The Cocktail Waitress (22 page)

“… I thought I’d made clear by now—he’s no bother, Joan—to me, anyhow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he seems to have been quite a bother to you, but if things are different now—”

“He was never a bother to me, as I think you know—”

I would have said more, no doubt, but Earl cut me off by raising his hand, and saying, most soothingly: “I’m sure he’s never been a bother, to you, Mrs. Lucas, or anyone—and he won’t be one to us. Tell me, how much do we owe you?”

It was the very way to cut her down, and I couldn’t have been happier with Earl than in that moment. She protested that nothing was owed, but Earl already had a palmful of money out, carelessly extracted from his pocket, and he picked out bills totaling a hundred-fifty dollars, then added twenty extra for good measure. “Here. Please accept it, it’s nothing to us and I’m sure you can use it.” Oh, the look on her face! But she took the money, of course.

And now I said: “I think it’s time Mr. White made Tad’s acquaintance.”

“… Yes, of course.”

So, while Ethel plopped herself down in a garden chair, I led him back to the swings. When Tad saw me at last he came over, not running or with much show of interest, but at least with a smile, as though he was glad to see me. I stooped down and kissed him, and then made a mistake. Instead of presenting him to Earl, quietly, with no explanation at first, and letting him get acquainted little by little, I was too excited to use good judgment, or quite to know what I was doing. I leaned down, kissed him, held him close, and said: “Yes, it’s Mommy, it really is, and she’s glad, so glad, to see you. Are you glad to see her?”

He nodded, his shyness wearing off, and held his mouth for another kiss. I gave him one, and then at last got to it: “And now for Mommy’s big surprise, the wonderful surprise she has for you. Tad, this is Mr. White, Mommy’s new husband, who’s going to be your father from now on—and we’re all three going now, in his big automobile, to the beautiful new home we’re going to have, where we’ll all live together and—”

With that I picked him up and held him out. But before any more could be said, he took one look at Earl, who was standing there, smiling at him, his hand held out, and let out a scream, not only of fear, but one of utter horror. Then he started to kick and twist and wriggle, so I had to put him down. Without the least hesitation he started for Ethel, where she’d got up from her chair. She gathered him in her arms and began kissing and patting and shushing him, until at last he was quiet. I had to stand and watch it, and hadn’t a word to say, as there was nothing else she could do. I don’t take exception, even now, but there’s a limit to what you can take.

Presently I mumbled: “Then, Ethel, if you can keep him a little bit longer—”

Her eyes danced, gloating at me over my son’s head. “Yes, Joan. You needn’t even ask.”

“Just till we get straightened out a bit better, how we’re going to do—”

“Joan, he’s welcome the rest of his life, if that’s how he wants it to be.” She broke off, and then burst out again: “And how he wants it to be is something you might have thought of, when you had this grand inspiration.”

“Ethel, I think we’d better be going.”

“Perhaps you’d better, at that.”

So next, we were walking around the house once more, Earl and I, and then were in the car, driving back.

I have to say he was very decent about it, and very understanding, patting my hand, and telling me: “Don’t be upset—it was just one of those things that happen, we don’t know why. I assure you I did nothing whatever, at least that I know of, to provoke it. I thought him a most attractive child, a wonderful little boy.” I kept saying it wasn’t his fault, but mine, mainly, “for not handling it right,” but my mouth was taken over, so I hardly knew what it said. At the house, when we got out and went inside, I suddenly heard myself tell him: “Earl, I’m going up to my room. I want to be alone. I have to be alone.”

“But of course, Joan. O.K.”

So I went up, took off my things, lay down, and closed my eyes. Then at last I knew the truth: My beautiful dream, that I’d worked and schemed and plotted for, and then at last had made come true, in one ghastly, dreadful moment, had exploded in my face.

For some time, there with myself alone, that was as far as I took it, or could take it. The effect it would have on the future, on Tad’s future, on my future, on my future relations with Earl, I didn’t get to at all— I was too shocked, too numb, even to try. When at last my head began
to clear I began wondering what had caused it, this reaction of Tad’s —what I had done, what Earl had done, what Ethel might have done to account for something that seemed to be automatic, completely instinctive. And for a time I blamed myself, for rushing things, introducing a new father and promising a new home all in one breath, as part of a wonderful surprise. If I’d just taken one thing at a time and let that soak in before going on to the next, things might have gone differently. Indeed, for some little time it seemed that I could start over, perhaps put Tad in the car, bring him over here, and then see the surprise Earl had bought him—a new tricycle perhaps, or a little car, or something. But then suddenly I sat up in bed and began staring out the window, as the truth dawned on me, why the child had been terrified of Earl.

If I was, why wouldn’t he be?

I knew then, at last, that the thing that had happened was final, that nothing could be done. There popped into my mind the things I’d felt when he’d held me in the car before our wedding, and when we’d kissed, and the way I felt about him when he barged into my room, claiming the right to watch me undress. And my belly began to tell me how deep my fear was. And then at last I began to realize how terrible a thing it was, the dream that you make come true.

It was dark when a tap came on the door, and when I called, he came in. I turned on the light and he sat down in the chair beside me, where I still lay on the bed. “Feel better?” he whispered.

“I suppose so, a little,” I told him. “At least I’m getting readjusted. Earl, I’ve lost my child.”

“Perhaps not—all sorts of things can happen. But I’d like to say one thing. Joan, I’m as baffled as you are. I swear I did nothing to make him act that way—”

“Earl, I know you did nothing, know it without your telling me.”

He was doing nothing now, and yet as I lay on the bed, I felt the same clutch of fear as Tad had betrayed with that scream. His eye moved to my legs, which were crossed in my pantyhose. I took no notice, but switched the talk to Ethel, saying: “It’s what she’s been hoping for—she lives for the day when she can claim Tad as her own.”

He nodded. “I’ve detected something,” he said, “whenever you speak of her. It’s clear enough now—I mean, the reason for it is. The silver lining is, at least, if she’s fond of the child, you know he’ll be well taken care of.”

At this, well-meant though it no doubt was, my heart stopped. It froze utterly and for good. For I thought I heard in his voice a thread of relief—as though he’d been prepared to take on the duty of raising my child but was happier still not to have to.

Briskly, he said: “Joan, are you ready to go down?”

“… Down?”

“To dinner?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought.”

“Or would you rather go out?”

I had my duties as well, I realized. And I at least wouldn’t leap at any chance to escape them. “… I imagine the servants would be hurt, after outdoing themselves to please the bride on her first night home, if she decided to eat dinner out. No, let’s have dinner in. May I ask what their names are?”

He told me: “The maids are Myra and Leora—Myra is the shorter. The cook is Araminta, goes by Minnie. Jasper is her husband. The men you’ll meet tomorrow—they won’t be at dinner. Incidentally, when you pay them all the first of the month, they rate a small gift from you, in appreciation of—”

“Services well rendered—or in other words, a tip. I’d have given it anyway—I’ve worked for tips myself, as you well know. I’ve taken them from you.”

“… They were the least that I could do.”

“Yes, well—they lightened dark days for me,” I said, leaving off the word that threatened to spring to my lips at the sentence’s end:
temporarily
.

I got up, went in the bath and freshened my face, came out, combed while he watched, and then led the way downstairs. The maids were at the dining-room door, making me little bows, which I acknowledged by calling their names and shaking hands. Then I went out in the kitchen to greet the cook, whom I called by her full name, Araminta, pleasing her, as I thought it might. Jasper was there and I shook hands with him as well. When I came back and took my place at the head of the table, both maids seemed very friendly, and I detected surprise in their manner, and also in his. I don’t know what they expected, but I’d been brought up to treat servants as human, and have never regretted doing it.

For dinner there was fruit cup, roast lamb, new potatoes, peas, salad, and ice cream. While Earl carved the lamb, Myra poured us drinks, tonic water for him and, unasked for, a glass of wine for me. I thought it surprising that he hadn’t let her know I didn’t drink, but this was no time to correct the error, so I simply smiled and pretended to have a sip. Even the taste of it on my lips made me slightly ill—I remembered it as the taste on Ron’s lips many a night when he’d come home soused and pressed himself against me.

When we’d finished the meal and had our coffee, I went out and complimented Araminta on the beautiful dinner, and thanked the maids for the way they served it. Then I led the way to the drawing room, where I felt it was well to say: “I feel a bit better now.” I didn’t; if anything, I felt worse as anxiety began to possess me over what was going to happen when we went upstairs to bed. However, nothing did—he let me go to my room, making no move to follow, and saying goodnight at the door, with no more than a small token kiss, there in the hall outside.

It surprised me—but then he had seemed very preoccupied, as we sat for an hour after dinner in the drawing room, where I took a chair instead of a place on a sofa, and he took a chair on the other side of the room. After a time he’d said: “In a way perhaps we can be glad it happened.”

“Glad?” I said, keeping my voice neutral, or trying to.

“It cleared the air, kind of.”

“In what way, cleared the air?”

“From now on it’s you and me. It puts ideas in my head.”

“What kind of ideas, Earl?”

“You’ll see—friendly ones, that’s all I care to say till I know where I’m at. I think you’re going to be pleased—we could even say excited. But—let’s let it be my little surprise.”

My big surprise for Tad had turned out quite a bust; how this little one for me would turn out I didn’t know, but the way my stomach
was jumping warned me. And though when we went up he didn’t follow me into my room, or try to watch me undress, or in any way make the kind of pest of himself he’d been making before, just kissed me once and said goodnight, as he turned away he winked. So, I lay in the dark and tried to guess what
that
meant. I sat up after a while and stared out the window. For the thought had occurred to me: The way you guess what it meant is, you guess the worst possible thing you can think of, and with him, that has to be it.

The worst possible thing I could think of was that he meant to renege on our bargain, and consummate—or try to. I felt my mouth go dry, and wanted to echo Tad, with the scream he had given, of horror. I thought: That can’t be it! The doctor has warned him—it’s unthinkable. It turned out, though, that if you want something badly enough, it’s not only thinkable, but doable.

I was asleep when the tap came on the door, but when I called he came in, kissed me good morning, and said he must go to work— “I’ve been away, and things have piled up.” I said something, how proud I was of him, “that you carry on as you do, letting nothing interfere. It’s the kind of thing I respect.” And if I sound hypocritical, I wasn’t, as I said what I felt, quite honestly. I do respect the person who works at his job, as barber or waitress or whatever, and I try to have manners, however I feel. “O.K., O.K.,” he whispered. “Now you go back to sleep. But tonight, as I hope, I’ll have something to report.”

He went and I got up. When I came down to breakfast, I knew from the way they acted that I’d made a hit with the servants. Myra introduced me to the others, the men, whose names were Jackson, Coleman, and Boyd. Boyd, it turned out, was Myra’s cousin, and spelled Jasper as driver when Jasper had a day off. Today was one such day, and he offered to take me anywhere I needed to go, but I told him I preferred to stay in and discover the place for myself.

There was a phone extension in the upstairs hall, and I put in two
or three calls, one to Jake, at his home, one to Bianca, and of course one to Liz. I begged her to stop by that very day, and she wound up by coming to lunch. I was so glad to see her I cried, and especially at how she was dressed, so distinguished, and all in my honor, and in honor of who might be there. She had on a beige pantsuit, very smart and very becoming, with a red ribbon on her gray hair. After lunch I took her upstairs to my room, but had hardly closed the door when she led me to the bed, pushed me onto it, and pulled up a chair beside me. “Get to it, baby,” she whispered. “What happened?” For I hadn’t called her, in spite of my promise. I told her now, about the lab and the test results, and she said, “Thank god, Joan. I had all my fingers crossed for you. But you don’t seem happy. What is it?”

“It’s my little boy, Tad.”

I told then, about the scream he’d let out, and what it had done to me. But then I couldn’t stop. I went on and on about my marriage to Earl, and the deal that had been made. “But now,” I said, “something tells me that deal is off—that our marriage is to be like any other. That he wants to—consummate, as the lawyer called it. That’s what I’m up against now—what I think I’m up against.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“… Not even a little bit.”

“So O.K. baby—it’s something a girl runs into—I do myself, occasionally. But, one reason or another, you have to anyway. So, how you do, you close your eyes, and pretend it’s Rock Hudson.”