Bingo (40 page)

Mother and I endured the eternal sermon with downcast eyes. Perhaps our retinas would suffer the reverse of the damage done to Michelangelo’s eyes as he painted the Sistine Chapel. He suffered for art. I suffered for hair curlers.

Oh, well, since suffering is such an important part of Christianity, some people feel it their duty to spread it around. Those people manage to run huge TV evangelical empires. There’s a delicious perversity in having people send in contributions to be told that, one, we are by nature sinful and unclean; two, we’re going to die any minute now so get ready; three, some of us (read in: those who don’t send money) are going straight to hell.

If I went to hell I’d know they had lowered their standards. Actually, I rarely thought of hell. Where there is no faith, devils are a necessity. Despite my faults I had faith, planted and nurtured by Mom and Dad until today it was unshakable. Therefore, why talk about it?

Our pastor sure could talk, but to his credit, he didn’t pound on hellfire and abuse. His topics were drier: church dogma. I was proud of Martin Luther nailing his ninety-five theses to the door of the Palast Church in Wittenberg on October 31, 1517, but why refight the battle every seven days? Thank you, Martin Luther, but I need something I can live by today. The selling of indulgences by the Catholic Church did not rivet my attention.

Mother teased me. She said I was a lukewarm Lutheran. What I really was lukewarm about was organized religion. As soon as the followers of Christ collected money and erected edifices to God—to their egos is closer to the truth—troubles began. Still I went to church. Being with Mother and listening to Bach is not a bad combination. Then, too, a church is a place for faith to gather and therefore is joyful, but a church won’t save you. What you do in this life will save you.

It seemed to me that there were millions of Americans not doing a damn thing with their lives except servicing their greed. The wages of sin appear to be success. Christ’s message would be easier to embrace if we didn’t see the shysters, con men, and power brokers ever advancing up the ladder of proud capitalism and political office.

When I was young and knew everything, I used to think the beauty of Christianity is that no one is in danger of practicing it. It’s too austere and difficult.

Now I believe that no matter how austere and difficult, it’s better than the alternative and we’ve got to try to love thy neighbor as thyself.

So far, no halo shines over my head. Maybe I was better off not being Saint Nickel, but then I was slipping and sliding with the rest of the human race and I was preparing to bring another soul into this confusing conflagration called life.

A
fter working out, Lolly, Pewter, and I drove over to the barn. Kenny, glad to see me despite my poor performance the day before yesterday, endured a bright early morning ride. The dew covered the grass like a wet blanket, which made it heaven for Lolly because the scent was down low.

Following my brisk ride I repaired to the tennis courts, where I encountered ladies who do not work. I forget about those kinds of women. They tend to be a generation older than I, and they’ve made a simple, straightforward bargain with their men: You work in the outside world and I’ll raise the children and keep a good home. Those that hadn’t gotten dumped for younger women seemed quite content as they scurried around the courts. An oddity about this type of woman is how preoccupied she seems with her femininity. Here they were banging away at the tennis ball, hair frosted to a woman and wearing fetching designer tennis togs as well as those awful socks with the pompons on the back. I had trouble taking them seriously. They spoke in voices a half-octave higher than their normal range and they were relentlessly upbeat. I felt suffocated in their presence.

I was being unfair and I knew it. After I squashed three of them in a row, two sets apiece, I left. On the one hand I respected them for keeping their end of the bargain. On the other hand, couldn’t they talk about something other than their tennis games, their children, and one another?

It wasn’t until I parked behind the
Clarion
building and beheld
the silent press that I realized I was homesick for the paper and I had taken some of my unrecognized misery out on the “gal group.” They were no different from the corporate clones who dressed alike and spoke exhaustively about business, the stock market, and sports.

My loss preyed on me. Every day of my life since college I was surrounded by the events of the world. War, famine, pestilence, political power struggles, the arts, and fascinating stories about individuals chugged out of the AP wire. I covered local car accidents, the rare murder, tax and zoning battles, fiftieth anniversaries, and high school sports. Everybody covered everything at the
Clarion
. I was used to living in the center of events and now I’d been banished to the tundra.

I wanted to parade by the old Bon Ton and peek inside but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I went over to the Curl ’n Twirl instead. Mother was getting a manicure.

“Hi, Mom.”

She turned and smiled. “Hi back at you.” She raised her voice. “Mr. Pierre, my one and only child is here.”

“Be out in a minute, Juts.”

“What’s he doing?” I asked.

“Ordering a new color line from the supplier. There’re going to be a lot of cool blondes this spring and summer.”

“Want to have lunch with me?”

“Thanks, honey, but Ed and I are going antiquing.”

“You never cared about antiques before.”

“I didn’t say I cared about them, only that we’re going out looking.”

“Are you going to study Eastern religions too? Omm.” I hummed the mantra.

“I most certainly am not. Anyway, Ed’s just curious. He likes to know about things. He’s not some religious nut. Wheezie, per usual, overstates things.”

“I’m glad to hear Ed has a curious mind. He doesn’t talk enough for me to know he has much of a mind at all.”

“What an ugly thing to say.” Mother jerked her hand, causing Kim Spangler to mess up her nail.

“Julia, put your hand back here,” Kim demanded.

“Sorry.” Mother put her hand down. “Ed’s not a chatterbox. He belongs to the older breed of men, quiet and strong. Just the way I like them.”

“He’d have to be quiet around you.”

“What’s wrong with you? You’re a whistling bitch this morning.” Mother frowned.

“I guess I am. I apologize.”

Mr. Pierre emerged from the back room, escorted the salesman to the door, and then greeted me. “
Divina!
”

Georgette rolled her eyes.”Nickel?”

“If you’ve got any compliments to give me, give them to me in English.”

He appraised me shrewdly, “That kind of day, is it? Darling, you’re at sea because you’re not working. Now my appointment book is busy, busy, busy, but how about if I take you to dinner tomorrow night? Better yet, I’ll cook.”

“That’s a deal.”

“We have things to talk about.” His voice carried hidden meanings.

Mother glanced up at me. “Is that it? The paper? Poor baby, no wonder you’re out of sorts.”

I sat in the chair next to her. “Well—yeah.”

Louise swept through the door. Lolly, Goodyear, and Pewter surrounded her. She gave everyone a pat and then pushed me out of the seat.

“You’re too young to sit down. I need a breather. I ran over here as fast as I could.” In the background I heard a siren. I started for the door. “Don’t bother,” Louise said. “Mildred Foster ran off the road. She’s languishing on the sidewalk of Baltimore Street.”

“Bet you ran her off the road,” Mother teased.

“Well, I did but it was quite by accident. Mildred never looks where she’s going. But that’s not why I hurried here. I heard on
good authority that when they got Ursie Yost to the hospital, Trixie Shellenberger had to sedate her. Still haven’t gotten the smell off her either.” A wicked grin spread over Louise’s carefully scrubbed face.

We allowed ourselves a laugh at Ursie’s expense. David Wheeler, looking very official, came through the door.

“Here for a wash and dry?” Mr. Pierre’s voice was singsong.

“No, I am here for Mrs. Trumbull.”

Without batting an eye, my aunt pointed a finger at me. “She did it. She’s driving the third Chrysler, you know.”

“I was nowhere near Baltimore Street!”

David towered over Louise. “Mildred saw you. Now let’s get this settled as painlessly as possible.”

“Mildred can’t see two feet in front of her face!” Louise spat. “That’s why she’s parked on the sidewalk. She doesn’t look where she’s going.”

“How would you know she’s on the sidewalk if you weren’t there? Come on.”

Louise let out a wail.

“Aunt Wheezie, I’ll come with you.”

I spent two hours straightening out Louise’s mess. Mildred Foster was no picnic either. If this was how I was going to spend my time, I needed to find a job fast.

I
repeated my format of yesterday. I worked out, rode Kenny, and played tennis. Today I felt more inclined to like the pompon girls. I crammed my time with errands which ate up most of the day and then I descended upon Mr. Pierre’s for dinner. He grilled lobster and I stuffed myself with this new treat.

Afterwards we sat at opposite ends of his huge 1930s sofa, our feet just touching, shoes on the floor. After a fabulous meal, catching up on gossip, making predictions for our friends’ futures, he tactfully inquired as to my health.

“Great. Those old wives’ tales about pregnancy are true. I’m chock-full of endorphins. My body feels wonderful.”

“What about the rest of you?”

“Wretched about the paper. It would be easier if I could hate Diz, or even Charles for selling it in the first place, but I can’t.”

“Fate. Be patient. I absolutely believe that everything happens for a purpose and you will come out of this ahead.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do and it’s a source of comfort to me.” He inhaled. “Plus,
ma cherie
, I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen good things come out of bad and I’ve seen miracles.”

“Name me one miracle.” I smiled and pushed his foot with mine.

“You.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “You were dumped in an orphanage in Pittsburgh. Gas rationing was in effect. The war, remember.”

“I don’t remember a thing.”

“Chessy took up a collection of gas coupons and drove from Runnymede to Pittsburgh over those awful roads. Juts had pneumonia, so Louise accompanied him. They lied to get you out, said they were your parents. They liberated you and on the way home a blizzard hit. You weighed five pounds, which must have been what you weighed when you were born, and you’d been in that place about a month. The orphanage doctor told Chessy not to take you, you wouldn’t live, and Chessy said, ‘By God, she will live!’ You had to be fed every three hours. All across Pennsylvania and Maryland your dad and Louise pulled into gas stations, farms, wherever there was a light. Total strangers gave you milk and heated it. That, my dear, is a miracle. Your mom and dad got up around the clock with you for three months after they brought you home and you lived—triumphantly, I might add. Fate—and miracles.”

“You’re right and I forgot.”

“I don’t remind you to make you feel guilty but only to reassure you. You have been blessed and loved and you’ve grown into a productive, responsible citizen.”

“You’re being sweet to me.” I smiled. “Tell me a miracle that doesn’t involve me. A miracle about you.”

He thought awhile.” Let me tell you something I never told anyone but Bob. You know I was in Korea.”

“Yes. How come you didn’t say you were a homosexual to get out of the army?”

He tossed his lilac head. “Just because I’m a homosexual doesn’t mean I should be excused from service to my country. I’ll have none of it. The armed services are so wrong on that subject I scarcely know where to begin. I just lied. I never admitted to being gay and at that time I wasn’t quite as willowy as I am now, my sweet. Anyway, I was shipped over and assigned to combat.” He
reached over and sipped his after-dinner liqueur. “One night I was on guard duty and it was colder than a witch’s tit. The snow crunched underfoot and you know how crystal-clear winter nights are. The stars were brilliant and a half moon shone overhead. My feet tortured me but I kept pacing. A little gust of wind came up and a swirl of snow enveloped me, then dropped as quickly as it had risen. I saw not fifty feet in front of me a Korean soldier. He must have been my age, about eighteen. We simply stared at each other in disbelief and then he raised his rifle and I raised mine. I don’t know who started firing first but we emptied our rifles and neither one of us hit the other. I was so scared I peed myself and I will not admit that to another human being. Once our rifles were empty we stared at each other and then he ran away. It was a miracle we didn’t kill each other, and I had a great revelation that night. If human beings cannot find a way to settle their differences without resorting to violence, then we deserve to die. There is nothing noble about killing another human being because he’s in a different uniform, because he worships a different God, because you’re squabbling over real estate, and isn’t that what wars are about? It’s grotesquely wrong, Nickie, so wrong that anyone, anywhere on earth who attempts to justify it is serving dark gods.”