The House on Olive Street (23 page)

“Really? Why, sure,” Mike said. “Barbara Ann, honey, you look just fantastic. Like a young girl.”

“Mom, what’s going to happen about that pot the police caught you with?” Bobby asked. And then he looked down at his plate immediately.

“Which one of your friends left it in the garage, Bobby? Was it Jared? Brian? Seth?”

“Seth. But I really didn’t know. I mean, when he said he needed to store a little pot, I thought he meant like a joint, an ounce. Mom, I had absolutely no idea—”

“An ounce here, an ounce there…. It sure isn’t harmless stuff, no matter how little your doses are. But, never mind the lecture, I think I said my piece on that. On the charges, I’m still hoping to get lucky. My lawyer thinks he’ll be able to get the charges reduced to a misdemeanor, if not thrown out entirely. It seems they had no probable cause to search my car. There is a technicality, however. The police are entitled to search any moving vehicle whenever they want to. And then there’s that other little technicality—it was sitting right in the backseat. The bong was in plain view. It’s all a little sketchy. But what I think is going on behind the scenes is this—the prosecutor knows I’m not a doper or a seller of dope. He also knows I have four sons between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one and that those sons have literally dozens of friends. The lawyer told me that the prosecutor might go after me just as an example. It seems that even if your sons are the ones in possession of a large supply of drugs, you have no excuse to keep it, hide it or transport it. You’re supposed to call the police, not deliver it yourself. But, since I have an expensive lawyer who gets a lot of dealers off of far worse crimes, he thinks the prosecutor will try to cut a deal that gets me off his calendar and out of his hair. Works for me.”

“Who’s paying for this expensive lawyer?” Mike asked.

“Sable, of course. She also paid my bail.”

“We’ll repay her,” he said, stiffening, his pride hurt. He had not been prepared for how complicated and dangerous this whole thing had gotten.

“We’ll work it all out, Mike. Don’t worry. Sable has far greater problems than money. She knows I’d never take advantage of her and she’s glad she can help. When you think about it, that’s the least of our problems.”

“Mom,” Bobby attempted, sheepish. “Is there
any
chance you could go to jail?”

“For felony drug possession?” She took a bite of her salad, which was all she seemed to eat lately. “Uh-huh. Seven to ten. Women’s federal prison.”

He visibly winced. “I won’t let that happen, Mom. I’ll go to them myself, tell them the truth. I’ll tell them it was mine, that you were trying to protect me. There is nothing,
nothing
I won’t do.”

“Bobby, why would you do that? I think I have this pretty well under control.”

“Mom, I am not letting you go to jail over my asshole
ex
-friend’s pot!”

“But why?” she persisted.

“Because that would
kill
me! It would kill me to have you go to jail!”

“What if it had been my pot, Bobby? How would you feel about me going to jail then?”

“God! Get serious! Do you think there’s any way I could live with my
mother
in jail?”

“Probably not. ’Cause there’s no way I could live with my son going to jail. Just so we understand each other.”

He fell silent and his cheeks grew crimson. Matt elbowed him and whispered, “Dickhead.” Billy glared at him, his eyes hateful. Yep, pretty dangerous stuff, that pot. It could tear up your family real good.

By the end of that dinner with Mike and the boys, Barbara Ann realized something. Her few words uttered at that weekly visitation were having more impact than
twenty years of yelling. They were listening to her. They were slowly beginning to understand about the crud work, about everyone helping everyone and about the dangerous situation that had been created by some stored marijuana. Some nonverbal stuff was going on, too. They were thinking about how it was she could look so much better, be so much calmer, when she wasn’t living in that house with them. Maybe they would accidentally absorb the fact that her anxiety was finally gone now that she could keep up with her workload. Or that her self-esteem was finally healthy now that she wasn’t the only giver in a houseful of takers.

But the one thing she doubted they were getting was how much she missed them. God, she ached for them. Sometimes, very late at night, when Gabby’s house was finally quiet, she would cry into her pillow. She found herself wanting to see how the new plane repairs were coming along. She wanted to hear that thumping noise that was a bass guitar. She wanted to see them inhale their dinner and go crazy, kissing her and whirling her around because she’d found the time to make
pies.
Mostly, she wanted to touch them. When she’d wander from her desk to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and find one of them at the breakfast bar eating cereal, just waking up at noon, she would put down her cup and give those young, smooth, strong shoulders a little rub or tousle the bed-head.

They were a very affectionate family, always had been. That was Mike. He was very physical, with her, with his sons. Mike still embraced his boys, whether they liked it or not. He still kissed their cheeks. Barbara Ann didn’t have to force this physical affection on them. They still hugged her, kissed her, every time they said goodbye. It was no different when they parted after their
third “date” for dinner. Each one, in his turn, embraced her very desperately, as if she were going off to the electric chair. Each one kissed her cheeks, both sides, reluctant to leave her. They told her they loved her—“Love you, Mom.” “Love you, Mom.” “Love you.” “Love you, Mom. I miss you a lot.”—and then went off in their various vehicles. Out for the evening. Or home, to forage for snacks and watch TV.

Mike had picked her up and was taking her back to Gabby’s. When they were in the car alone, she noticed he just sat there behind the wheel, not starting the engine. “I gotta know, Barbara Ann,” he said, staring into his lap. “
Are
you a lot happier now?”

“Well, I’m content in a lot of ways. We all help each other. No one has the lion’s share of work. It’s equal. Different, but equal. It’s the first time since I met and married you that I haven’t worked night and day. It’s like going to camp.”

“But are you
happier?
”

“I don’t know how to answer that. I’m happier about the workload and I’m far less tense. But I miss you and the boys so much, sometimes I just cry.”

He looked at her. “You do?”

“Yeah. Sure. Mike, I’ve talked to you every day. I’ve
told
you I miss you and love you. I’ve told you why I moved out—I can’t take the mess anymore. I could somehow keep up with four little boys. Don’t ask me how. I was younger, stronger, had more time, more energy. I wasn’t working full-time then. But four men? Ahhh! They’re more demanding, messier, eat more, want more, need more…and my
God,
they cost a fortune! I have to work just to keep up with the car insurance, much less the grocery bill. And I’m older, have less energy, less time. I was worn-out. I could have stayed, I guess, till you killed me.”

“Oh, Barbara Ann….”

“Well, there was the other alternative. I could have tried to find a way to live in a constant mess, up to my nostrils in dirty clothes and dirty dishes. But Mike, I don’t want to. Maybe that’s an okay way for you to live, but I don’t want to. Call me selfish.”

“Barbara Ann, are you going to divorce me?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead really.”

“Is there…is there another…guy?”

“Another
guy?!
” Her voice was shocked, shrill. “Good Lord, are you serious? I just made my escape from five of you slobs. You think I’d want to tote that barge and lift that bale for another one?” She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. The thought had never occurred to her! Jesus, maybe that was the answer! A neat, anal-retentive guy who worked out at the gym and had gourmet cooking as a hobby! With all the time she spent at the grocery store, she should have met him by now if he was out there. “Another guy. That’s hysterical.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s so goddamn hysterical. I mean, you don’t seem to be suffering too much from…you know…not getting any.”

She just giggled. Her head bent, she rubbed the bridge of her nose and giggled.

“Well, what’s so goddamn funny? We always had a pretty good, you know, sex life.”

“We sure did. I only had three periods in five years.”

“Well, either you’re doing pretty good without any or you got another guy!”

“To tell you the truth, I miss it a lot. But every time I remember sticking to the kitchen floor or scraping dried-on-toothpaste-spit out of a sink, the old urge just leaves me.” She sighed. “That’s nothing to what happens
to my sex drive when I think of four boys getting stoned on pot instead of working and going to school and using those fine minds and beautiful bodies of theirs.”

“Barbara Ann, are you ever coming home?”

She turned toward him and put her arms around his neck. She turned his face toward her and made him look at her. She kissed his lips. “I love you, Mike Vaughan. And I love them—enough to go to jail for them, if necessary. Are you really so completely blind to the squalor of that house that you think it would take something more than that to drive me away? Oh, Mike! How bad does it have to get?”

He kissed her. Then he chuckled against her lips. “It got pretty bad, to tell you the truth. Even
I
noticed.”

“I know. I went back there to pick up a few things.”

“Hey, that was only a few days. You should have seen it after a week.”

She shuddered. She couldn’t even think about it.

“It’s okay now, though,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Your idea of okay and my idea of okay are pretty different.”

“No, really. They’ve been pretty good. I’ve been pretty good. It’s coming around.”

“I’ve seen the result when they’ve said they cleaned their rooms. Please. Don’t insult me.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. And I do love you. You’re all the man I’ve ever needed, Mike. You’re just a slob.”

“No other guy?”

She laughed again. “No other guy.” She kissed him, more seriously. He couldn’t help but respond. Pretty soon they were making out, in the car in the restaurant parking lot.

“Barbara Ann, will you come back to the house with
me for the night? If the house isn’t clean enough for you, you can leave again in the morning.”

“What an offer. You’re sweeping me off me feet.”

“Barbara Ann, you’re killing me! What am I supposed to do here?”

“You used to be a lot more inventive when we were younger, Mike.”

He looked at her intensely for a minute, then started the car. He kept an arm around her as they drove, like youngsters out on a hot date. He made small talk, asking her about the book they were all working on, about the lawyer, about her diet. After about fifteen minutes, he pulled into a park and killed the lights. There were a couple of other cars parked there. It was doubtful they were middle-aged married-but-separated couples who couldn’t get into a hotel because the charge cards were all maxed out.

He had a twinkle in his eye. She laughed wickedly while he tuned off the interior light so that it wouldn’t come on when the car door was opened. They quickly got into the backseat and came together like red-hot illicit lovers, their mouths hungrily searching each other’s tongues, their hands grasping, pawing and petting.

Barbara Ann kicked off her shoes and shed her panty hose, then her panties. He unbuttoned the front of her dress and buried his face in her breasts, growling in appreciation. She held his head against her chest and scooted around on the backseat until she was under him. Mike fumbled with his belt and then his zipper. In seconds, mere seconds, he was inside her and moving. The car, she knew, must be rocking with his thrusts—Mike was not a little guy. But oh, it was good to be home; in his arms, full of him. Mike was a hungry man; it was hard to be without this in her life. He’d always wanted her often.

Mike was made to be married, that’s all there was to it. He was the kind of man who liked a good woman he could depend on, and good food. Everything else in his life was secondary. The woman came before the food. He liked to know he was coming home to Barbara Ann every night, a woman he could still make purr after all these years, and he liked having her beside him when they slept. He’d damn near crush her in his sleep, never able to get close enough to the softness of her skin. He’d been waking up lately, all through the night, confused to find himself alone in the bed. And he was suffering miserably without sex, something he’d never had to beg for, something he’d never had to wonder about. The guys in the bars would joke, “Should we stay here for a sure thing or go home and take a chance?” But it hadn’t been that way for Mike. For twenty-three years Barbara Ann had been a sure thing—soft, sweet-smelling, loyal, devoted and lusty for him.

He was exploding inside of her, thinking how he really couldn’t give her up. He couldn’t live without her anymore. He should have been thinking about how good he felt, being inside her at long last, but instead he was thinking, Those twerps are going to get that house clean and learn how to keep it clean, or I’ll wring their scrawny little necks!

“H
i, Arnie,” Sable said.

“Well, how pleasant that you should call.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve been out of touch, Arnie.”

“Six weeks! Six fucking weeks! With every rag and TV tabloid program in the country calling me, hounding me, asking me what the hell’s going on with you…not to even mention that you have a publisher who would like to know what to make of this shit. Six weeks, Sable!”

“Well, Arnie, didn’t my doctor call you and tell you about my diverticulitis?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you didn’t really think I’d fall for that one, did you?”

“Actually, I thought you would. Well, here I am. And incidentally, Arnie, I’m fine.”

“Sable, what the hell is going on?” he asked wearily.

“I’ve been resting, with friends. And working on a book.”

“I hope to Christ it’s an autobiography.”

“Well, it’s not. Actually, I’m working on a collection of unpublished pages from a friend of mine who died very suddenly. But never mind that. I’m sure you have a million questions.”

“You must be up to date on the trash….”

“Not at all. I saw that first program and then refused to be subjected to the rest. That first piece was bad enough. I thought it was going to kill me.”

“It was only the beginning,” he said.

“So, who’s behind this crap?”

“Some hotshot by the name of Robert Slatterly. He got the ball rolling and then, the way they usually do, leaked it to some of the other tabloids so there would be plenty of ruckus by the time the first television program came on. They’ve just about printed everything they can think of now—unless you’re hiding an alien kidnapping in your past.”

“Listen, Arnie, here’s how it really was, okay? It’s not a long story, and it’s just sad. Not nearly as bad as they made out.”

She ran him through the facts quickly, from childhood foster homes up to plastic surgery. He asked a few questions along the way. “Would there be records of the foster home placement? The testing? When and where did you legally change your name?”

“So, it’s not that I had any reason to hide my identity—I wasn’t running from the law or anything. I was devastated and ashamed. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I certainly didn’t want my ex-husband or my mother to contact me.”

“And you are divorced?”

“Most certainly. I have the decree in my strongbox.”

“You weren’t a prostitute?”

“They said
that?
”

“When you were in your teens.”

“That’s preposterous! If anyone had ever given me money for it, I’d have remembered. Now, they certainly can’t verify something like
that!
”

“The law doesn’t work that way, darling. If you’re nobody, they have to prove what they print. If you’re somebody, you have to prove what they printed is a lie. And the fact that you were never a prostitute would be plenty hard for you to prove. Obviously you don’t need a license, if you get my drift.”

“Amazing. Isn’t something about that inherently wrong, no matter who you are?”

“On this we can agree, but that doesn’t change anything. Sable, I think you should make some kind of public statement about this.”

“Listen, are you still getting calls about me every day? Is there any evidence that this is dying down?”

“I think the worst is past, but you still have to—”

“Here’s what I want to do, Arnie. I want to spend another few weeks recuperating and finishing up the work I’m doing—at least through the summer. I’ll fax you a statement that you can read over the phone to my publisher. Did you get that? Read it to them! I don’t want any paperwork about me going out anywhere right now. That’s extremely important. Tell me you understand that and give me your word, or I won’t send you anything at all.”

“All right, all right. But—”

“Just a minute. Within a couple of months I’ll make a statement or appearance of some kind. An interview, maybe. That will be the
first time
anyone will hear from me on this subject. And it’s going to be up to me, when and where. Got that?”

“Sable, listen to me, darling. You have a publisher who is almost bald from tearing his hair out over this. You have a book due in December for a June publication. You have a tour scheduled and they’re scared shitless that the only people who are going to show up
to see you will have bags of ripe tomatoes with them.
Some
people, like the ones who pay you, need
some
reassurance from you—”

“Let them cancel,” she said.

“What?”

“Tell them they can cancel my contract if they want to. If they’re too fucking nervous to back me. Tell them I’ll give them the goddamn money back—they didn’t pay enough anyway.”

“Sable, have you lost your mind!”

“No, I haven’t. I found it. Along with a few other things.”

“Oh my God, my God, will you listen to reason?”

“If you’ll just think about this, I’m being eminently reasonable. Some very nasty people have been spreading horrible untrue trash about me all over the country. I’m a little…a little…” She paused, thinking. Then a smile came to her lips. “I’m a little ‘out of sorts’ with the situation. They’ve hurt me very badly. Hurt my feelings. And I do have them.

“Now all I want to do is rest a little bit. I’ll make sure my side of the story is heard later, when I can do that with a little decorum. For now, you and the publisher can either be patient, or you can both kiss my ass. Are we clear?”

“Jesus,” he said. “You’re talking about a twelve-million-dollar contract!”

“I didn’t ask you to give back your commission, did I? Come on, Arnie. If they don’t love me anymore because I was a really poor kid, a battered wife, a young mother who lost her child, well, then they don’t love me anymore. What the hell can I do about it? Huh?”

“Sable,” he said, his patience strained, “it would be a good idea if
right now—
”

“Right now I’m going to run to the store for broccoli, toilet paper and hand lotion. That’s all I’m going to do
right now.
Then I’m going to work on some pages, maybe take a nap in the sun, and tonight I’m going to have dinner with my friends. That’s about as far as I’m planning.”

“Oh Sable, Sable….”

“That’s a boy, Arnie. After all, that’s why you get the big bucks, for putting up with these flaky authors. And gee whiz, Arnie, thanks for being so concerned about me.”

“I’m always concerned about you, Sable.”

“Uh-huh. See you later, Arnie.”

She hung up the phone, borrowed Barbara Ann’s car keys and went to the store—just as she had told Arnie she would. She found, when she was driving around and shopping for odds and ends, that she very much liked being out on her own again. And no one said anything at all to her except, “Plastic or paper, ma’am?”

Beth had been talking to members of her family every day for a month. She was almost weary by the time she answered her phone. Carleen, her younger sister, managed to hold her calls down to once a week. Carleen was thirty, an interior designer, mother of two. They caught up on all the family business, the babies’ latest achievements, the progress on the decorating of her new home, and then Carleen said the strangest thing….

“When Phil and I were in counseling, I found out that I’m a passive-aggressive control freak.”

“What?”

“I’m a passive-aggressive con—”

“No! Counseling?”

“Yeah. You knew that, when we went to counseling.”

“When?”

“Um, let’s see. Jeffy was nine months old or so. A couple of years ago. But you knew that.”

“Did I?”

“Well, I told you,” Carleen said. “And if I didn’t, someone in the family must have. Everybody had an opinion, as usual. Carleen, the brat, dragging good ol’ Phil to the counselor’s office so she could get a little help in having her way. Or, Carleen the baby, who’s always used to having everything just so. And, of course, Mother thought I shouldn’t talk to anyone but a priest, who
shouldn’t
have the first idea how a man and woman—”

“Carleen, I don’t remember this. I mean, I vaguely remember someone saying something about how you and Phil were having some hard adjustments to having the baby, but—”

Carleen burst out laughing. “Hard adjustments! Jesus, he was
impotent!
”

“Get out!” Beth gasped.

“Limp as a dishrag. And volatile? My God, he was a volcano! All I had to do was ask him if he’d like meat loaf or chicken and he’d go through the roof. He was getting a little scary, to tell you the truth. He didn’t stop shouting at me until I threatened to take the baby and go to a hotel. Thank God he never hit me or anything. I don’t know what I would have done. You know how scared we all are of having an unhappy marriage. Holy shit, Mama would
die!
”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Beth said. “I can’t believe you’re saying all the things I’ve been feeling.”

“Beth, honey, where is your brain? I told you about me and Phil and marriage counseling. Did you think you’d invented marital problems?”

“In our family, yes,” she said.

Carleen laughed. “Good one, Bethie. Mo has kicked Frank out twice. When they get back together they have another baby. The last time Mo let Frank back home, Mama said, ‘Well, I guess I’ll be a grandma again in nine months.’ Bob and Sue had a couple of bad years that I predicted would be the end of them. Jody and Ted are on the skids half the time. Mama would like that to be Jody’s fault, naturally, because she’s not Catholic and therefore must be doing something wrong, but if you ask me, Ted’s a real asshole most of the time. Wasn’t he the biggest asshole when we were growing up? I mean, do you remember anyone in our family lying as much as Teddy? Really. And get this… Are you ready for this? Now this is a secret, do you swear?”

“Swear,” she said.

“Father John is unhappy with the Church and is thinking of leaving the priesthood. Elba Sherman is going to shit all over herself when—if—she hears that one….”

“Carleen, no!”

“Yes! Mama doesn’t know that, of course. I think John’s only told me and Deb about it. Now you swear…?”

“Carleen, how long has this been going on?” Beth asked, astonished.

“Oh, I think he’s been unhappy for the last—”

“No, no, no. Our family. All these things. All these marital problems and counselors and separations and stuff.”

“God, I don’t know. Always, I think.”

“Why didn’t I know about it?” she asked.

“But you did! I know I was keeping you up to date. Jeez. Where have you been?”

“I don’t know….” Beth wrinkled her brow.

“If you’re counting on Mama to tell you what’s going on, you know she’s going to gloss it over in her way. I hate the way she does that, minimizing things, tidying ’em up. Like the way she told me about you and Jack. She said, ‘It seems Jack’s been a little
physical
with Beth and she’s moved out of her town house for the time being….’”

“The
time being!
”

“Yeah, I know. Pathetic, isn’t it? Don’t you dare go back to him, Bethie. Don’t you even give him a chance to—”

“Carleen, help me with this. I thought everyone in our family had perfect marriages, adorable, perfect children.”

“Oh dear. Well, the children
are
perfect and adorable.”

“Come on, where have I been?”

“Well, sweetie, I don’t know. You have been gone a long time. Seven years. But even before you left there was trouble in Mama’s paradise. Nothing earth-shattering, I guess, but it’s not like we didn’t all have our troubles. John was always nearly flunking out of college, Bill thought he had more than one girl pregnant—all false alarms as far as I know, but Mama’s still doing her beads over them all, I think. Both Mo and Ted had to get married. I don’t know, honey. Maybe you just always had your own problems.”

It was a revelation. Now that Carleen mentioned a few things, she did vaguely remember some of them. John toying with the idea of leaving the seminary and Mama going crazy, so he came around. She’d heard some whispering about Bill and some girl Mama didn’t like, but in the end Bill had married a girl Mama
did
like. There’d been a couple of six-month first babies, and Mama often
spoke about Mo and Frank with some exasperation; she thought they quarreled too much of the time.

Had Beth not been listening? Had she been so absorbed in her own shame that she didn’t think other people hurt, too?

“I thought your marital problems were about buying a new house and arguing over the floor plan and decorating,” she told Carleen.

“I wish,” Carleen said.

“Impotent, huh?”

“Well, obviously that’s been fixed to a large degree—since we had Lauren. She pretty much proves he can get it up.
Communication
is our problem. He communicates what he wants or needs, and I fail to cooperate, but without ever standing up to him or expressing myself. Like I said, I’m passive-aggressive. Mama raised a lot of passive-aggressives. Even if we could have found the courage to stand up to Mama, we just couldn’t buck God, you know?”

“I know.”

“And since Mama and God were playing for the same team… I don’t know about you, but I developed a lot of sneaky little ways to live my own life without letting on that I was an individual. Secret keeping, lying, manipulating, et cetera. It might have worked in dealing with Mama, but Bethie, it just doesn’t work in a marriage. I think I found that out the hard way.”

“Are you and Phil okay now?”

“Eh,” she hedged. “I don’t know. I’d give our chances fifty-fifty. I think we both want to stay together. I think we love each other. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, but at least we’re trying to do the work now instead of trying to prove it’s all the other one’s fault. Things are a lot better than they were. You know, Beth, whenever you come home, you stay with Mama and we all troop
over there to see you. We don’t talk about all this stuff with Mama. Maybe if you stayed with me next time, or Deb or Bill, you’d hear the stuff no one has the guts to unload in front of Mama.”

“I’m thinking of moving home,” she said.