The Wisdom of Perversity (9 page)

Grown-up Secrets

April 1966

“I'M GOING, KIDS.
I'm going now,” they heard Hy call out. “Be back later.”

Jeff gripped Brian's forearm. “Mom'll go to the bathroom. She always needs to pee after guests leave. I can get the tape back!” He nodded at Julie and Noah. “Keep them here.”

Noah made a run to follow Jeff. Brian caught him around the waist. The five-year-old strained against the hold, shoes coming up off the floor. “Lemme go!” he protested. Brian held fast and watched Julie for a reaction. Since confessing that they had hidden the tape recorder under Harriet's bed, she had responded with doubtful looks, not explicitly agreeing to maintain their secret.

Noah's Buster Browns kicked Brian in both shins. He lifted Noah as high as he could and dumped him on the floorboards. The little boy looked astounded that he had been treated so roughly. “That hurt,” he declared with more surprise than outrage. Evidently Julie was not a violent older sister.

“Keep quiet,” Brian said, “or I'll really hurt you.”

“Okay,” Noah agreed. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

The door banged open, propelled by Jeff's foot. His arms were full, carrying the recorder: one reel empty, the other fat with tape, its end flapping loose. Brian was impressed:
We recorded a whole hour.

“I just made it,” Jeff reported, lowering the machine on his twin bed. “I heard the toilet flush and I got the hell out. Plug it in. I'll fix the tape.”

Noah badgered Jeff, “What are you doing? What are you doing?” while Jeff concentrated on the delicate operation of threading the heads and Brian found an outlet.

“He has to rewind the tape,” Brian explained. Julie was at the door, her hand on the knob. “You going?” Brian asked.

She froze. Her hair draped the length of her back, black and straight. He noticed the bare backs of her knees; their different, tender texture was interesting to look at. He never used to find girls interesting to look at. Last Wednesday, Nina Goldfarb, who was fat and her skin too red, was two steps ahead of him on the stairs. As she stepped up, he could see her white thighs and powder-blue panties. He wondered about what was under them. Was it like the sculptures his mother had taken him to see—a smooth nothing?
Don't be stupid—how do they pee? And his mother had hair . . .
He let this speculation lapse. He wasn't happy about these new worries; he didn't want to start acting dumb about girls, like men in movies.

“Fuck,” Jeff said. The slippery tape had squirted out of the notch.

Noah giggled. “Bad word.”

Brian walked up behind Julie and whispered in her ear. “You leaving?”

She turned. “You shouldn't be doing this.”

“Somebody's mother is sick,” Brian said. He glanced at the bumps under her bright red sweater. He was instantly ashamed. He looked up quickly. “Somebody's mom is sick,” he repeated.

“Sick with what?”

“We heard—”

“
I
heard,” Jeff corrected.

“Who cares who heard,” Brian said. “Jeff heard his mother talking to my mother about one of them being sick with cancer.”

“Oh my God . . .” A hand covered her mouth. “Cancer,” she repeated through fingers. “Who is it?”

“We don't know.”

“I think it's Brian's mom,” Jeff said in the same casual way he might predict “The Mets will lose a hundred games.”

Julie put a hand on Brian's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled.

“It could be Jeff's mom who's sick.” Brian stepped away from her. Why was she touching him? And he was offended that she was in such a hurry to believe Jeff.

“She's not sick.” Noah shook his head from side to side and repeated, “She's not sick.” He insisted to Jeff a third time: “Your mom's not sick.”

“How do you know my mom's not sick?” Jeff asked as he succeeded in threading the tape into the notch. He spun the reel manually once to ensure it would hold, then depressed the black Rewind button. Noah, Julie, and Brian were hypnotized by the spinning reels and the flow of shiny brown tape through silver recording heads.

Jeff rapped Noah on his head. “How do you know my mom's not sick?”

“Ow!” Noah complained.

“Why did you say my mom isn't sick?”

“Because Dad said Aunt Harriet's never sick. She's always in bed, but she's never sick.”

“Noah!” Julie scolded, but she smiled. “Say you're sorry.”

“Tell Dad to apologize,” Noah said.

“It's okay, Noah,” Jeff said. “We're gonna find out who's sick.” A fascinated silence overcame them while they watched the tape transfer from the right reel to left, listening to its gradually changing melody, a breathy whisper becoming a rasp as it neared the finish. When the Rewind button shut off, it made a loud click. How come Harriet hadn't heard that, Brian wondered? Maybe she was too busy talking.

Jeff pressed the Play button. A lurch of distorted, warbled noise resolved into the clear sound of Harriet shuffling in on her slippers. She said, “Oy vey,” and sighed loudly, which was followed by a moan from the bedsprings as she settled on her bed.

“Ugh,” Harriet groaned. She talked unselfconsciously to herself in a low but distinct voice. “I have to call her. No way out of it.” The springs creaked, and there was a clattering sound, followed by the rotary whirring of her bedside phone as she dialed. She interrupted after the first three numbers to comment, “God, I hope that fool Danny doesn't answer. I'll have to listen to stories of his pathetic auditions.”

Jeff looked stricken. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled to Brian.

“Who's Danny?” Noah asked.

“My father,” Brian snapped. “Now shut up so we can listen.”

“Hello, Rose? How are you?” Harriet's voice rose an octave, growl replaced by a singsong lilt. “It's been so long. We never talk anymore.”

“Is she talking to your mom?” Noah asked.

“Shut up!” Jeff said.

“Noah, please try to be patient and just listen.”

Harriet coughed, the bedsprings creaked in sympathy, and then she continued, “So Brian tells me—you know, he's a lovely boy, your son. He's here every day. I feel he's almost mine, the little brother Jeff always wanted. I bet I see as much of him as you do. Maybe more! And he's such a good boy. So polite. And a little shy. He's a little shy, isn't he? Where does he get that from? Danny is so big a personality.” She paused to listen, then laughed and said, “I don't think you're shy. Anyway, Brian tells me you have this wonderful new job. He just mentioned it today. I could kill him for not saying something sooner. He said you've had this job for months.” Jeff looked an apology to his friend. Brian shrugged. “So what is the job? Brian makes it sound like you're running
Time
magazine all by yourself.”

“Jesus,” Brian mumbled.

“You're an editor?” Harriet sounded amazed. “Oh . . . you're not an editor? What's an assistant editor? So how do you assist an editor? Isn't that being a secretary? I'm so confused! What do you do exactly?”

All that made Brian intensely uncomfortable. His mother must hate this conversation. She was sure to express her unhappiness to him by wondering aloud if Brian ought to be spending so much time at Jeff's. Jeff was embarrassed too. His index finger tapped the recorder's green power light impatiently.

“Reading? You read books all day? That's a job?” Harriet asked.

Jeff hit the Stop button.

Noah protested, “Hey, don't!” and reached for the Play button. Jeff grabbed the little boy's wrist and twisted. “Ow!” Noah complained, feebly punching Jeff's shoulder with his other, tiny hand.

“Don't touch!” He released Noah, pressing Fast Forward. He mumbled for Brian's benefit, “This is boring. I'm skipping it.”

Brian was glad. He wished life would allow him to fast-forward through all conversations with Harriet, especially about his parents.

“Stop!” Noah nagged as the tape sped through the heads. “You're going too far.”

“Shut up,” Jeff said, although he did stab the Stop button and press Play. There was an electronic wail as the recorder came up to speed that resolved into human grief, Harriet mumbling incoherently between sobs. At this distressing noise, the four children got very quiet. “I'm sorry, Rose . . . I'm sorry,” Brian eventually understood Harriet to be saying. His heart sank. Harriet's pitying his mother could mean only one thing:
Mom is dying.
“No, honey, no, you don't have to do that. How sweet,” Harriet continued, atypically affectionate. “The doctors don't know a goddamn thing.” Harriet returned to her normal sourness. “Except how to charge. I don't how we're going to pay all the doctors' bills. Even if this new treatment works, it could be a disaster. What good is it if we end up broke . . . living like animals on the street? Jeff and Saul will be better off with me in the grave.” She gasped out, “Oh God, oh God, what's going to happen to my little Jeffy. His father can't take care of him after I'm gone.”

Jeff hit the Stop button hard. Relieved for himself, Brian watched his friend stare at the still reels, cheeks sucked in, lips rolled together. Julie put an arm around her cousin's shoulder. Brian patted him on the back. He felt like a big fat phony. Under the circumstances, he was glad Harriet was dying. Jeff was grim, intent. “I'm going to rewind to hear what we skipped.”

“Maybe we'd better stop listening,” Julie suggested.

“Are you crazy?” Jeff said. “I don't really know anything right now. We skipped too much.” He punched the Rewind button defiantly.

“Yeah,” Brian said, “Maybe she's not . . . Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds. Maybe they can cure her.” After all, Ben Casey or Dr. Kildare often saved patients everyone said were doomed.

“That's right,” Jeff jabbed the Stop button. “She said there was a new medicine or something.” He pressed Play.

“Oy,” Harriet's voice was loud and clear. “I have my in-laws coming for dinner and Hy is dropping his little brats off for the afternoon.” Harriet chuckled. “No, not Julie,” Harriet assured Rose. “Julie is beautifully behaved. Of course she's not the prize her parents think she is, and the thought of her dancing ballet coming from that family of klutzes is a scream, but she's sweet and harmless. Her brother
is
the spoiled brat, he's just impossible. But that's Hy. Hy thinks he's God's gift so his son must be too, right? Anyway, I'm grateful Brian is here to help Jeff entertain them. He can't stand them.”

None of the eavesdroppers spoke. Brian wanted to tell Julie she was beautiful and could become a dancer but thought he should act as if he hadn't paid attention. They remained attentive during a long silence from Harriet on the tape, presumably listening to Rose. At one point Harriet commented, alarm in her tone, “What are you talking about? He's not a bother—” but she must have been cut off by Rose.

Harriet's next comment was “I see,” said in an icy tone. “I see what you're getting at. You're not worried about whether it's a bother to me. You don't want Brian playing with Jeff, that's what you really mean.” There was a brief silence on Harriet's side, followed by a startling bang. “Oh God!” Harriet cried out in horror. The frantic banging noise repeated. “I can't believe this is happening,” Harriet moaned and banged something again. Brian decided Harriet was smacking the headboard. The thudding stopped. Then Harriet, through gasping sobs, pleaded, “Rose, you don't understand. I can't let Jeff out of my sight. I can't bear to miss even a moment of his life. No, no.” Her voice almost rose to a shout. “That's not why. I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to burden you. I have cancer. I have breast cancer. I'm going to die. I'm dying, Rose,” and she sobbed without restraint.

The children listened in a dismal, cowed silence. Jeff lowered his head until his eyes were fixed on his Keds, a folding chair collapsing. Finally his mother's weeping subsided to sniffles. Harriet gathered herself enough to speak clearly: “They found a tumor. Yes, they're sure. They can't operate. They want to try some sort of new drug. But no surgery. Thank God. It's bad enough I'm dying. I don't want to die flat-chested.” Harriet laughed bravely. Brian was impressed by the very thing that frightened him about her—unexpected and violent shifts of emotion.

Julie leaned toward her cousin until their temples touched. Noah put his legs under him and hugged himself. The recording reached the part they had heard before. They listened again to Harriet say, “Thank you, honey. Thank you. You're a sweetheart,” to whatever Rose was saying. “That's true, there is hope,” Harriet conceded, her voice strengthening. “I'm sorry, Rose . . . I'm sorry. No, honey, no, you don't have to do that. How sweet. The doctors don't know a goddamn thing. Except how to charge. I don't how we're going to pay all the doctors' bills. Even if this new treatment works, it could be a disaster. What good is it if we end up broke . . . living like animals on the street? Jeff and Saul will be better off with me in the grave. Oh God, oh God, what's going to happen to my little Jeffy. His father can't take care of him after I'm gone.”

Jeff raised his head enough for Brian to see his friend's eyes were dry, jaw in a determined clench. On the tape they heard the front door ring. “Oh my God,” Harriet said, “that's Hy and the kids. I've got to pull myself together.
JEFF
!” she called. “
JEFF! ANSWER THE DOOR!
”

It was an eerie feeling, recalling the comedy of an unwilling Hy coaxed into seeing a malingering Harriet with the irony of what Brian now understood about the real situation. He was tantalized by the thought that if only they hadn't hidden the recorder the day would have continued to be innocent fun. Of course, Harriet would still be sick. Or would she? Was the tape recording magic? If they hadn't hidden the machine, maybe she wouldn't have cancer.