A Stranger in the Mirror (13 page)

Toby was alone in the small visitors room with his father. Even this room had the smell of death, and yet, that was what this place was all about, wasn't it? Toby thought. Death? It was filled with used-up mothers and faAers who were in the way. They had been taken out of the small back bedrooms at home, out of the dining rooms and parlors where they were becoming an embarrassment whenever there were guests, and had been sent to this nursing home by their children, nieces and nephews. Believe me, it's for your own good. Father, Mother, Uncle George, Aunt Bess. You'll be with a lot of very nice people your own age. You'll have company all the time. You know what I mean? What they really meant was, I'm sending you there to die with all the other useless old people. I'm sick of your drooling at the table and telling the same stories-over an dover and pestering the children and wetting your bed. The Eskimos were more honest about it.

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They sent their old people out onto the ice and abandoned them there. "I'm sure glad you came today," Toby's father said. His speech was slow. "I wanted to talk to you. I got some good news. Old Art Riley next door died yesterday." Toby stared at him. "That's good news?" "It means I can move into his room," his father explained. "It's a single." And that was what old age was all about: Survival, hanging on to the few creature comforts that still remained. Toby had seen people here who would have been better off dead, but they clung to life, fiercely. Happy birthday, Mr. Dorset. How do you feel about being ninety-five years old today?.. . When I think of the alternative, I feel great. At last, it was time for Toby to leave. "I'll be back to see you as soon as I can," Toby promised. He gave his father some cash and handed out lavish tips to all the nurses and attendants. "You take good care of him, huh? I need the old man for my act." And Toby was gone. The moment he walked out the door, he had forgotten them all. He was thinking about his performance that evening. For weeks they would talk about nothing but his visit. 17

At seventeen, Josephine Oinski was the most beautiful girl in Odessa, Texas. She had a goiden, tanned complexK'n and her long black hair showed a hint of auburn in the sunlight, and her deep brown eyes held flecks of gold. She had a stunning figure, with a full, rounded bosom, a narrow waist that tapered to gently swelling hips, and long, shapely legs. Josephine 'lid not socialize with the Oil People anymore. She went out with the Others now. After school she worked as a waitress at the Golden Derrick, a popular drive-in. Mary Lou and Cissy Topping and their friends came there with their dates. Josephine always greeted them politely, but everything had changed. Josephine was filled with a restlessness, a yearning for something she had never known. It was nameless, but it was there. She wanted to leave this ugly town, but she did not know where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. Thinking about it too long made her headaches begin. She went out with a do7en different boys and men. Her' mother's favorite was Warren Huffman. "Warren'd make you a fine husband. He's a regular church-goer, he earns good money as a plumber ar.u he's half out of his head about you." "He's twenty-five years old and he's fat." Her mother studied Josephine. "Poor Polack girls don't find no knights in shinin' armor. Not in Texas and not no-place else. Stop foolin' yourself." Josephine would permit Warren Hofl'man to take her to

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the movies once a week. He would hold her hand in his big, sweaty, calloused palms and keep squeezing it throughout the picture. Josephine hardly noticed. She was too engrossed in what was happening on the screen. What was up there was an extension of the world of beautiful people and things that , she had grown up with, only it was even bigger and even more exciting. In some dim recess of her mind, Josephine felt ' that Hollywood could give her everything she wanted: the i beauty, the fun, the laughter and happiness. Aside from ; marrying a rich man, she knew there was no other way she , would ever be able to have �at kind of life. And the rich boys were all taken, by the rich girls. Except for one. David Kcnyon. Josephine thought of him often. She had stolen a snapshot of him from Mary Lou's house long ago. She kept it hidden in her closet and took it out to look at whenever she was unhappy. It brought back the memory of ; David standing by the side of the pool saying, / apologize for all of them, and the feeling of hurt had gradually disappeared and been replaced by his gentle warmth. She had seen David , only once after that terrible day at his swimming pool when he had brought her a robe. He had been in a car with his family, and Josephine later heard that he had been driven to the train depot. He was on his way to Oxford, England. That had been four years ago, in 1952. David had returned home for summer vacations and at Christmas, but their paths had never crossed. Josephine often heard the other girls discussing him. In addition to the estate David had inherited from his father, his grandmother had left him a trust fund of five ' million dollars. He was a real catch. But not for the Polish daughter of a seamstress.

v : Josephine did not know that David Kenyon had returned | from Europe. It was a late Saturday evening in July, and | Josephine was working at the Golden Derrick. It seemed I to her that half the population of Odessa had come to the | drive-in to defeat the hot spell with gallons of lemonade and I ice cream and sodas. It had been so busy that Josephine had |. been unable to take a break. A ring of autos constantly circled the neon-lighted drive-in like metallic animals lined up at some surrealistic water hole. Josephine delivered a car tray with what seemed to her to be her millionth order of cheeseburgers and Cokes, pulled out a menu and walked over to a white sports car that had just driven up. "Good evening," Josephine said cheerfully. "Would you like to look at a menu?" "Hello, stranger." At the sound of David Kenyon's voice, Josephine's heart suddenly began to pound. He looked exactly as she remembered him, only he seemed even more handsome. There was a maturity now, a sureness, that being abroad had given him. Cissy Topping was seated next to him, looking cool and beautiful ia an expensive silk skirt and blouse. Cissy said, "Hi, Josie. You shouldn't be working on a hot night like this, honey." As though it was something Josephine had chosen to do instead of going to an air-conditioned theater or riding around in a sports car with Da-aid Kenyan. Josephine said evenly, "It keeps me off the streets", and she saw that David Kenyon was smiling at her. She knew that he understood. Long after they had gone, Josephine thought about David. She went over every word -- Hello, stranger... I'll have a pig in a blanket and a root beer -- make that coffee. Cold drinks are bad on a hot night.... How do you like working here?... I'm ready for the check.... Keep the change.... It was nice seeing you again, Josephine -- looking for hidden meanings, nuances that she might have missed. Of course, he could not have said anything with Cissy seated beside him, but the truth was that he really had nothing to say to Josephine. She was surprised that he had even remembered her name. She was standing in front of the sink in the little kitchen of the drive-in, lost in her thoughts, when Paco, the young Mexican cook, came up behind her and said, "nQue pasa, Josita? You have that look een your eye." She liked Paco. He was in his late twenties, a slim, dark128 yed man with a ready grin and a flip joke when pressure uilt up and everyone was tense. "Who ees he?" Josephine smiled. "Nobody, Paco." ; "Bueno. Because there are seex hungry cars going' crazy at there. Vamos!"

He telephoned the next morning, and Josephine knew 'go it was before she lifted the receiver. She had not been ble to get him out of her mind all night. It was as though ys call was the extension of her dream. ^ His first words were, "You're a cliche. While I was away, ou've grown up and become a beauty," and she could have ied of happiness. He took her out to dinner that evening. Josephine had een prepared for some out-of-the-way little restaurant where )avid would not be likely to run into any of his friends. nstead they went to his club, where everyone stopped by their ible to say hello. David was not only unashamed to be seen dth Josephine, he seemed proud of her. And she loved him )t it and for a hundred other reasons. The look of him, his entleness and understanding, the sheer joy of being with im. She had never known that anyone as wonderful as David Lenyon could exist. Each day, after Josephine finished work, they were igether. Josephine had had to fight men off from the time lie was fourteen, for there was a sexuality about her that was challenge. Men were always pawing and grabbing at her, yhg to squeeze her breasts or shove their hands up her start, linking that that was the way to excite her, not knowing how luch it repelled her. David Kenyon was different. He would occasionally put is arm around her or touch her casually, and Josephine's rhole body would respond. She had never felt this way about nyone before. On the days when she did not see David, she ould think of nothing else. She faced the fact that she was in love with him. As the reeks went by, and they spent more and more time together, Josephine realized that the miracle had happened. David was in love with her. He discussed his problems with her, and his difficulties with his family. "Mother wants me to take over the businesses," David told her, "but I'm not sure that's how I want to spend Ae rest of my life." The Kenyon interests included, besides oil wells and refineries, one of the largest cattle ranches in Ae Southwest, a chain of hotels, some banks and a large insurance company. "Can't you just tell her no, David?" David sighed. "You don't know my mother." Josephine had met David's mother. She was a tiny woman (it seemed impossible that David had come out of that stick figure) who had borne three children. She had been very ill during and after each pregnancy and had had a heart attack following the third delivery. Over the years she repeatedly described her suffering to her children, who grew up wi& the belief that their mother had deliberately risked death in order to give each of them life. It gave her a powerful hold on her family, which she wielded unsparingly. "I want to live my own life," David told Josephine, "but I can't do anything to hurt Mother. The truth is -- Doc Young doesn't think she's going to be with us much longer." One evening, Josephine told David about her dreams of going to Hollywood and becoming a star. He looked at her and said, quietly, "I won't let you go." She could feel her heart beating wildly. Each time they were together, Ae feeling of intimacy between Aem grew stronger. Josephine's background did not mean a damn to David. He did not have an ounce of snobbery in him. It made Ae incident at Ae drive-in one night Aat much more shocking. It was closing time, and David was parked in his car, waiting for her. Josephine was in Ae small kitchen wiA Paco, hurriedly putting away Ae last of Ae trays. "Heavy date, huh?" Paco said. Josephine smiled. "How did you know?" "Because you look like Chreestmas. Your pretty face ces all lit up. You tell heem for me he's one lucky hombre!" Josephine smiled and said, "I will." On an impulse, she

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I leaned over and gave Paco a kiss on the cheek. An instant | later, she heard the roar of a car engine and then the scream I of rubber. She turned in time to see David's white convertible smash the fender of another car and race away from the drive-in. She stood there, unbelievingly, watching the tail lights disappear into the night. At three o'clock in the morning, as Josephine lay tossing in bed, she heard a car pull up outside her bedroom. She hurried to the window and looked out. David was sitting ? behind the wheel. He was very drunk. Quickly, Josephine put on a robe over her nightgown and went outside. i "Get in,"' David commanded. Josephine opened die car ' door and slid in beside him. There was a long, heavy silence. When David finally spoke, his voice was thick, but it was ; more than the whiskey he had drunk. There was a rage in him, a savage fury that propelled the words out of him like small explosions. "I don't own you," David said. "You're free to do exactly as you please. But as long as you go out with me, I expect you not to kiss any god damned Mexicans. �Y'understand?" She looked at him, helplessly, then said, "When I kissed Paco, it was because � he said something that made me happy. He's my friend." "David took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions i that were churning inside him. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told to a living soul." Josephine sat there waiting, wondering what was coming next. "I have an older sister," David said. "Beth. I � I adore her." Josephine had a vague recollection of Beth, a blonde, fair-skinned beauty, whom Josephine used to see when she ;went over to play with Mary Lou. Josephine had been eight t'when Beth passed away. David must have been about fifteen. .>"! remember when Beth died," Josephine said. ;� David's next words were a shock. "Beth is alive." | She stared at him. "But, I � everyone thought �" ,;i "She's in an insane asylum." He turned to face her, his 'crice dead. "She was raped by one of our Mexican gardeners, Beth's bedroom was across the hall from mine. I heard her screams and I raced into her room. He had ripped off her nightgown and he was on top of her and --" His voice broke with the memory. "I struggled with him until my mother ran in and called the police. They finally arrived and took the man to jail. He committed suidde in his cell that night. -But Beth had lost her mind. She'll never leave that place. Never. I can't tell you how much I love her, Josie. I miss her so damned much. Every since that night, I -- I -- I can't -- stand --" She placed a hand over his and said, "I'm sorry, David. I understand, I'm glad you told me."

In some strange way, the incident served to bring them even closer together. They discussed things they had never talked about before. David smiled when Josephine told him about her mother's religious fanaticism. "I had an uncle like that once," he said. "He went off to some monastery in Tibet." "I'm going to be twenty-four next month," David told Josephine one day. "It's an old family tradition that the Kenyon men marry by the time they're twenty-four," and her heart leaped within her. The following evening, David had tickets for a play at the Globe Theatre. When he came to pick Josephine up, he said, "Let's forget the play. We're going to talk about our future." The moment Josephine heard the words, she knew that everything she had prayed for was coming true. She could read it in David's eyes. They were filled wiA love and wanting. She said, "Let's drive out to Dewey Lake." She wanted it to be the most romantic proposal ever made, so that one day it would become a tale that she would tell her children, over an dover. She wanted to remember every moment of this night. Dewey Lake was a small body of water about forty miles outside of Odessa. The night was beautiful and star-spangled, with a soft, waxing gibbous moon. The stars danced on Ac