Authors: John Casey
They walked single file behind the stage along a narrow corridor
made narrower by a cluster of ropes and pulleys, and down a staircase and out onto a loading dock. Mary said, “Aw, Rose, you should feel like a bottle of champagne.”
“Yeah, right. Are you blind? Are you so dumb you can’t see how fucked up it all is? Everything. There’s not one normal person in my whole life. Not one. Mom should have given me up for adoption.”
Mary said, “Aw, Rose,” and held her arms out.
Rose batted them aside. “Why didn’t you tell her? You were her big pal back then. Never mind—you wanted a baby, too. Except when you finally saw how fucked up it is, you moved out.”
“And not a minute too soon.” As quick as the words were out of her mouth, Mary wished them back. She closed her eyes. She’d been stung so fast in so many ways—her forearm still hurt where Rose had swatted it, and yes, she’d come to want Rose to be hers but not the way Rose said it, and yes, she’d moved out, she’d moved out for all their sakes, but try explaining that to Rose when she was spitting out every drop of poison in her. At the same time she saw Rose in the corner of the greenroom in the middle of the Pierces, as if posing for a family portrait—Rose putting on as stiff a face as she could—and all the while she must have been wondering what sort of a picture the other kids were seeing, what sort of curious or clever remarks she’d hear or overhear the next day. Mary had seen enough of this smart set as they lolled about on the porch at Sawtooth, making comments about someone’s pathetic tennis game or someone’s too-cute name for a boat. Maybe the whole school wasn’t like the Sawtooth bunch, but from the sound of them they were the ones who were good at games, who could shrivel the son of the owner of the Dodge dealership in Wakefield or mock the dutiful straight A’s of the Tran girls. And here came Rose, the new girl in the tenth grade—or whatever they called it here—and who was she? She was Jack Aldrich’s niece; she was the music teacher’s pet, and so she got a starring role—did she think that made her hot stuff? But there was the rest of the story. And now Mary saw what the cousin soprano was up to, taking a picture of the Pierce family and the bastard daughter.
The light from the building reached as far as the edge of the
woods, where it blurred into the night mist. Mary said, “I don’t mean that, Rose. I miss you something terrible. I miss being in our house together. It was just that I thought I was only making things worse between you and your mother—the pair of you as fierce as you are.”
“You know what Mom’s doing now? She’s going to work here. You could have talked her out of that. If Uncle Jack wanted to help he should have helped some other way. And he is so full of shit. He thinks this place is like happy valley. In his dreams.”
Mary said, “I’m not sure it would be different anywhere else, you coming in as a new girl and all. I went to parochial school, and the top girls there got after me. It’s the girls, isn’t it? But it can change as fast as the weather. It’s just a shame you had your cast party spoiled. But that white-haired baritone got it right, you know. I knew you could sing, but you played the part as if you were her. And that little tenor—not a big voice but a sweet voice. You did right by him in your duets, you sang it
piano
so he could keep in the game but a
piano
that has some sauce in it. And your quartet! You were flying there, Rose, just opened up and soared. It’s a nice piece of music, that, and the timing’s tricky. All of you, your sweet boy tenor, and the baritone …” Mary touched her shoulder. “So, Rose, darling, you’ve had your say out here, and now it’s time to go back in—never mind the jealous ones, but have a word with the ones who helped. There’s the musicians in the band. They’re not schoolboys, so you thank them. I’ll be right with you.”
Rose had listened with her head down but at the last looked up. “Okay. But you won’t talk too much, right? I mean, it’s nice what you just said, but let them—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be—”
“—finish a sentence.”
The greenroom was still a swirl. The actors had taken off their costumes and makeup but weren’t letting go of a party. May and Dick got up when they saw Rose. May said, “Time for us to get home. I’ll have this costume done by the afternoon. I can drop it by your house.”
Rose said she’d walk them out to the parking lot. Mary was about to hold her back but then thought that since the band wasn’t in the greenroom, they might be putting their instruments in their cars.
Just as they got to Dick’s pickup Elsie swooped down and took Rose’s arm. She said, “I have something to say to you.” She led Rose off, three cars away. Mary didn’t like Elsie’s look and went after them.
Elsie, still holding Rose’s arm, hissed at her, “How could you? How could you do that to her? And to Dick?”
“Mom! What are you talking about? What?”
“That accent you put on. That swamp-Yankee accent. You made fun of them. It’s an insult.”
Rose was silent. Mary said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Elsie. It’s a comedy. She could have done Irish. And I wouldn’t—”
Elsie said, “You stay out of this.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Rose said. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” Elsie said. “Except maybe this playacting, maybe this whole school, is a big mistake.”
“Come with me,” Rose said. “Come right now. We’ll see if you’ve gone crazy.” She pulled on Elsie’s arm. Elsie pulled it free. Rose marched to Dick’s truck, went up to the passenger window. May rolled it down. Elsie came up behind Rose. Rose said, “May, tell me honestly—what did you think?”
“Of your play? It’s good. I told you it’s good, and I think you were the best one. You sing even better than you did at Sylvia Teixeira’s wedding. Of course, this time I could understand the words.”
“So when I changed into the maid’s costume—that was okay?”
“When that boy chased you around the bed? You were funny. Reminded me of Tom. I told him so just before he left. Tom up to his pranks. I liked when you were being the nice young lady, but I liked it when you cut loose on that boy and didn’t let him get too fresh. And not a bad word in the whole play, not like some movies.”
Mary couldn’t keep out of it. She said, “Dick? What about you? Rose remind you of anybody?”
“It was Rose on her own up there singing, but I suppose I got to give you some credit, and not just for the singing. She reminded me of you when you were behind the bar in your old place. What do
you say, Rose? You see Mary over in the Sawtooth kitchen. She still take the paint off anyone gets out of line?”
Rose laughed. Mary hadn’t ever heard Dick and May so talkative. They’d looked grim in the greenroom, but now that they were out in the fresh air on their way home, the play was bubbling up in them. Dick started the motor. May said, “I’ll bring the dress and hat over tomorrow lunchtime, if that’s all right with you, Elsie.”
Whatever Elsie said was lost as the truck moved and a bait barrel rattled against the side of the bed. Mary, Rose, and Elsie watched the truck find a place in the line of cars headed out of the parking lot.
Mary said, “Rose, I think that’s the clarinetist over there. In that station wagon. And the guy next to him—he’s putting his bass fiddle in the back.”
Rose wasn’t through with Elsie. “I didn’t expect you to like the play. I mean, you’re practically tone-deaf. But you’re out to get me. You’re as much out to get me as the nastiest girl in school. At least she’s going to graduate.”
Mary said, “Rose—”
“You stay out of this,” Elsie said.
“Oh, right,” Rose said. “Pick on Mary just because you’re wrong.”
“I’m not so sure I am wrong. Maybe Dick and May were just being nice. They let you get away with anything over there, and it’s gone to your head—along with this playacting.”
“My head? You’re the one who took Deirdre O’Malley in, and how dumb was that? You’re the one who said you didn’t want Uncle Jack to pull strings—you think you’d get a job here if it wasn’t for him? And now you try to think of some way to fuck up the one thing I can do—not that you’d know anything about it—and guess what? You’re wrong again. You think they’re ashamed of how they talk? Why should they be? They live on a creek that’s named for their family. They used to own Sawtooth Point. You think Johnny Bienvenue is ashamed of how he talks? Or Eddie Wormsley? You’re the only one who cares. Well, you and Uncle Jack.”
“Then how come you talked like them when you were being the maid? The one who makes the beds and cleans the toilets.”
“That was aeons ago. I know you didn’t get the music, but you might have noticed the costumes. Like 1920.”
“And don’t try to lump me in with Jack.”
“What toilets? No toilets. Who went and got Jack to fork over a membership card to Sawtooth?”
“That’s yours.”
“Then how come it says ‘Family membership’? You’re the fancy tennis player. You and Phoebe Fitzgerald. I only go there to see Mary.”
“That’s enough,” Mary said.
Elsie said again, “I told you to stay out of it.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Mary said. “I’m telling Rose she’s screeching her voice. But the pair of you ought to shut the hell up.” They both turned toward Mary. She said, “I’ve got half a mind to bang your heads together.” They both opened their mouths. “By Christ, you say another word and I’ll do it.” As fast as she’d got angry, she felt a great sob coming on. She took a breath, and it came out a growl that scratched her throat. “Now, go home. The two of you. Just go on home.”
Rose took two steps away and said, “I’m staying here. If I can’t find a spare bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Elsie set her jaw and marched off toward the woods.
Mary got in her pickup. She put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. She laid her forehead on the top of the steering wheel, drained.
E
lsie woke up late after a bad night’s sleep. She felt too tired to go work on Miss Perry’s garden, too hungover with spent anger to pass a Saturday morning alone. She certainly wasn’t going to call Mary. She got out of bed, pulled the comforter up sloppily, felt one of her lurches for Dick in her bed—funny how she
could see him and feel neutral, edgy but neutral, but when she was alone be stung by wanting him. That bit of wondering swerved her back to bleakness. She put the teakettle on and said, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She got Charlie’s new listing from information, hoped she’d get Deirdre, almost hung up at the thought of Deirdre and Charlie in bed together, one of them reaching across the other to get the phone.
She got Deirdre, who said she was about to go for a bike ride, but if Elsie didn’t mind waiting an hour she’d love to stop by. “So Rose must be feeling pretty great. Tell her from me she was terrific.”
Did that mean Charlie hadn’t been bothered by Rose’s accent? Or had he just not said anything about it to Deirdre?
Elsie put on a Rolling Stones tape. And to hell with Rose telling her she was tone-deaf. She could dance to it, she could sing along.
She stopped in mid-song. She’d forgotten that May was bringing Rose’s maid costume. Elsie didn’t want May bumping into Deirdre. She called May and said she’d come pick it up. May said it was no trouble to bring it over. Elsie said, “Well, if it’s no bother, could you drop it off at the school? That’s where Rose is. If you don’t see her, just go by the auditorium. Someone’s bound to be there.”
“That’ll be fine. I know the way now.”
Elsie hesitated. Did May have a misgiving after all? She took a breath and said, “You really liked the play? Parts of it seemed odd to me. Maybe I was nervous.”
“We were all nervous for Rose. But then it seemed she was born to do that sort of thing. Tom and I are going again tonight.”
“But not Dick?”
“Dick and Charlie wanted to, but they took
Spartina
out this morning. Dick got one of his feelings. Or could be he heard something from Captain Teixeira. He didn’t say, but then he never does. Took his harpoon, so he has swordfish in mind.”
Elsie managed to thank her for taking care of Rose’s costume. She thought of Dick on
Spartina
, all his thoughts at sea. She thought of Dick in this house with her. She wouldn’t kiss him by surprise this time, not like the time he was holding baby Rose. This time would have nothing to do with Rose, nothing to do with May. He’d be here
and she wouldn’t go near him at first, she’d move around the room, bring him a cup of coffee and put it down without touching him. When he looked at her, she’d look back and smooth her skirt, smooth her skirt over her hip bones and wait for him to stand up.
She washed her face, went down to the pond, pulled off her knee-length T-shirt, and waded into the cold water up to her shoulders.
She was back inside and dressed when she heard Deirdre outside the door. Deirdre was flushed, her curly hair matted from her bike helmet. She was wearing a red uni-suit very like the one Elsie had in her closet.
“I should get a mountain bike,” Deirdre said. “Get off the main road. Route One is all traffic and guys slowing down and beeping.”
“Some of the back roads are smooth enough for your road bike.”
“You ride, right? Maybe you could show me. And maybe we could go canoeing. I hear you have an old canvas canoe. Or is that Rose’s? I don’t want to touch anything of hers or May’ll have another fit. Of course, what she’s really mad about is me and Charlie.”
“You look like you could use some water.”
“Oh, yeah,” Deirdre said. She unzipped her uni-suit six inches and fanned herself. They went in and Deirdre drank and drank.
Elsie said, “But Charlie knows that you and Walt … I mean …”
“But if Walt tells things to Tom, Tom can’t help repeating what he hears, especially if he thinks it’s funny. May and Charlie don’t think anything like that is funny. And they’re not exactly at ease with the idea of a liberated woman. Charlie only had one girlfriend before me. And he still feels guilty, like he marked her somehow. I told him I wasn’t ever in love with Walt, it was just a thing. Boy, was that a bad idea. Of course, I was probably in a catch-22. Bad if I was in love with Walt, just as bad if I wasn’t. Maybe worse. I don’t know. All I know is I have to be careful, and I don’t like having to be careful. Charlie read a little bit of this sci-fi thing I’ve written, and some of it’s pretty sexy, and he brooded. It didn’t take a mind reader. Had I done all that stuff? I was going to say it’s all made up, but that would have left him uneasy in another way, so I said it was stuff the women talked about around the campfire when I was running Women in
the Wilderness trips. Which is a tiny bit true. And he said he found it hard to believe that women go into detail, and I said some women do, more than you know. And he said, ‘So you’re going to tell some woman about us?’ I said, ‘I just listen.’ Which made him laugh for the first time in a long while.”