Waltzing at Midnight (12 page)

Yes, I thought, but it won’t be the same. I won’t see you every day. She patted my hand, holding it between both of hers briefly.

There was nothing I could say because everything I thought of to say sounded so ridiculous, so childish, so pathetic.

“It’ll be okay,” she said tenderly, looking directly into my eyes. “You’ll get over it.” And, then, with an unconvincing smile of reassurance, she touched my cheek lightly before standing and leaving me.

I sat where I was for a few minutes. Rosie was right. I had the new job to occupy me. It would be a challenge. And it would be important work. As she said, I would get over it. Over this sadness, over the post-election blues. Is that what she meant?

I could hear the song playing inside. Second time around

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now.
I think I’m falling in love with you. There’s a universe in your eyes.

That’s where I want to live.

Jerry and I drove home in silence. After we’d gotten into bed, Jerry said, “It was a pretty good shindig.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, already half asleep.

“That briefcase Rosie gave you is really nice.”

Jerry was talkative in his joy, the joy of averted disaster, perhaps, for, whether he could articulate it or not, the end of this election was cause for hope and celebration for him. He no doubt hoped that it meant the return to all that he cherished in our lives.

“And Faye’s date, Bob, wasn’t he good-looking?” he was saying.

“Yes, extremely. We’ll probably never see him again, though.”

“You’re right. Faye doesn’t let any mold grow.”

No, I thought, Faye wouldn’t let herself get moldy. I snuggled into the bed, curling up on my side.

“That Bob said he saw two women kissing out back,” Jerry said. “Wouldn’t you know there’d be some of that going on.”

Two women? I recalled the couple by the lake. Yes, they had been women. I had known it at the time, but it hadn’t registered.

How peculiar.

“Do you hate them?” I asked Jerry.

“Queers? No, I don’t hate them. As long as they keep quiet about it and keep away from me. I’m so glad Brad and Amy turned out normal.”

“They’re a little young to know for sure,” I said.

“No, they’re not,” Jerry said emphatically. “Brad’s had half a dozen girlfriends. And Amy, you know she lives for boys.”

And what about me, I thought. I’ve been married to this man for twenty-two years.

“No, our kids are normal,” Jerry concluded.

“Yes, probably,” I said, then fell asleep.

We usually got a lengthy e-mail once a month from Bradley.

He would take a couple of hours out of his schedule to write us from an Internet café in some exotic locale. On November 22, Thanksgiving Day, this month’s message arrived from Paris, and Amy printed it out for all of us to read.

Last night we went to see the Follies. Ooh la la! I had a huge dinner,
lots of wine, and then the show kept us out until the wee hours. People
dine very late here. I’m getting used to sitting in a restaurant for three
hours in conversation, as though it’s someone’s living room. We drink
beer and watch the people and talk about life and art and politics. I
feel like Hemingway. You would love it here, Mom. I can just see you
waltzing carefree along the bank of the Seine at midnight. It’s all so
liberating.

One of the things that overwhelms me about Europe is the
omnipresent sense of the past, the great weight of it. Memories are long
here, identities stabilized, and people don’t get excited about everything
like Americans do. I saw a man doing an oil painting of Notre Dame
and thought that probably a lot of people had sat just there doing just

that for hundreds of years. It made me happy, and I had to stop and
think about that before I recognized it as happiness. You know, you don’t
know what can make you happy. You don’t know it until it happens,
and then you don’t understand it. But I think it has something to do
with finding your place in the scheme of things. It’s hard to know where
you belong in a world this complex, but I think you can feel it when it
happens. It’s like how fish know the place where they go to spawn, even
when they’ve never been there before. They know it’s the right place,
though. I don’t think people are so different, on some level.

I read several pages of Bradley’s upbeat letter, glad that he was happy, wanting to be there with him, although my imagination wasn’t wild enough to place me in that picture. I’ve never been to Paris, I thought wistfully. Probably never would be.

Funny that Bradley saw me waltzing carefree along the Seine.

He was remembering when Jerry and I had taken ballroom dancing classes. I’d really enjoyed that, and Bradley, who was six at the time, had clamored to be my practice partner on weekdays after school when his little sister was napping. He always insisted on clipping on his little red bow tie to practice, just the two of us in the front room, music playing, waltzing awkwardly and giggling, my little gentleman and me. Those happy interludes, something I’d nearly forgotten, were obviously some of his fond early memories.

Bradley’s letter left me sad, pretty much my mood all the time now. The election had been over nearly three weeks. I hadn’t seen Rosie. She called once to tell me that the Partnership members had approved me as their administrator. They were still in the process of looking for an office space. Meanwhile, they would send me information at home so that I could prepare.

Rosie’s call was brief and professional. I was hurt by her impersonal tone. She was friendly, but in the same way she always was when speaking on the phone with anyone. After nearly three months of being swept along by the winds of a hurricane, I’d been dropped into a calm so complete that my senses seemed atrophied. There was nothing on the horizon. I was adrift on a monotonous ocean.

I called Faye at work the Monday after Thanksgiving and asked her to meet me for lunch. She came from her office, smartly dressed and madeup. I must have looked dowdy in comparison.

“I’m glad you called, Jean,” she said, glancing over the menu. “I needed to take a break from that place. How are you? You look tired.”

I just shrugged.

“I think I’ll have the salad bar,” Faye told the waitress. I ordered the same and we headed toward it to pile chilled plates with baby lettuces, spinach and radicchio.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” I asked Faye, once we were settled at our table.

“Yes. Bob,” she said.

“Bob? The same Bob as three weeks ago, Bob?”

She nodded. “He could be around for a while, Jean.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Good. It’s about time.”

I wasn’t really hungry and ate without much interest. Faye told me a little more about Bob. She seemed genuinely fond of him. I was glad for her.

“You’re in a funk, aren’t you?” Faye said after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me. It’s like everything was great and then suddenly nothing is. Nothing is right.

Nothing.” I was frustrated, unable to articulate how I felt.

“Nobody sick? Kids okay?”

“The kids are wonderful.”

“Your parents are okay?”

“Yes, they’re fine.”

Faye shrugged. “So what’s wrong?”

“I’m not happy.”

“Well, I’ve got to tell you that ‘happy’ is not a word I would have used to describe you for years. Which is strange to see, for me, anyway, because I knew you in high school.”

“It’s a long time since high school, Faye.”

“Sure, but you weren’t the serious type, not even close. I mean, you can tell by your GPA that you weren’t. You were smart,

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but you didn’t have much interest in school. Too busy having fun.

That’s why we were friends, remember? You and me, we were the same. Don’t you remember all the fun we had, all the trouble we got into?”

“Sure I do.” I smiled.

“Oh, my God,” Faye continued, “all the boys! You were such a tease! They were all ga-ga over you, Jean. You were so cute. Oh, how I used to envy you that, but, if I couldn’t be as cute as you, I could at least run around with you and reap the benefit.”

“You were cute, too, Faye,” I said. “We made a pretty irresistible pair. But you can’t just have fun all the time once you grow up.”

Faye’s lip curled up on one side, as if she wanted to contradict that, but she didn’t. “No, of course not. That’s not really what I meant. I know you have to be a responsible person. But you were so carefree, Jean, and it was great to be around.”

Carefree? That was the word Bradley had used in his letter,

“waltzing carefree.” When, then, had I lost that capacity?

“I suppose I’m no fun to be around any more.”

“Don’t get defensive. You’re fine, but I’ve got to say that I was just thrilled watching you running Rosie’s campaign. It was a glimmer of that lively girl that I remember. And that’s why I think you’ll be okay once you’re working again. There’s no doubt that Rosie is going to kick you into gear. As soon as you get into that new office and the phone’s ringing, you’ll be right back in action. That’s all you need. Hard work is a terrific high, when it’s work you enjoy, of course.”

“Have you seen Rosie lately?” I asked, clinging to the mention of her name.

“I saw her yesterday, actually. She came into the office. She was making plans to go to Phoenix. A business trip. She asked me about you.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, how you were, if I’d seen you.”

Rosie’s thinking about me, I thought, and my pulse quickened.

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Faye went on. “She seemed well, keeping busy as usual.

I booked her flight and her hotel, rental car, you know. Not everybody does it all on the Internet yet, thank God.” Faye took a sip of her iced tea. “She made me promise never to get her involved in a city election again. She was so glad that was over with. I feel a little badly about all that, about how it turned out for her. But we had a nice visit and I guess she isn’t holding any grudges against me. No, I don’t think she spends much time on regrets.”

“Did she say anything else about me?” I asked stupidly.

Faye looked puzzled. “No, Jean, she didn’t. She was sort of preoccupied with getting ready for this trip. Apparently she normally has a neighbor boy take care of her place when she’s gone, feed the horses and cats, you know, watch the place, and he is not available. Gone off to college or something, so she’s gotta find somebody else.”

“I could do that,” I said impulsively. “I’d be happy to do it.”

“So call her and tell her,” Faye said matter-of-factly.

By the time Faye and I said good-bye, I was obsessed with the idea that I could housesit for Rosie. It took me several hours, however, of agonizing over it to actually make the call.

“Hi, Jean, good to hear from you,” she said when I announced my name. “What’s up?”

“Rosie, Faye was telling me at lunch today that you need a housesitter for next weekend.”

“Yes, that’s right. Mainly for the animals. Would your daughter like to do it?”

“Well, I was thinking of me, actually. I could do it.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause which I couldn’t interpret.

“Well, I liked having the boy do it because he lived next door.

I appreciate the offer, but I should probably get someone in the neighborhood. It would make me feel more secure. Also, the horses need to be fed first thing in the morning and again in the evening.”

“I could stay overnight,” I said. “Not a problem. I could come over in the afternoon, stay over, and then tend to the horses in

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the morning before going about my day. I’d do that. It would be like a vacation for me. I need a vacation, believe me.” I attempted a casual laugh, but it didn’t sound very casual, nor even much like a laugh.

Another long pause before she said, “Great.”

“Great,” I repeated.

“You’ll need to come over before I leave so I can show you what to do. I’m leaving early Thursday morning, so how about some time on Wednesday, after I get home from work? Come over for dinner, then. How’s that?”

After hanging up, I danced into the kitchen. I was excited, too excited. By the time Amy came home, I was calmer. When Jerry came home, I told him the plan. He didn’t look pleased.

“So I guess this will take up your entire weekend, then?” he asked.

“Yes, I guess it will. Did we have plans?” I realized that I’d forgotten to check the calendar.

“Well, not really, no. I guess not. That woman sure does get a lot of free service from you.” I recognized the tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“She’s got horses?” Amy asked. “Would she let me ride them?”

“I’ll ask her.”

“That would be cool.” Amy swaggered out of the kitchen, saying, “You’d better watch yer step, pardner, heh, heh, or my horse Polka Dot is gonna clobber you.”

“How does she know Walter Brennan?” I asked Jerry.

“She gets it off The Comedy Channel,” Jerry said. “It’s recycled through an older generation of impressionists. She’s probably never even seen Walter Brennan. Just like when she does Katherine Hepburn. I’m sure she’s never seen the real Hepburn in a movie or anything.”

“Do you think she’s having an identity crisis?”

“No, she’s just exuberant, Jeannie. And I think she’s very good at it.”

I shrugged. “Yes, you’re right. It’s just healthy, youthful

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exuberance.”

I suddenly realized that when I was Amy’s age, I was married and had a newborn baby. Looking at her, I saw a child. I had been too young to have a clue, too young to know what choices there were, what life might offer if given the chance. I hoped for Amy’s sake that she would have more time to learn about herself than I did.Each day after Jerry and Amy had left the house, I sat with the jumble of paperwork sent to me by my new employers.