Mazes and Monsters (12 page)

Jay Jay closed his eyes and smiled. His party would be so chic that even his mother would be there.

CHAPTER 4

When Julia Brockway was a little girl, she once overheard one of her teachers tell another that she was “a cold fish.” She was Julie Burns then, an enchantingly pretty little blond girl who was tidy and punctual, and she thought for a few days about what a cold fish might be, and if it would keep her from being popular, give her bad marks, or in any other way upset the balance of her life. She decided it wouldn’t, and put it out of her mind.

By the time she was in college, and boys were falling all over themselves to make a good impression on her, she realized there was something about her that was different from the other girls, and that it was valuable. Other girls seemed to suffer from an excess of emotion; they wept when boys they loved didn’t call, they claimed to have broken hearts. Boys always called Julie Burns. Her inaccessibility made her seem like a mirror; they saw themselves reflected and were happy. The first and only man she fell in love with was Justy Brockway, and he immediately suggested they live together. He was a genuine eccentric, a genius, a charmer, and she was sure living with him would be more fun than anything she had yet experienced, so she agreed. They took an apartment together, off campus. Each told the college authorities they were taking the apartment with a relative, for financial reasons. Living in sin, in 1962, could still get you expelled.

When Julie discovered she was pregnant, she and Justy discussed whether she should have an abortion or they should get married and have the child. They decided on marriage. He couldn’t imagine that having a baby would interfere with his life in any way, and she thought it would make her an adult. Actually, having Jay Jay interfered with their life together very little. Their small apartment was always filled with friends, any of whom could be called upon to serve as an impromptu baby-sitter. Jay Jay’s first summer they left him with her parents while they went backpacking in Europe. The following summer they went in grander style, and Jay Jay stayed with his paternal grandparents. By then Julie and Justy knew people they had met in Europe, as well as people from college, and their European student friends often came to stay with them for extended periods, thus providing the Brockways with even better baby-sitters because their guests had to do something to pay them back for the free lodging.

Julie couldn’t understand why her few married friends gushed on about their babies. It was her opinion that a child had to accommodate its parents, not the other way around, no matter what the baby books said. Justy felt that if they treated Jay Jay as an adult he would become precocious, which was what he wanted. He couldn’t have stood it if his son hadn’t been bright. Since Jay Jay was obviously brilliant, and quite quickly gave a reasonably good imitation of a small adult, Justy was pleased.

As soon as Julie and Justy graduated, they moved to New York, where he got a job in publishing. At first they had a rather wretched little apartment, because they had very little money, but Julie began to realize that she had a talent for decorating, and that she liked it. She did some interesting things with their apartment, and then she took a few courses, and began to read all the decorating magazines. When Jay Jay entered First Grade at four, able to read but unable to tie his shoes, Julie got a job as a receptionist at a decorating firm. She was well liked, eager to learn, and no fool, and soon worked her way up to an assistant. Justy was an editor now. They moved to a better apartment. Julie decorated it, and Justy began giving parties for specially chosen people, instead of just free-for-alls. In return, they began to be invited to parties where they met people who would be helpful in their careers. They both discovered they were fascinated by success.

If they hadn’t been so busy doing interesting things they would have noticed earlier that they had fallen out of love, if indeed they had ever been in love, and that they no longer interested each other. One afternoon, Justy decided to bring home a young woman he’d just shared an excellent lunch with—he was feeling so mellow he decided he deserved to take the afternoon off and go to bed with her. Besides, she was an author he was trying to steal from another publisher, and she had been trying to get him into bed for months. On that same afternoon, Julie brought home the handsome, married, president of a large corporation, who had been trying to get his hands on her for months. She, however, had no intention of giving in. She intended to show him her apartment which she had decorated so cleverly, impress him, and tell him she couldn’t possibly do anything with him because her son would be home from school and her husband home from the office.

They all met at the same time. The four of them were very civilized and had a drink together. Afterward Justy and Julie discussed it, the way they had discussed whether or not to have their baby. This time they discussed whether or not to get a divorce.

Julie wondered why she wasn’t more upset. Other women took the breakup of a marriage as a trauma, the way the girls at school had taken the end of a romance. She and Justy were very rational and pleasant about it, and they decided it would be more interesting to live apart. After all, neither of them had really had a chance to have love affairs; they’d been married so young. They were twenty-six already, and soon they would be too old. They decided she would keep the apartment and Jay Jay, and Justy would pay whatever their lawyers decided was fair.

For one moment Julie thought perhaps she was making a mistake. Justy was probably the only person she had ever met, or ever would meet, who was as cool and rational as she was. Perhaps they could continue in a marriage of convenience, as friends … But no, that would be embarrassing and hard to explain. Men would think she was fair game. Better to strike out on a life of her own.

The divorce was amicable. The married corporation president, fascinated that Julie was still elusive, and impressed by her talent, introduced her to a few of his important friends. One of them, a rich woman who prided herself on discovering new artists, let Julie decorate her New York pied-à-terre.

The apartment was photographed for
Architectural Digest
and
Vogue.
Julie began calling herself Julia—after all, she was a grown-up now at last—and quickly acquired as many clients as she could handle. She bought the Park Avenue co-op. She was happy.

She took a few lovers and discovered a disturbing truth about herself. She really wasn’t at all interested in sex. She loved parties, meeting intriguing people, getting dressed up, having stimulating ideas on how to improve her environment, but she didn’t care if she never went to bed with a man again. Women didn’t interest her either. She began to go out mainly with homosexual men, who were easy to be with and didn’t expect or want her to go to bed with them; and clients, who were too afraid of her to make a pass.

She had read enough magazine articles to know she had a low sex drive. She did not, for one moment, delude herself into thinking she was saving her body for a meaningful relationship. She asked her gynecologist to give her a hormone test, just to be sure she was all right. She was fine. After that her lack of libido didn’t bother Julia at all. As long as it didn’t make her breasts sag, it didn’t matter.

When Justy remarried, Julia sent him and Orinda a lovely crystal bird from Steuben. Things from Steuben went with any decor. When Jay Jay graduated from high school, Justy bought him a Fiat Spider convertible. Kids loved cars. Julia couldn’t understand why Jay Jay sold it. She and Justy always gave people perfect presents.

She also couldn’t understand why Jay Jay got so upset whenever she redecorated his room. He was like a fussy little old man, set in his ways already. She was appalled when she saw the craters he had dug in her expensive lacquered walls with those nails from the picture hooks. Five layers of white lacquer—for that! She couldn’t bear imperfection. Even though the posters were hanging over the holes, she knew they were there.

She thought perhaps this coming spring, when Jay Jay was at school, she would put natural sisal on his bedroom walls, to hide them, get lots of potted palms, and do a bed with white mosquito netting all around it, and an old-fashioned ceiling fan like something from a Sydney Greenstreet movie. Jay Jay was so crazy about those old films, maybe he would like that sort of room. The mynah bird would fit perfectly into the setting. The more she thought about it, the more excited she got.

Of course, it would be a surprise.

CHAPTER 5

In the room in the Brookline house where he had spent his childhood, Daniel stood on his toes, raised his hand as high as he could, and touched the ceiling. He remembered what an honor it had seemed to have this attic room, all alone up here on the top floor: his private domain. The room had seemed enormous. Now it was small, and he had to stoop to shave in front of the bathroom mirror because his mother had installed it low when he was a child and nobody ever remembered to have it changed. This room, this house, enfolded him in memories, and for a moment he looked at his college self and wondered how he could have been crazy enough to agree to play the game in the caverns. He must have crossed over into some kind of madness. It was too dangerous. He’d have to back out.

But then he started to think of reasons why it wasn’t too dangerous after all. They could try it and if it didn’t work they could stop. If he was the one to break it up now the others would think he was just jealous because he wasn’t M.C. anymore.

Why should he care what they thought? He cared what Kate thought, because he admired her intelligence and courage. She had integrity: he never wanted her to think he didn’t. The girls he went out with, the ones who made everything so easy for him, seemed vapid compared to Kate. He’d been only half kidding that first day back at Grant when he said he was thinking of giving up sex. It was only that it was always the wrong time to stop. Maybe he’d give it up this Christmas vacation and see if he survived. Perhaps he’d reach a higher level of consciousness, the way people did when they fasted.

He laughed and went downstairs to join his family for dinner.

There was his mother: small, trim, a brown rinse covering the gray in her hair now, her blue eyes always inquisitive. She looked at you intently when you spoke to her and nodded often. She liked to refer to herself as “a creative listener.” She was also a creative talker. And there was his father: the perfect tweedy professor. His brother Andy and Andy’s girl friend Beth had come for dinner too. Andy and Daniel had a strong family resemblance, but Andy was taller and his hair was sandy instead of dark. Beth was tall too, and willowy, with blond hair and skin that seemed as smooth as glass. They made a striking couple; people sometimes turned around to look at them when they went jogging or bicycling together.

There was a fire in the fireplace, and outside stars glittered in the black sky. The Hanukkah candles were nearly all lit. This year their parents had decided to give Daniel and Andy money instead of presents, because that was what they really needed most. His father had opened a bottle of California zinfandel, and poured a glass for Daniel.

“I’ve decided to learn about wine,” his mother said. “Everybody I know is into gourmet cooking, but I don’t have time, and it doesn’t relax me. So I’ve decided: wine. Tell me how that tastes.”

“Fine,” Andy said.

Daniel tasted it. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay, or good?”

“Good. Listen, I’m not an authority. We drink Ripple at school, unless Jay Jay picks it.”

They all settled comfortably on the floor in front of the fire. A Chopin concerto was playing softly. “You know,” his father said, “a time comes when you think of moving ahead in life. A very interesting thing happened to me recently. The Vice-President was at Harvard giving a speech, and it seems he’d read my book, and he asked that I be invited to the party afterward.”

“Your father’s book,” his mother repeated proudly, her eyes shining.

Ten years ago, when Daniel was a little kid, his father had written a book called
The Crisis in Regulation: The Public Interest and Vested Interests.
It had received a limited but appreciative response, mainly among his academic colleagues. When he was old enough to read it, Daniel had tried. It was not his field, and he had been bored, but he was impressed that his father had done it.

“So I went, of course,” his father continued. “And he was very cordial, but more important—interested in my ideas.” He paused, looking at each of them to be sure they were taking it all in. “He said: ‘Goldsmith, you might be on our team.’”

“Washington?” Andy said.

“That seemed to be the idea,” his father said. “He didn’t actually make a commitment, but he implied that I might be called to Washington. I don’t know what else ‘on our team’ means.”

“I thought you were happy at Harvard,” Daniel said. He couldn’t imagine his father in Washington.

“Frankly,” his father said, “I think I’ve done as much as I can here. Look … if it was party talk, I’ll survive. But I feel something is going to happen, and if it does, I’ll be glad to go.”

“That’s fantastic, Doctor Goldsmith,” Beth said. She raised her glass. They all drank a toast to his future.

“I had a small triumph myself,” his mother said. She was trying to act casual, but Daniel could see how excited she was. “You remember Kevin, the little black boy in my class who was almost autistic? The one with the alcoholic mother, the father who disappeared? Doctor Francke kept telling me: ‘Autism is chemical, Ellie; you’re not going to get through to that child.’ But I wouldn’t give up. I said: ‘Look at that traumatic home life! Some children are more fragile than others. Kevin is one of the fragile ones.’” She took a sip of wine and smiled. “Well, this morning, he was smearing away with his finger paints, and just as I handed him the cobalt blue, he
spoke
!”

“What did he say?” Daniel asked, fascinated.

“‘April is the cruellest month,’” his father said wryly.