All Good Women (5 page)

Moira's freckles receded in a bright blush. She continued licking the donut.

‘You mean that mechanic down on Washington who whistles when we walk by?' Wanda asked disingenuously.

‘When Moira walks by.' Teddy joined the banter reluctantly. She didn't know why, but this party made her jittery. Wasn't it enough that the four of them had each other? Why did they have to invite strangers to the house?

‘Randy Girard,' nodded Wanda.

‘Och,' exclaimed Moira, who carried some of her parents' Scottish brogue when she got flustered. She took a large bite of the donut and noticed too late that the purple jelly had shot out the end, staining the bow of her white blouse. ‘Oh, damn.'

‘What does it matter?' put in Teddy. She wanted to deflect attention from Moira's embarrassment, but her tense voice revealed more. ‘Let's say five or six and make it a surprise party.'

Ann threw up her hands. Wanda wondered if Howard would bring his friend Roy Watanabe. The buzzer sounded. Moira yawned, and, remembering now that the bow was removable, she unbuttoned it from the back of her neck. ‘Sure pal. Whatever you say.'

Miss Fargo stood at the classroom door, her arms across her chest.

Ann seated herself, swallowed and stared ahead. She tried to concentrate:
Dono. Donas.
The thought of university filled her with a still well-being. She would get through the afternoon fine. Breathing deeply, she savored the scent of smoke left in her nostrils.

As Teddy sat down, she noticed with disappointment that the sweater on the back of her chair was still damp from the morning rain.

Chapter Four

Spring 1939, San Francisco

ITALIANS INVADE ALBANIA

GERMANS CLAIM DANZIG

PAN AM BEGINS ‘THE DIXIE CLIPPER' TO EUROPE

RANDY GIRARD WAS LATE
,
Wanda noticed with relief and concern. She found Moira's friend a little loud, yet she knew if he didn't appear Moira would feel miserable. The party wasn't going the way she had expected. No one had arrived until an hour ago. Wanda stood at the door between the kitchen and the dining room watching young women and men mill around the food and inspect pictures on the wall, with the kind of nervous intensity people exhibit on Saturday night when they're wondering if they came to the wrong party. Wanda was dismayed that most of her
sushi
remained untouched on the serving dish. Perhaps she should have prepared something less exotic. However, Ann's potato salad and Moira's shortbread and Teddy's spare ribs and the rest of the menu were all waiting too.

Wanda caught sight of Moira opening the front door to her own brother Howard and his new friend Roy Watanabe. Roy was as handsome as Howard promised, tall and solid, with a wide, open face. Howard had told her so much about Roy that she was sure he would be a disappointment, but she was wrong. Had Howard given Roy as many details about her? Well, Howard's matchmaking had never worked before. Most of his friends were, like him, content with their jobs at the cannery and they found her a little ambitious.

Greeting the young men with firm handshakes, Moira tried to hide her disappointment at yet more guests who were not Randy Girard. She twirled around, displaying the full drama of Wanda's red jacket which she had borrowed to accent her svelte black dress. She had the two men joking and laughing as she eased them over to the drinks table.

Wanda joined them, offering glasses. Teddy was right, Moira had a talent for people. Wanda observed Roy more closely. Cute, a little tall, but very sweet. Moira stationed herself at the left of the table to keep watch on the front door.

Ann showed her friend Rachel
their bedrooms on the second floor. ‘This is mine.' She stood back self-consciously as Rachel looked around. ‘I particularly like the morning sun. Sometimes I just sit up here with a cup of coffee before anyone else is awake. It's a good time to read or study.'

‘Leave it to Ann, the purposeful employment of each moment.' Rachel smiled, backing out of the room. ‘Some people just daydream in the mornings and in the afternoons for that matter.'

‘You have to admit I've improved since high school. I used to read while I was walking to class.'

Rachel nodded tolerantly.

Ann smiled, thinking how she enjoyed her friendship with Rachel which had deepened over the years as they grew active in the Forum. They shared so many experiences and attitudes and the same ironic sense of humor. They were family in a way she could never be with her housemates. Was it the common values she appreciated the most? No, it was the humor.

‘Are you sure you don't remember Wanda from Lowell?' Ann asked, opening a door.

‘No.' Rachel shook her head. ‘Is this her room?'

‘Yes, how did you know?'

‘It's so pretty — neat and colorful — like her. She's the only one of you to have framed pictures on the wall. And look at that quilt, I bet she made it herself, right? She has that kind of eye for detail.'

‘Like you, my dear.' Ann closed the door and opened the next one. ‘So tell me whose room this is?'

Rachel observed the clothes piled on a chair; shoes scattered on the floor; papers and bills spilling over the table. ‘A Hurricane Moira if I ever saw one.'

‘Right.' Ann laughed, noticing an edge of satisfaction. She was annoyed by Moira's sloppiness as much as she was charmed by her spontaneity. She probably also envied Moira's lack of inhibition. ‘And this,' she opened the door to the room overlooking the small garden, ‘is obviously Teddy's room.'

‘Obviously,' Rachel nodded, ‘with the spare, almost ascetic look. But what is that hideous picture in the corner?'

‘Something her sister Patsy painted in school.' Ann smiled fondly.

‘Anyway, the room's perfect for someone so indifferent to feminine things.'

‘What do you mean?' Ann asked tentatively, her mind now switched downstairs, to the
kugel
in the oven. ‘Say, come back to the kitchen with me.'

‘Well,' Rachel whispered as they walked. ‘She's kind of boyish the way she stands and with that straggling hair.'

Ann frowned, held the swinging kitchen door for Rachel and concentrated on her search for the sugar. Teddy wasn't boyish, just gangly. Women developed in different stages. Oh, why was she so tense? Just jitters about the party. Concentrate, Ann, sugar, where is the sugar?

‘I envy you this house.' Rachel leaned against the icebox. ‘It's a shame that most girls shuttle from their parents' home to their husband's without having a place of their own.'

‘Teddy found the house, you know.' Ann sprinkled sugar on the crusty noodles and paused to enjoy the aroma. ‘She still does cleaning for the family next door, who own the place. When it came up for rent, they wanted quiet people. Mr Minelli has a heart ailment. Also, they lost their daughter a while ago and liked the notion of four young women neighbors.
Mitzvah
all around.' She loved using Yiddish with Rachel. Usually the only time she could use these words was when she was alone with Mama. Sometimes they came in dreams.

‘Sounds suspiciously communistic,' Rachel laughed, adding, in gruff imitation of Mr Rose, ‘Pretty soon you'll be sharing boyfriends and eating out of a common dish.'

‘Hardly,' Ann smiled, once again comforted by Rachel's familiarity — her teasing, her wonderful Jewish expressiveness. She never felt tongue-tied with Rachel as she sometimes did with Wanda. Well, their cultures were different. That was part of the adventure. ‘Look at that table in there … all rather uncommon dishes prepared by uncommon dishes. Oh, well …'

‘Yes,' Rachel humored her friend. She glanced into the living room and noticed Teddy chatting in the corner with two dark women.

‘We have a lot in
common.
We're all either the oldest girl or the only girl in the family,' Teddy was telling the Bertoli sisters. Sometimes it was hard to explain what had drawn them together, why they had decided to share a house. Angela and Rosa still lived above the family grocery on the corner. Teddy noticed with gratification that they both looked more comfortable now, halfway through their glasses of wine. Wanda had been skeptical about inviting them, about whether they would ‘fit in', and was also smarting from their father's last crack about ‘Chinks stealing the flower business from the Italians.' But Teddy knew the daughters were more neighborly than Mr Bertoli. Angela had offered to help carry some of the boxes and had stopped Teddy on the street once or twice to chat. She had a casualness that reminded Teddy of people back home in Oklahoma. Most Californians were too polite to drop in. It was natural to invite the Bertoli sisters. Besides, she didn't know any other friends who were suitable for the party.

‘But all of you in one house, how do you stand it?' asked Angela, the older sister.

‘Only four.' Teddy laughed easily. Angela was a big woman for whom space seemed an important consideration. ‘How many do
you
live with?'

‘Six brothers,' Rosa began, ‘two sisters, Mama, Papa. See Angela, four isn't so many.'

When Angela flushed like this, Teddy noticed her brown eyes darkened. They invited curiosity and returned it. Teddy was filled with a sudden tranquility as she looked around the room at her friends and her friends' friends. She sank back into the old armchair Ann's father had loaned them. This corner was her favorite spot in the house. From here she could see into the dining room and kitchen and even upstairs to the second floor landing. Sometimes late at night, she liked to fix herself cocoa and sit in this frumpy chair, looking around.

‘You come from a big family?' Angela asked.

‘Yes,' nodded Teddy, wondering how long she had dropped out of the conversation. She reached over and patted Angela's hand and then looked steadily at Rosa. ‘I'm used to noise. And company. I would be here except my older brother Hank got married and brought his bride home. They took over Jolene's and my room. Now Jolene's in with the other girls and there wasn't anywhere for me besides the tool shed. The folks didn't want me to go, we could have fixed something, but this house came up. Cleaning for the Minellis pays my share of the rent.'

‘A suffragist.' Angela, recovered from her embarrassment, was eager to volley.

‘Pardon?' Teddy took a gulp of wine, confused as she often was, when people changed the level of conversation to irony.

‘For women's rights. A militant who believes women should live and work independently.'

Teddy noticed Angela said ‘women' as if she spoke of an inferior species, which was strange since Angela was pretty self-confident, taking a job at the ceramic factory against her father's objections.

‘Sure, why not?' Teddy answered finally. She didn't know these girls well enough to say she didn't ever plan to get married.

Teddy turned at a knock on the front door. Noticing that Moira had abandoned her post by the wine table, she excused herself from Angela and Rosa. Briskly walking to the door, Teddy hoped, for Moira's sake, that this was Randy Girard. But she also hoped that he had been run over by a large truck.

A persistent ringing
of the
bell followed the knock. Moira glanced up from her sherry, which she found more fortifying than wine. She checked the heavy wooden mantel clock Wanda's parents had presented as a housewarming present. 10.45, bloody late. Had he tried another party first? She paused, holding her breath, setting down the sherry glass and realizing how disappointed she would be if the caller were Ann's friend Herb or her brother Daniel or Wanda's cousin Keiko. There were only four guests who hadn't appeared. Moira thought that although she might not meet Miss Fargo's bookkeeping standards, she could calculate what was important to her — like any true Scot. Why was Teddy taking such a long time to reach the door, to open it. The ease in that girl would drive her crazy. The whole evening was playing in slow motion. As the door cracked, Moira strained to see, yes, blond curly hair; it must be him. She swivelled toward the bathroom, to wash her face.

The worst thing would be to give the impression that she had been waiting all evening for him. And of course, she hadn't. She had been enjoying her friends and, oh Christ, she hoped no one was in the bathroom because she was going to throw up.

Ann and Rachel were drawn
into the front room by the sound of Benny Goodman's clarinet wowowowowing from their borrowed victrola. Wanda was swinging with Roy. Howard Nakatani had invited Rosa Bertoli. And there was Teddy dancing rather halfheartedly with Randy Girard. It was a new record.

Ann considered their second-hand furniture — the shabby elephant of a couch, the scarred mahogany table that Wanda had painted black, the ancient floor lamp which jiggled on and off to the Goodman beat, the thinning Persian rug which someone — must have been Teddy, who else would have thought to — had rolled against the fireplace. Surveying the room, Ann was alternately distracted by the dancers' electric sexuality and by the restful sensation that this was her home. For so many years the Roses had looked for home. First in the New York apartment and then in the one here in San Francisco where she and Daniel did most of their growing up. Their father was determined to make the homes American. Non-Jewish. Non-German. All the old things had been left behind. He had bought so many new American gadgets that they lived on the edge of poverty. Mama complained the soup was never right. She suspected the pans. She needed kitchen things from home. Papa would contradict. ‘It is better in America [everything: the life, the soup], you just haven't learned the way yet.' And gradually Mama came to believe him. She tried and failed to learn the way, the language, the recipe, even the religion when he started to attend Episcopalian services. Just as gradually — or it was unconscious, no one was to blame — he transferred all his faith to the children. It would be different, better for them. Thus Ann had grown up among the furniture and books and music that frightened her mother, American artifacts upon which they were meant to build their family. How much better it would have been if they had had comfortable scraps like these here. Instead, their home was created with new American mines laid dangerously along the life of a woman who for years could speak only Yiddish before she stopped speaking completely. After all, Ann thought now, a couch, like this old elephant here, was to be sat upon, not exhibited. She sank down on the cushion next to Rachel, once more caught by the physical vitality of the dancers, particularly of Wanda and Roy.

Although Moira had brushed
her
hair
in the bathroom, she was still twisting at a side curl as she walked toward the music. She moved as calmly as she could, her eyes everywhere but the dance floor. Who besides Randy would have brought such a new record? She had heard it once, on the radio this week. Randy was always up on the newest, from white-walled tires to Clark Gable wisecracks. What would he be wearing tonight? She could just imagine him in those new wide khaki slacks and the heliotrope shirt, leaning impatiently on the side of the couch jingling his coins. Well, let him wait. She spread some of Ann's cream cheese on a cracker. She hoped the chives would check the sourness in her mouth.

‘Hey, Moi, come on and dance,' called Stephen, a husky longshoreman who lived down the block.

She looked up, tickled at the thought and had almost joined him on the dance floor when she noticed Randy and Teddy. No, she hadn't ‘noticed' them. More precisely Randy had noticed her and pulled her in with those green, green eyes. Sea green, she had decided this afternoon. Now they gleamed satanic green. Was she jealous? Jealous of Teddy for heaven's sake? Just look at the girl — nervous as a chicken skating on the Great Salt Lake. Look at Randy basking in his own self-confidence. Well, her silly feelings might be tender, but her head was tough and she knew the quickest way to lose Randy Girard was to mope. She smiled cheerfully, patted Teddy on the elbow and danced with her best Isadora Duncan abandon. Moira didn't know if she had had too much wine or too little as she swung with Stephen. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get into the mood. She had never liked this living room. She much preferred to sit in the kitchen with the others, cosy around the little table. The living room was at once too large and too confining. Now, she shook her head and tried to concentrate on Stephen's rugged jaw. Randy was putting on a new record, ‘Jeepers Creepers'. Did he remember it was one of her favorites?