Terms of Endearment (34 page)

“You were awfully arrogant this morning,” he said.

“You were awfully insensitive to Vernon’s feelings,” Emma said. “I think we’re even.”

“I only said one word and that was ambiguous,” he said. “I could have meant it sarcastically, you know. You didn’t have to insult me in front of company.”

“All right, I apologize,” Emma said. “I was jumpy.”

Flap didn’t say anything. He looked at the paper intently.

“Oh, to hell with you,” Emma said. “I’ve apologized. It wasn’t that big an incident.”

“No, but it reminded me of a lot of other things you’ve done that I haven’t liked,” he said.

Emma looked up the want ads and began to read them. Of late she had found herself particularly engrossed by the want ads. Flap suddenly tried to snatch them from her. He began one of his blitzkrieg passes, but Emma held on to the want ads. There was a lot of crinkling of paper. Flap tried to wrestle her down, but Emma was disgruntled and didn’t allow herself to be kissed. She used the newspaper to shield all vital areas.

“Stop,” she said. “I want to call Momma.”

“Our sex life has priority,” he said.

“Lay off me, I mean it,” she said.

When he saw that she really did mean it he began to tear the
want ads into shreds. Emma gave up and watched him tear them into dozens of strips and fling them on the floor.

“There,” he said. “I may not get to screw you but at least I won’t have to watch you read the goddamn want ads for three hours.”

Emma felt annoyed with herself for having stepped into the bedroom in the first place. “I never seem to learn,” she said. Flap didn’t respond, and she went to the kitchen and called her mother.

“Yes,” Aurora said at once.

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, taken aback that the phone had been answered so quickly.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you startled me,” Emma said.

“What a strange girl you are,” Aurora said. “You must be trying to hide something, or you wouldn’t have called me. Your young writer’s returned, I suppose.”

“You sound like my husband,” Emma said. “You’re both snide. I guess you know your maid and your former boy friend were over here for breakfast?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Which former boy friend?” Aurora asked, rather absently.

“Vernon, of course,” Emma said. “I hear you’ve made up with the General.”

“Oh, well, you know me,” Aurora said. “I’m not one to hold grudges. I acquire so many of them that some have to be discarded. Hector and I have had a modest rapprochement. In fact, we were thinking of taking ourselves to the beach this morning, if you ever get off the phone.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t know he was there.”

“He’s not,” Aurora said. “He’s gone to mollify his wretched dogs. I believe I will continue to bear my grudge against those dogs.”

There was another silence. “Is that all you’re going to tell me?” Emma asked.

“Well, Vernon said it was none of our business,” she said when her mother didn’t answer.

“Yes, Vernons’s a champ,” Aurora said. “Also a chump, unfortunately. Well, it was sweet of you to call me, dear, even if scandal was your object. However, right now I’m going to go look for my bathing suit. It’s disappeared just when I finally need it. Perhaps we’ll speak this evening.”

Aurora hung up and immediately padded downstairs and cornered Rosie, who had come in without announcing herself. She was vacuuming the living room.

“Taking him to Emma’s was a brilliant stroke,” Aurora said. “I thank you. Is he all right?”

“Hard to say,” Rosie said. “He ain’t normal anyway. What about the General?”

“Oh, well,” Aurora said. “He’s considerably better than nothing.”

“Yeah, an’ I got a date with F.V. tonight,” Rosie said. “Vernon’s comin’, I think. Vernon needs to loosen up,” she added.

“Everybody needs to loosen up,” Aurora said. “I wish Vernon only the best, but frankly I’m not sure that chaperoning your dates with F.V. is likely to do much for him. Relations on this block are certainly getting soap-opera-ish. Hector and I are due to leave for the beach any minute.”

“Then why are you still in your bathrobe?”

“Oh, well,” Aurora said. “There’s no point in getting ready until Hector shows up. I don’t want him to think he can change my ways.”

The doorbell rang. General Scott, in immaculate white ducks, stood on the doorstep. His car was at the curb.

“Hector, you look spanking,” Aurora said. “Come in and have some tea, why don’t you?”

“I don’t see that I have much goddamn choice,” the General said.

He waved irritably at F.V., who killed the Packard’s motor. “Now it probably won’t start again,” the General said.

Rosie could not restrain a giggle. The General looked at her sternly, but it had no effect.

“Armies have to be on time or wars would never get won,” the General said loudly.

Aurora yawned. “I seem to have stayed up all night,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and have some tea while I get dressed?”

“No,” the General said. “I’ll wait in the car. You may come or you may not, but at least I’ll be in my own car.” He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back.

“You don’t click your heels, like you used to, you know, Hector,” Aurora said. “I thought it was rather sexy, I must say. It’s certainly not every man can click his heels.”

Aurora was idly looking out a window at her flowers, but for a moment General Scott had the illusion that he had her in the palm of his hand. He saluted and clicked his heels. Then he did it twice more. On the third try he produced what he considered to be an excellent click.

“How’s that?” he asked.

Aurora inclined her head first one way then another, considering the click. “Somehow it seems to lack the old arrogance,” she said, and then suddenly threw out her arms and emitted a burst of song. It was quite a loud burst. The song was from some opera or other, the General didn’t know which, and the mere fact that she would sit there singing it irritated him enormously. It was always irritating to him when Aurora sang, because it meant that she was, for the moment, perfectly happy, and therefore quite oblivious of him. There was no effective way to handle a woman who sat right in front of you singing. The sight of Aurora merrily warbling in Italian reminded him of how grateful he was that his wife had been tone deaf. Unfortunately she had also been inaudible as well, so that he had always had to ask her to repeat her statements three times; in retrospect, it had come to seem a charming trait.

“It’s a pity you aren’t more musical, Hector,” Aurora said when she was through singing. “It would be nice if we could sing some duets. I don’t suppose you’d consider taking lessons, would you?”

“Singing lessons?” the General said. He looked at his watch sternly. The notion of singing lessons discomfited him a good deal.

“Aurora, for God’s sake,” he said. “I thought we were going to
the beach. I’d look like an utter fool, taking singing lessons at my age.”

Aurora strolled to the stairs but didn’t go up them. She stood on the bottom step, looking happy and rather reflective. The General was afraid she was going to burst into song again, as was Rosie, who hurried out. The General couldn’t help noticing that Aurora looked wonderful. Her hair was filled with lights. She was all he had hoped for in a woman, and his admiration, or maybe it was even love, got the better of him and he walked up behind her and put his arms around her.

“I hardly thought you’d be such a brute as to refuse my first request,” she said. “All I want is someone to sing duets with.”

“Oh, well, maybe I will then,” the General said. Emboldened, he tried to kiss her, but she skipped up several stairs.

“If I were you I’d go get that unreliable car started,” she said. “I intend to be ready in five minutes and I’d like to depart immediately.”

Aurora ran upstairs and the General turned to go to the door, only to find Rosie blocking his way. She looked accusatory.

“Tell F.V. not to get stung by no jellyfish,” she said. “Me an’ him’s gonna shake a leg tonight.”

“What’s that?” the General said. “You women are both crazy. Shake a leg? Why would F.V. want to do that?”

“Dancin’,” Rosie said. “We’re going dancin’.”

“Oh, shake a leg in that sense,” the General said. “Can F.V. actually dance?” He opened the door and waved F.V. a command to start the car.

“He better can, he asked me,” Rosie said. “You better go out there and tell him to stop pumping on that foot feed. If he floods that old thing it won’t dry out for a week.”

“F.V., stop pumping,” the General roared, sticking his head out the door.

For his part, F.V. stared straight ahead and pretended not to hear the demand. He felt he had the engine primed just to the point where it would have to start, and he was reluctant to give up his advantage.

“He’s still pumping,” Rosie said, looking out. “I can tell by the way he’s starin’ straight ahead. F.V.’s got a one-track mind.”

“F.V., stop pumping!” the General yelled again.

“If he gets it down to Galveston and floods it out when Aurora’s just got a fresh sunburn, you’re gonna wish you was back in the war,” Rosie said grimly.

The General had just been thinking the same thing. “Maybe it would be better if I got a new car.”

“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Too bad you can’t go buy one while she’s getting dressed. It might save you a lot of agony.

“The Lord only knows where all this will end,” she added somberly, turning to go to the kitchen. “Course there’s some things don’t never seem to end at all, but if any of this here ever ends the Lord only knows where I’ll be at the time.”

“That’s the damn truth, it’s hard to judge,” the General said.

CHAPTER XIII

1.

R
OYCE DUNLUP
was lying in bed with a cold can of beer balanced on his stomach. The phone by the bed began to ring and he reached over and picked the receiver up without disturbing the can of beer. He had a big stomach, and it was no real trick to balance a can of beer on it, but in this instance the can was sitting precisely over his navel, and keeping it there while talking on the phone was at least a little bit of a trick.

Since leaving Rosie and taking up, more or less formally, with his girl friend Shirley Sawyer, Royce had learned a lot of new tricks. For one thing, Royce had learned to have sex lying flat on his back, something he had never done in all his conservative years with Rosie. Nobody had ever tried to teach Royce anything like that before, and at first he made a nervous pupil, but Shirl soon broke him in. While she was in the process of breaking him in she talked to him about something called fantasy, a concept she had picked up in her one year of junior college in Winkelburg,
Arizona. Fantasy, as Shirley explained it, meant thinking about things you really couldn’t do, and her own favorite fantasy involved having sex with a fountain. In particular, Shirley wanted to have it with Houston’s new Mecom fountain, a splendid new gusher of water right in front of the equally splendid Warwick Hotel. At night the Mecom fountain was lit up with orange lights, and Shirley insisted that she couldn’t think of anything better than seating herself right on top of a great spurt of orange water, right there in front of the Warwick Hotel.

That wasn’t possible, of course, so Shirley had to make do with the next best, which was seating herself every night or two on what she primly referred to as Royce’s “old thing.” About all that was required of Royce at such times was to keep still, while Shirley jiggled around and made little spurting sounds in imitation of the fountain she imagined herself to be sitting on. Royce’s only worry was that someday Shirley might lose her balance and fall backwards, in which case his old thing was bound to suffer, but so far it hadn’t happened and Royce had never been one to look too far ahead.

His own favorite fantasy was simpler, and involved sitting the beer can on his navel. What Royce liked to pretend was that the beer can had a little hole in its bottom and his navel a secret hole in its top, so that when he put the can of beer over his navel a nice stream of cold beer squirted right down into his stomach with no effort on his part at all. That way the two pleasantest things in life, sex and beer drinking, could be accomplished without so much as lifting a hand.

Shirley evidently liked sitting on his old thing so much that she was willing to support him to keep it handy, so Royce had become a man of substantial leisure. His memory had never been very keen, and in three weeks he managed to forget Rosie and his seven children almost completely. Now and then longings for his darling Little Buster would come over him, but before they got too strong Shirley would come home and set a cold beer on his navel and the memory would subside. Shirley lived in a three-room house on Harrisburg, right next door to a used-tire center, and Royce spent much of his day staring happily out the window
at a mountain of some 20,000 worn-out tires. For activity he could walk two blocks down Harrisburg to a 7-Eleven and buy some more beer, or, if he was especially energetic, walk another block and spend an afternoon happily playing shuffleboard at a bar called the Tired-Out Lounge, the principal hangout of his old friend Mitch McDonald.

Mitch was a retired roustabout who had had a hand pinched off in an oil field accident years before. It had been him, in fact, who had introduced Royce to Shirley. She had been Mitch’s girl friend for years, but they had had a falling out that started (Shirley later told Royce) because Mitch’s old thing acquired the bad habit of falling out of Shirley just at the wrong time. Despite this, Mitch and Shirley had decided to stay friends, and in a moment of lethargy Mitch handed his friend Shirley over to his friend Royce. He himself regarded Royce as being far too crude for Shirley, and he was very upset when they happened to hit it off. It was his own doings, however, and he managed to keep quiet about how wrong it all was, except to Hubbard Junior, the nervous little manager of the Tired-Out Lounge. Mitch frequently pointed out to Hubbard Junior that Royce and Shirley couldn’t last, and Hubbard Junior, a very neat man who had the bad luck to own a bar that was only two blocks from a tire factory, always agreed, as he did with everybody, no matter what they said.