Audrey shook her head. She didn’t want Lenny away from the city. She liked having him in her hair. “Nah, it wouldn’t work. Lenny doesn’t do well when he’s not at home. Do you remember that time he went to Turkey?”
“I think it’s a good idea, Mom,” Karla said. “Especially if we could get him back to the NA meetings.”
Audrey pretended not to hear. “It’d play havoc with his allergies being in the country,” she went on. “He’d be miserable.”
“Oh, Audrey,” Jean said, “Come on. Allergies—”
“He won’t want to go, I’m telling you. And I can’t make him.”
“Yes, you can. Just tell him you’re going to stop giving him money if he doesn’t.”
Audrey laughed. “Bloody hell, Jean, he had one little relapse…”
Jean looked at her gravely. “You’ve stopped taking these episodes of his seriously. But they are serious. One of these days, if you don’t do something, he’s going to kill himself.”
“You’ve been reading too many Reader’s Digest articles—”
“The truth is, Audrey, he may end up killing himself whatever you do. But if you do nothing, he definitely will.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Audrey began to fuss unhappily with the clasp on her handbag.
“Jean’s right,” Karla said, after a moment. “I know how hard it would be for you to do this, Mom, but it would be a real act of love—”
“All right, all right,” Audrey interrupted. “Spare me the fucking greetings card.” They had stopped walking now. Next to where they stood in the hallway, an abandoned meal cart, piled high with used lunch trays, was giving off a sad mass-catering smell of sour milk and instant gravy.
“I know you’d never forgive yourself,” Jean said, “if you couldn’t say you’d done everything in your power to—”
“All right!” Audrey exclaimed. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
Until the moment that she actually broached the subject with Lenny, it seemed just possible to Audrey that he would surprise her and decide, of his own capricious accord, that he wanted to go to Bucks County. But his first, long gale of laughter closed the lid on that fantasy.
“Oh, Mom, you know I hate it there,” he said. “I’d go nuts living with Jean for a month.”
“She’ll keep out of your way.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess if she moved out of the place, I’d consider it.”
“It’s ever so pretty down there in the summer.”
“No, it’s not, it’s depressing. And you know how I am with my allergies.”
When Audrey saw that she was making no inroads with the soft sell, she tried suggesting, gingerly, that he might go in order to please her. This only elicited a wounded look and a petulant, “Thanks, Mom. I didn’t know you were so desperate to get rid of me.” At last, she got up the courage to present the ultimatum that Jean had suggested. If he didn’t go, she would cut off his money. Lenny responded by denouncing her as a tightfisted bitch, and slamming out of the house, promising never to return.
When he reappeared, three hours later, he was weepy and repentant. He had not meant to lose his temper. He had only reacted like that because he was hurt and he couldn’t bear the thought of being sent away. She wouldn’t send him away, would she?
“Len, I have to,” she told him. “I’m doing this for you.”
“Fuck!”
She stepped back with a wince as he kicked over a kitchen chair.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he screamed.
“Lenny, love—”
“Don’t come near me! You heartless fucking cunt.”
It went on like this for four days leading up to his departure. Every morning, he would start out wheedling and cajoling, then he would move on to pleading and crying. Finally he would explode in violent abuse, before starting over and going back to wheedling. In his presence, Audrey maintained a mask of immutable resolve. Away from him, she wept tears of despair. Jean phoned every day, trying to keep her morale up. And Karla dealt with all the practical arrangements that needed to be made—finding addresses for the Narcotics Anonymous chapters nearest to Jean’s house, changing Lenny’s cell phone number so that his dealers would be unable to reach him, and so on. But no one, Audrey felt, could really help her. Her life was slowly and systematically being burgled of everything she held dear: Joel was gone—or as good as gone—trapped in the underworld of his coma. The integrity of her marriage—the nearest thing to an achievement she had ever been able to claim—had been snatched away by that harpy, Berenice. And now Lenny, her baby, was leaving her.
On the afternoon that Jean collected him, Karla left work early to go down to Perry Street and make sure that everything went off all right. Audrey was sitting on the stoop when she arrived, taking a respite from the louring atmosphere of filial reproach within.
“Everything all right, Mom?” Karla asked anxiously as she came up the stairs. “Where’s Len?”
“On a plane to Rio,” Audrey said dully. She jerked her head toward the house. “Inside, where d’you think?”
Lenny was curled up on the sofa with his back to them when they entered the living room. “How’re you doing, Len?” Karla asked.
There was a muzzy grunt from the sofa.
“He’s not feeling well,” Audrey said. “He’s got a cold.”
“Oh, dear. Have you taken something for it, Len?”
There was no reply.
“I gave him some DayQuil earlier,” Audrey said. “I’m really not sure he’s fit to travel in this state.”
Karla smiled. “He’ll be fine, Mom. Jean’ll look after him.”
“I wouldn’t think so. She’ll probably have him mowing her lawn before the day’s out.”
“Shall I make you a cup of tea?”
Audrey shrugged miserably. “There’s some coffee already made.”
When Karla had gone into the kitchen, Audrey went over and knelt down next to the sofa. On the side of Lenny’s head that was pressed against the sofa, his left ear had become folded over on itself, like a piece of origami. Audrey reached out cautiously to rearrange the ear, and then thought better of it. “You ready to go, then, love?” she said. “Jean says the weather is ever so nice down there at the moment.”
There was a brief silence.
“Fuck off,” Lenny muttered.
Audrey stood up and left the room.
In the kitchen, Karla handed her a cup of coffee. “It’s going to be okay. He’ll cheer up when he gets there.”
Audrey shook her head. “I don’t think he will. He’s in a terrible state. This is bringing up all his abandonment issues, I can tell.” She sat down at the table and looked wanly around the kitchen. “Do you want to stay for dinner, then?”
Karla bared her teeth in an expression of pained regret. “I would, Mom, but Mike’s expecting me back. We’ve got some stuff to do on our adoption application—”
“Oh. All right.”
“I could phone him if you like and tell him I’m going to be late.”
“Don’t be silly. I was only thinking of you. I’ve got plenty to be getting on with, believe me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do shut up, Karla, yes.”
Karla sat down at the table.
“So,” Audrey said, after a moment, “how’s this adoption business going, then?”
“Good, yeah.” Karla nodded vigorously. “I mean, it’s early days…”
“What are you getting, then, a boy or a girl?”
“We don’t know, Mom,” Karla said. “I mean, we’re only at the beginning of this process. You’re not allowed to specify the sex anyway—”
“I’d try and hold out for a boy if I were you. I bet that’s what Mike wants. Men always say they don’t mind what they get, but underneath, they all want boys.”
Karla wiped something from her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Audrey asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not
blubbing, are you?”
“No.”
“Why are you blubbing?”
“Nothing…. I’m just a bit emotional at the moment.”
Audrey studied her.
“You can’t be crying about nothing. You’re not that soppy.”
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
“What is it—do you not want to do this adoption?”
“No, of course I want to.”
“You don’t seem too thrilled about it.”
“I am thrilled.”
“And Mike?”
“Mike’s dying to be a father.”
“Is everything all right between the two of you?”
Karla gave a little sob. “Yes. Of course.”
Audrey’s eyes narrowed in speculation. There was a problem in the marriage, that was clear. If she had to bet, she’d say Mike was having an affair. “I’m surprised you’re doing this adoption now,” she said. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve been trying to get pregnant long enough.”
“Oh, we’ve given it a good shot, Mom.”
“It’s only been eighteen months.”
“No, longer.”
“Really? How much longer?”
“Two years and a bit.”
“Blimey. Time flies.”
A tear ran down Karla’s cheek. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “Mike wants us to get started sooner rather than later. He thinks it’s important to have kids when you’re still young enough to run around with them.”
Audrey’s surmise now had all the conviction of scientific knowledge:
Mike was having an affair. No doubt, Karla was going through with this adoption in the hope that a baby would keep the marriage together. Audrey was not much moved by other women’s marital difficulties as a rule. Wives of straying husbands tended only to irritate her with their self-dramatizing unhappiness and their confident expectations of sympathy. Big deal, she always wanted to say to them: Join the club. Or, as her mother had told her, when she got her first period at the age of thirteen: “Well, now you know. Being a woman isn’t fun.” Yet something in Karla’s misery stirred her now—filled her with an outraged sympathy that she had not known she possessed.
“Who cares what Mike says?” she burst out. “A man has nothing to say in matters of reproduction.”
Karla looked at her in surprise. “But, Mom—”
“It’s a woman’s business.” Audrey stood up, suddenly embarrassed, and took her mug to the sink. What was she trying to do? She couldn’t save her daughter from Mike’s infidelity. Married life was hard. Karla would have to deal with it like everyone else.
“Forget it, I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said. “I’m going to see how Len’s doing. Pour another coffee and bring it in for him, would you?”
On the long ride back to the Bronx, Karla thought about what her mother had said to her. It had been odd to hear her refer so dismissively to Mike’s wishes. Audrey had never had a very high opinion of Mike, it was true, but she rarely failed to take his side. Most of her marital advice to Karla over the years had seemed to be based on the assumption that Mike was performing a remarkable act of charity in agreeing to be her husband and ought to be rewarded with complete obeisance.
At home, Karla found Mike lying on the floor in their bedroom, doing crunches.
“Well, he’s gone,” she said, sitting down on the bed.
Mike was counting under his breath and did not reply.
“Jean’s such a nice lady,” Karla mused. “I really hope he’s not going to screw this up.”
“One hundred…” Mike lay back on the floor and exhaled noisily. “Of course he’s going to screw it up, Karla”
“Don’t say that. We have to give him a chance.”
Mike sat up. “Your essay is ready, right?”
“Oh, God…” Karla covered her mouth with her hand.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t done it.”
“No, no, I have. I finished it during my lunch break today. It’s in my case at work. I just forgot to bring it back with me.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll bring it tomorrow. One day won’t matter.”
“I’ve been asking you for that essay for weeks. What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve just been so busy—”
“And everything else takes priority, doesn’t it? Sorry, Mike, my dad’s ill. Sorry, Mike, I have to look after my fucked-up brother. Sorry, Mike, one of my patients is having a crisis…”
“What do you want me to do? Go back and get it now?”
“Yes, actually. I think you should.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” He assumed a prone position and started doing pushups.
Karla sat watching, waiting for him to relent.
“Go on,” he said, looking up after a moment. “If you’re going, go.”
Khaled’s store was still open when Karla got to the hospital. Reluctant to have to explain her tearstained face, she hurried past without stopping. Up in her cubicle, she turned on the computer and began to print out her essay. When the first page shuddered out onto the printing tray, she picked it up and read it over with an embarrassed frown.
“…My relationships with my parents and siblings have always been extremely good. We are a close-knit family, with a shared interest in political activism and social justice. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of going as a family on peace marches and other similar events…”
There was a knock at the door. Before she could reply, the door swung open, and Khaled entered. “I saw you downstairs just now,” he said. “I called to you, but you didn’t hear.”
“Sorry, I was in a hurry.”
“Are you okay?”
She turned back to the printer. “Yup, I’m fine.”
“How come you came back to work?”
“I had to pick up some papers I left behind.” Go on, she told herself. Why don’t you just say it? “It’s a document for an adoption agency, actually. My husband and I are trying to adopt a baby. I had to write an autobiographical essay for the application form.” She spoke in a great rush, babbling the words like a child in a school play.
“Wow,” Khaled said.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t tell me you were trying to adopt.”
“Well, it’s a pretty recent thing.”
Khaled laced his hands together and placed them on the top of his head. “This is big news.”
She gave a smiling half-shrug. “I guess.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
The printing had stopped.
“So what have you said about yourself?” Khaled asked.
“What?”
“In your essay. What have you said?”
“I don’t know. Stupid stuff.”
“Like what?”
Karla picked up the papers from the printing tray. “I don’t want to tell you. It’s too dopey.”
“Oh, come on, tell me.” There was something vaguely hostile in his cajoling tone.
“Well, I said I’m caring and, you know, interested in social justice. I said I’m a cheerful and positive person—”
“Really?” he interrupted. “Cheerful and positive?”
“What?”
“I don’t know. To me, you always seem a little sad.”
“I am not sad!”
“You have a sad face.”
“Thanks!”
“It’s not an insult.”
“I’m not a sad person. I’m always smiling.”
“If you say so.”
Angrily, Karla shuffled the essay into order and slid it into an envelope. “Right,” she said, “I’m done.”
Khaled did not move. “So when are you going to get this baby, then?”
She sighed. “It’s not like that. There’s no definite date. We have to be approved first. They have to do a home study. It takes a long time.”
> They stood, listening to the eerie susurration of the social work offices after hours: the glub-glub of the water cooler in the hall, the distant ping of an elevator, the whirr of a late-arriving fax in the next-door cubicle.
“I’m sorry,” Khaled said, at last. “I’m sorry you’re doing this.”
Karla nodded. “I know you are.” The tears in her eyes were making the room wobble and shimmer. She looked down at the envelope in her hands. When she looked up again, Khaled was standing in front of her. I don’t care, Karla thought, as he lowered his face to hers. I don’t care.
His hands were dry and hot. He tasted of something spicy that he had eaten for lunch. When he put his mouth to her ear, his breath roared like the sea in a shell. “Is this okay?” he whispered. “Do you want this? You must tell me.”
She felt a spasm of impatience. For god’s sake, don’t make me say it.
He drew back. “Karla?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice cracking with embarrassment. “Yes, go on, yes.”
CHAPTER
16
To lend some semblance of truth to the boast of “a romantic garden” posted on the blackboard easel out front, the proprietor of the tiny Indian restaurant on Fifth Street had strung garlands of colored lights across his concrete backyard and placed tea lights, bobbing in bowls of water, on each of the frail plastic tables. Overhead, in the branches of a gnarled crab apple tree, a speaker broadcast woozy instrumental medleys of easy listening classics. In this urban oasis of music and light Rosa and Chris Jackson were sitting one evening in late July, discussing Chris’s latest documentary project, about a family of methamphetamine addicts in rural Minnesota.
“The grandfather is my favorite character,” Chris was saying. “He’s this sweet-looking old guy with all this white hair and a big old mustache. You see him sitting around the house in his carpet slippers, watching NASCAR and you think, Sweet guy. Then he gets into his car with his fifteen-year-old granddaughter, looking like he’s taking her to soccer practice or something, and it turns out he’s driving her into town so she can turn tricks. He’s his granddaughter’s pimp!” He gave a little creaking laugh. “You gotta love that.”