Heart Troubles (2 page)

As he crossed the living room toward the kitchen, a woman whose name he could not remember said to him, “Are you David or are you John? You boys look so much alike I never can keep you straight!”

He stopped and smiled at her. “I'm David,” John said.

“How you've grown!”

His mother followed him into the kitchen. “Thank you, darling,” she said. “I take it you had no trouble at the store.”

“Trouble? Why should I have trouble, Mom?”

“Because of your
age,
silly. Anyway, I phoned them and told them you'd be coming in for liquor.” The boy placed the bag on the countertop, and his mother lifted the bottles out one by one and set them on the little bar. “You got nothing but bourbon!”

“It's the kind you like, isn't it, Mom?”

“Yes, but we have a few Scotch drinkers. But it doesn't matter. They won't notice the difference at this point.”

She moved quickly and breathlessly back and forth across the kitchen, her silver heels clicking on the black-and-white tile squares that were laid out like a checkerboard. She returned to the living room, and her son stood in front of the kitchen sink. Thoughtfully he turned on the faucet, gazed for a moment at the thin silver icicle of water that poured out, then shut it off.

His mother appeared behind him, carrying a tray of empty glasses. “Mom,” he said, “did you ever hear of anybody getting so upset about something that they got down on their hands and knees and ate
grass?
”

“Never,” she said. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, darling. Your father called while you were out.”

“What does he want?”

“How should
I
know? I didn't talk to him. The call was for you.”

“But, gosh, Mom! Couldn't you at least have asked him what he wanted? I mean, after all! It might have been something important!”

“If you're curious, dear, I'd suggest you call him back,” she said.

He went to the telephone on the kitchen wall while his mother moved about, mixing drinks. He lifted the receiver and dialed Operator and gave her the New York number. Leaning against the wall he held the receiver to his ear with one hand and plugged his other ear with the other hand to block out the party noises from the living room. With the smooth tag of his identification bracelet he rubbed his cheek.

“Alice?” he heard someone call to his mother. “What are you going to do about August? Are you going to stay here?”

“Heavens!” he heard her answer. “I'm so pleased to have
July
worked out! Don't ask me where I'll be in August.”

The boy listened intently to the operator's report. “There are a couple of other numbers where you might be able to reach him,” he said. He gave her the other numbers and waited. “Let that number ring a long time, please,” he said after a while. “He might be taking a nap, or something.”

“I am ringing your number,” the operator said.

“Would I like Acapulco?” he heard his mother ask. She was in the living room.

When his mother came back into the kitchen, he had hung up the phone and was just standing there. She said, “Did you get him, dear?”

“He's left the office, he's not at the club, and there's no answer at the apartment,” he said.

“Well, perhaps you can try him later.”

He reached inside the pocket of his shirt. “Here's the slip for the liquor, Mom.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.”

She opened the refrigerator door and removed a tray of ice cubes. She carried it to the sink and said, “Darling, will you take out these ice cubes for me?”

When there was no answer she turned and discovered that he was gone, evaporated into air.

So Alice Amis cracked open the ice tray herself and, using her fingers, dropped cubes into several glasses. From behind her a man's arms circled her waist, and she pushed him off with a laugh, saying, “Oh, behave yourself!”

“Where's your good-looking son?” he asked.

“Vanished!” she laughed. “He's always vanishing.”

“How's he taking the divorce thing?”

“Seriously, I think both boys want me to be happy,” she said.

The man wandered back into the living room, and she finished mixing the drinks and arranged the glasses on the tray. When the tray was ready, she started to lift it, hesitated, and put it down. She looked toward the living room where the party was, lifted the tray again, and once more set it down.

Alice Amis stood on tiptoe at the kitchen door as if balanced on the edge of something, as though the saddle of wood between the kitchen and the living room marked the top of a cliff, and her choice was whether to step forward, down into the clear possibilities that the living room contained, or return to the puzzle pattern of the kitchen tile. Her hand touched the doorjamb briefly. Then she turned. She felt herself walking back across the kitchen to the door of her son's room. It was meant to be a maid's room, but it was the room he had for some reason chosen in this rented summer house. The smallest bedroom in the place, he had insisted on making it his.

She heard her soft voice call, “John? John?” And then, a little louder, “Johnnie? Johnnie?” She played a little rhythm on the panel of the door with her well-polished fingernails. Finally she tried the knob. But he had locked it from the other side, and was in there, and would not answer her.

CALL BEFORE DINNER

When the telephone rang in the hotel room the young man who was lying, fully dressed, on one of the twin beds next to it, reached over and picked up the receiver in the middle of the first ring. “Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Edward Martin?”

“Yes.”

“One moment, please, for Long Distance.”

He waited, attempting to light a cigarette, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder with difficulty, digging into the pocket of his gray slacks for matches.

“Hello?” he heard his mother's voice say. “Teddy? Is that you, Teddy?”

“Hi,” he said. “How're you, Mom?”

“Fine,” she said. “Have you had your dinner yet, Teddy?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well,” his mother said, “don't let me keep you from your dinner.”

“Look,” he said, “did you call me up two thousand miles to tell me it was time for dinner?”

“No, of course not, silly,” she said. “I just don't want to delay your dinner, that's all. How are you?”

“Oh, I'm fine, Mom. Just fine.”

“Oh, that's good. How's your room?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

“I mean, what's it like? Does it have a balcony? I asked for a balcony.”

“Yes, it's got a balcony.”

“Do you have a view?”

He half turned as though he were not sure of the answer, and looked across the room to the French doors. “Yes,” he said, “you can see practically the whole Caribbean from up here, I guess.”

“Oh, that's nice. It must be pretty. How is—everything else?”

“What do you mean, everything else?”

“Well, you've been down there a week and Daddy and I have both written you. But we haven't gotten so much as a postcard from you. How
is
everything?”

“You mean—”

“I mean Carol, of course, yes.”

The young man completed his turn now, and looked at the girl who occupied the other twin bed. She lay, in a wide, bright orange skirt, on top of the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Carol's fine,” he said.

“Has she seen the doctor yet?”

“Yes.”

“Did he mention any date?”

“Around the twenty-first of August,” he said. “But Carol says it could be a week earlier or later.”

“What else did he say?”

“That's all. She's fine. He's worried about her attitude, that's all.”

“Her attitude? What's wrong with her attitude, for heaven's sake?”

“Oh, you know,” he said softly. “It's been hard on her. The wedding. Everything.”

“She should be thankful she had a wedding. What's her doctor like?”

“Nice,” he said. “An Englishman.”

“Oh, an Englishman, that's nice.” There was a pause. “Teddy?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Has she reached a decision yet?”

“What sort of a decision?” he asked.

“You know, Teddy. About the baby.”

“No. She hasn't decided yet.”

“Well, I do hope she is going to be sensible about it. Don't you, Teddy?”

“I don't know.”

“You have all the papers there, don't you? The ones she has to sign for the adoption business?”

“Yes.”

“Well, try to settle it, Teddy—once and for all—soon. Without any more hysterics. Histrionics, I mean. Under the circumstances it's unreasonable of her to want to keep the baby. I know her mother thinks so, too.”

“Oh, have you talked to her?”

“I should say not. Goodness, it's impossible to talk to that woman. She gets hysterical over the phone every time I try to discuss anything sanely. No. All I can say is it's a good thing Daddy and I took things into our own hands, or heaven only knows where you'd both be.” She paused. “By the way, dear, what are you doing about your laundry? Do you have plenty of shirts?”

“Yes, Mother,” he said wearily. “Yes, Mother. Yes, Mother. Everything's fine.”

“Teddy?” his mother said. “I talked to the Dean today. I told him the whole story. All about the little wedding and everything. He was very kind, terribly understanding. You can go back to college next fall if you make up your work this summer. Isn't that fine?”

There was a delay in his answering as he reached over and snapped on the lamp that stood on the night stand.

“Teddy?” his mother's voice said. “You didn't answer me about college. Do you want to go back next semester?”

“Sure,” he said. “Sure. I guess I do.”

“Oh, good! I'm glad. But you do see, don't you, how impossible—how unheard of—it would be for you to go back to college with some sort of baby in tow?”

“What do you mean ‘some sort' of baby?”

“Don't get huffy, dear. You know what I mean. I mean it's just too much. You're not even twenty and you've two more years—more than two full years—of college ahead of you. You couldn't do that and be a parent, too, for heaven's sake!”

He made no reply.

“That's why the adoption is the only way. And as far as she's concerned, well, she can just go back to her family while you're in college.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And then—supposing you did decide to stay married to her—but you probably won't, because a divorce would be simple enough to arrange. I mean after this thing blows over—”

He turned, this time cautiously, and looked at the girl lying on the other bed. Slowly, without looking at him or getting up, she reached toward the other night stand on which lay a pack of cigarettes, matches, and an ashtray. She brought these closer to her, extracted a cigarette from the pack, and lighted it.

“Doesn't that make sense to you, Teddy? About not staying married to her? I mean, actually, why should you? I remember what you said—what you told me—that night. That night you gave us the news. You didn't want to marry her. You said so.”

“Look, Mother,” he said, “can we please skip all that?”

“Well,” she said, “it's true. Don't you forget it. I'll never forget the expression on your face. And hers! Last week, at the wedding, at the lawyer's office. Did she look like a happy bride? Well, you're both lucky, that's all I can say, to have parents who can understand and afford to get the two of you married and packed off there to avoid the humiliation of a—a baby—arriving five months from now! And I hope you realize how much this little so-called honeymoon of yours is going to cost Daddy.”

“Mother,” he said, “look, we've had this conversation before. Do we have to go over it and over it?”

“No. I'm sorry,” she said. “How's the weather been?”

He sighed. “The weather's fine.”

“Have you taken any pictures?”

“What?”

“Pictures. You took your camera, didn't you?”

“No,” he said. “No pictures.”

“Well,” his mother said, “I just hope she sees the sense of it. Goodness knows, there'll be questions—all the rest of her life—if she keeps that baby. And I just know that you don't care for her.”

He said nothing.

“I mean, how could you?” she went on. “After all those years—going steady with her for—how long was it? Four and a half years? And not even a girl we approved of! And I warned you—”

“Mother!” he interrupted.

She stopped, and then suddenly said, “Teddy!
Is she in the room?
”

He looked at the girl who lay silently smoking. “Yes.”

“Oh! Why didn't I think? Why didn't you tell me? Oh, I should have known, you've been acting so funny. Well,” she said, “just answer me with yes and no. Would you like to talk to Daddy?”

“No,” he said.

“Teddy, please. Don't be funny. Daddy's right here.”

“I don't want to talk to him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't. We had enough of talk—that night.”

“Teddy, you know Daddy didn't mean some of those things he said. He didn't mean any of them. He was upset.”

“I don't want to go through that again,” he said.

“He didn't mean it, dear. That was just Daddy being—well, being Daddy! I mean, you know what great, what wonderful plans he had for you, dear. And it wasn't as if Daddy hadn't warned you—”

“I don't want to talk to him.”

“Now, Daddy's right here, right at my shoulder, ready to talk to you. Now don't go flying off the handle with him, Teddy. Be nice. Remember that it's Daddy who's paying for all this and it isn't going to be exactly cheap. Now hold the wire and I'll put Daddy on.”