Last Call (20 page)

After Rosamond opens Diana’s door her friend still doesn’t get out. Rosamond glances around the yard to see if there’s an attack dog lurking in the bushes.

Diana, however, is preoccupied with mentally reviewing a self-help book she’d recently read on how to have a better relationship with your sister. “Don’t rise to the bait,” she repeats the book’s mantras to herself while anxiously clasping and unclasping her hands. “Just smile and take it in stride.” “It’s
her
, not you.” But Diana can’t banish the feeling that even as children Linda hadn’t taken nearly as much pride in her own perfection as she had pleasure in the failings of others. Linda’s constant stream of well-meaning but condescending-sounding advice has always been a source of tension between the two sisters.

Though Linda is two years younger than Diana, she’s a matronly looking thirty-three. And though there had at one time been talk of fertility drugs and adoption, she has apparently resigned herself to being childless, and instead concentrating all her efforts on making a perfect home and being a good political wife. It’s Diana’s secret belief that Linda has purposely gained a few pounds and fixed her hair in a manner suited to an older woman so as to appear the perfect match for her husband, Ted, who is thirteen years her senior, soft in the middle, and bald except for a gray fringe that flips up at the bottom if not subjected to regular pruning.

Finally they all go up the front walk together. Linda opens the door wearing an expensive yellow linen suit with a fitted jacket that accentuates her plump hips. Her dyed-to-match helmet hair is perfectly coiffed and set, and a canary diamond weighs down her left hand and catches the light whenever she moves.

Diana immediately feels self-conscious, having dashed out of the house in her sneakers, jeans, and T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The cool greeting Linda offers Rosamond in comparison to the Oscar-winning hugs she presses upon Hayden and Diana serve to make clear to them her displeasure that they’ve brought a non–family member to such a solemn occasion.

Tears run down Linda’s face as Diana and Hayden say how sorry they are, and Ted is uncharacteristically somber as he ushers them inside. His blue button-down oxford cloth shirt, navy blue blazer, and tan chinos are as new and tidy and perfectly coordinated as the interior of the house. Hayden’s first thought whenever he sees Ted is that those big white Chiclet front teeth must be dentures. But then who would get dentures that looked like
that
?

Tea is served in the formally appointed living room on Linda’s best china and starched linen napkins. Diana wonders if this is because she thinks the occasion of a visit by her Brooklyn sister is so special or, more likely, because she uses it to remind Diana that her older sister doesn’t have any china of her own. Diana’s elopement at twenty-one had not exactly attracted gifts in the same way as Linda’s four-hundred-guest wedding at the country club. However, down deep, Diana believes that the real reason Linda feels the need to show off her finery is because whenever they’re out together people mistake Diana for the younger sister. Or worse. One time Linda was wearing a hideous babushka, caftan dress, and sunglasses, and the waitress mistakenly thought that she was Diana’s mother.

When Linda brings out the teacups she says pointedly to Rosamond, “Do you plan on being part of our
family
discussion?”

Diana opens her mouth to say something she’ll regret, but Rosamond tactfully excuses herself by saying that she’ll keep Joey company out in the front yard. Soon the regular thud of the basketball hitting up against the backboard and Joey and Rosamond’s playful shouts can be heard through the open window.

For a long time Ted, Linda, Hayden, and Diana pass around photos of Dominick and talk about what a fine boy he was and contemplate aloud the million to one chance of such a freak accident ever occurring. Diana finds it odd that there are no photos of Dominick after elementary school and wonders just how close he and his father actually were. She knew that Ted and his first wife had split up only a few months after their son was born, and that Dominick had always lived with his mother, but she assumed that they’d continued to see each other, at least once in a while. On the other hand, Diana vaguely recalls Linda talking about an argument when Dominick formed a band, peroxided his hair, and pierced his cheek. Or was it his lip? Either way, when the recollections of Dominick’s elementary school career eventually run out of steam, the details of transferring the burial plot are settled once and for all.

After that business is finished they sit in silence until Ted begins explaining how the census has just determined that for the first time New Jersey has a higher median household income than Connecticut. This is followed by a detailed list of the ramifications that this “startling fact” is expected to have on the political landscape in the tri-state area.

Hayden twitches through the long-winded exposition and drains his scotch glass. Dear Lord, he silently performs a mock prayer, If you’re really up there, please don’t let Ted become president. This is my one and only dying wish.

Diana follows Linda into the kitchen carrying the empty cookie plate and napkins. The large, airy room is perfectly organized with bright copper pots lined up according to size above the island in the middle. A tall, neatly ordered spice rack stands next to all sorts of modern and undoubtedly expensive gadgetry.

“You would just
adore
this new Cuisinart,” says Linda, fully aware that her sister can’t even afford a new set of wooden spoons.

Diana ignores her kitchen commentary and gets straight to the point. “You shouldn’t have given Dad two glasses of whiskey,” she chides her sister.

“Honestly, Di, what difference does it make? Let Dad enjoy himself while he still—”

“Linda! They’re working on something right now, maybe even a cure. Just look at the progress that’s been made with AIDS. And you could help me by encouraging him to try this experimental treatment instead of attempting to kill him with booze. How will you feel at the funeral knowing that you were an enabler?” Diana’s breath comes in short gasps and she appears ready to sob or explode.

Placing her hands on her older sister’s shoulders Linda says, “Calm down. It’s just that you know Dad—he’s going to do whatever he wants to do. Which is something we need to talk about,” she adds in a sinister hush, as if hatching a conspiracy.

“What do you mean?” asks Diana. “If it’s suicide you’re thinking about, he’s already—”

“What I mean is
financial suicide
,” says Linda and she nods toward the kitchen window, through which they can observe Rosamond and Joey playing some sort of a game in which they move farther from the basket after every successful shot. “What if
that woman
tricks him into marrying her so that she can inherit his money? I mean, she shows up out of nowhere right before he’s supposed to die . . . don’t you find that a
little bit odd
?” Her eyes narrow as if she’s a TV detective about to unmask the murderer.

“Linda! For one thing, Rosamond is a very nice person. You’d find that out if you’d stop being so rude to her. And second, she’s a nun! She took vows of poverty and celibacy.” Diana carefully avoids mentioning that Rosamond appears to have resigned from the convent.

Linda purposefully towels the crystal cookie platter so that every potential water spot is thoroughly eradicated. “How do we know she’s
really
a nun? I mean, who’s to say she doesn’t get reports from a friend at a medical lab and go around town with this sister act. You can pick up a nun’s habit at any costume shop. Honestly, dying men must love that—a sexy virgin who can grant forgiveness for all their sins.”

Diana’s mouth opens in amazement at the contemptibility of her sister’s imaginings. “You can’t be serious. Linda . . . she’s dying! You should hear the way she used to cough when she first arrived. Look at how thin she is.”

Linda glances out the window just as Rosamond sinks a basket from the grass next to the driveway and she and Joey cheer and high-five each other. “She looks pretty healthy to me.”

But Diana has become too emotional to argue with Linda, between dealing with Hayden’s illness and the unfortunate circumstances of their visit. “It’s getting dark. I’m going to call Joey inside.”

“He’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about out here. It’s not like Brooklyn.”

That’s another of Linda’s favorite jabs, that Diana isn’t raising her son in a well-to-do neighborhood. By now Diana’s livid and ready to stick Linda’s head in the new Cuisinart as a way of testing just how well it really works. “Have you forgotten that Joey has
asthma
!” Diana shouts and storms out of the kitchen.

Linda reenters the living room as Ted hits upon the idea of employing the coasters in order to demonstrate to Hayden how a person gets appointed to the president’s cabinet. Only Hayden is restlessly wandering around the room, pretending to study the lithographs of ships that line the far wall. When he does catch a glimpse of Ted yammering away, all he can concentrate on is the way his son-in-law looks like a horse raising a thick upper lip as if about to bite down on an apple.

“You know, Dad, you’re welcome to come and live with Ted and me,” Linda says as she refills her father’s glass with expensive Chivas Regal. “I mean, if it’s too much of a strain being with Diana.”

It’s all Hayden can do not to laugh at the very notion. Move in with Linda and Ted? Talk about dying a thousand deaths. He coughs and then clears his throat. “Yes, well, it’s awfully kind o’ you, but Diana needs me to watch Joseph while she’s at work.” My God, did he just say
Joseph
? Something about the vaulted ceilings, dark stone fireplace, and Ted’s blue blazer with the bright gold buttons makes him feel that a high degree of formality is in order.

Diana walks into the room leading Joey by the hand and with Rosamond following a few steps behind. “I think we’d better be heading on home,” Diana announces, her voice still quavering from being so upset. “I have to work in the morning.”

“Of course, your new job!” says Linda and gives her big phony smile. “It must be so exciting.”

But Diana is certain her meaning is more along the lines of Diana rarely holding a job for more than a year, and that she shouldn’t be working in the first place with Joey off from school for the summer and not away at an expensive camp.

They all exchange stiff hugs and kisses, except for Rosamond and Linda, who coolly shake hands. Rosamond musters her inner resources to hide how hurt she is. But then she chastises herself for thinking of her own feelings at such a difficult time for the family. She resolves to pray to Our Lady of Perpetual Help for Linda’s sorrow to be lifted and to be freed from all her sufferings, whatever they might be.

As Diana backs the car out of the perfectly edged driveway Hayden lets out a sigh of relief and says, “Hurry up so I can get home and have a drink.”

“You just had three drinks and if you dare pour another one when we get home I’ll turn around and bring you back here for good,” threatens Diana.

“You drive a hard bargain woman, but I’d much rather drown in your prune juice than have to hear how Ted is solely responsible for Newark airport winning the best safety rating of any transportation center in the Northeast.”

chapter thirty-three

B
y the first week of August the summer heat lies in a thick blanket across the ground. The air no longer cools during the night and the pitch in the driveway adds a sticky residue to anything left on it for more than a moment, including a person’s foot.

On Sunday morning, Hayden, Rosamond, and Joey pile into the station wagon and travel down Atlantic Avenue toward the intersection of Utica and Pacific, in the neighborhood known as Bedford-Stuyvesant. Flags from Honduras, Haiti, and Jamaica announce the types of cuisine at the various restaurants. Islamic and Catholic schools stand directly across the street from each other. Hayden finds a parking spot on Pacific Avenue and the three make their way to the Grace Tabernacle Christian Center Church of God in Christ.

Inside the hot sanctuary sits a predominantly black congregation, with a few tan and white regulars, and several rows of Evian-clutching tourists in the back pews. The chance that a parishioner is wearing a neatly pressed suit or a fancy dress and a matching woven hat with cloth flowers and netted veil increases with proximity to the altar. The women in the front pews clutch well-worn Bibles and plastic lace fans that click like metronomes as they stir the heavy air. Both Bibles and fans double as disciplinary devices for the swarm of little children in their Sunday best who squirm and giggle and run pell-mell between the rows of wooden benches.

Rosamond is amazed at the contrast between this busy and lively place of worship and the hushed atmosphere of the convent chapel, where noise by humans is viewed as a disruption. Whereas here the confusion of people bustling about seems to contribute to an ambience that soothes and reassures.

“If anything is going to make me a believer it’s gospel music,” Hayden whispers to Rosamond as the service begins. “Wait ’til you hear this.”

The soaring but rhythmic hymns reach deep into the souls of the congregation and many close their eyes and wave a hand or a purse-sized Bible above their head or rock back and forth as if in rapture of the Lord. All three clap their hands to the uplifting choruses and harmonies of “Oh Happy Day.”

An African American woman wearing a brightly flowered dress adorned with two strands of large white pearls and a corsage of orange carnations and baby’s breath shuffles to the front of the choir. The only incongruity to her outfit, which would be more than appropriate for a wedding, is the pair of fuzzy pink bedroom slippers on her feet.

There’s an air of expectation and everyone sits up a little straighter. For a few moments she simply stands before them, swaying and nodding down at the floor as if in a trance. At last she is upright and looking out at the crowd with large brown luminous eyes and a knowing smile, the way a cleanup batter sizes up the pitcher and the playing field. And the congregation seems to collectively inhale as if anticipating that she’s deep in concentration, preparing to hit one out of the ballpark. The woman produces a few preemptive murmurings as the choir continues to clap and hum and build up the backbeat, as if they’re the launching pad that’s going to assist in sending this rocket heavenward.