Family Happiness (17 page)

“Keep going.”

“Paul and Beate want to have dinner. I'd like to cancel, but I don't see how I can. But I want them to come here. I can work at home and you could come and spend the afternoon with me. I'll just have to change the office around a little.”

“And then?”

“Martha wants me to come to dinner, but I'm going to tell her I can only have a drink. If you picked me up …”

“My, my,” Lincoln said. “Quite a schedule.”

“Oh, Lincoln,” said Polly. “Don't be cruel to me. I feel as if everyone has the right to know where I am all the time. I have to see my brothers, and I have to have time for the children.”

“All right, Dottie, don't get upset. Call me when you get to work and we'll figure it out.”

Polly sat down at the kitchen table. She made a list for Concita, called Nancy Jewell's mother to confirm that Nancy would baby-sit. From her office she called Paul to see if he and Beate would come to dinner, instead of her going to them.

“We'd much rather you came to us, Polly,” said Paul.

“It's a little hard for me this week,” Polly said.

“It's much harder for Beate to come to you. She has patients all day.”

“I'll be working at home and I'll cook. It will be easier for Beate since she'll get waited on.”

“I'll have to speak to her about this,” said Paul, “and let you know.”

When he did let her know, he did so grudgingly. Polly said, “Why don't we just cancel this and make a date for after Henry gets home and we can all go out to dinner?”

“We scheduled this dinner with you, Polly. Beate and I make very few plans these days, and we like to stick by the plans we do make.”

A cold, wet sheet of fury tore through Polly.

“I have a wonderful idea,” she said. “You and Beate have dinner and pretend I'm there. Then your plans won't go off schedule.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand you, Polly,” said Paul.

“I work as hard as you and Beate, and I have the children,” Polly said. “This is a bad week for me, so if you can't come here, let's put it off until Henry gets back.”

That afternoon Wendy called.

“Your brother Paul is very upset,” she said. “What on earth is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” said Polly. “I'm having dinner with Henry and Andreya tonight and with Martha Nathan on Wednesday and I don't want to be out so much. It's too much for them to come here. If Beate can't manage it, we'll do it some other time.”

“I don't see why you can't cancel this Martha Nathan,” Wendy said. “Isn't she your little office friend?”

“Yes,” said Polly. “She is my friend and I'm not canceling her. I am going down to Henry and Andreya's tonight and I can easily see Paul and Beate next week.”

“Darling, they do have rather a strict life,” Wendy said.

“That's entirely their problem,” Polly said. “I have work and the children. Let them bend to me a little.”

“Well, what about the other nights?” Wendy said.

“I have a meeting Thursday and I would like a night with myself and the children, that's what.”

“It seems rather a lot of time out,” Wendy said. “Why can't Henry and Andreya come to you? It can't be very nice to go to them.”

“I love to go to them,” Polly said. “And I'm the only one who does.”

“I think you're being rather selfish,” Wendy said. “It isn't right for your job to leave you so little energy and time. It isn't worth it.”

At this, Polly was silent. She had all the energy in the world to see Lincoln, but not the inclination to see Paul and Beate. Didn't she deserve to see Lincoln if she needed to, even if she had to lie to do so? After all, she had baked a huge plate of brownies to take to Henry and Andreya's—it was part of the deal that she always brought the dessert—and she would have fed Paul and Beate a delicious meal. Even if she was only going to have a drink with Martha, even if her real intention was to be with Lincoln, what was so terrible about doing that? She tried to do right by everyone, and she often felt that she was spread as thin as butter on a Danish sandwich.

“I don't want to talk about this,” she said to Wendy. “I have work staring me in the face and that's more important at the moment than Paul and Beate's social schedule.”

“Very well,” said Wendy, and she hung up with one of her well-known huffs.

Henry and Andreya's loft was bare, white, and immaculate. It had almost no furniture. They slept on a Japanese cotton mattress atop what looked like a giant chest, but was actually a custom-built bureau in which they kept most of their clothes. They had two drawing tables, a large redwood picnic table at which they had their meals, and a sofa made of squishy pillows. On the wall hung their kites. The sight of these always gave Polly a pang and made her think of Lincoln's black-and-silver kite, which hung on his wall. Scattered around were large squashed-looking cushions filled with pellets that made an appealing crunch when sat on.

They had no interest in
things
, and since they had eloped they did not have the usual complement of wedding presents. The silver they had inherited from Henry's Hendricks grandmother they used as if it were plate and threw it into a drawer after dinner. They had sold Grandfather Solo-Miller's Empire furniture to buy the picnic table, which they had bought, at Paul's suggestion, from Mary Rensberg. It was polished redwood, made by a monk at a California mission, and had fruit-wood pegs. The plates they used were enameled tin in primary colors. For dinner they gave Polly what they usually gave her—vegetable mess. Andreya was indifferent to food except for chocolate. Her only kitchen skill consisted in making chocolate sauce, and the only thing of interest in the larder was the large store of chocolate bars. These, Polly suspected, were Andreya's principal form of nourishment.

They sat down to dinner with Kirby under the table. The cold weather had made him quiescent and in this mellow state he became very loving toward Andreya, whom he followed all over the loft.

“I am teaching him to sing,” she said. “We started singing lessons with the sound he makes when he hears police and fire sirens. Now I am training him with dog biscuits. I will demonstrate this after dinner.”

The brownies Polly had brought for dessert were Henry, Jr.'s favorite, known as “slumped brownies” since they were slightly undercooked and had a chewy, custardy center. Henry could not take his eyes off them. He was not comfortable in the presence of two women, even if one was his wife and the other his sister. He believed that women were either about to do things to him, or get him to do things—for example, to behave correctly or modify his table manners. He also felt that women wanted to be left alone to talk about nail polish and babies. But a vestige of his early training remained, and he opened up the dinner-table conversation.

“Boy,” he said, between shovels of vegetable mess, “you certainly pissed off old Paul and Beate. Ma actually called me. She wants me to find out if you're all right. You look all right to me. Are you all right? What the hell did you do, Pol?”

“I told them to come to me for dinner instead of me going to them.”

“Oh, yeah? Geez, you'd think you put a nuclear device in their elevator. Well, they're pretty hived off.”

“Hived off?” said Polly. “What does that mean?”

“It is as a swarm of bees leaving their nest,” Andreya explained. “It is horrid how fast you eat, Henry.”

“It gets me more food,” Henry said. “Pass that dish over here, Andro. Geez, Polly, I can't believe you got everyone so riled. Paul and Beate are very hurt, Ma says.”

“Oh, be quiet, Henry,” Polly said. “I'm tired of Paul and Beate.”

“Don't say that, Pol,” Henry said. “It makes me nervous.”

“Andreya, please make Henry sit up and eat like a person,” Polly said. “Henry, sit up and say why it makes you nervous.” She looked at her brother, whose posture resembled a slumped brownie. He had spilled rice on his sweater.

“Henry,” Andreya said. “Sit up. Be dainty. Do not shovel your food. Say to Polly why you are nervous.”

Henry sat up. “If
she
doesn't like Paul,” he said to Andreya, “then what am I supposed to feel? Can I be excused, girls? Please?”

“Do meals around here always take three minutes?” Polly asked.

“Henry eats like a vacuum cleaner,” Andreya said. “Sit down, Henry. We have not yet had Polly's brownies.”

“Can't I take one with me? I'm sure you girls have a million things to talk about.”

“No,” said Andreya. “Stay here to have coffee. We will talk about Paul and Beate's baby and then I will read Polly's Tarot cards.”

It always surprised Polly that someone as scientific as Andreya was interested in fortunetelling, but the Tarot deck was a hangover from her Czechoslovakian childhood, when her nurse had taught her how to use the cards. Every time Polly came to dinner, Andreya read her hand.

“Tell Polly what you think about the baby,” Andreya said.

“I can't,” Henry said. “The whole idea is too disgusting.”

“Henry says the baby will be born in a little suit,” Andreya said. “Whether it is a boy or a girl. It will have little shoes and black stockings and it will have a gold fountain pen.”

“Maybe it'll be a big, jolly baby like Pete,” Polly said. “Although when I had lunch the other day with Beate she seemed to feel that since Pete hadn't had the proper birth environment, he probably wouldn't be happy when he grew up.”

“What about Dee-Dee?” Andreya said.

“Dee-Dee was born in the hospital elevator,” Polly said. “God only knows what will become of her.”

Henry, who had gulped his coffee and eaten three brownies, was very fidgety.

“Do we have to talk about this?” he pleaded. “Why does it have to take nine months? Why do we have to talk about this all the time? Andro, show Polly how Kirby sings and then I'm leaving the table.”

Andreya sat Kirby on one of the cushions. She held a dog biscuit in front of his nose.

“I command you, Kirby,” she said. “Sing!”

Kirby looked at Andreya with an expression of intense love and then threw back his head and gave forth a series of low, musical hound howls. Then he wagged his tail and licked Andreya's hand.

“You are a wonderful dog,” Andreya said, patting him. “I love you always. Here is your biscuit. Now go with Henry.” She turned to Polly. “Is that not a beautiful sight?”

Andreya was wearing black trousers and a striped football jersey. Henry wore almost the identical thing. If only, Polly thought, dogs wore football jerseys, they could parade around as triplets. The sight of Andreya and Kirby was, however, undeniably affecting.

“Kiss Andro good-bye,” said Henry. Kirby threw his paws on Andreya's neck and licked her nose.

When Polly later reported these events to Lincoln, he said, “If they get any more adorable, someone will want to strangle them.”

Henry went to his drawing table and took Kirby with him. The dishes were cleared and Andreya began to shuffle the Tarot deck.

“This is how I was taught,” said Andreya. She said this every time, as a preamble. “Some people read the entire deck and some do the Celtic Cross, but I am reading what I was taught, which is called the Roman line. It is six cards across to show first your present condition, then your self alone, then the two issues on your mind, then how others see you, and finally the essence of all these things. Now you must shuffle for a long time.”

As Polly shuffled, Andreya went on.

“The person being read must handle the deck—that is how the deck knows whose essence is infusing it.”

“What a lotta junk,” called Henry from his corner.

“Be quiet, Henry,” Andreya said. “You must shuffle more. Now cut. Cut again and again. When you feel the deck is as you wish it, stop.”

Polly cut three more times and stopped. She was suddenly terrified that the cards would give her away.

“Now,” said Andreya. “Put down six cards one next to each other.”

Polly threw the cards and Andreya turned them face up. Polly's heart was pounding. The first was a red Valentine heart pierced with three swords. The second showed a woman patting a lion. The name of this card was
STRENGTH.
The third card showed two lovers, and the fourth depicted a family standing under a rainbow. The fifth showed a woman in a garden with a bird perched on her shoulder, and the last was a person sitting up in bed, hands over eyes, as if waking from a terrible dream. A quilt covered his legs, and the wall beside him was hung with nine swords. There it was, for all the world to see.

“What does it mean?” Polly said. She suddenly wanted Andreya to know. Wouldn't that give her a surprise!

“It is very strange,” Andreya said. “It does not seem to be at all about you. Have you a friend with a broken heart? Do you have a friend who is having some trouble in love?”

She looked at Polly. Her brow was creased and her eyes were dark. She was sincerely puzzled. Polly's heart raced. I could tell everything right now, she thought. It's very plain to see. But when she saw how puzzled Andreya was, she felt half rage, half pain. I will never be taken seriously, she said to herself, so what the hell?

“Yes,” she said. “There is a woman at my office who is having a love affair. She is very anxious and confused.”

“She has come to you for help,” Andreya said. “Now it makes sense. The heart with swords is of chaos and sorrow in love, but the woman with the lion is a wise friend—you. The card of the lovers reflects your friend and you—the two sides of love. Next is you and Henry standing under the rainbow. This is what the friend sees and envies. The woman in the garden is you, I think. The person in bed with the swords is your friend. This is a reading of contrasts and oppositions, because your friend is in your mind. You think of her. She longs to be wise and tranquil as you are wise and tranquil. I think this reading explains itself, or would you like to hear more?”