stay like this, like tonight.”

“I can’t,” Jessie said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Mary Martha would get way ahead of me. She’s already taller and spells better. Mary Martha knows a lot.”

“Some of them are things I couldn’t bear having you know, Jessie.”

“Why not? They’re not bad, they don’t hurt her.”

“They hurt. I see her hurting.”

Jessie shook her head. “No. If she was hurting, she’d cry. She’s an awful sissy sometimes, she can’t stand the sight of blood or anything oozing.”

“Do you ever see me cry, Jessie?”

“No.”

“Well, I hurt. I hurt terribly.”

“Because of your sunburn?”

Virginia hesitated a moment, then she laughed, the harsh, brief laugh she heard herself utter so often lately. It was like the distress signal of an animal that couldn’t communicate in words. “Yes, of course. Because of my sunburn. I must be as big a sissy as Mary Martha.”

“She’s not a sissy about everything.”

“Perhaps I’m not either, about everything. I don’t know. Not everything’s been tried on me yet. Not quite.”

Jessie would have liked to ask what had or had not been tried, but Virginia had averted her face and was changing the subject, not very subtly or completely, by opening her purse. It was a pink silk pouch that matched her dress. Inside the pouch was a tiny box wrapped in white paper and tied with a miniature golden rope.

Jessie saw the box and immediately and deliberately turned her head away. “Your shoes are dirty.”

“I stepped off the path. Jessie, I have a little pres—”

“You’re not supposed to step off the path.”

Virginia’s face was becoming white even where she was sunburned, on her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, as though whiteness was not a draining away of blood but a true pigmentation that could conceal other colors. “Jessie, dear, you’re not paying attention to what I’m telling you. I said, I have a little present for you. It’s something I’m sure you’ll love.”

“No, I won’t. I won’t love it.”

“But you don’t even know what it is yet.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t want it, is that it?”

“No.”

“You won’t... won’t even open it?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad,” Virginia said slowly. “It’s very pretty. I used to have one exactly like it when I was a little girl and I was so proud of it. It made me feel grown-up.”

“I don’t want to feel grown-up anymore.”

“Oh, you’re quite right, of course. You’re really very sensible. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t choose to grow up either. To live the happy years and die young—”

“I’m going to watch television.” Jessie’s lower lip was quivering. She had to catch it with her teeth to hold it still so that Virginia wouldn’t see how frightened she was. She wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden, overwhelming fear but she realized that she had to fight it, with any weapon at all that she could find. “My... my mother doesn’t like you.”

Virginia didn’t look surprised, her eyes were merely soft and full of sadness. “I’m sorry to hear that because I like her.”

“You’re not supposed to like someone who doesn’t like you.”

“Really? Well, I guess I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to. I step off paths and get my shoes dirty, I buy presents for little girls — Perhaps some day I’ll learn better.”

“I’m going to watch television,” Jessie repeated stubbornly. “I want to see the ending of the program.”

“Go ahead.”

“You turned it off. When company turns it off my mother makes me keep it that way.”

“Turn it on again. I’m not company.”

Awkwardly, Jessie unfolded her arms and legs and went over to the television set. Her head felt heavy with what she didn’t yet recognize as grief: something was lost, a time had passed, a loved one was gone. “You... you could watch the ending with me, Aunt Virginia.”

“Perhaps I will. That’s the nice part about television programs, they start with a beginning and end with an ending. Other things don’t. You find yourself in the middle and you don’t know how you got there or how to get out. It’s like waking up in the middle of a water tank with steep, slippery sides. You just keep swimming around and around, there’s no ladder to climb out, nobody flings you a rope, and you can’t stop swimming because you have this animal urge to survive... No television program is ever like that, is it, Jessie?”

“No, because it has to end to make room for another program. Nobody can be left just swimming around.”

“How would it end on television, Jessie?”

Jessie hesitated only long enough to take a deep breath. “A dog would find you and start barking and attract a lot of people. They’d tie all their jackets and sweaters and things together to make a rope and they’d throw it to you and lift you out. Then you’d hug the dog and he’d lick your face.”

“Thanks for nothing, dog,” Virginia said and got up and went over to the doorway. “I’ll see you later.”

“Aren’t you going to stay for the ending?”

“You’ve already told me the ending.”

“That’s not this program. This is about a horse and there’s no water tank in it, just a creek like the one behind Mary Martha’s house.”

But Virginia had already gone. Jessie turned up the sound on the television set. Horses were thudding furiously across the desert as if they were trying to get away from the loud music that pursued them. Above the horses’ hoofs and trumpets, Jessie could hear Virginia laughing out on the patio. She sounded very gay.