Three Daughters: A Novel (53 page)

Delal wasn’t surprised when he came to her house in late July. He had been home two weeks and she had been expecting him, but she hadn’t counted on the emotional punch of seeing him in person, with his rugged face enhanced by the exuberant healthy look of exercise and summer sun. Momentarily she was as tongue-tied as any uncertain girl facing an attractive, self-assured man.

This was the moment that made her stomach tighten and her blood run too fast. “Are you looking for me?” She said it so pointedly that he had to smile. She sounded unabashedly hopeful.

“I don’t know. Are you the famous Delal?”

“I am. The one and only. Come in.” He seemed larger in the room and she looked for a place they could sit down. “Let’s go out in the garden. There’s a bench. You’re so tall . . . I’ll strain my neck looking up at you.” She laughed nervously and led the way out and they both sat down. “Now. What can I do for you? Is it about the newspaper?” She knew it wasn’t about the newspaper. “You didn’t like something I wrote?”

“Oh, no.”

“Well, if not the paper”—she lifted her shoulders and threw him a puzzled smile—“what?”

He looked around. “I’m James,” he said slowly and then eased into a smile so enchanting she could do nothing but stare. He flexed his fingers then chose a point fifteen degrees to his left—it happened to be an oleander bush—and stared with unfocused rueful eyes. “Nijmeh never answered my letters. Not once. Not a word until she wrote to tell me she was getting married. I read the letter several times but”—he brought his eyes back to her—“I can’t accept it. I don’t quite believe it. Am I being dense? I want you to spell it out for me.”

There was such poignancy in his voice that she swallowed hard and looked grave, as if she were trying to explain a death caused by carelessness. “James . . .” she breathed out, “no word from her? I gave her your letters.” She looked away, plucked a leaf off the bush, and smoothed it against her palm. “Nijmeh’s had an unusual upbringing, so you mustn’t judge her too harshly. Emotionally, she’s like a child. She was always told what to do and what to think. She might not have known what she felt.”

“Is she gone?”

“Oh, yes. Married and gone.” She lifted her arms to simulate swift flight and watched his face. He was sitting bent over, his arms propped on his thighs. Each time she spoke he lifted his head and gave her a penetrating look. The open collar of his shirt grazed a tendon on his neck and she wanted to run a finger over it. When he looked down again, his hair slid over his forehead.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what you were hoping to hear.” She waited a decent interval, then slapped her hands down on her knees as if to signal that they needed to clear their minds. “You’re all through with law school?”

“No. I have a while to go.”

“Is it your own choice? Or Papa’s?” The tone of her voice invited confessions.

“Half and half. It’s a good profession.” She knew he liked it. Hadn’t he said so in his letters?

“My father wanted me to study law, but I told him I didn’t want to be a trailblazer. A woman lawyer—it’s like waving a red flag at the establishment. I’d rather choose communications, which is definitely the coming thing, and I’ll be right in there. Anyone who stops to figure it out can see that you can influence the ordinary man when he’s relaxed and susceptible. When he’s listening to his radio or television. In England and America, television’s already the big thing and it’s going to be big here, too.” He was recomputing her worth and coming up with a different total every minute she kept talking.
Oh, this is a different sort of woman. She’s avant-garde. She’s intelligent. Incisive. Fun.

She had to leave for work, but she was thinking of ways to keep things going. He probably would be happy to keep on discussing Nijmeh. After all, that’s what had brought him here . . . but she’d give him more time to dwell on Delal before reminding him of his lost love. “I was just about to go to the paper. Care to come along? I have to hand in some copy and then cover a speech at Government House. Come along, if you like.”

He thought it over. “All right.”

“I’ll drive.”

“You drive?”

“I’ve been driving since I was seventeen. Driving is a funny thing. If you’re too smart, you tend to be a bad driver. But I’m smart and a good driver.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said good-naturedly and slid into the bright-red MG with an appreciative whistle.

“You’ll see,” she said, putting the key in the ignition. “You’ll apologize before the day is over.” When they were seated, she was so overstimulated that she put the car in reverse by mistake and they went backward. “Oops! See. You’ve got me on the defensive but just wait. I’ll surprise you yet.”

Later that evening she went into her father’s study and sat on the arm of his chair. “Papa, I’ve decided to continue with school. I want to study international law and perhaps combine it with communications.”

“Delal, you know that’s my heart’s desire for you. I’ll call the dean at the American University in Beirut. You could start in the fall.”

“I don’t want to go to the American University. I’ve thought about it carefully and the best place for me is Edinburgh. The university there is exactly right for what I want.”

“But it’s so far and what if it’s too late to apply? Are you sure? Edinburgh? Why not England? I’ll take you myself to look around.”

“Edinburgh will take me. It’s not too late. I’ve asked for advice from several men at the paper. If you want to make me happy, Papa, send me to Edinburgh.”

“Of course,
habibty
. I want to make you happy. Anyway, it’s not so far away. In a plane you can be home in a matter of hours. Will you be able to take care of yourself? Have you thought it out?”

She slid onto his lap and put her arms around his neck. “You know very well I can take care of myself, and yes, I’ve thought it out. You’ll see I’m right. Edinburgh is the best place for me.”

36.

HAS ANYONE HELPED YOU GET YOUR BEAHRENS?
MY WHAT?
YOUR BEAHRENS. HAS ANYONE SHOWN YOU AROUND?

S
he met Larraine on the floor of Ginny Hargrove’s kitchen. Larraine was down on her knees picking up miniature hot dogs wrapped in dough that were scattered over the polished linoleum. “Help me pick these up,” she drawled. She didn’t bother to look up. “They just sailed off this damn tray.”

“Sure,” said Star, kneeling down.

“Ginny’s floor is so clean”—she strung out the word,
cuhleen
—“you could lap up soup off it.” She curled her tongue down and then up as if she were slurping up liquid. “So what’s the difference, right?” She wasn’t asking for reassurance. She was merely sharing information.

“They look fine,” said Star. Ginny’s house (and yard) was as scrubbed as an operating room and she could not get herself to lounge back and deflate the cushions. Paul, to her surprise, was very much at home. He sank right into the Hargroves’ damask Lawson sofa, punched down a throw pillow to stick behind his back, and asked for a Scotch on the rocks.

“You drink and joke around. It’s just fun. They’re nice people,” he had explained when the invitation came. “I’ve played golf with Sterling and the guys and enjoyed myself, but I could have as good a time with three other doctors. Friendship is superficial here. The bonds don’t last forever. They’re nice people, though. It makes life at the hospital more pleasant.”

She couldn’t think of Ginny Hargrove as nice. Efficient, well groomed, capable, and remote was more like it. The house, however, was charming. Nasturtiums at the mailbox in a wooden tub, a gravel driveway cushioned with small white stones. To the right were a swing set, slide, sandbox, and wading pool. To the left was a toolshed with a mansard roof and a rooster weather vane. Straight ahead was a lovely gray clapboard house with white shutters and a slate-blue door. Ginny greeted them wearing a long gingham skirt, a sleeveless shell that buttoned up the back, and white ballerina slippers. Her hair was bobbed, with pixie spikes coming down the forehead. Her hands were long and slim and her nails polished. “Hello. Welcome.” Then there was a shift in expression but Star was used to that. Women reacted to her looks, so she wasn’t surprised when Ginny Hargrove gushed that she was really happy to have them while at the same time her mouth turned down with disappointment.

“What a lovely home you have,” said Star. The mouth stayed down. “The flowers, the shutters—everything.”

“Well, aren’t you nice.”

“I think that does it,” said Larraine and stood up. She was a woman in her late twenties, only five foot two but with a wiry frame and thick curly hair that boosted her height. Owlish tortoiseshell glasses covered half of her face but she still squinted. She squinted down at the tray. “We shouldn’t stuff ourselves with these and then sit down to dinner. Doesn’t make sense.” Star smiled but said nothing. “Want a pig in a blanket?” Larraine offered the tray. (She pronounced it
peeugh
.)

“What?”

“That’s what they call these things.”

“Oh. No, thanks.”

“Good girl.”

Larraine giggled and then Star giggled. When they went back into the living room, Star accepted a drink and it made her giddy. Little slick remarks were passed that would make her glance at Larraine, who would wink back.

Paul brought over a very tall man with such a boyish freckled face she thought he might be someone’s son, but he was another doctor. “Tom Haywood, this is my wife, Star.”

Tom sat down next to her. He was grinning (at nothing) and immediately propped a leg on the ebony coffee table. “When Paul said he was going home to get a bride, I hadn’t expected him to come back with you.”

“Why not?” She was concerned about his leg on the table and wanted to urge him to take it off. She glanced at Larraine, who in turn raised her eyebrows and her shoulders.

“You know, a girl from the old country. The image is of a plain little thing with a babushka on her head and then that son of a gun—he pulls you out of the hat.”

Across the room she heard Larraine mutter, “Oh, brother.”

“Jerusalem is one of the most sophisticated cities in the world,” Star said. “It’s crawling with private schools for its girls . . .”
Crawling.
That was the word James had used the day he was trying to find her. Any thought of him still hurt. She lost interest in educating Tom Haywood. “What I’m trying to say is that babushkas aren’t so popular these days.”

Paul returned with two fresh drinks and handed one to her. “Tom, why isn’t your wife here?”

“She’s in the ninth month and wants to stick close to home. This is our fourth. My wife’s been pregnant for four years but she loves it. Happy as a pig in mud.” Larraine’s drink went down the wrong pipe and she began to choke.

Ginny rang a little bell to alert everyone that dinner was about to be served. When they gathered at the table, there was an incident that catapulted Star deep into Larraine’s camp. She took the chair next to Paul, but Larraine’s husband, Chuck (orthopedics), edged Paul out and said, “No fair. I’m sitting next to this ravishing creature.”

Paul laughed. “Guess I’ll have to go after Larraine.”

“Tough luck,” Chuck answered. There had been a lot of casual ribbing in the group, especially after the second round of drinks. When Jim Brent had patted his midsection and claimed not to need the fifth handful of mixed nuts, his wife had answered, “You sure don’t, Porky.” Afterward she had kissed him and assured him that she loved every chubby ounce.

Chuck’s voice had a special hardness and no consoling reprieve. Star had assumed Larraine was tough and resilient, but her small angled face looked confused and embarrassed. She blinked behind her glasses. Star wanted to show support, but thought it might make matters worse. Paul looked at her sternly, as if reading her mind, and shook his head.

The party had begun in early afternoon and it wasn’t quite dark when they reached their house. Paul called his service, took off his shoes, and went to sit in a chair by the window. He asked her to get him a drink, finished it quickly, and asked for a second. When she brought it, he pulled her down on his lap. “Tom Haywood thinks you’re quite a dish,” he said and his hand went under her dress and searched for the elastic on her panties. “He whistled at the memory of your shapely form and asked when I was going to bring you around to the hospital.” He waited for her to respond and, impatient with the tightness of her underpants, grabbed a portion of her buttock. She said nothing. “Were you flirting with him?”

“No.”

He brought his hand from under her dress, circled her upper arm, and squeezed. “Perhaps you didn’t realize it.”

“I realized everything. I was polite.”

His hand tightened. Her arm hurt but she wouldn’t say so. “You have to be careful here. Men interpret friendliness differently. There aren’t many social restraints and there’s a lot of sleeping around.” He released her. “When Tom was talking about his wife being pregnant I thought about us. I want to see you pregnant for four years, too. I want to see you with a string of babies waiting for me when I come home.” His hand returned to her buttocks, but she knew he was done in by the liquor. His eyes were almost closed. She waited for a while and then took the glass out of his hand and went into the kitchen.

He couldn’t admit it, but her beauty frightened him. In his mind every male in the District of Columbia was waiting for him to turn his back. Their first day in the States, in the dining car of the train from New York, the waiter had hung around the table, swiping at imaginary crumbs—“Yes suh . . . yes suh . . .”—and moving around to get a better look.

“The table is clean enough,” Paul had said sarcastically. Inside he was enraged.

Both men and women stared at her, some brazenly, some shyly. She took it in her stride but it was unnerving to him. It made him proud in a nervous way, but it also made him unreasonably angry not to be able to control the way people stared at his wife.

She was happy to hear Larraine’s drawl over the telephone a few days later. “Ginny Hargrove says you’re brand-new to this country. Has anyone helped you get your beahrens?”

“My what?”

“Your beahrens . . . your beahrens. Has anyone shown you around?”

“Paul does when he can.”

“Want some company today?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

When she arrived Larraine inspected every inch of the apartment as if a desperado were hiding in it and she was a law officer. She eyed the dishes in the sink. “I keep my sink full of suds,” she said, “and just pop the used dishes into it through the day. That way I’m not left with a lot of dirty dishes when I’m tired at night.”

“I’m not tired at night,” said Star. “I don’t have enough to do.”

“You don’t?” She drew out the words as if stalling for time to find a solution. “What do you want to do?”

“If I knew, I’d do it. I’m not trained to do anything. What do you do all day?”

“Well, I’m newly arrived in the leisure class.” She sat down and crossed her legs, which were smooth and shapely. “The first six years of my marriage I worked for the government while Chuck finished medical school. I was tired all of the time and so was he. Then he started making some money and I figured if I wanted to stop working I’d better get pregnant, which I did.”

“Oh,” said Star. “You have children?”

“No,” she said and her voice became thin. “Not exactly.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t want to turn this visit into a somber occasion but I lost my little girl just a year ago. Oh, God”—she lifted her eyebrows to forestall tears—“I didn’t lose her. That sounds so awful. Like I was an absentminded idiot and left her somewhere. She died.”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” said Larraine. “What can you do? It was a virus that attacks the heart. One day they’re perfect and the next they’re dead. When you’re a doctor, it’s really hard. You go through all the training and you can’t even save your own child. I don’t think Chuck’s over it yet. He’s really bitter.”

“I can understand why,” said Star. She felt mildly guilty for judging him so harshly.

“I told you about it so we can get it out of the way. If you heard it from someone else, you’d feel funny around me, but now we can just put it aside. OK?”

“OK.”

“Let’s see what else you’ve got here.” She got up, walked across the room, and opened a door to the linen closet. “Where do you do your laundry? In the basement?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t go down there by yourself. You don’t know what kind of creeps are walking around. Do you have laundry to do today? I’ll go with you.”

“No, thanks. Not today.”

“Where do you buy your food? Do you have a Safeway nearby? It’s OK for vegetables and dry goods, but you should buy your meat at Magruder’s. Ask to see it before they cut it, otherwise they’ll give you steaks that are too fatty.” She looked around to see what she was leaving out. “Spic and Span is good for the kitchen floor. Put a little in a bucket with some warm water and use a sponge mop.” She sighed and sank down again on the sofa. “So . . . you want to find something to do while Paul’s out whacking babies’ bottoms.”

It went through her mind,
This woman’s crazy. I’ve got to be careful.
Maybe losing a child had unhinged her. But once she got used to the delivery—it was a very specialized verbal shorthand—and the thick Southern accent, she found she didn’t mind the outrageous intrusions.

That evening she told Paul, “I think I could be good friends with Larraine.”

He was eating at the time and didn’t respond until he had cut a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Not a good choice.”

“Why not?” Quick anger rose in her throat.

“Larraine is dissatisfied. It’s understandable, losing the kid, but to tell you the truth, she was probably like that before.”

“She’s not dissatisfied at all.”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. She’s sort of a wise guy, except she makes fun of things that aren’t funny. What I think is that she’s insecure and that’s her defense. She doesn’t fit in, but Chuck is OK. Everyone likes Chuck.”

“I don’t like Chuck.”

“You don’t? Why not?” He was really surprised.

“I don’t like the way he treats Larraine. He doesn’t mind embarrassing her.”

“He’s a very good doctor,” said Paul victoriously, as if that point collapsed her theory. “What you don’t know is that he’s carrying her.”

She didn’t understand. “Carrying her?”

“She’s no asset to him. She’s too opinionated and it’s embarrassing. She’s a liability. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got rid of her.”

When he said that, she changed the subject to stop him from going any further. That was a terrible thing to say.

Despite his reservations, Paul didn’t mind at all when Larraine showed Star the ropes, as he called them. “By all means, go ahead. It’ll do you good.” He probably felt it was safe to admit she needed some coaching from a person like Larraine. He kept reminding her that they would have to take their turn at entertaining. “Watch how they do it and do the same thing. It’ll make you feel more secure. If you want any sort of life—a life that’s interesting—then you go along with it and do things that way, too.”

Larraine saw it another way. “You’re looking at twenty-three dollars’ worth of meat,” she said one day when Star was helping her prepare for the crowd. “That was my weekly salary at the Department of Engraving just seven years ago. At least the butcher trimmed it before he weighed it.” She began to separate the steaks. “One for each and two extras in case someone wants seconds. You know what I hate? I hate when someone just takes a bite or two and leaves the rest. It isn’t the money. It’s the idea of taking something you don’t want without thinking. I usually stare at the plate in the kitchen and try to figure out who did it.” She stopped rearranging the meat and looked contrite. “I’m sorry, sugar. I know I sound cranky, but it’s these payback dinners. They’re so orchestrated. You must have filet mignon—or medallions of beef, as Ginny Hargrove calls them. You must have asparagus or some other exotic vegetable.”