Family Happiness (21 page)

“When is it?” Polly said.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight,” said Polly. “What's on tonight? We're supposed to have dinner with Mother and Daddy—of course, after the opening. I can't remember anything at all. We're supposed to be going, too. I don't think I can stand it. You won't be there, Lincoln, will you?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” said Lincoln. “Probably I will go. It will do me good to get my last look at you in the midst of your perfect family. Look through the catalogue. He's a good enough painter but I can never understand why he calls his paintings the stupid things he calls them.”

Polly read out loud:
“Still Life in the Middle of Snowfall, Then Sleetfall Then Transmogrified into Fogbound Figures.” “A Basket of Turkey Eggs and a Red Dish, All Struck Blue as Night Alters the Statement of the Light.”

Lincoln said, “I've always thought it would make a good parlor game. You take a great painting, make up one of those titles, and get your friends to figure out what it is. For example,
“Untouched Girl in Blue Robe, a Grape Baby and a Man with a Stick Poised in the Middle of Travel.”

“
Rest on the Flight into Egypt
,” said Polly. It was one of Lincoln's favorite pictures.

Lincoln had finished packing. His small leather suitcase stood at the bottom of the bed. The light in his studio was bleak and silvery. When he looked at Polly, his face was open. Everything he felt was on it.

“Come here, my Dora,” he said. “I don't care how bad you feel. I don't care if this is our last time together. Come over here and get in bed with me. I want you near me.”

Both of them were neat by habit and temperament. They folded their clothes and hung them on the back of the armchair. Lincoln's hands were cold. Polly's flesh was hot. They went at each other like people who have been deprived of love for centuries. Tears slid down Polly's face. Lincoln's eyes were dark and full of longing. They lay entwined without speaking, without the merest fraction of distance between them.

No sooner had Polly walked into her kitchen than the telephone rang.

“Darling,” said Wendy. “Do you want to come here to pick me up, or shall I meet you at the opening?”

“I simply can't go, Mum,” Polly said. “I'm too exhausted and Henry will be exhausted, too.”

“He just called,” Wendy said. “Both of us have been trying to get you all afternoon. Where were you, anyway?”

“I had a thousand things to do.”

“Henry will meet us there. He's coming with your father. We must support our local painter, and I do like that nice Judith Train—that is her name, isn't it?”

“Edwina,” said Polly.

“She has such interesting clothes, don't you think? We'll have a lovely time. Who's coming to stay with the children?”

“Pete is at Willie Jackson's and Dee-Dee was invited to stay at Jane Rosenman's.”

“I know her grandmother,” Wendy said. “Wonderful woman. But I don't like this idea of farming out the children, Polly. I didn't farm you children out.”

“Oh, for goodness' sake, Mother. I used to stay at Annie Talbot's all the time and Henry practically lived at Danny Sanderson's.”

“That certainly isn't true,” said Wendy.

“It is true,” said Polly.

“But if the children are out, I can't think why you don't want to come to the opening. You sound a little peaked. Are you coming down with something?”

“I'm perfectly fine,” said Polly. “I just don't really want to go. I'm awfully tired. It's been hell at work.”

“But darling, we're all going,” Wendy said. “You must, too. If your job makes you so very tired, perhaps you ought to think about giving it up.”

“All right, all right,” said Polly. “I'll pick you up at seven.”

“Take a nap, darling, and get into a better mood. I'll see you at seven. Look beautiful.”

Henry came home at six. He wore on his face an expression that caused Polly's heart to shrivel. It was one of worry, defensiveness, and exhaustion. It said: Don't ask me anything. Don't ask me how my day was. Leave me alone but don't go too far away.

“Would you like a drink?” Polly said.

“No,” said Henry.

“I thought you were picking up Daddy,” Polly said.

“I decided to come home first. I called him. We'll meet there.”

“Do you really want to go?”

“I said I did,” Henry said.

“Do you want a bath?”

“No, I'll just shave. Are the kids sleeping out?”

“Pete's at Willie's and Dee-Dee's at Jane's. Mother gave me a strong lecture on the subject of farming children out.”

“Yes? I think I will have a drink, Polly. Just a little one. What a terrible day.”

He hung up his coat and stalked down the hall to the bathroom. When Polly brought him his drink he was sitting on the chaise. He had taken off his shirt and wrapped a towel around his neck. Polly put the drink down on the table. Under it was a glass coaster and under the coaster a linen napkin.

“Thanks, Pol,” he said without looking up.

“Henry,” said Polly. “Are you in love with someone else?”

“For God's sake, Polly. No.”

“You didn't kiss me hello,” Polly said. Her voice was ragged. Henry stood up and kissed her on the cheek.

“Oh, Henry,” she cried. “I don't make you happy anymore. I don't think you love me anymore.”

“I love you fine, Polly,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “I don't think I make
you
very happy. And times at work are very hard.” She threw her arms around him and he held her for a minute. Then he took her arms from around his neck.

“I'm going to shave now,” he said. “You get dressed.”

The Train show was hung in the stark white halls of the Museum of Contemporary Art. The admiring throng gave off the scent of cigar smoke, expensive perfume, leather, and barber shops. Polly's family cut through the mob, as solid and effective as a flying wedge. As usual, the whole family was in tow, including Henry, Jr., and Andreya in matching charcoal-gray suits. Henry wore a tie and Andreya wore a silk blouse with a bow. Beate wore a green silk maternity dress and gold earrings the size of half dollars and looked more like someone holding a shield than she looked pregnant. Polly wore black silk, as did Wendy. They stood together and received, as if at a family wedding. The Solo-Millers did not go to congratulate Fred Train—he came to salute them.

Fred Train was as tidy and precise as a china miniature, but his gaze was so fixed it seemed as if it might burn through paper. His bald dome reflected the muted light. Henry Demarest whispered to Polly, “Do you think he waxes or shellacks it?”

Wendy, of course, called his wife, Edwina, “Judith.” she was as pretty as a fox and had little fox teeth. Polly could not stop staring at her. Both she and her husband wore clothes so plain, so beautiful, and so expensive that they seemed a parody of soberness. Who had made those gorgeous clothes for them? she wondered. They looked like rakish bankers or respectable hoodlums.

The air in the museum halls was cool, but Polly felt that she was burning up. Every member of her family was talking to someone else. Henry Demarest was talking to Henry, Sr., and Wendy was talking to Fred and Edwina Train. Henry and Andreya always talked to each other, and Paul and Beate were surrounded by a group of tall, well-dressed people Polly recognized as Paul's law partners and fellow symphony lovers. This left her free to wander through the halls looking at the pictures. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lincoln. She knew when he had come into the room, she felt a little jolt, the start you feel when the doorbell rings. Tension washed over her. Her hands felt hot. The glass of champagne in her hand seemed to tremble slightly. They both walked into the main room at the same time, and Polly could see that Lincoln was wearing a terrible, evil smile. He went straight up to Wendy.

“Hello,” he said, his smile widening. “I'm Leonard Barton.”

“No you are not,” said Wendy. “You're Lincoln Bennett. I got that right, didn't I?” She looked very pleased with herself.

Lincoln shook hands with Henry, Jr., and kissed Andreya on the cheek.

“Hello, Polly,” he said. The sound of the nickname he never used sounded like a caress to Polly. He shook hands with Wendy, with Henry, Sr., and was introduced to Henry Demarest by Wendy. Then he wiggled into the Solo-Miller wedge, right next to Polly. Everyone had turned back to someone else, and Polly and Lincoln were left together. Surely, Polly thought, it is obvious to everyone that Lincoln and I are having a love affair. It is perfectly visible and everyone will know. But no one paid the slightest attention. Here we are, Polly thought, on the eve of a terrible separation, surrounded by the Solo-Miller family on all sides.

“I had to see you this one last time,” said Lincoln. “But it's awful to see you and see how perfectly you fit.”

Polly was silent.

“I shouldn't write to you, should I?” he said.

“No,” said Polly, swallowing hard.

“And should I call when I ge back?”

Polly was silent. Her eyes were burning.

“All right, Dot,” said Lincoln. “I'll send you a note when I get back. Everything you said today was right, but that doesn't make anything easier, does it?”

“No,” said Polly.

“I'm going to take a spin around this show and get out,” Lincoln said. “Look at all these types, will you? I'm going to go pay homage to
Two Idaho Potatoes in Marital Conflict
. My plane leaves in the morning, but you know that. I love you, Dot, and if you love me, take my hand and squeeze it as hard as you can. Don't blush—nobody's looking at us.”

Polly pressed his hand with all her might.

“Jesus,” he said, “I didn't mean for you to break it.”

“That's how strong my love is,” said Polly.

“Good-bye, Dottie.”

“Good-bye, Lincoln,” said Polly, and she watched him walk away.

An hour and a half later, the family withdrew their presence from the opening and went to La Vaucluse, a restaurant they all felt proprietary about. Henry and Wendy had been patrons of it for thirty years. It was the setting for the only family celebrations they held outside the home: birthday dinners, welcome-homes, graduations. These celebrations were by their nature not communal—they were not family rituals or holidays—and their proper celebration was in public.

They all sat down and immediately began to gossip.

“You and that Lincoln Barton seemed quite chummy,” Wendy said to Polly. Polly was silent.

“He's our kite-flying friend, Ma,” said Henry, Jr. “You remember. He went to my school but he's older than I am. He's a painter.”

“Is he a friend of the Trains'?” Wendy said. “Probably he isn't. They only seem to know bankers and lawyers.”

“Painters don't have to stick to other painters,” Polly said.

“I'm sure that's true, darling, but you'd think a painter would want to know another painter.”

“It's hard to tell them from the bankers these days,” said Henry Demarest. “They all wear the same clothes.”

“I think Fred Train looks sort of
louche
,” said Polly.

“Darling, he does not,” said Wendy. “He looks perfectly sinister with that shiny head and those little bitty teeth. But I'm sure they're very nice people. Their daughters go to your old school, Polly. They talked quite a lot about that. I just feel that a painter ought to talk about art. Now, your aunt Hat wants to talk about paintings night and day, and when I run into an actual painter, all he wants to do is talk about the people we know in common. I don't understand it. It's his
job
to talk about art, especially to people who own his pictures. Andreya, dear, please prop Henry up. I can't stand to see any of my children slumping.”

“I'm not slumping, Ma,” Henry, Jr., said. “I'm wilting. Where's Paul and Beate?”

“Home,” said Wendy. “Beate said something about smoky rooms and rich food poisoning the prenatal infant. Isn't that sweet?”

“When Polly and I were pregnant,” Henry Demarest said, “we used to go to smoky places with booze and rich food and everything. Do you suppose there's something wrong with Pete and Dee-Dee?”

“Paul and Beate are just a little over-concerned,” Wendy said.

“I think Paul and Beate are ridiculous,” said Polly.

“Polly!” exclaimed Wendy. “You mustn't be so critical. They're just nervous older parents-to-be.”

“She gave me a disgusting lunch,” Polly said, “and never once asked me anything about what it was like when I had Pete and Dee-Dee. After all, I have had two children and she hasn't had any yet.”

“Darling, that's just the way she is,” Wendy said in her warning tone.

“She's a pill,” said Polly, using one of her father's favorite expressions.

“Darling, you're just tired,” Wendy said. “Now, what are we going to eat?”

It was not necessary to consult menus. Everyone always had the same thing. A plate of steamed vegetables with green mayonnaise was brought for Andreya: Polly and Wendy had the salmon; Henry, Jr., the tournedos; and Henry Demarest the special. Henry, Sr., always claimed to want the veal chop and was always talked out of it by the waiter, who had been waiting on him for many years and knew him as well as his doctor. He knew that Henry, Sr., wanted the medallions. He also talked Henry, Sr., out of the wine he asked for and into the wine he really wanted. After that, the family was satisfied. All the appropriate rituals had been performed.

The conversation then returned to Paul and Beate. The idea of twins in the family was discussed. Henry, Jr., said that having all these nieces and nephews was going to make a pauper of him when Christmas rolled around.

“They'll just have the one me. I'll have four of them,” he said.