Terms of Endearment

  He said it so meanly and looked at the nice tie so contemptuously that Emma was stung to tears, though she was ashamed of letting such meanness affect her and tried to hold them back. All that did was make her eyes sting and her chest feel tight.

  “It isn’t just for this one dinner,” she said. “We’ll probably go to other dinner parties in our lives, you know. You haven’t bought a new tie since I’ve known you. It’s horrible to be mean to somebody when they’ve just given you a present, don’t you know that?”

  “Well, I don’t like your motives,” he said.

  “My motives are better than your manners,” she said, getting angry. You like to spoil things just to prove you can. That’s the tackiest thing about you. Also it’s so predictable. You always do it. Every time I feel really happy you try to spoil it.”

  “Come on,” he said. “Don’t tell me buying a new tie made you feel really happy.”

  “Of course it did,” Emma said. “You don’t understand me. I felt really happy thinking how nice it would look with your blue suit. You’re too dumb to understand that kind of happiness.”

  “Just watch who you’re calling dumb,” Flap said. “I don’t happen to be dumb.”

  “I wish I wasn’t pregnant,” Emma said in a shaking voice. “I don’t like being pregnant by someone little and mean and tacky.”

  She went off to the bathroom and stifled her tears. It stopped up her head but it was worth it not to give him the satisfaction of making her cry. When she came out Flap was crying, which shocked her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was horrible. The thought of your mother makes me irrational. I’ll wear the tie, but please tell me you didn’t mean what you said about wishing you weren’t pregnant.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, relaxing at once. “Of course I didn’t mean it. I was just trying to hold my own. Go wash your face.”

  He emerged from the bathroom looking friendly again, but both of them were in a shaky state when they dressed. “I don’t know why we do this to ourselves,” he said.

  “It’ll be all right once we get there,” Emma said. “It’s just thinking about it that makes me nervous. It’s sort of like going to the dentist.”

  “That’s true,” Flap said. “It’s like going to the dentist. My point is that going to a dinner party oughtn’t to feel like going to the dentist. And furthermore, going to the dentist almost always hurts.”

  “My hair has no shine,” Emma said, contemplating it with annoyance. At the last minute she decided to change dresses, and Flap, forgetting that he had promised to wear the new tie, forgetting even that he had a new tie, put on an old one. Cecil arrived just as Emma was trying to decide whether it was worth it to risk another scene to remind Flap about the new tie. She was also trying to hook her dress.

  “Hi, Toots,” Cecil said, patting her shoulder and squeezing her arm. He was wearing an ancient three-piece suit, his traditional garb for going to Aurora’s house. The minute he walked in he spotted the new tie lying on the couch, took a fancy to it, and asked if he could wear it, since nobody else was. Flap was embarrassed. Cecil said he thought it was the best-looking tie he’d ever seen.

  “Yeah, I wish I’d hung myself with it,” Emma said, to Cecil’s mystification. She gave up on the evening and went to the bathroom to finish hooking her dress. When she came out Cecil was wearing the new tie and looking highly pleased, and Flap managed to whisper that he’d make it up to her somehow.

  “That’s all right,” Emma said. “I’d just as soon have it to hold against you.”

  Cecil drove them, whistling as he drove. Emma and Flap were in a state of great tension, and Emma thought she might eventually scream if Cecil didn’t stop whistling. When they were about halfway there he stopped and said, “Oh, boy.”

  “Oh, boy what?” Emma asked.

  “I always look forward to your mother’s cooking,” Cecil said. “I never know what I’m eatin’ but you can’t beat it for tasty.”

  Aurora greeted them at the door. She was wearing a splendid long green gown that she thought might be Hungarian. She also wore a good deal of silver jewelry.

  “Yes, it’s high time you got here,” she said, smiling. “Cecil, there you are and your tie is little short of magnificent. I’ve never seen anything so becoming. You ought to buy yourself a tie like that some time, Thomas.”

  “Can I help with the drinks?” Flap asked, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  “That’s considerate of you,” Aurora said, looking him over. “However, it’s so rarely that I get to see you that I don’t think I’ll let you rush off just yet. My friend Vernon is bringing us some margaritas any minute now.”

  She tucked her arm in Cecil’s and led him off toward the patio, Emma and Flap trailing far in their wake.

  “I’ve ruined everything, right?” Flap said.

  “Not if you shut up and stop being defensive,” Emma said. “If you had worn it she wouldn’t have said a word about it.”

  Rosie burst through the door at that moment carrying a tray of glasses. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, looking at Flap as if she had caught him stealing something.

  Before Flap could answer Vernon came out of the kitchen carrying a pitcher of drinks. “Howdy, howdy,” he said, shaking hands. Emma found herself wanting to giggle. She had never expected to see a little person who said howdy emerge from her mother’s kitchen.

  They found Aurora on the patio plying Cecil with pâté, and also with compliments, most of them about his health.

  “Yes, it’s quite wonderful the way men improve with age,” she said. “I do believe your circulation is the best I’ve ever seen it, Cecil. It’s a wonder some woman hasn’t snatched you right up.”

  Cecil proved her point about his circulation by turning beet red. The sight seemed to embarrass Vernon, who turned red himself—for a minute the two of them were of a matching shade. “Well, the gang’s all here and that’s fine with me,” Rosie said cryptically and hurried off to the kitchen.

  Aurora was in a state of such high brilliance that Emma could hardly believe it. She bore almost no resemblance to the woman who had been staring lifelessly at her mirror only five hours earlier. She turned her full presence on Cecil, dazzling him just short of speechlessness. Emma munched her way through some excellent hors d’oeuvres and settled back to watch. Flap kept the hors d’oeuvres circulating and began to get drunk. He was so much more tense than anyone else that he was half drunk before he noticed that his mother-in-law was in a pleasant mood for once. She didn’t seem to be trying to cut him off at the knees. Once he noticed, his relief was so great that in the process of loosening up he drank several more margaritas. By the time dinner was served he was so drunk he could hardly walk to the table. It occurred to him then that the reason Emma had been digging him with her elbow all evening was because he was drinking too much, but the realization came several margaritas too late.

  By the time they got to the table Cecil was so red with pleasure that he couldn’t have remembered who was President first, Eisenhower or Kennedy. Aurora was unrelenting. She filled his plate with such an enormous helping of goulash that even Cecil, in his bedazzlement, was momentarily taken aback.

  “Good gracious, Aurora,” he said. “I don’t know if I can eat that much.”

  “Nonsense, Cecil, you’re the guest of honor,” Aurora said, smiling at him teasingly. “Besides, you know the Serbs.”

  In his drunkenness the remark amused Flap so much that he began to laugh, only to realize in the midst of a wild fit of laughter that it was going to cause him to vomit. He managed to excuse himself and dashed frantically down the hall.

  Rosie watched from the kitchen doorway like an avenging angel. “I knew you was sick all along,” she said.

  Emma felt rather detached from it all—so much so that she was able to lose herself in enjoyment of her mother’s food. She decided she didn’t care to watch her mother be brilliant, so she watched Vernon instead. He never took h
is eyes off Aurora, except when he sensed, as he did from time to time, that someone was watching him watch her, at which times he stared earnestly at his food for a little while until he felt it was safe to watch again. While she was watching Vernon, Flap returned looking pale but no less drunk, and Aurora paused for a second from a story she was telling Cecil and took a long look at him.

  “Thomas, you poor thing, you’ve obviously been immersed in your studies again,” she said. “I suppose you worry too. Cerebral people have so much more to worry about than the likes of you and I, Cecil. Wouldn’t you agree?” She settled her chin comfortably on one palm and began to watch Cecil attempt to cope with what was left of his goulash.

  Cecil had become so relaxed that he gave Aurora a pat on the shoulder before continuing to eat. With the help of a good deal of wine he had managed to wash down most of the goulash, and what remained posed no problem for him. Aurora had for a time wavered between goulash and bouillabaisse, and evidence of her wavering remained, in the shape of a number of prawns. The prawns, and a quantity of rice which he had reserved, were the means by which Cecil intended to see that everything came out even, as it should; and he went about the last stages of his work with the skill of an instinctive tactician, marshaling the remaining rice in such a way as to utilize to the fullest its absorbent properties. Using the prawns as pushers, he pushed up little mounds of rice and moved them around in the soupy remains of the goulash until they had absorbed as much of the liquid as possible. Once the rice was gone he used the prawns to swab up what remained of the soup. Aurora watched raptly.

  “Virtuosity has to be admired,” she mumbled, winking at Emma.

  Once the soup was gone Cecil coolly moved a leaf of lettuce from his salad plate and used it to clean his plate until it was shining and dry. Then he put his knife and fork across the top of the plate, and the whole service looked clean enough to be used in a New Yorker ad.

  “Well, salud, Cecil,” Aurora said, downing what was left of her wine. Emma downed what was left of hers too and then drank another glass. Soon she quietly followed Flap into drunkenness. For about five minutes she felt gay and high, and made what she considered a witty attempt to turn the conversation to political topics. Her mother merely waggled a spoon at her and proceeded to serve a rich dessert. By the time it was finished Emma had passed through the gay phase of her drunkenness and went into a sleepy phase that didn’t really end until an hour and a half later, back home on her couch, when she noticed that her husband had revived and was determined to seduce her in her good clothes. That was fine, except that the liquor upset her timing, particularly when her timing was given no warning, and thanks to the element of surprise or something she had a small premature orgasm; before she could manage to have the one she really wanted, Flap withdrew.

  “Idiot,” she said. “I wasn’t through.”

  Flap was, however. “I thought you were,” he said.

  “No,” Emma said, really annoyed.

  Flap’s mind was elsewhere. “I wonder if I said good night to Dad,” he said. “I can’t remember.”

  “Call him and say good night now,” Emma said. “There’s not going to be anything else to do this evening. You never seem to realize that things are different when I’m drunk. Why do you always seduce me when I can’t concentrate? I think it’s becoming a pattern.”

  “Don’t talk to me about patterns when I’m happy,” he said. “The worst evening of the year is over. The relief is wonderful.”

  “Great, so I get eight seconds of sex,” Emma said, not pleasantly. She knew what she had wanted, and with a little more help she could have gotten it; the fact that Flap hadn’t noticed made the whole evening seem stupid. Everything was in-between. She wasn’t dissatisfied enough to have a real fight, nor satisfied enough to go to sleep. Flap was in bed and asleep before she got her party clothes hung up. While she was sitting in front of their bookcase in her nightgown trying to spot something she might want to read, the phone rang.

  “You weren’t asleep?” Aurora said.

  “No,” Emma said, surprised.

  “I was thinking of you,” Aurora said. “I was thinking you might want to wish me good night. I believe you said it once, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

  “Did Cecil upset you?” Emma asked.

  “Of course not,” Aurora said. “If the worst a man can do is clean his plate with his food there’s not much harm in him. Vernon’s helping Rosie do the dishes. There’s not much harm in him, either. I suppose I’m keeping you away from your husband.”

  “No. he’s asleep. He drank too much.”

  “I noticed,” Aurora said. “It’s one of the things I like about Thomas. He’s capable of getting drunk. It’s a human trait, at least.”

  “It’s a little too human for my purposes,” Emma said.

  “You’re mumbling,” Aurora said. “Thomas is not without instinct. If he hadn’t rendered himself helpless I might have attacked him.”

  “You never call me at night,” Emma said. “What’s wrong? Are you scared of Vernon?”

  “You’ve seen him twice,” Aurora said. “Do you really think anyone need be scared of him?”

  “No,” Emma said. “What are you scared of then?”

  Aurora thought of her daughter, young and pregnant, innocent of so much, only twenty-two, and she smiled to herself. Picturing Emma, probably in her nightgown, probably reading, tipped back some inner balance that she had felt herself about to lose. She straightened her back and picked up her hairbrush.

  “Oh, it’s naught, it’s naught,” she said. “One of my little sinking spells—that’s all. You’ve fixed me already. It’s just that I sometimes get the feeling that nothing will ever change.”

  “I know that feeling,” Emma said. “I have it all the time.”

  “It’s not appropriate to you,” Aurora said. “You’re young. Life is sure to change every five minutes for you.”

  “No, it goes right on the same for me. You’re the spontaneous one, remember. I thought it changed every five minutes for you.”

  “It did, up until a week or two ago,” Aurora said. “Now it feels like it’s never going to change anymore. You know how impatient I am. If it doesn’t change soon I’ll become hysterical.”

  “Maybe Vernon will change it,” Emma said.

  “He better try. Otherwise I’ll have wrecked my car for nothing. I’ve left him down there with Rosie. Wouldn’t it be horrible if she took him away from me? No one’s ever taken a man away from me before.”

  “Thinking of marrying him?” Emma asked.

  “Of course not,” Aurora said.

  “Despite the fact that I’m pregnant you still seem to have plenty of suitors,” Emma said.

  “I don’t call it plenty,” Aurora said. “I’ve been forced to banish two in recent weeks. For practical purposes I’m down to Alberto and Vernon, neither of whom are altogether suitable.”

  “They’re both sweeties, though,” Emma said.

  “Yes, if one doesn’t care to put too fine a point on it,” Aurora said. “The brutal fact is that they’re both old, short, and afraid of me. If I stacked them one on top of the other they might be tall enough, but they’d still be old and afraid of me.”

  “Everybody’s afraid of you. Why don’t you try being gentle for a change?”

  “I do try—it’s just that I seem to be prone to exasperation,” Aurora said. “Rosie is here by her own choice, in case you were wondering. Royce has left home, and I expect she finds it more cheerful here.”

  “Poor Rosie,” Emma said. “Maybe you should let her have Vernon, if she wants him. They speak the same language at least.”

  “Vernon and I speak the same language, I believe,” Aurora said. “I speak it well and he speaks it badly, that’s all. In fact he hardly ever speaks at all, in any language, so your suggestion is invalid. Besides, the fact that Rosie speaks English as poorly as he does doesn’t mean they’d be happy together. For a mother-to-be you’re
not getting much less naïve, Emma, I must say.”

  “I just mentioned it because I know you don’t want him yourself,” Emma said. “I thought he might be nice for Rosie. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know,” Aurora said. “I used to only feel desperate just before my periods, but now it’s apt to happen anytime.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Emma said. “Desperate about what? You’re perfectly fine.”

  “I don’t know why I’m talking to you,” Aurora said. “There you sit, on the threshold of life, as I believe they say. I bet you’re in your little nightgown, reading some little book or other. Don’t tell me I’m all right when I’m not. While you’re sitting there on the threshold I’m looking out the back door, and I don’t like what I see. Who knows when my last chance might slip by?”

  “Last chance for what?” Emma said.

  “For someone!” Aurora said. “Just someone. Or do you think I ought to give up in deference to your father’s memory and dig in my garden for the next thirty years? It’s far from a simple problem. Only a saint could live with me, and I can’t live with a saint. Older men aren’t up to me and younger men aren’t interested. No matter how brilliant a child you manage to have, I’m hardly the sort to content myself with being a grandmother. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Go grab Vernon then,” Emma said, yawning. The wine was coming back on her.

  “I can’t,” Aurora said. “I don’t think Vernon took the slightest notice of women before he met me. What’s one to do about a man who’s waited fifty years to notice women?”

  “You mean you smashed your car into a fifty-year-old virgin?” Emma said.

  “If such a thing is possible, I’ve done it,” Aurora said.

  “Oil millionaires usually have girls tucked away somewhere,” Emma said.

  “Oh, if only Vernon had one,” Aurora said. “That would be perfect. Then I could have the thrill of taking him away from her. But I’ve sniffed around thoroughly and there’s not a trace of a girl. I think that Lincoln is my only competition.”