Gould (19 page)

His mother's younger brother came out to California on business and took them to dinner. They got a baby-sitter. “If the sitter costs a lot,” his uncle said, “since I know how expensive services can be in California and how financially short you two are, I'd like to take care of it,” and Gould said no. She laughed a lot at the table, especially at some of the remarks his uncle made and jokes he told. Held his uncle's hand as he walked them to their car, gave him a big kiss and hug good-bye, waved to him as they drove off. She seemed sincere in all this. During the drive home: “I had the most wonderful time tonight, best in ages, and I know why. It was that man. He's so unlike your mother—anyone in your family. Extremely funny, smart, successful, gentle, self-effacing, mannerly. Dashing, even—clothes he wore, things he said, way he spoke, how he handled himself with the overbearing headwaiter and waiters, as if educated at the best prep schools and then at Princeton or Yale and later a year at Oxford or someplace. A very generous and big-hearted person. It was a great evening, thank you,” and he said “The food was good too,” and she said “Food, food; yes, it was good, excellent, but those things don't make an evening. If the food had been lousy and the service terrible it still would have been a great evening because of him,” and he said “I didn't know you went for older men,” and she said “Don't be stupid.” “I've never met anyone quite like her,” his uncle said on the phone a few days later when Gould called him in New York to thank him for the dinner. “She bowled me over. She's a knockout from the word go, a dear young woman too, and intelligent? Oh my gosh. I should have a few like her working on my staff. What does she see in you, I wonder?—only kidding, my boy. You're one lucky stiff. Don't lose her for anything or ever ruin it by becoming a scoundrel or pretending to be a fool,” and he said “Say, when I'm through with her, or vice versa, or by some magic it's mutual, I'll give you her number, though I don't know what Aunt Dee would say,” and his uncle said “Excuse me, Gould, and I don't want you to take this as harsh criticism, but as far as foolish behavior's concerned, what you said is exactly what I meant.”

Bronson was asleep when Gould passed her room on his way to his and said goodnight to her. She said “May I detain you for a moment?” and he said “Sure, what?” and stood by her door. “Despite all our previous differences, I have to say it's nice having you back, if only for a few days. For all the turmoil and shit we threw at each other, we had plenty of fun too, am I right?” and he said “I'm not complaining.” She was in her nightgown, sitting up in bed, holding a book with one hand, other was under the covers on her crotch, it seemed, and seemed to be rubbing or scratching it. “I've seen lots of guys since we split up—you know me—but so far no crushing
inamoratos
or permanent live-ins,” and he said “Oh yeah? I'm surprised,” and she said “Nobody who interested me that much—I'm so pick-and-choosy as you well know. But there are plenty of single men in the area, not to mention a million college studs who perhaps have become a mite too young for me, and things will eventually work out,” and he said “I'm sure.” “Do you like my new bed? I bought it a few months ago. Cost me a bundle but I figured if I don't have a live-in to be comfortable with when I sleep, might as well have a great bed, am I right?” and he said “It's what I'd do if I had the dough. The bed in the apartment we sublet is mostly lumps. We sort of sleep around them,” and she said “Yours here isn't that comfortable either—I've never slept in it but I have slept on it—but you'll get a good night's sleep if you're tuckered out from your flight,” and he said “I hope so. I don't know which time switch is supposed to be harder on your system, east-west or west-east, but I'm all in.” “You know, I might as well come to the point why I stopped you, other than to reacquaint ourselves cordially with a pleasant chat. I'm dying to get fritzed by some guy. So if you'd like to, not for old time's sake but only because you'd want to, I'd be willing. Some nights I'm just randier than others and this is one. It could be because you're here and old memories float up—you think that's it? And we were always compatible in the sack, when we weren't pissing each other off famously,” and he said “Really, I'm living with someone now and I'd just feel funny about it. And will you please stop whatever you're doing with your hand under the covers? It's distracting, in a way,” and she said “I'm scratching myself, my leg, so what's bugging you? I've a bad itch. You want me to put some cortisone cream on it, I will. As for your decision, good, you're entitled, and your girlfriend will be proud of you when you report back on your abstinence, especially when I practically offered myself to you on a saucer, and I'm not going to get testy about it. I'd probably feel the same if I were seeing someone steadily and was a guest of yours in New York, even though wild horses and a million bucks wouldn't drag me to that city, and you were living alone and put the make on me. But what I'd wish now is that you weren't here so I could place a call to some guy to come over; there are a couple who would,” and he said “Do it then, I don't mind,” and she said “It's not a question of your minding,” and he said “I mean I've no hold over you. I'll keep my door closed; if I have to pee, I won't even go to the bathroom, I'll do it in a jar in my room. And you can explain to the fellow who I am or was and that I won't be disturbing the two of you and if he wants we can all even have a coffee and bagel together in the morning, since I brought a dozen of them with me, and that'll be the routine. Go ahead, call,” and she said “Tomorrow, soon after I get Brons to school, I don't want you around here. I want you out, completely, so I can create a little space for whatever choices I might want to make for myself later on,” and he said “Listen, you're making it very tough for me, and Brons. He asked me to come. You agreed to it. I'm supposed to be here a week. If I can do it I'll change my reservation to five days, even four. But you knew I couldn't afford a hotel and it cost me some to fly out here,” and she said “You're being paid for not working this week, aren't you? so that wouldn't have happened without us,” and he said “I took a week's vacation, which means I'll only get one week this summer instead of two. And I put in more than ten unpaid extra hours last week at work just so I could get away. And the flight—the money for it—that's where this week's salary went, for I don't make much, I've told you; it's a crappy job. But if you insist on acting the bitch, then I don't know what. I'll stay with someone a few days, I don't know who, but that'll mean I won't see Brons as much as he expects me to,” and she said “You keep writing and calling him as if he's your real son. ‘Oh damn,' the kid would say,' a second week's gone by and he didn't contact me.' Three weeks and it'd be like you disowned him and he'd go into a funk. So then he naturally asked you to cut the whole pineapple and be his dad here for a week. Stop tantalizing him, encouraging him and he won't ask you to come out anymore; that is, after he goes through a month's depression getting over you,” and he said “Okay, that's next week, but what do we do about this one? But I'm tired, want to sleep—the east-west, west-east. I don't want to argue; no bad feelings or for Brons to hear us. What do you say we talk about it some more tomorrow?” and she said “You've become so reasonable. When you were last here it would have been all shouts, insults, lots of go-fuck-yourselfs to me, plus under your breath ‘you scrawny cunt,' but no discussion. It must be your new girlfriend's influence. Go to bed; and go fuck yourself, you son of a bitch,” and picked up her book and resumed reading and he didn't say anything and went to his room. A half hour later he was awakened by something scratching on his door. Scratching stopped and he lay his head back on the pillow and a few seconds later it started again. Went on like that: started, stopped, started, stopped, till he was sitting up in bed. Do they have a cat? Didn't see one today and neither of them spoke of one but he thinks Brons mentioned a cat in one of his letters or on the phone. This might even be the room it most likes to sleep in; a kitty litter box could be somewhere around, under the bed, though there's no smell of one, and wouldn't one of them have told him that the cat might come in for it? It could even be Brons scratching, pretending he's a cat, but so excited he's here, wants to sleep in the same room with him and even has his sleeping bag with him. He said from the bed “Yes? Anyone there?” “Excuse me,” she said, “I hope I didn't wake you, but I was wrong before and want to apologize, may I come in?” and he said “Sure, it's your house,” and she opened the door and said “Say no if you don't want me in here; it's all right, guests get special privileges, which is just one of the things I want to apologize for,” and he opened the covers, since he knew it'd really get bad between them if he didn't screw her and then maybe indicated it was what he'd wanted since he got here, and said “You probably can't see it, but I've turned back the covers for you on the left side of the bed—my left—so if you want to join me, come on, it's late,” and she got in bed, hugged him and said “I'm not so bad and you're kinda keen,” and pulled off her nightgown and they started to make love. A minute later she took her lips off his and said “Don't you have anything to say?” and he said “About what?” and she said “That you really don't want me here and are only cooperating because you think I'll be a shrew to you the next few days and you have no other place to stay,” and he said “You got this from my kissing? Not at all. We're doing it, I'm enjoying it, so let's continue till we've finished it. And though you usually felt that talking during it, or muttering or howling some sexy or bawdy words—‘sexy, bawdy, lips, toes, fingers, ears'—heightened it, I never did,” and she said “Okay, we'll be silent for now.” “Still side-by-side on our backs?” when they got to that point and she asked “The bed's too narrow for it?” and he said “That too; but the truth is it's never been my preferred position for the ultimate thing. So I'm asking if you still insist on it?” and she said “That part of my body hasn't changed since you left. And you used to get off on it, so what are you looking for, rockets, red glares? Maybe it is the bed. Why don't you sleep in mine with me while you're here,” and he said “How would Brons take it? He thinks I only came out for him, and she said “He can still think that. But he's hip to all the shit older people do and lay on each other and their demanding needs and is also able to separate what you mean to him and what you and I do together as an adult team. He hasn't the hangups you eastern idiots do at his age and I've done everything I can to help him avoid them. Believe me, if he happened to barge into my room tomorrow and saw us screwing away he'd say something like “I knew you two would end up doing that,” but know that if it makes me happy then it's gotta be okay and can only benefit him with my bettered temperament. You forget what he was like.”

He's sleeping with her the morning after they first made love when Brons wedges himself between them, finally pushes him apart from his mother—he's been holding her from behind with one arm, other's back in the shoulder sling—and curls up to her with his arm over her shoulder and falls asleep. She has her nightgown on—must have got up sometime after they first fell asleep to do it—and Brons is in diapers and rubber pants and T-shirt. Gould doesn't like the feel or smell of him in bed—the kid must have peed in his diapers—and gets up, dresses, shoulder's killing him and he takes aspirins, wants to make coffee but doesn't see any grounds or a pot (turns out she only drinks herbal tea; for guests: instant coffee or Sanka, both of which he can't stand), wants some toast (only bread here is packaged sliced white; rolls he brought for dinner they finished last night), has a cracker and glass of water (juice in the fridge is apple and much too sweet and he hasn't drunk milk for twenty years) and sits in the kitchen reading a book (would have liked starting the day with a paper; she'd said she has one delivered and he went outside to look for it; turns out it's the local afternoon daily she gets) and waiting for them to get up. He doesn't know how she lives like this: sliced white, instant coffee or tasteless tea, kid in her bed (turns out Brons has been coming into her bed almost every morning for months and despite Gould complaining about it, continues for another half year) stinking of piss. Two Siamese, looking like twins, both crosseyed and with dark coloring and skinny sinister faces, meow at him, probably for food. He finds a box of cat Kibble, replenishes their food bowl and gives them fresh water and they hiss at him and don't eat or drink and one swipes at his ankles with its claws out. He wants to toss what water's left in the glass at them but she might later ask how'd they get wet and if he told her—oh, he could make up an excuse but he thinks she'd see through it—bad things could start between them and he wants to stay the two weeks. House is nice, sex good and she's lively and bright in her way and funny sometimes and good-looking.

He was going out there again two years later and called a few days before he left. “I'll be in the area, staying for two days at a hotel in San Francisco, and thought, if you and Brons were going to be around, I'd rent a car and drive down, would it be okay?” and Brons got on the extension while she was saying “I don't know, let me look at my schedule,” and said “You haven't been here for years, Gould, and you promised. If you don't want to see me, say so, and you won't have to come all the way here,” and he said “I wanted to see you—a lot—but didn't have the money to. This time my job's sending me, but if you're really that angry with me and don't want—” and Brons said “I didn't say that; I do. It'd be interesting,” and she said “Sure, come; Brons wants to check you out and see if you lost any more hair. Funny, because we were talking about you last night,” and Brons said “Two weeks ago, Mommy,” and she said “A few days ago then, but mostly about hereditary and your hair,” and Brons said “She said I'm never getting bald like you because of her and my dad.” Drove down; she had a frame shop now and barely got by. Took them out to dinner. After it Brons said “Stay the night? We can play together and tomorrow you can have breakfast with me before I go to school     or maybe I don't have to,” and she said “You have to. Gould staying overnight is all right though, and I'll make no demands,” and Brons said “What, having sex with him?” and she said “That's not even a question. I meant I won't ask him to do any repair work for me, which I need dearly.” Later, after reading to Brons in his room and then sitting in the dark talking to him till he was asleep, he knocked on her door and said “Goodnight, Evangeline, sleep well,” and she said “Open the door and see what I've done to my room; you haven't even looked.” “It's okay,” and she said “Please, I've remodeled it entirely at a terrific expense that wiped me out financially for a year. I'm such an ignoramus about such things, but you know me and aesthetics and where I have to get the absolutely right thing,” and he opened the door, she was in bed nude from the waist up, rest of her under the covers so maybe she was nude there too, four-poster with drooping canopy that looked as if it was going to fall in, flowery wallpaper, the flower parts furry and raised, gas lamp fixtures and globes on the wall, textiles and fabrics gracefully draped over much of the furniture, electrified kerosene lamps and Oriental rugs, thick blood-colored curtains that dragged on the floor. “What do you think?—Oh, my chest; I thought you'd never notice.” He quickly looked around the room for one he must have missed. “As you can see I'm no longer self-conscious about my tits. People have taken me for a boy so long that one day I just said ‘screw it' and I've even sat around like one on the beach and nobody seemed to know the difference. So that's where I am. Feeling much better about my bod. Next time a ladies' room is jammed and I'm wearing pants and I have to go bad, I'm going to comb my hair back and pee in the men's john. Not even a bra anymore. It was presumptuous of me all these years to wear one, and I've begun to appreciate the freedom of nothing swinging there and it's a big help when I run. Which I do a lot these days—I didn't tell you. I'm even getting to the marathon stage and Brons occasionally alleviates the boredom of it by bicycling beside me, although there I always wear a top. But you haven't said yet what you think of my room. You look numb-struck.” All this talk and her breasts—her goal? even if it wasn't—got him excited and he said “Nice, I like. Not a single guy's room perhaps, but handsome, in good taste, well designed. Almost like a stage set, and the comparison meant in the best sense, you understand—for a Chekhov play maybe if one of them had a scene in a bedroom. And maybe that's what you should go into—study and later work at—stage designing, but I'll leave that up to you,” and she said “No, the stage, my biggest bust. Oops, I didn't mean that, I swear,” and slid under the covers to her neck and suddenly he caught on and laughed. “By the way, and I can see your erection through the pants, or did a minute ago, so it's not like what I'm about to suggest is coming out of nowhere or you should feel obligated to be taken aback by it—” and he said “Really, Evangeline, it was fun last time but ultimately didn't work out. Brons later wrote me—” and she said “That little conniver was only putting the screws on you, hoping it would make you feel guilty enough to fly right back. But fine, no pressure, though I want you to know there are no preliminary preps for it anymore or chance I could ever get pregnant. I had my tubes tied, another move to free myself completely. Such a relief to be able to luck without inserting anything right before and that stinky cream or taking potentially risky pills or slowly getting bled to death by those intrauterines or having a man snap on one of those deadening balloons and then clog up my toilet with it when he later drops it in,” and he said “The bags don't do that, do they? I mean, once they're off, they're so small and pliable they'd just go down,” and she said “It happened once or else the plumber was teasing me, and he even said he'd show me it in a pail. Anyway, I suppose you have to leave tomorrow, so tonight's gotta be the night,” and he said “It's not that I don't feel like it. But there's also this woman in New York who I'll probably end up marrying—that's how far it's gone,” and she said “Oh come on, what's one time? If it's only her, you don't say anything, and if you have to tattle on yourself, she'll understand we were once like man and wife so it's sort of natural we'd do it. If it's also Brons, we'll be quiet and discreet, barely a peep from me and from you just a muffled groan. And soon as we're done, you scoot to your room. Or even if you're done and I'm not even halfway there, though I hope that won't happen—you scoot. So what do you say? It's just something I really feel like doing now and I'll try never to ask it of you again,” and sat up and held out her arms for him, covers fell to her waist, and he shut the door, undressed, said “Maybe I should pee first,” and she said “In a jar or something in the room, but no going down the hall again and waking Brons,” and he said “I always feel it's better with an empty bladder and that I can stay up longer, but okay,” and got in bed. She was naked, immediately grabbed his penis and said “Now you're cuffed and going nowhere for a while, you got that?” and they laughed and kissed and in a few minutes he was ready to come and frantically grabbed her to get inside her and just did when he was done and she said “If I was brand-new at this, I'd have to ask ‘Is this all there is to it? What was all the hoopla over losing it for?' You wouldn't rest a little and then start again, just so I could get even close to halfway there?” and he said “I better not, we were pushing it as it was,” and she said “Then give me something to wipe myself with; it feels like your girlie hasn't let you do it to her for weeks,” and he got up, gave her his handkerchief, she used it and turned over and said “Before you leave, shut the light.” Just then Brons knocked. “What are you two doing in there? That's not fair. You said you only wanted to see me, Gould,” and he said “That was the main reason, why do you think different?” putting on his pants, kicking his sneakers and socks under the bed. “I was fixing something for your mother—the curtain, it was falling off,” and went to the window while he slipped on his shirt. “Come in if you don't believe me,” and Brons came in and Gould tugged on the curtain, one eye cocked to the top of it and said to her “I think it's okay now. This thing come down on you, oh boy, it's so heavy it could have smothered you, or at least him. How'd you ever get a rod strong enough to hold it?” “You bullthrower,” Brons said. “All you wanted was to do sex with her, that's why you stay with us,” and ran to his room and slammed his door. “What should I do?” he asked her and she said “Like everything: deal with it, make an excuse. You're an adult, so think of something winning and convincing. Lie your head off if you have to, or tell him the truth, that we're adults and this is something we sometimes feel the need to do, even when we're not on the greatest terms with each other: screw,” and shut the light. He went to Brons's room, knocked, no answer, went in, room was dark, said “Brons? Brons?” and sat on the floor, felt around the bed for a hand and took it and put it to his cheek and Brons pulled it away and Gould took it again and just held it. “You know I love you more than I do any kid there is. If you lived in New York I'd want you to stay with me. Your mom wouldn't like it, she'd want you with her, of course, but it's what I'd want most of all. I'd send you to school. I'd be there every day when you got home. I'd arrange my work schedule around you. I'd have to get a better job, meaning a steady one rather than the freelance junk I do now, but I'd do it for you. But we got these three thousand miles between us, and I don't know what     .” and Brons said “Then what are you saying?” and he said “I'm glad you weren't asleep,” and Brons said “I asked you a question,” and he said “That it makes things so tough,” and Brons said “Besides, I have a father. He sees me when he can and he mostly lives in California or is always driving through here and Evangeline says he'll be with me much more in two years. I don't need you and I never want to see you again,” and Gould said “Don't say that,” and Brons said nothing and Gould said “Have it your own way then but it's certainly not what I want,” and thought of going to his room but felt that'd hurt Brons so he stayed on the floor holding his hand, wanting to say something that'd make things better between them or just leave Brons feeling good but not coming up with anything, till he was sure Brons was asleep. When he was in his own room he thought Funny I didn't think this, it would have made me feel better while I was there, but all the time I was on the floor he didn't pull his hand out of mine. Though maybe he was too tired to. Next morning he got up early to go to the toilet, flushed it when he was done, Brons shouted “What's that?” and Evangeline yelled from her room “You moron, Gould. Didn't it occur to you the flushing would wake him? Now he'll never get back to sleep and he got to bed late last night because of you,” and he said “I flushed it because there was crap in the bowl,” and she said “So what! We can live with crap, even yours. It won't stink up the place right away. First one in later would have flushed it down. It's you effete faggoty Easterners who can't live unless you flush everything down at once, even just a drop of pee. But there's a water shortage now,” and he said “There's always a water shortage here,” and she said “But this is a real drought going on and we're supposed to be conserving water, something you wasteful New Yorkers wouldn't know of because you have all the water in the world. The water goes to the wrong people,” and Brons said “Mom, I'll try to get back to sleep; I'm still tired,” and he said “Brons, excuse me, but I'm going to be leaving shortly,” and Brons said “So? Leave,” and she said “Just don't make noise slamming the front door either, and make sure it's locked. We never had to do that till you people started settling out here in droves,” and he said “My people?” and ran to her door and said “My people! What
about
them? If they can afford it they can't live where they want?” and she said “I said ‘you people,' not yours. I didn't mean Jews this time. I meant people from out of state the last five years, and mostly not from the West Coast. Good-bye, Gould, and don't forget your sneakers,” and turned over on her side, away from him. He got his sneakers and socks, shut her door because he didn't want her hearing him talking to Brons, dressed and went into Brons's room and said “Your mom would kill me for this, my waking you up again if you're asleep, but one last kiss good-bye?” and got no answer and Brons's eyes stayed shut and he repeated the last part about the kiss good-bye and got no answer and he left.