Interstate (17 page)

we might be. They know where I work—you do too, Margo, so you can do this as well as them. But they can also help you locate some of our good friends, whose names you know and maybe their addresses or just their streets and who might know where we are, or one of us. Actually, the Troys could let you into the house—they have our keys. That's how much we trust them, you see, and they trust us, for we have theirs. But when you do get in, though it'd probably be best for you to stay with the Troys till we get home, especially if it's getting late—let me double-check with Mommy on that. And certainly you stay with them if there's only one of you,” and Margo said “Maybe her,” and he said “No, you both. But if the two of you do get in and nobody's with you, like the Troys or Aunt Bea—I can't think of anyone else; the Kaplitzes are too far away. But you lock the door and wait for our call or for one of us to get home, though all the time trying to find out by phone with the Troys or whoever where the heck we are. None of this will happen, you know. Chances of our not being home for you with no word or warning to anyone about it are maybe a little better than the others I mentioned, but still not great, but all this is just in case. So, everything clear? Or did I go into too many things and do what I didn't want to, confusing things by overdosing you with possible situations and how to get out of them?” and Julie said “About what?” and he said “Strangers, wrongdoers, or just people who bug you, but a little to a lot worse than just kidding, and if we're not home and so on,” and she said “I'd know what to do, I promise,” and Margo said “It was a bit overmuch but I think I'd know what to do too with all three of those people,” and he said “All right, then what would you do if…nah, let's drop it. But, good girls, both of you. Wonderful, great, so smart. I realize it's difficult to digest all of it—to take it in—but just that some of it got through and maybe even some of the most important parts, fine. Anyway, Margo, to get back to before, why I was so long in the store when you were out here was that I couldn't find Julie for actually a lot more than a minute,” and winked at Julie; she shut her eyes and turned away. Okay, won't play, he thought, but he's sure she's not still mad at him. That last long discussion or instruction got her off it. Then she brightened and opened her eyes and said “Daddy said next time he'll give us ten dollars for us both in the store. Or we can go in now and he'll give us each four.” He said “Is that what I said? I forget,” and she said yes and he said “Anyway, not now, let's go for a snack first,” and Margo said to her “We can pool our money.” Julie asked what that was and Margo explained and they convinced him to give two more dollars between them, they promise they won't ask him for more, they won't even go for a snack if he doesn't want, “that'll save you money,” and they went in and he gave them a ten and told them to stay together even if they decide to split the ten and buy what they each want at separate departments and that they should come back to him right after they bought their purchase or purchases and with no more browsing around and the spot where he'd be waiting for them, “Right here outside the men's room. Just say, if you forget where it is, ‘the men's room in the doll section on the second floor,' and anybody working in the store would know; it's right by the ladies'. By the way, I'm only letting you go off alone together because in this store there are plenty of guards and the salespeople and customers seem safer or trustworthier and nobody's going to run off with you. Other stores I might not feel so good about it in.” “That's racist,” Margo said and he said “What do you know about the word?” and she said “I know it and it is,” and he said “It's not. Whatever the people are here, race and other things, they all just seem more law-abiding. Not
more
, which would be racist, just law-abiding; virtuous, even. Simply not interested in crime—in committing it. I'm not a sociologist—how society works, what goes on between people and when they're in certain places; you know, behavior. Maybe it's that the store's so expensive, so poorer people don't even think to come here. Or they think it but feel uncomfortable here or something—the grandeur or showiness of it and the street, and it's also out of their neighborhoods. Well, it's out of ours too where we are. But you also have to associate poverty—being poor—” “I know what the word means,” Margo said. “She might not.” “Do too,” Julie said. “Well, poverty with higher crime and stuff, they often go together, not that somebody who'd steal a kid or do harm to one couldn't be rich or middle-rich or above-poor. They probably are, in fact, the majority of them—not down-deep or average poor—something tells me that, though I don't know from where. Probably the newspapers. And then maybe it's only that there are more guards here, why there'd be less crime like that—snatching kids, walking out with unpaid-for dolls—real dolls—and also the surveillance cameras watching and recording everyone's moves. They help, but anyway, go on, the two of you, go.” About twenty minutes later, while he was leaning against a wall reading a book he brought along in his pocket for this purpose, waiting or on the bus, they rushed up to him with that look and no package or bag and he said “Uh-oh, don't tell me; well, it's going to have to be no,” and Julie said “Please, just listen,” and Margo “It's a board game but one for the mind and also creative and to have fun with and it's on sale and only 11.99 plus tax and was 22.99 plus tax before, so you save more than ten dollars,” and he said “As my father used to say ‘So I guess I can put that money you saved me into the bank, right?' And what do you mean ‘plus tax'? That with it, meaning including?” and she said “I don't know about those things.” He gave her a five, calculated how much tax would be on twelve dollars and said he wanted at least two dollars in change back. “If it comes to a few pennies less than that, nickels, even, fine. Your mommy's going to kill me for giving in to you like this. She'd probably do the same thing I'm doing if she was in my place, but my head, she's gonna have my ox-dumb head.” “You're the best daddy,” Julie said and kissed his hand and they went to buy it, played with it about two hours that night once he'd explained most of the rules and set up the board and shuffled the various stacks of cards. “Usually I have the toughest time reading board game directions, but I got this. My interpretational or figuring-out skills must be improving. Maybe it comes from owning a home and family and all the unreadymade things that come in that the paterfamilias in me—I've told you that word plenty of times but have never checked to pronounce it right—says I have to put together or they just won't be set up, though your mom's much better at unriddling and building things.” Played with it an hour this morning, said they liked the game so much “and we're not just saying that,” Margo said, “because you bought it and we want you to feel we didn't waste your money,” that they wanted to play with it in the car ride home. He said better not, pieces and board aren't magnetized so they might lose some of them, “and in this game, lose one of the more important ones and the whole thing could be spoiled.” So, they were out of the way a good part of the previous night and an hour this morning, not that his wife wouldn't have taken them for a walk to a store or done something with them alone or one of his in-laws if he'd asked them to, and he was able to get some work done he'd promised his boss he'd do during his two days off.

His wife had planned to go back with them but he'd convinced her to stay because he knew she wanted to do a little more shopping, possibly see a foreign movie with her mother that would never come to their area, be with her folks another two days, “and I can handle it and I love being with my girls,” putting his arms around them, kissing the top of their heads, “my little darlings, and I mean it; that you are; and that I love being with you alone. It gets me closer, though I love having you around too, of course,” to his wife, “all of us together, et cetera. That didn't come out right but you know what I mean,” and she nodded. She was her parents' oldest and closest child, hadn't seen them in months, spoke to them on the phone almost every night and sometimes to her mother two or three times a day. When her folks called together, which they usually did, so one probably said to the other “I'm calling Lee,” and the other would pick up the phone in a different room, they invariably asked how her day went—not “invariably”; it was always what they said after they said hello and how was her family: “So how did your day go, darling?” If he answered the phone only one would say hello, other would stay silent, and “How are you?” and he'd say “Fine, everything's good,” or something, “Just fine, everything's grand, really,” “Fine, thank you, kids and Lee too,” “Fine, thanks, and you and Horace” or “Frieda?” and the one who called would say something like “We're well, nice of you to ask” or “thank you,” and he'd say “Good, I'll get you Lee,” and if he didn't ask how they were he'd say something like “Fine, thanks, I'll get you Lee,” and the one who called would say “Thank you.” After Lee told them how her day went and frequently things about the kids and him, she'd ask how their day went. If her father or mother called alone, the other, if she or he were home, would often get on in about a minute, though her father only would if he hadn't talked to her that day, and listen to how her day went if she was still on that and then say something like “It's me, Mommy” or “Daddy, I'm on the extension” or “other phone” or “line,” or “Hello, dearest, I'm listening, continue” or “don't mind me,” and then answer how his or her day went. Quick-kissed his wife on the lips when he was leaving today with the kids and then said “Well, bye, my love.” “‘Bye, my love,'” she said. “You never call me things like that anymore, how come?” and he said “Wha, ‘love'?” and she said “Occasionally ‘dear' or ‘my dear,' but that's not very personal or deep but about all there's been the last few years except ‘sweetie.'” “‘Sweetheart. Sweetmeat. Pookyface. Dipsitz. Scrabble. Bedhogger.'” “Come on. And…no, nothing else that I can think of. Hearing it is nearly reason enough for me to stay here again next time and have you go. Anyhow, I like it, more, more. Do you think I'm fooling?” “Who knew it meant so much?” Looked around: was thinking of giving her a bigger deeper kiss. Not as a response to her “more, more,” or maybe a little or just encouraged by it, but mostly because he really wanted to: lips-lips, some tongue, eyes tight, moving the bottom of his body in but subtly so it wouldn't be seen, kiss that left him a bit dizzy after it and her too she's said, partly because of the length of it and just breathing through the nose and the nose bent against the other's face in a way or just a single nostril closed by it, but one like their first kiss night of their first date in her little apartment's little foyer as she leaned against the closet door: “God, I nearly thought I'd die,” she said, “everything knocked out of me. One more, okay? though I'm not insisting on exact replication and if you think I'm acting too managerially, so be it, for this is nice. But probably we should go inside, the doorknob's killing me, or just sit on the floor here, it's carpeted.” Kids were in the elevator, her mother with them, father in the hallway with his finger on the outside elevator button and other hand over the door and part it slides into, in case it started to close. Wouldn't if he kept his finger on the button, though maybe he knew better; he lived there, but it didn't in any other building when the button wasn't the heat-sensor kind. One last one for the trip too. Some kind of reminder and also because of the way she looked. Reason she didn't go down to the street with them. Just out of the shower. Face still flushed, body smelling of her mother's perfumed soap and her own herbal shampoo, so that too; barefoot, in a bathrobe, no doubt nothing on underneath. Knew there wasn't, so what's he talking about? and robe tied in a loose half-knot. Saw her in the bathroom drying herself and putting on the robe. As she slid her arm through a sleeve he went “Ummm. Dopey, huh?” She smiled and said “If only conditions were different and there was time.” “Why, your period, suddenly?” and she said “No, I'm still good—in fact, perfect, just two or three days away.” “Where would we do it anyway?” and she said “On the toilet, standing up, there's the mat, too wet perhaps, but we could put plenty of towels down, so also on the floor. But, wrong time,” and he said “Ah, if only, be a nice going-away presence,” but didn't think she meant it, or maybe she did. Even so, so what? Parents there, kids and he leaving momentarily, so just a throwaway line with a bit of truth and mischievousness to it but no probability. Well, that's what she meant about if conditions were different, or maybe she generally felt like it more after a shower and maybe also after a shampoo. The water, soap, soap smells, body rubbed and scrubbed, so skin stimulated, touching her genitals, breasts and thighs while she cleaned and dried, and asshole. And she has to know he always feels like kissing and licking her body more after it's washed and soaked and smells so, the tiny hairs there curled into kinks and still damp if not too long after the shower or bath. Gets an erection. “Could you hand me my robe, please?” since he was at the sink having come in to wash something off his fingers and other bathroom was occupied: ink. Driving, erection stays. “I can still get dressed and come down,” she said at the front door, “do you want me to?” and he said “No, yes, nah, stay, it'll take too much time and effort, and what the hell for? And so soon after the shower you'd be more prone to a cold or chill, since you're still a little wet, isn't that how they come? not that I believe in that if-then.” “Dada,” Julie called from the elevator, “we have to go.” “Nathan, please,” his father-in-law said, “we're holding up the elevator. Other people want to use it; the inside panel says so. Want us to wait for you downstairs?” Good idea, he could give a little squeeze into her, quick feel of her ass or something and that longer deeper kiss. But she was shaking her head, indicating better go. “Coming—So, bye, my dear,” to his wife. “Have a nice day—oh, I hate that expression. Just I hope everything goes okay,” and she said “Like what?” and he said “You know, train trip back, movie's good, all that. And call when—oh, that's ridiculous, I'll speak to you before; tonight, right after we get there. But find out before when your train gets in so I can pick you up. But you've time, since I'll call tomorrow night too and also probably during the day.” “Departs three twenty-two, regular Amtrak, so should get in around six, but you don't have to. I'll take a cab.” “I'll come, I'll come, the kids love that station and I love picking you up. We can get another good kiss in.” “Daddy,” Margo said, “people living here will get mad.” “My car and train awaits me—
await
,
await
, we're talking about two,” and kissed her quickly, said “See ya,” and went into the elevator, his father-in-law following him in and pressing “1,” his mother-in-law and Julie not there. “Oh my goodness, where's Frieda and Julie?” and his father-in-law said “They couldn't take it any longer and walked downstairs.”