Fall and Rise (14 page)

“You sound plenty reasonable, so don't worry. It must be very uncomfortable without heat.”

“Where you calling from? It sounds like noises on the street.”

“A pay phone. I went to a party and was walking home.”

“It's safe? You don't want to take a subway at night, but why not a bus or cab?”

“I'm walking to get air.”

“You drank too much at the party?”

“Mom, will you stop it? I drank a little. Maybe even more than a little, but I'm all right.”

“Thieves see a drunk on the street, they see a target. You have to be careful everyplace today. No matter how big you are, they come at you two and three at a time and can knock and keep any man down. I worry about you alone at night. You're too quick to leap in if you see any trouble. Maybe yesterday that was okay or you'd end up with only a bop on the nose, but today you can get killed. If they start chasing you and they're young, they'll win.”

“Believe me, with all the exercising I do I'm even stronger than I was, but I no longer jump in. I'm as wary as the next guy.”

“Too much exercise at your age and you could be setting yourself up for a heart condition. You ought to do only light things like yoga.”

“Maybe you're right. I'll check into it.”

“You're not just saying?”

“No. I'll get a check-up, have a stress test—whatever.”

“Good. How long you think we've been on the phone?”

“Three minutes. More?”

“I'm surprised the operator hasn't cut in. Maybe I should call you back before she does.”

“Leave it. So we get a break from the phone company for once. But if I know them they'll ring me as soon as I hang up, and if you know me you know I'll pay. But where were we? That you must be very uncomfortable without heat for two days. See how I got a memory?”

“I never doubted. And this time I don't care how good his excuse is, I'm going to a good hotel and charge them for meals and tips too if this lasts another day.”

“Don't go to a hotel. My apartment's small. But if it ever came to your being warm or not and you wanted to avoid the hotel cost, you could always stay at my place alone for as long as you want and I'd find someplace else to stay or you could stay there with me.”

“On the floor?”

“I'd sleep on the floor or in a chair. It's not bad. I have a sleeping bag, or I'd buy a cot, and I'd come get you.”

“Your apartment must be very small. Anyway, thanks but if I didn't go to a hotel I'd go to Bernard's. He also asked me and it's nearer and roomier. Because I can't take the cold, Daniel. Nobody here can. I wore three sweaters and would have worn a fourth if I had one. Get me a good wool cardigan for Christmas if you're thinking of buying me anything. I never asked you for a gift before, but that's what I need and I don't know when I'll have the time to look for a good one. What do you need?”

“For Christmas? Nothing.”

“For anytime what do you need? Don't say socks.”

“It's true, socks I can always use. Socks and size thirty-two jockey briefs, next style up from what they call bikini, but not white.”

“They show the stain, I know.”

“I told you? Or you're getting very bold.”

“You did tell me after I gave you several pairs of white. Black or red, right?”

“Any dark solid color. Size thirty-two or thirty-four. I can get into both. For some reason thirty-two stretches to a thirty-four and thirty-four doesn't to a thirty-six. Maybe I'm a thirty-four and don't want to admit it.”

“Get measured.”

“Let's just say thirty-four.”

“I already have it. Regular dark solid-colored jockey briefs but not the old-man kind, preferably thirty-three if they carry odd sizes, and no artificial materials in them except in the elastic band. Same with the socks? Not the knee-high kind and I know no whites, but what about argyles? They used to be your favorite.”

“In college. But anything. Cotton or wool or a wool blend, they're all fine. White too, don't bother yourself about what kind, but not all-nylon if you can avoid it of any design.”

“Like dad used to wear.”

“I find them itchy and ugly.”

“You still have his after all these years?”

“The last pair's just wearing out.”

“Dad also didn't spend much on clothes, but look how those socks lasted and some of them didn't come to you new. Six years.”

“I thought eight.”

“Six. I waited two years before I gave away any of his clothes. You thought that peculiar.”

“Not peculiar.”

“Peculiar, peculiar. You wanted me to throw them on the street or give them to Goodwill, but I couldn't till after two years. And you finally took his socks and also his bathrobes, and those robes were Viyella, expensive but durable and warm. I bet you still have them.”

“You can't wear them out.”

“I bought them for him. But let's not talk about it anymore if you don't mind. You're not too cold where you're calling from?”

“I've a coat. One thing before I forget. What color cardigan?”

“Something bright. Blue heather or heather blue. Or a pretty shade in the red family. Red makes me feel warm when it's cold. And size thirty-eight. Cardigans have to be loose.”

“Good. But you feel fine otherwise and there'll be heat by tomorrow?”

“This going to be a much longer call? I'm enjoying it, but the operator not coming in worries me. And you didn't just call to say you'd be stopping by tomorrow or the next day for dinner and then got carried away with all this clothes talk?”

“You want me for dinner tomorrow?”

“It's been a long time, not that I want to coerce you.”

“No, I want to. Tomorrow.”

“We could make it the following day.”

“No, tomorrow.”

“Good—around five. What should I prepare?”

“If you're giving me a choice, fish would be fine. Simple—broiled. I could pick it up on the way.”

“You can't get fresh fish where you are like we get here. But I was thinking of a roast chicken if not a meatloaf. I have both in the freezer and one of these days soon I have to defrost it.”

“I don't like roast chicken—maybe the only thing of yours I don't. The idea of it, looking like something I don't want to be reminded of. I know it's my problem, but I'm sorry.”

“I'll cut it up. The carcass will be gone before you get here.”

“Fine then, for what am I going on about?—chicken. I liked it best when you boiled it I think and then I don't know what you did with the parts—baked or broiled them plain with a little paprika and a single onion slice on top. Just don't make a big deal. Don't bake pies. Don't start cooking early tomorrow morning.”

“Why not? If there's no heat to very little, it'll keep the place warm.”

“I'll bring the wine and bread.”

“Only for you to drink—my system can't take it. I only have my vodka or two and that's sufficient. Are we going to speak another minute or more?”

“If you want to. It must be freezing sitting there.”

“I have a bathrobe and blanket around me, so I'm almost warm. Another of dad's robes you said was ugly, but this one, and am I grateful, you didn't take. The heater's on too, so it's not that bad. I complain way too much. But what was I saying? Nothing. And I hate the operator interrupting, so if we are going to speak a while longer, give me your number and I'll call back.”

“You have to be sure you want to.”

“I do. I'm feeling very peppy tonight and I love it.”

“You have a pen?”

“I have a memory.”

“Two-four-three, ninety-one twelve.”

“Don't let anyone take the phone from you. It might get too cold for me waiting if they do. But if you don't hear from me in a minute it means I forgot your number, so phone back. Bye, dear.” Hangs up. Phone rings a few seconds later.

“Mom?”

“The operator. There's a ten-cent overtime charge on your last phone call.”

“You never came in and told us.”

“If one of us didn't, that's an error on our part, but I have registered here an overtime charge of ten cents.”

“I only have a quarter.”

“We'll reimburse you by mail.”

“It'll cost you a twenty-cent stamp, so really wouldn't be worth it, and I am expecting a call. I in fact probably owe you twenty to thirty-cents overtime for the time I talked.” I put in the quarter. “Thank you, ma'am,” and she says “Have a nice day,” and I hang up. Phone rings several seconds later.

“Hello?”

“Where were you? I asked you not to let anyone use the phone. I also got worried thinking something was wrong—a fight in the booth and the phone turned upside down. Crazy, huh?”

“It was the operator. A bargain: only wanted a dime. But what else is new with you? How's Goldie?”

“Actually, I am suddenly feeling tired, Daniel, so just tell me how your life is going in other ways, if you don't want to save it till tomorrow, and then I'll have to say goodnight.”

“I'll tell you everything tomorrow.”

“You meet anyone at the party you were at?”

“There were plenty of interesting people there.”

“You know what I mean. Because you should. I don't want you to be alone all your life. I hope you're at least still looking.”

“I haven't been alone. I've known many women.”

“A year here, six months there. You're alone now. And that last one, May. She was very nice, and sweet to me as they come, but for too long I knew she wasn't your type and you weren't hers and that it was a lost cause from the start.”

“Funny, but I didn't think so. And it is strange you ask about tonight, since I did meet someone.”

“Bring her along tomorrow.”

“I only met her briefly.”

“We can postpone dinner a day or two. You get her number?”

“I'll be calling her. Anyway, it's too early to talk about and surely too early to invite her for dinner with you.”

“Why? If a woman likes you, nothing's too early. You once called me a lighthouse, so listen to the light. If you call her early tomorrow, say you're going to your mother's for the first time in months and would she like to come along. That way she won't from the start think you're a momma's boy, which you're not. And when she does see us together she'll like the idea of someone being so joking and outspoken with his mother, and if she's from out of town the idea of going to a good family dinner way out here might appeal to her too. A lot of people have heard of this neighborhood and think it's special.”

“She's from the city. Anyway, I want to see you alone so we can talk.”

“What will we say that we haven't tonight?”

“My work. What you've been doing. Politics. Plenty.”

“How is your work going?”

“Fine. But tomorrow. Anything else I can bring? In fact I know exactly what. An electric blanket.”

“You have one?”

“Two. Could you use the extra?”

“They're supposed to keep you warm for relatively little electricity, so if it's not your only working one.”

“I don't have one good or bad but I'll get you one tomorrow. I knew you'd say no if I said I'd buy it.”

“I don't need one.”

“I'm bringing it, but ripping up the label and receipt before I get there.”

“Then you should have kept me fooled. The whole thing was too calculating for you.”

“Come on, will you, that's what I am.”

“No you're not. Think more highly of yourself. When it comes to qualities—But before we hang up, what's this new woman's name?”

“Helene, but for who-knows-what reasons she might not want to see me or be able to for weeks or months. It's happened. So enough about her unless something materializes, since I don't want to be explaining for the next year about what ever happened to this woman.”

“She'll want to see you. If she gave you her number, she will, and I bet in a hurry, and she'll take to you too. Everyone does.”

“You're my mother, so you're saying this. And the truth is I think I sometimes need that kind of talk, much as I go out of my way to say I don't. But don't get your hopes up there'll be any new woman in my life. What I'm saying is that if I was really feeling bad about myself now, which I'm not, then I'd say that if there's any way to ruin it with any new woman I meet, you can be sure I'll do it instinctively or find out how.”

“Then I shouldn't get out my chiffon gown yet, that it? As you wish. Goodnight, dear.”

“Wait. Oh jeez. I sound like a moron sometimes, don't I?”

“No. Who said so?”

“Then I didn't make you feel awful just then?”

“No, and you didn't plan to, did you? So stop worrying. But I am very tired, so I hope to see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling.”

“Thanks for what?” but she's hung up.

Walking up Sixth I think I shouldn't have said a lot of the things I said to her about myself and also should have told her of something I read in the paper this week about how anyone seventy-five or seventy and older shouldn't have his room thermostat set lower than seventy or seventy-five degrees. Which? She's over and her apartment temperature's much lower, but over seventy on the thermostat for anyone under or over any age other than for someone, let's say, seventy to seventy-five days or ill in a number of different ways sounds too high. Maybe I'm wrong about that, but the reasons the article writer gave for the warning were something about the gradual deterioration and collapse—but I'd only be making up most of that about the effects on the various body organs and tracts. But something like “Contrary to current scientific and popular layman belief and recent federal guidelines for residential and office buildings' air conditioning and heat, any temperature lower over a prolonged period…acute hypothermia…very elderly and infirmed…”