The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg (72 page)

“I don’t want to go to New York,” Janey said suddenly.

Mr. Laskey took Janey’s wrist and Kyla heard her quick intake of breath. “You cannot have it both ways, Jane,” he said. “You cannot complain that Rich has privileges and then behave like a prima donna yourself. Of course you want to go to New York. We’ll have a wonderful time, if you’ll just stop this nonsense.” He released her wrist and patted her hand. “We’ll treat ourselves like royalty. We’ll do anything we want and have ice cream whenever we want. A trip to New York City! Isn’t that ideal? Ideal, girls? Ideal, Alice?”

Upstairs in her fancy bedroom Janey had more toys than anyone, a whole closet stacked with games and toys, and dolls, too. She was
spoiled
, Kyla thought, and that was a fact. But the only thing she ever wanted to do was play Scrabble or read one of her great, thick books. Or worse, talk.

“My Great-aunt Jane who I was named for,” she said, “used to have a mansion in New York. She had a lot of famous paintings, that you see in books, and jewels. Unfortunately, she passed away, or I’d get to stay there when I go to New York.”

“What happened to all her stuff?” Kyla said. Oh, why was she doing this? Encouraging a person who couldn’t help lying was worse than
being
the person. “How come you don’t have it?”

“Because unfortunately,” Janey said, “her husband gambled it all away. At the…gaming table. So we’ll have to stay at a hotel, like the Plaza, or the Carlyle. But places like that are all right.”

“Do you stay at those places a lot?” Kyla said. “Well, not just actually,” Janey said.

“But whenever my parents go anywhere, they always write me letters about it and bring me back…mementos. When they went to San Francisco this fall they brought me back a whole huge suitcase full of presents.”

“That’s nice,” Kyla said. She stood up and stretched. “I don’t feel like talking anymore.”

“So what?” Janey said. “Neither do I. I want to read my book.”

And then, in the morning, of course there was Scrabble. Kyla could see Richie out in the front yard with John Hammond and then, finally, her mother’s car.

“My mother’s here,” she said. “I’m going down.”

“Relax,” Janey said. “She’ll call up for you when she’s ready. We’ve got time for one more game at least.”

“You’re cheating,” Kyla said.

“Cheating!”
Janey yelped.

“‘Sosing’ is not a word,” Kyla said.

“It is, too,” Janey said. “It means to send an S.O.S. Besides, you have to say something when the person does it.”

“I’m not playing anymore,” Kyla said.

She wandered down to the living room, where her mother was talking to Mrs. Laskey.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Mrs. Laskey said.

“Hello there,” her mother said, as Kyla leaned on her arm. “Have a good time?”

Kyla nodded.

“We’ll go in just a minute, sweetie,” her mother said, “but first I want to talk to Carol a bit. Now, run on back upstairs, quick like a bunny.”

Kyla freed herself from her mother’s careless arm and wandered out to the hall, where she inspected Mrs. Laskey’s collection of little crystal animals.

“I
saw
him get the idea,” Mrs. Laskey was saying. “I saw it happen. And then he hauled in this load of horseshit about his father—his father’s
values
—as vile an old swine as ever lived. What a genius Dick has for exploitation! He exploits his children, he exploits his poor old dead disgusting father…”

“Well, Carol,” Kyla’s mother said carefully, “you have been dying for a break. And this is the…And besides, he probably does want to spend some time with—”

“Dick?” Mrs. Laskey snorted. “That’s very funny, Lorraine.”

“Well, that’s what I mean,” Kyla’s mother said, encouragingly. “After all, it’s not something he does very often.”

“And poor Janey,” Mrs. Laskey said. “That poor kid is a born stooge. She was so
cute
when she was little. Of course, he simply adored her then. Now, there’s nothing the poor child can do to—”

“She just needs friends,” Kyla’s mother said. “If she just spent more—”

Oh, no! Kyla thought.

But fortunately Mrs. Laskey had interrupted. “The worst thing,” she was saying, “is you can see the man operating from a mile away.”

“Well,” Kyla’s mother said, “of course this is a side of Dick I never—”

“
And
it’s compulsive,” Mrs. Laskey said. “He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Do you know, I actually used to feel flattered by it?”

“Still,” Kyla’s mother said, “it is a wonderful opportunity for the girls. I only wish Kyla could—”

The little glass owl Kyla was examining almost slipped from her hand, but Mrs. Laskey had interrupted again.

“I used to feel flattered that he would expend so much energy just to manipulate me,” she said. “That’s how pathetic I was. That’s where my self-esteem level was. But then I realized he was expending the same amount of effort manipulating everybody. He can’t just
buy
a quart of milk, he has to get the store to
sell
it to him. But he’s really got me over a—I’d just love to call him on this, but I don’t dare give him a reason to—”

“No, no,” Kyla’s mother said. “At this point, I don’t think you want to do anything to—”

“New York,”
Mrs. Laskey said. “All those filthy people from God only knows where…I just wonder how long this has been going on.”

“Carol,” Kyla’s mother said. “I’m really serious. I really don’t think it’s prudent to jump to any…And besides, it’s bound to be a wonderful learning opportunity for the girls. I only wish I could give Kyla an opportunity like this. And if anyone deserves a little time to herself, you know it’s you.”

Mrs. Laskey sighed loudly, and for a moment—since nothing else was happening—Kyla wondered if she could go back into the living room to get her mother. But then Mrs. Laskey laughed. “So, speaking of duplicitous sons-of-bitches,” she said, “how was last night?”

“Why do you have to do it?” Ellen had said.

“I don’t
have
to…,” Kyla said.

“You
want
to go on spring vacation with Janey Laskey?” Ellen said.

It was already the end of February. Snow from a recent storm still covered the ground and lay along the branches, and the sky was a glassy blue. But Kyla could feel spring marshaling strength right behind winter’s fortifications.

“I feel sorry for her,” Kyla said.

“I feel sorry for her, too,” Courtney said.

“Well, I feel sorry for her, too,” Ellen said. “When she’s not around. But it’s really hard to feel sorry for her when she is around.”

“She’s troubled,” Kyla said.

“Kyla—”
Ellen looked at her. “‘She’s troubled.’”

“Besides,” Kyla said. “I get to see New York.”

“New York’s great,” Courtney said. “I used to get to go all the time. It’s the worst thing about moving here.”

“We’ll probably stay at the Plaza or the Carlyle or someplace like that,” Kyla said.

“I still don’t see why your mother’s making you do it,” Ellen said.

“She
isn’t
,” Kyla said. She looked at Ellen in bewilderment. Oh. Of course.
Ellen was jealous.
“She just wants me to be able to go to all the museums and the ballet and that stuff. And Mrs. Laskey’s her friend…”

“Kyla’s mom is so sweet,” Courtney said dreamily, and Kyla looked at her with gratitude; she was so pretty, sprawled out on Ellen’s bed. The prettiest girl in school, and she was
their
friend—Kyla’s and Ellen’s. Her short blond hair fluffed out evenly, like a dandelion. Her blue eyes—lighter than the sky—reflected nothing.

“But why does your mom like Mrs. Laskey so much?” Ellen said.

“Ellen,”
Kyla said.

“They have bags of money,” Courtney said. “They have a big, huge money bin in their basement, my dad says.”

“I think Mrs. Laskey’s crazy,” Ellen said. “My mother doesn’t like her at all.”

“My mother feels sorry for her,” Kyla said. And then she said the thing she was never supposed to say, not about anyone, or was even supposed to know. “She used to be in the clinic where my mother works.”

“I bet she takes pills,” Courtney said. “You know the way she’s all puffed up?” She studied her fingernails and frowned. “Mr. Laskey’s handsome, but I’d hate to be married to him. They came to my parents’ cocktail party last week, and Mr. Laskey and Peter Nussbaum’s mother were flirting away like crazy.”

“Really?” Ellen said.

“Mr. Laskey was flirting with everybody,” Courtney said.

Kyla looked at her. Flirting. Flirting, actually, was when you…“What was he doing?” she asked.

“Just…” Courtney said. “Just nothing. He was flirting. He was flirting with my mother, too. I bet he flirts with your mother.”

“No he doesn’t,” Kyla said, and her heart veered.

“Rich Laskey is nice, though,” Ellen said.

“Rich Laskey?” Courtney said. “Rich Laskey is
gorgeous.
But you know what? He looks exactly like Mr. Laskey, actually.”

Ellen and Kyla looked at her. “Yikes,” Ellen said. “That is so
strange
…”

Outside, the air was as clean as an apple, and the crystal branches were glittering. Kyla shut her eyes, to keep Mr. Laskey’s face from Richie’s, but the two merged unpleasantly. “I’m sick of sitting around,” she said. “Let’s go outside.”

“It’s cold,” Courtney said. She shifted on the bed and sighed.

“What should we do?” Ellen said.

All around them were Ellen’s toys and games. The television sat, opaque, in the next room. Dark, Kyla thought, but still seeing—still receiving everything that was happening. You could turn it off, but that only meant that
you
couldn’t see, behind its darkness, what it was seeing. Sometimes at night, when you had to turn it off to go to sleep, you could feel the world seeping out from the blocked screen—the hot confusion of laughter, the footsteps pounding like a giant, besieged heart, the squealing tires, the eruptions of gunfire, and fearful pictures you couldn’t help staring at before they vanished, and people at desks, smiling as though you’d imagined all the rest of it—rising up on all sides of you, staining the evening with the smells of blood and perfume and metal, staining the helpless moments before sleep, and your dreams, and the tattered edges where you broke through into morning.

“I know what we can do,” Courtney said. She propped herself up lazily on an elbow. “One of us can pretend to be Richie Laskey.”

How nice it would be to be at home, Kyla thought, in her own room. With soft darkness outside and her mother right downstairs…

Ellen was looking at Courtney strangely. “How do you mean?” she asked.

Then Kyla turned to Courtney, too, and her heart veered again.

“It’s easy,” Courtney said. “I’ll show you.”

“Okay,” Ellen said.

The sounds of Ellen’s mother moving around downstairs were fantastically loud in Kyla’s ears.

“We’ll take turns,” Courtney said.

“Okay,” Ellen said again.

Kyla heard Ellen speak, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Courtney.

Courtney was watching her. “I’ll be Richie,” Courtney said. The clear blue silence of her eyes was like the silence of a clock. “Kyla first.” She held out her hand. “Okay?”

“Why do I have to go to New York with the Laskeys?” Kyla said.

“You don’t have to, darling. Of course.” Kyla’s mother looked surprised. “I didn’t realize you were so upset about it. I was just so astonished when the Laskeys offered—it’s extremely generous of them. Of course, I knew Carol would be so happy if Janey had a friend along, but I only accepted because it seemed like such a wonderful opportunity for you.”

If her mother knew that Janey lied all the time and used words like
buns
, and
piss
, and even worse things, she might not think the Laskeys were so wonderful. And if she only understood how Janey really treated her when she came over to their house for dinner—that blank
yes, thank you, no, thank you
—You could feel exactly what Janey was thinking, that Janey was thinking about Kyla’s mother as if she were the maid.

“I know Janey isn’t your favorite person,” her mother said.

“I hate Janey,” Kyla said.

Her mother waited for a moment. “I know Janey isn’t your favorite person,” she said again. “But your kindness to her means so much. I’m very grateful, and I know her mother and father are, too.”

“I feel sorry for Mrs. Laskey,” Kyla said.

“For Carol?” Kyla’s mother looked at her with amusement. “Carol’s one of the most fortunate women I know. She’s just as capable as anything—you don’t remember that house when the Fosses owned it.
And
she has the means to enjoy her life, which is very important, darling, as I think you’ll find one of these days, though, of course, there are other things that are more important, aren’t there. And she’s so
attractive.
I happen to know she hasn’t done a thing to her face. You’re very unusual, darling—most little girls would want to be just like her.”

“I’d hate to be married to Mr. Laskey,” Kyla said.

“Would you, darling?” Her mother laughed a little. “Well, fortunately, that’s nothing you have to worry about. But it could be worse, you know. Dick is demanding, I suppose, and you could say he’s a selfish man—or self-involved—but he’s cultured and he’s broad-minded and he’s attractive and he’s energetic and he can be loads of fun. And he’s certainly a good provider. All in all, he’s what I’d call a good catch.”

Kyla looked around at the pretty living room. Didn’t her mother even like it? It was so much sweeter than the Laskeys’ big white glassy house, with all its ugly paintings and statues—
sculptures.
“Wasn’t my father a good catch?” Kyla said.