Authors: Rachel Ingalls
‘When?’ he asked.
‘In a few days.’
‘When?’
‘Look, Bert, there’s no point in this. I don’t want you to get the idea that you’re going to show up at the ceremony or something.’
‘Me?’
Of course that was what he’d be planning. She tore herself away from him, ran to the corner and crossed the streeet. She didn’t look back and she didn’t slow up, although she sensed that he wouldn’t be following her. He’d be standing where she had left him, watching, while she kept on running.
Maureen didn’t ask about Bert directly. She just leaned across the table and said, ‘Okay, shoot. The uncondensed version, please.’
As Sandra talked, she started to think that everything was going to be easy. Maureen seemed to believe that the whirlwind romance was just fine – that the speed with which Sandra was being carried towards the altar was a sign of true love, and that the best news of all was that she’d be getting rid of Bert, who’d always taken her for granted and never treated her very well, especially that time when he’d had the affair with Melanie what’s-her-name in accounting. Sandra agreed. She pretended to be in control of all her actions and feelings. She hadn’t known about Melanie or any other girl. Maybe there had been more than one. It didn’t matter now.
‘Have you met his family?’ Maureen asked.
‘Oh, yes. Well, part of it. I’m meeting the ex-family on Saturday.’
‘Right. One of those. Are there any kids?’
‘One. A boy. He lives with his father.’
‘Wow. I don’t know how I’d handle something like that.’
‘You never know. It’s only when things happen: then you find out. That was the trouble with Bert. Nothing was ever going to happen. I always thought he was nice, but it wouldn’t have worked. He just wasn’t the right one. Now that I’ve made the decision – God, I don’t know how I stood it for so long. I should have gotten out of the job, too. This place: don’t you feel it? It’s hard to find anybody in that building who isn’t one level lower than a computer.’
‘I love it. I’d go crazy living with people who only wanted to talk about the weather and the kids. I like things fizzy.’
‘So do I. I never felt that way about the office, though.’
‘I feel that way about all offices. That’s why you’re getting married and I’m not. Some girls grow up dreaming about making hubby his breakfast and bouncing the baby in its basinette; I always had this craving for filing cabinets and typewriters.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘The great thing about offices is: there’s no mess, no clutter, no smell of boiled cabbage, no cockroaches and – best of all – the people there don’t yell at each other all day long. Wall-to-wall carpets, warm in the winter, cool in the summer, somebody else does the cleaning, everyone’s friendly and polite, they like the way you do things, they give you money: there’s a lot to be said for it.’
‘But not all marriages –’
‘You can never count on things for long. And it’s always easier to leave a job than to walk out on a marriage.’
‘But if you love each other –’
‘Sure. That’s what they say: it makes all the difference. That’s the part I left out.’
*
She let everyone else in the office know that she’d be leaving. Most of them didn’t need to be told: Maureen had been spreading the word. She telephoned her sister and then her parents, who sounded stunned, as if she’d done something alarming. Their reaction upset her. Didn’t they think she was ever going to get married? The girls in the office had the right
idea: they approved. They seemed to feel that getting married was in the same category as winning a million dollars in the sweepstakes. Even Maureen, who didn’t have much to say for married life, thought that it was the right thing for Sandra.
Her parents asked her how long she’d known him. They didn’t like her answer. Her sister, too, kept saying, ‘Are you sure?’ and then added, ‘What happened to that nice boy you were sort of living with for a while? The Ivy League type. Bert.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ she said.
*
Early on Saturday morning she drove to Roy’s house. His car was outside. Eric was sitting in the front seat, behind the wheel. She parked in back of him, got out and walked over. She leaned towards the window. ‘Are you driving?’ she asked.
‘Not yet. He’s on the phone. He told me to stay outside.’
‘I’ll just let him know I’m here,’ she said.
She found Roy standing in the hall. He was holding the telephone receiver to his ear and saying, ‘Yes, yes.’
She whispered, ‘Do you want me to wait in the car?’ He nodded and made a kiss at her. She went back outdoors.
They had a pretty, sunny day for the trip. It even seemed to be a bit warmer. Everything they’d missed in the spring was coming to them now. She got into the passenger seat next to Eric. He was wearing a shirt and sweater: on the back seat lay a folded jacket with a hood. It struck her that every time she’d seen him, he’d been wearing different clothes. That was the way rich people lived, even the children. But for a child to dress that way meant that someone else must choose his clothing. Did Roy do that, dragging his son along on shopping expeditions?
‘That’s in case we go for a walk,’ he said. ‘We probably will. My father likes to get out of the house as fast as he can. The beach is okay.’
‘Do you two go shopping for your clothes together?’
‘Why?’
‘I was always taken shopping by my mother. She’d grab a lot of things off the racks and push me into a dressing room with them. I guess she had a very good eye. Usually they all looked fine, so
then she’d just ask me which one I liked best and she’d buy that one for me. But my sister couldn’t stand going with her. They used to have fights. She didn’t like any of the clothes my mother chose. She wanted to wear silver jackets in the daytime and that kind of thing.’
‘That’s what I’m going to do as soon as I’m sixteen. He says I have to wait till then. Sometimes he makes me come along with him. About once a year, mainly for shoes. You have to try them on. Everything else I pick out of catalogues. Once you know your size, it’s easy. Then I show him the picture and most of the time he says yes. I know the kind of thing he’s going to want me to get.’
‘That’s the first step.’
‘Is your sister grown up now?’
‘Oh, yes. She’s a couple of years older than I am.’
‘What does she wear?’
‘Pants and a turtleneck, mostly. And black eye make-up around her eyes; no lipstick, long hair. And she won’t wear shoes in the house: she doesn’t like them. But that’s as far as it goes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She’s not really a rebel. She doesn’t want to be anti-social and break things up. She just couldn’t stand to have somebody else making decisions about what she was going to wear and how she was going to look: anything about her appearance. She has to be the one to decide.’
‘Well, that’s the way I think, too. Don’t you?’
‘Not really. I don’t always mind when other people decide for me. Sometimes it saves a lot of trouble. There are loads of things I don’t care about one way or the other.’
‘I always care.’
She laughed. ‘I know you do,’ she said. ‘Listen. Do I call you Eric now, or should I call you Ricky?’
‘They’re both no good, specially Eric. They called me that because when I was born, I had red hair, so they thought: wow, Eric the Red. And they named me after that.’
‘But it’s a good name.’
‘It’s a twerp name. Your name’s okay. I bet you weren’t named for a joke.’
‘It’s all right now, but my real name is longer. It’s Alexandra.’
‘Alexandra? Jees, are you lucky. That’s great.’
‘It’s too long.’
‘It sounds like the name of a princess.’
‘It probably was. My mother was reading some novel around that time. She told me she got it out of a book. We all have to put up with things like that.’
‘But you got a good one.’
‘So did you. If you ever go to Scandinavia, you’ll be
surrounded
by Eriks. Over there it’s like the name Richard. And meantime, you can call yourself Rick. Like
Rick’s
Bar,
you know.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s from a movie. There’s a nightclub owner in it named Rick. He’s the hero. He wears a white tuxedo and he’s a cool customer.’
‘Oh?’
She looked up as Roy came out of the front door and down the path. ‘Who gets to sit in front?’ she asked. ‘Or can we all squeeze in together?’
‘Not in this car. It’s only got seatbelts for two in the front seat. You stay there.’ He got out and climbed in to the back. Roy took his place behind the wheel.
*
The house they pulled up at was a new, low-slung beach cottage on the outskirts of town. Many glass windows and doors allowed for the maximum incursion of light. The beach wasn’t in sight, but you could hear it.
Sandra made an immediate move to ingratiate herself with the ex-wife, Ginette. ‘What a light room,’ she said, looking around as if pleased. She already felt relieved by Ginette’s appearance: bleached hair, tight skin and an expression of casual toughness.
‘I like things clean, with plenty of light,’ Ginette said, looking at Roy. ‘No dark corners.’
Sandra said, ‘My grandparents lived in a house that was so dark, it was hard for more than one person to read the
newspapers
in the dining room. I used to think it was gloomy but I
started to appreciate it later on, when I was working with computers and my eyes began to hurt. I guess all they really needed was better electricity.’
The husband, Ordway, was introduced: an agreeable, sloppy middle-aged man who wore thick glasses. He seemed perfectly happy to have guests. He greeted his wife’s ex-husband without concern and appeared to be undismayed by Eric’s atrocious manners.
Eric wouldn’t look at, or speak to, either the wife or husband. He took his book over to a chair by one of the windows.
‘Still not on speaking terms?’ Ginette called after him. ‘That’s a long time to sulk, kiddo. A couple more years of that and you’ll be batting even with your father.’ She turned to Roy, saying, ‘Want a drink?’
‘No, thanks. I’m driving.’
‘Not even one little drink?’
‘Tonic water?’ Ordway suggested. ‘Ginger ale? Orange juice?’
‘Tonic water,’ Roy decided.
‘My,’ Ginette said. ‘A reformed character. And you?’ she asked Sandra.
Sandra asked for a light gin and tonic. Ordway mixed the drinks and did the serving. He took a ginger ale to Eric, who – without raising his eyes from the page – extended a hand to have the glass inserted between his fingers; the operation went so smoothly that it looked like an established ritual.
How
would
I
act,
Sandra thought,
if
he
ever
treated
me
that
way?
I
wouldn’t
be
able
to
stand
it.
And
his
own
mother:
what
did
she
do
to
make
him
hate
her
so
much?
She
left.
Maybe
that’s
all
it
was.
She
wanted
out,
so
now
he’s
showing
her
that
he
can
do
it
back,
even
when
they’re
in
the
same
room.
‘Such marvelous manners,’ Ginette said.
Roy slapped his drink down on the table and stood up. He said, ‘I think I’ll stretch my legs.’ He started to move towards the doors that led out on to the terrace.
Ginette turned to Sandra. ‘Have you had any experience with children?’ she asked.
‘Babies?’
‘No, a little older. Eric, for instance. How well do you know Eric?’
Sandra paused for a second, not wanting to say anything that would hurt the boy. ‘About as well as I know his father,’ she said. ‘How well do you know him?’
Another moment passed before she realized that she’d said something brilliant that didn’t necessarily have to be taken as an insult. Eric looked up from his book for the first time since he’d sat down. He laughed. And Roy was grinning.
Ginette didn’t try to hide her displeasure. She said, ‘Better than you, I think. But you’ll find out.’
Roy said, ‘Coming with me, Ricky?’
Eric looked back down at his book.
‘Well? Are you?’
‘Rick,’ Sandra prompted under her breath.
‘Coming, Rick?’
Eric shut the book and put it aside. ‘Sure,’ he said. He walked to the doors.
Sandra watched father and son step out on to the terrace and begin to walk away. There was no polite way of getting up and following them. She was stuck.
‘I know what it looks like,’ Ginette said. ‘It isn’t the way you think. I did my best, God knows. I knocked myself out, trying to help. But that boy is a demon.’ She set her drink down on the table in front of her. ‘Just like his father,’ she added.
She’s
still
in
love
with
him,
Sandra thought.
Ordway looked over at her glass. ‘Another drink?’ he asked. Sandra shook her head. He reached for Ginette’s glass. She put her hand over the top of it. ‘I’ll see about lunch,’ he said.
He walked around to the side of the bookcase, opened a door there and left the room.
Sandra hung on to her glass tightly.
Ginette said, ‘So. How long have you two known each other?’
‘Not long at all.’
‘Yeah. Well, you’re taking on a bundle, I can tell you.’
Sandra looked towards the windows. She could see Eric, far away. He seemed to be throwing something at a point that was
beyond her range of vision. As she watched him, Roy came into sight. Looking at both of them, she thought that there was nothing to worry about. She felt fine about them. What bothered her was simply the idea of marriage at such short notice: it was like stepping off a cliff and hoping that something would be out there in front of you.