A Farewell to Yarns (3 page)

“No, I haven't," Phyllis said. "It's just my teeth. Chet insisted on having all these porcelain things done to them. He thought it mattered to me, the darling. So I let him think so. It made him happy."

“Phyllis—" It was hard to call her that. Jane wondered how this expensively dressed individ-ual could be the same woman she'd once known. "I'm sorry that Chet didn't come along. How is he?”

At that, Phyllis's eyes began to fill, and her chin trembled almost imperceptibly. "He's just fine, Jane. We just needed some time apart." She s ni ffed, paused a mo me nt to get a grip on herself.

And in that moment, with her chin shaking with incipient tears, the woman before her became the old Phyllis—poor little insecure Phyllis who'd spent her days befriending the old people in the apartment building and making Christmas ornaments. At the same time, Jane realized that her fear of marriage troubles was right, and she was probably in for hours of heart-to-heart girl talk. But for the moment, Phyllis had put aside her own woes to offer sympathy to Jane. "I just can't say how sorry I was about Steve's death. I still can't believe it. You—a widow before forty.”

Jane didn't know what to say. She didn't want to talk about widowhood. She certainly wasn't going to tell Phyllis that Steve wouldn't have been out on that icy road in the middle of a black February night, except that he was leaving her for another woman. That was something she wouldn't tell Phyllis. Not now or later. "Your teeth are beautiful," she said instead. "That was nice of Chet."

“Oh, but Chet did something much finer for me. I've been dying to tell you, but I made myself wait until I could see your face. Jane, I want you to meet Bobby Bryant.”

She dragged the sulky young man forward.

Jane had been vaguely aware of him standing in the background, watching their reunion with about as much joy as Jane felt emptying kitty litter. He was even more gorgeous up close. He had thick blond hair, beautifully cut and sun bleached to wheat-colored perfection. His nose might be a little too long and pointed, but it suited his thin, tanned face and didn't distract a bit from a fine, if petulant, mouth. Good God, Katie was going to collapse at the mere sight of him. Jane could see a terrible crush coming. "Hello, Bobby," she said. He took her hand in a languid grip. It wasn't an effeminate gesture, just a supremely bored one. "Hi," he said listlessly.

“Isn't he handsome?" Phyllis gushed.

“Uh, yes. I'm sure he must be," Jane said, embarrassed at discussing him as if he were a pet. As he was stumbling around trying to think of what to say next, Shelley nudged her in the ribs and jarred her into further introductions. Phyllis was very polite to Shelley but was obviously eager to
get
back to discussing Bobby. "Jane, do you know who Bobby is?"

“Come on, Phyl," the young man said. "Do we have to stand here in the middle of everything jawing about this?" Jane was surprised to hear a distinctly Chicago accent in his voice.

“That boy needs a fat lip," Shelley muttered.

Phyllis was hanging onto Bobby, gazing up at him with adoration. Jane was paralyzed with embarrassment. She'd heard about older women taking handsome young lovers. It wasn't something done in her circle, of course. Most of her circle of friends hung out in the school parking lots in their station wagons or in the grocery store. But among the jet set, it was fairly normal to have a tiff with your husband and take up with a pretty boy. Or so she was led to believe by such reliable authorities as
People
magazine and
TV Guide,
Jane's windows on the world. But it was shocking that sweet, slightly boring Phyllis should have fallen into such pitiful ways. It was odd, too. She seemed genuinely grieved about her problems with Chet, whatever they might be. Even then, it wouldn't be quite so skin-crawling awful if the boy weren't so rude and contemptuous of her. Weren't paid lovers supposed to earn their keep by pretending love? Or at least courtesy? Surely there were rules about that sort of thing.

“Why don't you see about our luggage, darling, while I talk to Jane and Shelley?" Phyllis a s ke d hi m, a p p a r e nt l y u no f fe nd e d b y hi s attitude. He shrugged and slouched off.

“Isn't he the most darling boy?" Phyllis marveled, watching him move out of sight. She shifted her plastic bags to her other arm. "Oh, J a ne , t e l l me yo u t h i n k he ' s wo n d e r f ul . I couldn't stand it if you don't."

“Why, Phyllis, how could I say? We just met. But I'm sure you're right," Jane said. She could almost feel her nose growing longer as she spoke.

“Can't you tell who he is?" Phyllis asked. "I don't suppose there's that much resemblance, except in my eyes."

“Resemblance to whom?" Shelley asked, seeing that Jane was floundering in confusion.

“To me, of course. He's my son! But surely you'd guessed!"

“Your ... son? You mean Chet's son?"

“No, Jane. My very own baby boy. Oh, I have managed to surprise you, haven't I? What fun!”

Jane shook her head. "Phyllis, you never had children, and that boy is older than my kids—"

“That's because I had him before you had yours, before I knew you. She giggled as if this were a terribly clever remark, then suddenly got very serious. "I just never told anybody. I gave him up for adop tion, you see. Before I even knew you. And we've just been reunited for a few wonderful months. It was all Chet's doing—dear, understanding Chet. She looked like she was going to go tearful again, and Jane was staring at her as if she'd grown another head. Shelley grabbed Jane's arm and said firmly, "Jane and I will go get the car while you and your son get your luggage. See that hall? Follow that to the doors, and we'll pick you up there, okay?”

Jane was out in the cold air before she started to gather her wits. "Shelley! What a nightmare! I thought it was terrible enough that he was her lover. It's even more frightening this way. You can dump a pretty boy, but not if he's your son. How utterly ghastly. She actually thinks he's great."

“He's pond scum," Shelley said, striding across the parking area. "Her Chet should have stuck to fixing her teeth. What do you suppose she meant about it being Chet's doing?

Is he Chet's kid?”

Jane tried to cast her mind back seventeen years, not an easy thing with all the lively clutter of events that intervened. "I wouldn't think that's possible. Phyllis always made a big deal about how she and Chet had only known each other a month before they were married. All very romantic. I guess she might have been lying, but I don't think she knew how to back then."

“A month would be a pretty quick gestation," Shelley said. She'd found the minivan and was fishing around in the depths of her purse for the keys. She located them, and the two of them piled in. Jane found a battered half pack of cigarettes in her purse. She was trying to cut down on her smoking in the hopes that she'd make it e a s i er t o a c t ua l l y q ui t al to ge t her a t some vaguely defined future date. But this called for a cigarette. If she'd been a drinker, it would have called for a fifth of vodka.

Shelley's minivan bolted into traffic, and she said, "Jane, I don't like this. Circles within circles," she added ominously.

“Oh Shelley, the temptation to fling myself out the door in front of traffic is almost too much," she said, puffing so frantically she made herself a little dizzy. "As if the stress of any Christmas, much less my first Christmas as a widow weren't enough ... You know what this means, don't you? She's bring ing that over grown brat to my house. My
house!
I'll have him drooping around, snarling—Mike will despise him on sight, and I'm afraid Katie will do just the opposite."

“Well, it won't be forever," Shelley sad. "You said she was only staying two or three days."

“I said that's what I assumed, but obviously my assuming powers aren't at their best. I didn't specify a time limit, and neither did she. Just said she'd be here today. It didn't cross my mind to ask when she'd be leaving. It didn't seem to matter. She's so easy to be around, I figured she'd stay as long as she wanted without being in my way. Oh, what have I done?”

They worked their way through airport traffic. At the entrance to the baggage claim area, Phyllis was standing alone. She got in the backseat of the minivan and was quiet for a minute. She was very pale with bright, angry circles of red on her cheeks.

“Poor Bobby," she finally said, but she didn't sound sympathetic. After a paused, she worked up to tolerant understanding. "I don't think he likes traveling. Of course, he won't admit it, but I wonder if he's afraid of planes. Lots of people are, but a boy his age wouldn't admit it. Yes, I think that must be it. He's been—well, touchy, I guess, you'd say, ever since I told him about our plans for Christmas."

“Your plans for Christmas?" Jane asked, her heart in her mouth.

“Why visiting you, I mean." She started rummaging in her purse for a tissue. J a ne ca s t S hel l e y a d e spa ir i ng l oo k a nd mouthed, "Two weeks!"

“Where is Bobby?" Shelley asked. She was blocking traffic, and people were starting to honk and swerve around her.

“T here's so me problem with o ne o f this bags," Phyllis said with a definite sniffle. Jane immediately thought of a drug bust.

What might happen if someone coming to visit her had a suitcase full of cocaine? Would the authorities think she had something to do with it?

“The airline scuffed one of them up horribly, and he's very upset. Bobby isn't used to having nice things, and he's rather fussy about them now. That's only natural.”

At this point, Bobby himself came slamming out through the doors with a skycap loaded down with luggage in his wake. Shelley got out, opened the back doors of the minivan, and supervised while Jane and Phyllis sat silently in the car. Jane noticed that Bobby didn't make any move to tip the man, so Shelly took care of it.

She'd have to remember to reimburse Shelley later.

Bobby and Shelly reached the driver's door at the same time. "I'll drive," he said.

“I beg your pardon?" Shelley said in a voice that would have frozen anyone else.

“I said I 'll drive. I 'm not riding with no broad."

“Bobby, dear—" Phyllis bleated.

But Shelly didn't need help. She gave Bobby her look, which had been known to make car repairmen and school principals cringe. "This 'broad' owns the vehicle and pays the insurance. You'll ride with me, or you'll walk."

“Oh, dear—" Phyllis said.

Bobby opened the back door, nearly yanking it off the hinges, and threw himself in next to Phyllis. Shelley climbed into the driver's seat with frigid dignity. Her knuckles on the steering wheel were white. Before pulling into traffic, shejammed a Christmas music tape into the tape player with a savage gesture.

Jane lit another cigarette.

Everyone pretended interest in traffic. They were two miles from the airport before anyone ventured to speak. Phyllis, her voice a bit shaky, said, over the sounds of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,”

“Oh, look. It's starting to snow. How wonderful. You can't imagine how I've mi ssed s no w al l t hese ye ars. And ho w I 've missed Chicago. Not that I don't love living on the i sla nd —but I al wa ys get a l ittle sad at Christmas. Chet has a pine tree flown in from Canada every year, of course, but it's not the same when you're sitting around in shorts with the windo ws open. A pine tree just d oesn't smell the same in a warm climate."

“Screw the snow," Bobby mumbled.

“Oh, no, Bobby darling! You can't fool me," Phyllis said with ponderous jollity.

"You're happy to be back. You'd miss a Chicago Christmas as much as I have."

“There's nothing about Chicago I'd miss."

“Are you from Chicago?" Jane asked him, desperate to get the conversation on a friendlier footing.

This wasn't the way to do it.

“You mean Phyl didn't tell you all about Mommy's Little Bastard?" he asked.

“Bobby, I've told you that you mustn't say things like that," Phyllis said.

“Why not? It's the truth."

“Phyllis, I was telling Shelley about the beautiful Christmas ornaments you made when we lived in that apartment—" Jane broke in franti-cally. "Remember the one with the starched lace you gave me? I still have it."

“You don't! Oh, Jane, how sweet of you."

“You'll have to show me how you did it. We're putting together a church bazaar right now, and we need all the help we can get.

Maybe we can run over to the craft store after you've unpacked—"

“Oh, I'd
love
that!" Phyllis said. "A Christmas bazaar! You can't know how much I miss such things. We live such an isolated life on the island." She paused, perhaps sensing that she was wandering right back into the same territory Jane was trying to save her from. "Yes, I think I remember how to do those ornaments. Tatting, wasn't it?"

“Maybe you can show my daughter. Katie, how to tat. I'm hopeless, but she's pretty good at that sort of thing," Jane said.

“Is that knitting you have in your bag there?" Phyllis asked.

“Crocheting, actually. Is that knitting you have along with you?"

“Just some little hats and mittens I'm making for charity. It gives me something to do with my hands. And I'm wor king on a sweater for Bobby, too. A sort of crimson; his color, I think.”

Bobby had sunk into some silent reverie of his own. He was glaring out the window at the snow as if he could stop it by sheer disapproval. Shelley was no longer driving as if she were looking for a cliff to plunge them all over. The rest of the ride home was taken up with pleasant talk about crafts. Jane dragged out her afghan and showed it to Phyllis, who admired it enormously and reciprocated by hauling forth an elaborately designed sweater. Eventually Jane started breathing normally, but in the back of her mind, she was turning over the problem of what to about her guests. Phyllis apparently believed that the invitation to visit was open-ended. Jane supposed a monthlong visit wasn't odd at all in the lifestyle Phyllis was accustomed to. After all, if you had a whole hotel to put your guests up in, they could stay for years without being a nuisance. Jane was certain P hylli s had no idea s he wa s bei ng an imposition.