Kiss Mommy Goodbye (13 page)

He turned. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

Immediately, she felt her resolve start to crumble. Immediately, she stopped herself, coached herself, what was the matter with her? Couldn’t he ask a simple question? He couldn’t be expected to know what she had been thinking. He was entitled to say what he wished. She shouldn’t have expected him to say exactly what she wanted to hear. There it was again—her expectations. Always getting them into trouble. If only she had no expectations, she would be much better off. They would both be a lot happier.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I’ve never liked it before,” Victor said. “Why would you think I’d suddenly start liking it now?”

“I thought you did.”

“No, Donna.” He put down his drink. His voice was calm, not at all unpleasant. “But what does it matter what I like? You’re going to wear it anyway.”

Donna tried to smile. “What would you like me to wear?”

“Forget it, Donna,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s late.”

“There’s time. I’ll hurry and change. Just tell me what you’d like me to wear.”

“What about the blue dress?”

“Blue dress?”

“Forget it.”

“Wait a minute, what blue dress?”

“The one with the little flowers on the sleeves.”

“Flowers on the sleeve—Oh! Oh! That’s not blue, it’s pale green.”

“So sue me, I got it wrong. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.” He bowed in mock supplication.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s just that I didn’t know which dress you meant when you said blue—”

“You’ve made your point.”

Donna felt herself about to respond angrily, stopped herself just in time, and took a breath.

“I’ll go change.”

“Don’t do it for me,” he called after her.

Several minutes later, he followed her into the bedroom. The red and black dress she’d had on lay discarded on the bed. She stood in front of the full-length mirror adjusting the pale green dress she had replaced it with.

“What do you think?” she asked. She had to admit, it did look better.

“Not bad,” he said. “But the makeup’s wrong.”

She turned abruptly back to the mirror. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Too obvious. It was fine for red and black, but it looks cheap with the green.”

“Cheap? Don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard?”

“Suit yourself. I’m just telling you that the dress looks great but your face looks bargain basement.”

Donna looked at the floor. She would not cry, she repeated to herself, she would not lose her temper. His sexual frustration was talking now, not him, and she was the one responsible for that condition. “How do you think I should do it?”

“However you want. It’s your face.”

“Please, Victor, I’m asking your opinion.”

“I’d just tone it all down. Be as natural as possible.”

“I really don’t have very much on.”

“Are you kidding? You’re wearing enough to make Emmett Kelly jealous!”

Donna walked quickly into the bathroom and washed her face. She redid her makeup, applying only a cream under her eyes (to disguise the bags) and around the sides of her nose (to disguise the peeling—her nose was raw from blowing it), a touch of blush-on and some mascara. She sneezed just before Victor could give her his final seal of approval.

“Jesus, what did you do that for?” he asked.

“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose, Victor.”

“Go clean your face,” he said, and Donna returned to the bathroom to wash the mascara off her cheekbones.

“I don’t know how you managed to get another cold,” he said on their way out to the car. They had called Mrs. Adilman as they were leaving and she had come right over. “Thank God
someone
around here gets places on time.”

She ignored the latter remark, answered the former, “I get them from Adam,” she said. “Now that he’s in nursery school two mornings a week, he brings home lots of colds. They call it Nursery Nose.”

“Maybe you should be sending him somewhere else.” They got into the car.

“It would be the same thing,” Donna said, continuing the conversation. “Besides, there is nowhere else. I checked all over. This is the only place where they’ll take him only two mornings a week.”

“What about Montessori?”

“He’d have to go every day.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s a little young yet, Victor, he’s only two and a bit. How many years of school do you want him to have?”

“You’ve got to let go some time, you know,” he cautioned, putting the key in the ignition.

“It’s not a question of letting go—”

“Are you going to start?”

Donna immediately stopped talking. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I really wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“You don’t have to try,” he said, then immediately added, “you better drive. If a policeman stopped me, I’d never pass the breathalyzer test.”

“Back to jail,” she said, trying to stir what she now thought of as fond memories.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he answered. They changed seats. She started the car. The radio came on immediately, flooding the space between them. Donna turned it down. Victor quickly turned it back up. Neither spoke. She backed out of the carport.

“Wave goodbye to Mrs. Adilman,” he instructed.

They both waved at the plump, graying woman who stood at the door waving them good night as she had obviously done years before with her own children.

“Do you think she’ll get mad at us if we’re out past midnight?” Donna asked, trying to joke.

“Be careful, you almost hit that garbage can.”

Donna checked her rearview mirror. “I’m nowhere near that garbage can.”

“Are you going to drive? We’re already half an hour late.”

“It’s a party, Victor, no one is going to arrive exactly on time.”

“If they were your friends, we’d be there on time, you can bet on it.”

“That’s not fair, Victor. And it’s not true.”

“Oh really?”

“Besides, I don’t have any friends.”

“My fault, I suppose.”

“No,” she said, feeling somewhat that it was. “You can’t help it if you’re not comfortable with any of them.”

“You could still see them on your own.”

“It’s a little difficult when they work all day and I’m at home with Adam.”

“You’re saying you want to go back to work?” he asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“What do you mean, not yet?”

“I may go back next year part-time when Adam’s in nursery every day,” Donna said, voicing these thoughts for the first time.

“Oh, I see. When it’s convenient for you, then Adam’s not too young anymore.”

“Next year he’ll be three years old! That’s when most kids start full-time nursery!”

“You’re raising your voice.”

Donna was surprised to realize that she had. “I’m sorry. How did we get on this topic anyway? All I wanted to say was that it’s a little difficult for me to see what few friends I have when they work all day and you won’t socialize with them at night.”

“So, it’s all my fault,” Victor concluded.

“I’m not saying that.”

“What are you saying?”

“Forget it.”

“Incidentally, do you know where you’re going? We passed the turn-off three blocks ago.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” She stopped the car.

“You were too busy yelling at me.” She turned the car around, found the right street and made her turn.

“You always turn corners that fast?” he asked accusingly.

“It wasn’t fast.”

“Took the curb off the sidewalk. How fast are you going anyway?”

“Victor, who is driving this car, you or me?”

“I just asked how fast you were driving. Can’t I ask you a simple question? Jeez! Starting with your mouth already. Can’t help yourself, can you? I mean it would really kill you to have one nice evening.”

“I don’t believe this,” Donna muttered, feeling the tears start behind her eyes.

“Christ, Donna,” he yelled, as she slammed her foot on the brakes inches before a stop sign. “Where are you looking? You almost drove through that stop sign!”

“I didn’t though, did I?”

“You trying to kill us?”

“I stopped,” she said, starting again.

“What were you thinking about?!”

“Victor, you’re making me a nervous wreck, will you please shut up!”

“Oh, it’s my fault you almost missed the stop sign!”

“Nobody said it was your fault!”

“You’re yelling.”

“You’re driving me crazy! Will you just let me drive?”

“What—so you can kill us the next time?”

“I’d be fine if you’d just shut up.”

“Stop yelling at me!” he shouted.

“Shut up!” she screamed in return, the words exploding upon impact with the air. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

She drove through a red light.

“Jesus Christ, are you crazy?! You
are
trying to kill us,” he yelled. “Pull over. Did you hear me? Pull over!”

“I didn’t see it! I didn’t see it!”

Victor reached over her, grabbed the wheel and steered the car to the side of the road. “Get out of the car.”

“Victor,” she cried, the tears she had been pushing back erupting now with double force. “I didn’t see the lights!”

“I know. And you didn’t see the stop sign. And it’s all my fault.”

He pulled her out from behind the wheel. She shook his arm free. “Don’t touch me,” she said, trying to wipe her eyes.

He looked at her, suddenly calm. “Oh, is that what this is all about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t have to almost kill us to get out of sleeping with me tonight. I’m getting used to the word no.”

Donna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Over and over in her mind she replayed the words. She still couldn’t get them to make any sense.

“I didn’t see the red light!” she cried out in desperation. “You were yelling at me about the stop sign and you wouldn’t drop it and I started yelling and got so upset I missed the stoplight! It had nothing to do with sleeping with you!”

“It’s all my fault,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head. “I’m the one who drove through the stop sign and the red light.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh? So you’re willing to concede that
you
were driving. Interesting.”

“I was trying to.”

“And I wouldn’t let you. Is that it? Get in the car, Donna. Or do you want everyone who drives by to think I’m beating you up? Is that part of the plan?” They walked around the car in opposite directions and got inside, Victor now behind the wheel, Donna, shaking, at his side.

“You
are
beating me up,” she said as he started the car. “Just that the bruises don’t show.”

“You’re crazy,” he said to her. “Sometimes I really worry about my son’s safety.”

“What?”

The word came out in a hoarse whisper, Donna’s voice finally giving in to battle fatigue and shell shock. She started to cough and continued until Victor pulled the car to a sudden halt.

“What are you stopping for?” she asked through her tears.

“We’re here.”

“Here? You mean we’re still going to the party?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I certainly am. Late though we are.”

“I look a mess.”

“Par for the course these days.”

“Victor—”

“Don’t start in on me. I’ve had enough for tonight. Now,” he paused, choosing his words deliberately, “I am going inside. You have two choices. You can either come with me and try to have a good time, abhorrent though I know that thought is to you, or you can stay out here and sulk like a little girl. I’ll be embarrassed of course, but I’ll deal with it. Either way,” he added, getting out of the car, “I’m going inside.”

Donna felt herself being lifted out of the car by the force of her own panic. Maybe she
had
been trying to kill them. Who knew anymore? Certainly anything would be better than this. Certainly at this moment, she wanted to die. Then she thought of Adam. Her beautiful little boy. And she knew she didn’t really want to die at all. She wanted Victor to die.

The realization made her gasp for air.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked her.

No, please, please. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. “Victor, please can we talk?”

“You’ve said enough.” A familiar refrain.

“Please.”

“Wipe your eyes.” They reached the front door and Victor rang the bell.

Danny Vogel, looking every one of his forty years and more, answered, a drink in his hand, his beer belly protruding over his obviously new Gucci belt.

“Gotta lose weight,” he said instead of hello. “You’re late. We were starting to think you might not make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Donna kept her head down as they walked inside. She kept in Victor’s shadow, reluctant to show her face. It felt puffy and streaked. Not until she caught sight of herself in one of the hall mirrors and saw that despite the swelling around her eyes and her newly red nose, she looked presentable, did she lift her head.

“Happy birthday,” she said huskily, then cleared her throat.

“You have another cold?”

Donna nodded. Victor reached in his pocket and handed her several Kleenex.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Gin and tonic,” Victor answered.

“Scotch and water,” Donna said, wondering why, since she rarely drank scotch and water.

“Coming right up,” Danny said smiling. “Mingle, children, mingle.”

Victor took his cue immediately and disappeared into one of the groups of well-wishers. Donna looked around her. There were about thirty people there, she calculated quickly, not one of whom she wanted to talk to. She didn’t know at least half the people there and had exhausted whatever she’d had to say to the others at the last party they attended.

Whatever happened to those wonderful teenage parties? she found herself thinking as she walked absently through the people, settling finally on a place not far from the bar, where she could observe and yet not have to participate. The kind of parties where you played records and danced
and then turned off the lights and necked with whoever was closest by and prayed his braces wouldn’t get caught with yours, and someone always told the story about the two dogs that were “doing it” and got stuck together until someone finally came out and threw cold water over them. Whatever happened to those parties? Why did they always have to grow up into the kind of party where everyone stands around with a drink and a phoney smile complaining about their work and their kids and their lives? Was everyone as unhappy as she was? Was that what married life was all about?