People Who Knock on the Door (20 page)

“We had a date, yes. Lunch at Norma’s.” Arthur’s heart had begun thumping already.

“Lunch at Norma’s. That’s why you locked and bolted the doors?—This house is not a brothel, Arthur, not
my
house,” said his father with a glance at Arthur’s bed.

Arthur thought of the orgies he’d heard about since entering C.U., fellows and girls on the living room floor, not particularly caring whom they made love with, lights out and disco tapes blaring.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“That’s it. Nothing,” Arthur said.

“Then you’re out. You’re not sleeping under my roof or eating my bread any longer. You can pack.”

Robbie stood behind his father in the hall, listening.

His father went out and closed the door.

21

A
rthur stood where he was for a few seconds. To pack meant to pack now. And where was he to sleep tonight? Maybe at Gus’s. And later there might be room for him in one of the dorms at C.U., because he had heard about three fellows sharing a dorm room meant for two. But that cost something, and he might as well assume that his father would not let his mother give him another extra cent.

Through his closed door, Arthur heard his father’s rumbling voice and Robbie’s slightly higher-pitched barks.

Arthur hauled a suitcase from the bottom of his closet. Trousers, a couple of sweaters, and socks went in, also several textbooks.

He heard a car pass and realized that it was his mother’s only when he heard the kitchen door close and heard his parents’ voices.

“Oh—Richard!” said his mother in an anguished tone.

Arthur decided to face it again, now. He walked into the hall, then the kitchen, where his parents were. His mother was removing her coat, and Arthur took it for her and put it on a hook.

“—when a girl is
dead
,” his mother said in a breathless voice.

“Yes, well. These things,” said his father, “they happen.”

“I’m going to make some hot tea. I need it. Anybody else?” She went to the stove and picked up the kettle. “Hello, Arthur.—I’m distracted today.”

“Hi, Mom.” Arthur noticed that Robbie was lurking just inside the living room. “I’ll be leaving tonight. I suppose Dad told you.”

“Yes, he did.” His mother spoke over her shoulder, as if she had other things on her mind.

His father looked about to go off to his study, but he didn’t. Arthur watched his mother light the fire under the kettle. She was frowning. “Some girl’s dead, did you say, Mom?”

“Eva MacNeil. I think I told you about her. Came to the Home about a month ago—asking for help. Pregnant.” His mother glanced at Arthur. “We heard this afternoon she killed herself—sleeping pills and gin. Somebody found her in her room this noon.”

Arthur vaguely remembered his mother saying something about a pregnant girl a couple of weeks ago. The Home hadn’t been able to help the girl. “She didn’t want the child, wasn’t that it?”

“She tried to get an abortion and couldn’t. And we couldn’t raise the right money—at the Home.”

His father frowned at Arthur, as if Arthur were intruding on a conversation between him and his mother. “I’m packing now, Mom—and going out to Maggie’s tonight for dinner.”

His mother glanced at him with the same pained expression on her face. “I’ll come in and see you in a minute, Arthur. I just want some tea, I’m frozen through.”

“When are you leaving?” Robbie asked Arthur.

Arthur did not answer and went back to his room. A minute or so later, his mother brought two cups of tea, handed Arthur one, and sat down on his straight chair.

“Dad wants me out.”

“I know.” In the sad lines of her face, Arthur saw that she wasn’t going to fight for him with his father.

“I don’t want you to try to make him change his mind,” Arthur said. “The atmosphere here’s too awful. I’m sure I can sleep at Gus’s tonight. I can look for a room in town.” Arthur flipped the suitcase lid down, though he hadn’t finished his packing.

“Arthur, I’m sorry, I’m not myself today.” His mother’s eyes met his for an instant, then she set her cup and saucer aside and bent her face into her hands. “I so wanted to help that
girl
!”

“I know.” Arthur understood suddenly. It could have been Maggie, if Maggie or he hadn’t had the money. “My father would say—it’s just what she deserved. Death—for her sins.”

“Oh, no! He wouldn’t if he’d known Eva.”

“Why not? It’s the principle.—I don’t want to stay in a house with a man like my father—or Robbie.”

“Robbie?”

“Just the same. Can’t you see it?”

The telephone had been ringing. His mother got up.

In the hall, Robbie said to his mother, “Mom, it’s for you.”

Arthur put his suitcase and a duffel bag into his car when he drove off at 7 for Maggie’s house. He still hadn’t called Gus. He told Maggie what had happened after she left, including his mother’s being upset about the suicide of the girl called Eva MacNeil.

“Maybe I’ll sleep at Gus’s tonight, look for a room in town tomorrow. Maybe a cheap dorm at C.U.?” Arthur shrugged. “I dunno.”

Maggie looked stunned. “My gosh, Arthur!—Won’t your mother talk to your father—”

“I—don’t—want to beg,” Arthur said softly, though Maggie’s mother was in the kitchen and out of hearing.

“Have to get something from the kitchen.” Maggie got up.

There was a nicely crackling fire in the fireplace. The orange and white cat Jasper was sleeping where he always did, at one end of the sofa.

Maggie came back with a plate of canapés—smoked oysters, black olives. “Forgot these.—Mom says you can sleep here tonight.”

Arthur drew his hand back from the plate. “I told you
not
to tell her. It’s a goddamned mess!”

“There’s a guest room here,” Maggie said.

At the dinner table, Betty said, “Maggie told me about the difficulties today, Arthur. So you’re most welcome to stay with us tonight. And tomorrow night, too, until you get settled. It’s an awful feeling, not knowing where you’re going to put your head down at night.”

So later that evening, Arthur was shown into a guest room bigger than Maggie’s bedroom, with a double bed, two windows on the yard at the back, a commodious chest of drawers and a closet. He had taken the
Herald
up with him to look at rooms for rent, but found only one to share with “40-ish woman,” while the apartments were out of his price range. Still, he fell asleep in the big bed almost as content as if Maggie had been sleeping beside him.

The next morning, Arthur drove Maggie to the airport. He felt shaky, on the brink of cracking up—whatever that was—and was glad Maggie made the parting quick. One kiss and she was gone, with a promise to write him soon. Arthur went at once to a telephone booth and called Gus’s house. One of his brothers answered and said Gus would be home at noon.

It was a quarter past noon when Arthur got to Gus’s house, and the family was in the kitchen, at least four of them besides Gus, and his mother seemed to be preparing various hot lunches plus sandwiches. In that chaos, it was easy for Arthur to tell Gus, without being heard by anybody, that he had been kicked out by his father and had spent last night at Maggie’s house.

“Ho-wolly cow!” said Gus, properly impressed.

“You don’t happen to know of a cheap room I could rent somewhere,” Arthur said.

Gus pondered, his blond eyebrows frowning above his glasses. “Well, there’s that dump on Pine Street run by Mrs. Haskins. Four or five rooms and only one bathroom in the house.”

Arthur knew the place, because he had been there once to meet somebody. It was a cheap and rather noisy rooming house.

“Too bad there’s not a room to spare here,” Gus said sadly. “But we’ve got an army cot, and you’re welcome to stay in my room.”

Arthur imagined Gus and himself trying to study evenings in Gus’s small room and shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you. But that’s nice of you, Gus.”

“Come out with Veronica and me tonight. You look down in the mouth. We’re just going to some roadside place for a couple of beers. After dinner? ’Bout eight?”

Arthur agreed. Gus would come by the Brewster house in his car, and Arthur could take his car tonight or not, “And I might take you up on that army cot deal—for tonight. I’m shy about bothering Maggie’s mother.”

When Arthur got back to the Brewster house, he let himself in with the key. “Betty?” he called. No answer, but because the garage door was shut, he hadn’t been sure whether she was out or in. Now he opened the front door again, took a white envelope from the mailbox, and laid it on the hall table. It had no stamp. Then Arthur noticed that it was addressed to him c.o. Brewster. Typewritten. Arthur opened it and read:

Dear Arthur,

I regret my anger yesterday but not my decision. It is intolerable to me and I think it would be to most parents to shelter a son or daughter who so deliberately mocks the principles by which his parents live. It is regretable that the young girl concerned is no different from you, and it seems that neither of you learn from experience or care a whit about the feelings of others. I believe it is only by shocking you to reality that you will ever learn anything. Your mother and I ever wish the best for you.

Your father,

Richard

P.S. I had little more schooling than you now when I was forced to quit college and earn a living for my mother and myself.

Arthur noticed that his father had spelt
regrettable
with one t. Well, well. Tonight, at any rate, he had a bed at faithful old Gus’s.

He went upstairs to his room and again packed his suitcase and duffel bag. Then downstairs again to look up the number of C.U.’s Administration Building. A woman answered, and Arthur asked to speak with someone in charge of dormitory places.

“What is your problem?”

“I want to know if there’s any room left for this coming semester. I’m a day student now.”

“The person to tell you will be on duty tomorrow or Friday. The university is not officially open until tomorrow.”

Ah, well, tomorrow. Arthur went to the kitchen, where the coffee machine’s light showed red, and poured a cup. Then back to his room, where he pulled out a couple of books. One was
Do You Really Speak English
, required reading for his English class. Before he settled down, he crossed the hall to Maggie’s room and opened its door halfway. He looked at its single bed, its beige and blue curtains at the two windows, at her writing table on the left, slightly untidy with two books taken from the row at the back now lying on the table, and a piece of white paper underneath one. He closed the door again.

Betty came home around 6, and gave him a shout. “Busy?”

“No!” He tossed the English book on the bed and went down.

Betty was in the front hall, hanging up her coat. She rubbed her knuckles against her palm. “Wow, it’s nippy. Have you made any plans? Because I spoke with Warren today. He called from California.”

“I can stay at my friend Gus’s tonight. Tomorrow—well, at the end of this week I can see about a dorm room, I just found out.”

“You’d prefer to go somewhere else tonight? Because I told Warren the situation, and he thinks it’s pretty awful. Warren says why not stay here for a few days till you get your bearings. If you find something in a couple of days, fine. Or if we annoy each other, I’ll ask you to leave or you’ll leave on your own.” Betty smiled. “All right? So you don’t have to leave tonight unless you want to.” She went off to the kitchen. “I need a hot coffee. Are you in tonight, Arthur?”

“Gus is picking me up at eight.”

“If you want something to eat before, help yourself to the leftover steak in the fridge. It’s very good. I’m going to have a bowl of soup and go to bed. Two hours I was driving around with a couple of the protection committee people, looking at houses that need—repairs and such. And trees that have to be felled.” She lifted her cup of coffee to her lips. “Make yourself at home, Arthur. Don’t tie yourself in a knot.”

Arthur managed a smile, but something made him quite speechless. Maybe gratitude.

Gus arrived just before 8, and Arthur decided to leave his car and go in Gus’s. Arthur sat in the back. He told Gus and Veronica about Betty Brewster’s offer to let him stay a few days until he found a place.

“I think your father’s being pretty grim,” Veronica said in her slow, thoughtful way. “I think my family’s pretty old-fashioned, but I honestly don’t think they’d act like
this
.” She looked over her shoulder at Arthur. “I was saying to Gus just now, I know a girl who invited her boyfriend to stay in the house and sleep in her room over the holidays. Family didn’t mind.”

Arthur said nothing. The wind through Veronica’s window, open just half an inch, hit him right in the neck and he didn’t care. Gus was driving rather fast, but Arthur didn’t care about that either, because he trusted Gus.

They stopped at a roadside bar-restaurant called Mom’s Pride, which had disco music on the jukebox, and served beer, hamburgers, steak sandwiches and the usual. Arthur went to the bar-counter and ordered three french fries and three beers and paid for them, then he dropped some coins in the jukebox, one of them for “Hot Toddy,” a favorite of his and Maggie’s. Gus and Veronica went off to dance; then Arthur danced with Veronica.

“Gus’s dancing improving?” Arthur shouted.

“What?” asked Veronica, hopping up and down as lightly as a bubble opposite him.

“
Yeee-owrrr! Shamazz!
” some male idiot roared in Arthur’s ear for no reason.

The lights turned into polka dots, blackened, came back to pink.

A little after midnight, they were rolling along toward town, Arthur in front beside Gus, and Veronica reclining on the backseat, sleepy. Ahead, on the left side of the dark road, Arthur saw a silvery, box-car shape, glowing like a nocturnal insect.

“Hey, Gus! That’s the Silver Arrow diner, I think. Where Irene works. Remember I told you about Irene Langley? Shall we drop in? For a last coffee?”

“Sure, old pal,” said Gus, and signaled for a left pull-over.

Their shoes crunched on the frozen pebbles in front of the place. Three enormous eighteen-wheel trucks were parked facing the diner, dwarfing it, looking ready to attack it.

Irene was on duty, Arthur saw at a glance. Her peroxide hair and red lips caught the eye at once under the fluorescent lights, and even every cigarette butt that had been dropped on the floor gave Arthur the feeling of looking at them through a microscope. Ten or more men sat hunched on the counter stools, wearing caps and heavy jackets, and more of them, with a woman or two, sat at the booth tables. Besides Irene, there were two other waitresses behind the counter, and all wore white uniforms with silvery collars and caps and broad silvery belts. A jukebox played, but not so loudly as at Mom’s Pride.

Arthur gave Gus a discreet nod, to indicate that the blond was La Belle Irène. They took three stools at the counter, one man moving over for them so they could sit together.