The Carousel (12 page)

“No, I like it.”

“Yes, but we don’t. Turn it off,” Dan said firmly.

“No, I said.”

“Tina, you will do what I tell you to do.”

When he strode out across the hall, Sally followed. “Dan, take it easy. You’re awfully tired and troubled. I can see, but—”

“But what? What do you think I’m going to do to her?”

“I only meant she’s had a pretty good day today, and—”

“And that’s a reason why she mustn’t be made to obey a simple command?”

“Of course not. But I do think we’re making progress, and Dr. Vanderwater said today—”

“Dr. Vanderwater doesn’t live here. We do. Maybe we ought to stop following all these books and theories. Maybe we should just use our own heads.”

The child was leaning on her elbows at the table as if the carousel had hypnotized her. Dan strode over and switched off the music. Tina let out a howl, a roar, as if he had struck her, and kicked him sharply on the ankle.

Dan picked her up under the arms and held her.

“Now listen here, Tina. You are not allowed to
kick or hit. You’re five years old, and you understand perfectly—”

She kicked his knee. “Don’t touch me! Put me down. I hate you! Put me down!” And howling still, she ran from the room.

The parents stood and stared at each other. Dan looked stricken.

“Danny, she doesn’t hate you.”

He frowned. “Don’t you think I know that? But did I do wrong? Do we let her get away with murder? She runs this house and runs our lives, don’t you see?”

Oh, she saw it all right. A week’s work away from home should not be an impossibility.

“We tiptoe around her moods, we’re afraid of her. What’s it going to be like when she’s fifteen? Tell me that. I’m going downstairs now and have a little talk. Don’t look so scared. I’m not about to lose my temper with a child.”

“Please. This isn’t the time. Leave her to Nanny. She’ll calm her. Come back to our room and tell me what went wrong today.”

She sat down on the arm of his chair and laid her cheek on top of his head. “What is it? The same thing again?”

“It was a bad day. Ian’s impossible. Can a man get a new personality overnight? The last couple of weeks he’s been a different person. Here’s what happened this afternoon. You remember the coffee drink I told you about that some fellow in Michigan thought up? It should be a bonanza if we can make the right deal with the right Colombian
party. So I got an appointment set up, the Colombian flew in, the Michigan man drove—why, I don’t know except maybe he likes to look at scenery.” Dan was breathless. “Anyhow, he was an hour and a half late, which is a bother, but not a calamity. And Ian went wild, bawled him out and generally humiliated him. The fellow’s very young and eager to make the deal, but he was so offended that he walked out. Took his briefcase and walked out! I had to run after him, apologizing. Finally, when I got him to come back in, Ian apologized, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we can make the deal. But it used up every ounce of my energy. That’s why I came home early. They’re all still at the office, but I had to get out.”

“What did Clive think of it?”

“He’s at the other end of the hall, and I don’t think he heard it. Anyway, if he did hear it, he would only shrug his shoulders and go back to his numbers, poor guy.”

The telephone rang. “Answer it. I’m not home,” Dan said. “Whoever it is, I’ll call back.”

With her hand over the mouthpiece, Sally whispered, “It’s Ian with Amanda. A three-way call.”

Sighing, Dan took the phone. “Here I am.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably slumped, he listened. What an awful day, Sally thought, watching him. She was used to seeing him in charge of affairs, reckoning, confident, and cheerful, and it hurt too keenly to see him like this.

“I know, Amanda. I understand your position. You’ve made it clear. We’ve had this discussion before, haven’t we?”

From across the room, Sally heard faintly a voluble female voice. Amanda evidently had a lengthy story to tell.

“I know,” Dan repeated. “I know why you want the money, and I agree it’s for a good cause. The problem is that we don’t have it. Our bankers have been clear about that. We can’t do it without destroying our business.”

There was more talk. Dan’s right leg, crossed over the other one, began to swing, while his left foot tapped the carpet.

“If we sell off the woods, we could give Amanda her share. But I don’t want to sell off the woods, that’s the whole point. And I don’t know how many times you want me to say so, Ian.”

Ian will never be moved, Sally thought with rising indignation. And she recalled his jibes about how Dan “hugged trees.” In his eyes, ever since this proposal had been under discussion, Dan was “sentimental,” not “practical.” How absurd! Running a business as he did, Dan wasn’t practical? Could a practical man not be gentle and have ideals, too?

“Clive and I can’t run this operation by ourselves. It’s far too big. I’ve told you that before, too. And if this firm collapses, have you any idea, leaving ourselves out of the picture, what it will do to the community we live in?”

Pause. “Yes, I’m well aware that you give plenty
to charity.” Dan spoke sarcastically. “And I’m not asking you to sacrifice anything you have. I’m asking you not to go grabbing for more when doing so will hurt so many people.”

Pause. “How? Well, I’ll tell you how. I stopped at a gas station yesterday, and the owner, who knows me well, came over to ask about that item in last week’s paper, the rumor about the foreign investors. He was mighty upset, for the same reasons I am. And even our nanny told Sally and me that people in town, relatives of hers, are worried about talk of Grey’s cutting down, cutting jobs. They’re scared, and they’ve every right to be.”

There was a jumble of voices, audible to Sally but indistinguishable, as if Amanda and Ian were both talking at once.

Presently, Dan said, “We are talking calmly. At least, I am.”

Pause. “Yes, I am talking calmly. You say there’s going to be a fight? Seems to me you’re spoiling for one right now. I don’t know what’s come over either of you. I surely don’t want a fight. I wish we could talk to Oliver.… Yes, I heard him say he doesn’t want to be involved, but … All right, then, let’s bring Clive in … Dammit, Ian, can’t we have some order here? Amanda? Speak louder, Amanda. I’m not hearing you.… What? She hung up? Good God, you’re both crazy. Okay, I’m stubborn, but so are you. I don’t know how to deal with you, either, Ian. That performance this afternoon …”

Dan turned away from the telephone. “Ian hung up on me.”

“Can’t Clive do anything? No matter what else Ian may think of him, he respects his intelligence. He’s almost in awe of it.”

“Yes and no. Didn’t you hear me ask about Clive just now? ‘Never made a nickel on his own in his life’ was Ian’s answer. ‘Doesn’t know a thing about business. A math whiz with a computer in his head. And anyway, he’s coughing himself to death.’ So much for Ian.”

“Maybe you should go to Uncle Oliver after all.”

“I can’t force him to take sides when his own son is involved, can I? It wouldn’t be fair to the man. Besides, he’s not young anymore.”

“Poor Dan. Where’s this going to end?”

“Oh, somehow. I’m not going to be beaten, Sally, although I may look it this minute.”

“Happy’s worried about Ian. She’s never said a word to me before about anything that personal, so she surprised me. She said he’s been in a terrible mood for the last few weeks. She doesn’t recognize him.”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Dan said. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. It’s half-past six, and the end of a rotten day, but still I’m hungry.”

June 1990

A
t half-past six Roxanne emptied a bag of takeout chicken on two paper plates and handed one to Michelle. On the rickety table between the two beds stood a six-pack of Coke and a box of donuts.

“There. A whole lot better than eating with that brawling crew downstairs. Pop’s in a foul mood, the kids are fighting, and I’m sick of them all.”

Settled against the headboard of the bed, she was able to see herself in the dresser’s mirror. It was interesting, instructive also, to watch the changes in herself as she talked and gestured, letting her hair fall carelessly in a becoming loop over her cheek or laughing so that her fine teeth showed and dimples formed.

Then, frowning, her glance fell on the faded green rag rug in front of her dresser and roved from Michelle’s cheap cupboard, covered in yellow
varnish and missing a handle, to the washed-out curtains at the single window. The cramped little room reminded her of those dingy motels, or looked even worse than they did because it was littered with possessions: Clothes, music tapes, and Michelle’s schoolbooks covered every flat surface.

“This place is a dump,” she said, startling Michelle. “I want to get out of here.”

“You could fix it up.”

“I could? With what? Unless you’ve got money stashed away someplace.”

“Well.” The younger girl gave Roxanne a significant, ironic smile. “No, but you can always get money.”

“That’s what you think. You’re wrong.”

“He phoned again, right after I got home from school. I picked it up before anybody else got to it.”

“Thanks. Did he say anything?”

“Just said, ‘Roxanne there?’ I said what you told me to say. ‘She’s not home and I don’t know when she will be.’ ”

“Good. He’s going crazy, and it serves him right.”

“It’s the fourth time he’s called since Sunday.”

“Serves him right, I said.”

“What’s he done to make you so mad?”

“He won’t marry me, that’s what. I don’t like this arrangement. I don’t want to live this way. It’s been too long. I won’t be used anymore. Sure it’s great right now, but—and you listen to me, Michelle, you take it from me—only a damn fool
would go on indefinitely with something that can be ended whenever the guy wants to end it. Apartments, cars, the whole works can be cut off in two seconds, and you’re right back where you started, except that you’re older. No, I’m sick of it, and I’m through.”

“Why don’t you threaten to tell his wife?”

“You think he’d thank me for that? You think he’d buy me a ring and move me into his house after a messy divorce? Me? How dumb can you be? It would only wreck the woman and do nothing for me.”

As she flung her arm out, Roxanne’s plate slipped, dropping a greasy chicken leg and a heap of coleslaw onto the bedspread. This accident was the last straw. It broke her control, and she burst into tears.

“Oh, damn! I really loved him. I made him so happy, and he—I don’t know, Michelle. I think I’ll remember him every day of my life, the times we’ve had, it wasn’t the money, you probably think that’s all it was, but it wasn’t all. I loved him—”

“Then you’re just cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“Honey, it’s too complicated. You don’t understand. You simply don’t.”

“I’m fifteen years old, and I understand more than you think.”

Someone was knocking at the door and calling, “Rosemarie, oh Rosemarie!”

“Go away, Grampa. I’m busy.”

“Open the door. I want to sing to you. Oh Rosemarie, I love you, I’m always dreaming of you—”

“Old fool,” Roxanne muttered, wiping her eyes. “I don’t want him to see me like this. He’ll go tattling all over the house.”

“He’s been drinking beer all afternoon,” Michelle said.

The doorknob rattled. “Unlock the door, I want to see you.”

“Go on, open the door a crack, Michelle, before he breaks the knob. Here, give him a donut to quiet him.”

The silly, pathetic face of the drunken old man grinned at them from the doorway. He drooled. “I only wanted to see you. They’re at it again down there, you know.”

Sure enough, the familiar strident bickering of Pop and his young wife came floating up the stairwell.

“So what’s new?” asked Roxanne.

“I didn’t have my supper, Rosemarie.”

“Give him a piece of chicken, Michelle. Take it and go away, Grampa. Be good, now.”

Michelle locked the door. Roxanne groaned. “God almighty, this is a loony bin if there ever was one. No, we absolutely have to get out of here.”

Michelle sat down on the bed again, regarding her sister with interest. “How’s that going to happen?”

Roxanne considered for a moment or two before replying. “Well, as you say, you’re old
enough. I guess there’s not much you haven’t heard, so here goes. Look on my side of the closet, back against the wall.”

“These brown pants?” asked Michelle.

“Don’t you know riding breeches when you see them? Now look on the floor.”

“Boots.”

“Jodhpur boots. Your sister has become an e-quest-ri-enne. How does that sound?”

“So far, pretty crazy. You don’t know anything about horses.”

“Two weeks ago, I didn’t. Now I do. You’d be surprised how fast you can learn a thing if you put your mind to it. Sit down, and I’ll tell you.

“It’s this way. He’s got a brother. The brother—name’s Clive—is nuts about horses. When he’s not working or sleeping, he’s sitting on a horse. So one night when I was lying here thinking, I suddenly had a brainstorm. Why don’t I go meet the brother, I thought. I remembered him from the night I met
him
at that restaurant. You know I don’t forget faces. And besides, I heard so much about him that I could have practically drawn his picture. Short guy, about up to my shoulder, face not much to look at, and going bald, just starting. You’d never take them for brothers.” She reflected. “God, he must hate Ian.
Him.
Only natural, looking like that. I’ll bet he never had a love affair, and he must be thirty-five.”