Seventh Heaven (6 page)

B
Y SEVEN THIRTY YOU COULD SMELL COFFEE AND
toast, you could hear the metal milk boxes open and shut, and the sound of cars idling as the fathers on the block got ready to commute to work. Soon the houses would be empty, except for the mothers and the youngest children, toddlers learning to walk and babies set down for their naps, because by eight fifteen bands of children headed down Hemlock Street, the boys up front, hitting each other and stopping to wrestle on the lawns in their new chinos and plaid shirts, the girls following, their hair combed into neat braids, their knee socks pulled up high.

Billy Silk watched them from the cement stoop in front of his house. He was still wearing his pajamas and his feet were bare. Inside, his mother was fast asleep. The baby had awakened at six, and Billy had given him a juice bottle, which James sucked on dreamily in his crib. Mr. Popper had followed Billy outside, and now the cat sat beside him, licking his paws and ignoring Billy. When Billy ran his hand over Mr. Popper's fur, the cat arched his back, but he didn't stop grooming himself. He didn't even blink. Billy found himself missing Happy. Early in the mornings, when everyone was asleep, Billy used to get a carrot out of the refrigerator and hold it through the wire of Happy's cage. The rabbit always seemed grateful; he would let Billy pet him through the meshing, he would drum his foot up and down with pleasure.

This morning the air felt cool. Billy Silk wished he had slippers. He was eating stale cookies for breakfast. He had already had a Yoo-Hoo, which he drained while standing in front of the open refrigerator. If he was still hungry after the cookies, he planned to eat one of the green tomatoes his mother had left to ripen on the windowsill. Lately Billy found he was eating a huge amount of food. He figured they must be running out of money, because his mother had been pretending she was on a diet, when anyone could see she didn't need it. Every day Billy swore he would eat less, but he could never keep his promise, even though all his mother ever had was black coffee, grapefruit halves sprinkled with sugar, and glasses of skim milk.

Nora would never have admitted it, but Billy knew she kept finding more and more wrong with the house. A family of squirrels was living in the garage, and the refrigerator was on the blink so that sometimes the milk went sour and other times the eggs froze in their shells. When it rained the bathroom sink filled with water, and they had found a garter snake making its way across the linoleum in the basement. Nora insisted that everything was great; or, if it wasn't exactly great, it would be soon. She had begun selling magazine subscriptions by phone, and she talked herself into a job as a manicurist at Armand's, the beauty shop next to the A&P. For the past few days, Nora had been practicing on herself, so that the house smelled like nail-polish remover, and Billy found emery boards on the kitchen counters and in between the pillows of the couch. But if it was so great, why was she drinking coffee and eating grapefruit, why had no one on the block talked to them yet?

Billy hunched over on the stoop as he watched the last of the children walk to school. They all had lunch boxes, and Billy knew that Nora had made his lunch the night before, in case she overslept, and that she had put his sandwich and his orange into a small brown paper bag. He thought of his father's blackout trick, the piece of magic in which nothing was left but his clothes, and he wondered if you could inherit a talent like that. He could almost believe he was becoming invisible; he could feel something curling up inside himself. While Billy was eating the last cookie, Ace McCarthy came outside. He was wearing a white shirt his mother had ironed while he had breakfast, and a pair of black slacks the Saint had made him promise he'd throw out because they were so tight. He stood in his driveway and shook a cigarette out of his pack of Marlboros.

“Hey.” He nodded to Billy Silk across the lawn.

Billy stared at Ace and chewed his cookie. Ace was about to go get Danny Shapiro so they could walk to school together. Instead, he crossed the lawn. There was dew on the grass and it left droplets on his black boots.

“Damn it,” Ace said when he saw that his boots were wet. He went over to Billy and smoked his cigarette, keeping an eye out for his mother next door, just in case she looked out her window and caught him smoking. “You live here?” Ace asked.

Billy nodded and curled his toes.

Ace pointed his cigarette at Billy and closed one eye thoughtfully. Smoke circled around him. “Second grade,” he guessed.

“Third,” Billy Silk said.

“Poor guy,” Ace said. He noticed that Billy was still in his pajamas. “Your father's going to let you have it.”

“Nah.” Billy rolled a raisin over his tongue. “He's gone.”

“Gone?” Ace said, surprised. “What are you? An orphan?”

“Nah,” Billy said. “He's in Las Vegas.”

“No kidding,” Ace said, impressed.

The front door opened and Nora stood there in her nightgown, holding James on her hip.

“You should be dressed,” Nora called to Billy. “Your feet will freeze. You'll be late. Gee whillikers, buddy, let's move it.”

Ace McCarthy stared at the front door after Nora had closed it.

“That's your mother?” Ace asked, and when Billy nodded, Ace shook his head. “Wow,” he said.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Billy said, insulted, although he wasn't certain why.

“Nothing,” Ace said, stubbing out his cigarette under his boot heel. “She just doesn't look like somebody's mother.”

“Yeah,” Billy Silk said, and in a way he knew what Ace meant.

“See ya,” Ace said. He walked down the driveway as if he had all the time in the world to get to school. Billy sat on the stoop until Ace had called for Danny Shapiro. He watched them head down Hemlock Street, and then he felt silly being outside in his pajamas, so he went in and got dressed while Nora fed the baby his breakfast.

“Let's go, let's go,” Nora kept calling, even though she wasn't ready herself. She appeared in the doorway of Billy's bedroom in a black dress and black high heels as he was examining his new blue looseleaf. Around her waist she had on a black-and-gold cinch belt with a big gold buckle.

“There's nothing to be nervous about,” Nora told Billy.

Her face was flushed, and today her nails were passion-fruit pink.

“I'm not nervous,” Billy said, although actually he thought he might faint.

The elementary school was only three blocks away, but because they were late, Nora drove. The Volkswagen hadn't had time to warm up; it chugged and bucked and the engine threatened to cut out completely. Nora pulled over across from the U-shaped driveway where buses were parked. There were only a few latecomers running through the doors, but the air still smelled of peanut butter and Ivory soap and gasoline. Nora took the key out of the ignition. She looked in the rearview mirror, adjusted her gold headband, and fluffed out her bangs.

“So?” Nora said to Billy.

“So I'm not going,” Billy said.

“Oh, yes you are,” Nora told him.

“You don't even look like somebody's mother,” Billy said.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Nora said. “So thanks a million, buddy.”

Nora stepped out, then went around the car, opened the rear door, and picked up the baby. She waited for Billy on the curb. Sooner or later, he had to come out of the car. Another mother was leaving the school; she was wearing Bermuda shorts and a kerchief over her hair. Nora readjusted her cinch belt. She had a pair of Bermuda shorts somewhere; she used to wear them when she washed the floors in their old apartment. She scrunched down so she could see herself in the side-view mirror. Maybe she shouldn't have worn eye makeup; maybe she shouldn't have sprayed herself with Ambush. She tapped on the window and Billy looked over at her.

“Come on,” Nora mouthed through the glass.

Billy unlocked his door, then got out and followed his mother across the street. Nora's high heels made a clicking sound as they walked toward the principal's office. She had James hoisted over her shoulder, and the baby reached out his arms toward Billy and shouted, “Baba,” his voice echoing down the hall. Billy hung back, so that he wouldn't be seen with them; he held his lunch bag tightly.

“What are you, a slowpoke?” Nora called over her shoulder. She should have made Billy bacon and eggs for breakfast to give him extra energy. She used to make that for Roger before he went out to perform, until she found out he was performing with his girlfriends more often than he was onstage. The morning he left her, Nora had given him a mixture of henna and onions and eggs, and that had fixed his wagon. When Roger finally called from Las Vegas he confided that he'd had diarrhea for over two thousand miles. As if she cared! As if he expected free medical advice!

“Well, great,” Nora had told him. “That just proves what a shit you are.”

When they reached the principal's office, Nora had to search through her pocketbook for Billy's medical files and the report from his previous school. She dumped everything out; tubes of lipstick and mentholated cigarettes rolled across the principal's desk.

“I know they're in here,” Nora said brightly. She set the baby on the floor; Cheerios fell out of the pockets of his corduroy pants. Billy Silk sat in a cushioned chair and looked up at the acoustical tile in the ceiling. James pulled himself up to stand by holding on to Billy's leg, and Billy casually swung his leg back and forth until the baby collapsed on the floor.

“He's very advanced,” Nora told the principal when she handed over the files.

“We'll put him in third grade today,” the principal said, “but then we'll have to test him to see if he's ready.”

“Go ahead, test him,” Nora said. “But let me tell you he can practically read your mind before your thoughts are fully formed.”

“He's had his polio shots?” the principal asked.

“Oh, yes,” Nora said. Without turning to Billy, she whispered, “Your hair.”

Billy stopped pulling on his hair. Nora leaned down and gathered up stray Cheerios.

“I love this school,” Nora said, as the principal guided them out to the hallway. “It's so cheerful.”

Billy studied the pale gray walls; he was certain they were the exact shade of gray used to paint prison cells.

“Third grade is two doors past the gym,” the principal said. “Do you think you can find your way, Billy?”

Billy looked up at the principal for the first time.

“He's in Las Vegas,” Billy said.

“Who's that?” the principal said, flustered.

“My father,” Billy said.

The principal turned to Nora. “There wasn't any mention of your husband in Billy's files.”

“Las Vegas,” Nora said. “Nevada,” she added as she shoved Billy in front of her and guided him toward the gym. “Stop listening in to people,” Nora told him.

“I can find the room by myself,” Billy said.

“I mean it,” Nora said. “People don't like being eavesdropped on.”

They stopped outside the door to the third-grade classroom. Billy could see an American flag hanging from a wooden pole above the windows.

“All right,” Billy told his mother, although he didn't know whether or not it was in his power to keep his promise. It might be like his vow not to eat. “I'll stop.”

“Good,” Nora said. “Do you have everything? Looseleaf? Pencils?”

Billy nodded.

“Gee whiz,” Nora said. “You're so pale.”

She touched Billy's forehead to feel for a fever. They could hear the teacher inside asking someone to hand out the readers.

“It's not going to kill you, you know,” Nora said. “All you have to do is relax.”

“Yeah,” Billy said.

“Just expect them to like you and they will,” Nora said.

“You can have one when you get out to the car,” Billy said.

Nora pursed her lips and gave him a little push. She waited until he had gone into the room and closed the door behind him; then she hurried out to her car, and the first thing she did once she had gotten James into the backseat was take out her pack of cigarettes and immediately light one.

S
O
N
ORA WAS WRONG, SHE'D BEEN WRONG ABOUT
other things before, she wasn't perfect. If she were perfect, would she be manicuring other women's nails on Saturdays while a sixteen-year-old neighbor she barely knew watched her children? If she were perfect, would she be trying to unclog the bathtub while her ex-husband was sending photographs of himself in front of the Sands Hotel, where Frank Sinatra was appearing nightly? So she couldn't fit into her red toreador pants anymore, so she'd sold only fourteen subscriptions to
Life
and three to
Ladies' Home Journal
in two weeks, so the kids in his class hated Billy, so what? Things changed, didn't they? She planned to make a huge platter of cupcakes, frosted pink and dotted with gumdrops, to take in to Billy's class at the end of the week. She'd get a class list and go right down it, inviting every goddamned child over, popping fresh popcorn for them, letting them run wild, bribing them with lemonade and cap guns. She'd start selling Tupperware, she could bring the baby with her into people's living rooms, she could have Tupperware parties right in her kitchen. And if she kept eating grapefruit, she'd fit into the toreador pants soon enough.

The stars, after all, were much brighter here than they'd ever been in the city. The evenings smelled like cherries instead of soot. Sometimes, late at night, after the children were asleep, Nora went out and walked across the lawn in her bare feet. You could feel autumn approaching here, the grass was colder, the mornings darker. Nora didn't think about anyone kissing her, she didn't think about dancing all night, or holidays spent at the seaside in a hotel room with a man whose name she didn't even know. She put one of her Elvis albums on the old record player and figured out how to hang the storm windows. She sang “Don't Be Cruel” and lined the broiler pan in her oven with tin foil. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and put on one of Roger's old shirts. The other mothers on the street could see her, up on a stepladder with a rag in her hand. Beside the ladder, her baby played in the dirt and she didn't seem to notice that his socks were black and his hands were caked with mud. The baby put twigs and fallen leaves into his mouth, and all he wore was a light woolen sweater over thin pajamas. The mothers on the block thought they could hear her singing “A Fool Such as I” as she washed her windows. They saw the bottle of Windex in her hand and they noticed that she wore no wedding ring.