Gay Place (49 page)

“Hello, Neil dear,” she said.

He said hello but could not manage to get any surprise or pleasure into his voice. Andrea turned and faced him. The children, visibly irritated, paid no attention.

“What’s trouble?” he said.

“The eggs,” Andrea said. “The eggs are gone — all of them — and I know these two must have sneaked them out and eaten or buried them or something. And now they expect me to go buy them some more.”

“Have the girls been to Sunday School, Andrea?” her mother said. “They really ought …” Her voice trailed off and she made an empty gesture with her hand, smiling at everyone.

“Maybe …” Neil began. “Perhaps … one of those big Easter rabbits came downstairs last night and hid them for the girls. Have they been in the backyard yet?”

Andrea looked at him furiously for an instant and then turned big-eyed toward the girls. “
That’s
it. That must be it. Let’s see if there’s anything in the backyard.”

The girls were transformed. They gave a whoop, sprang from their chairs, and piled past him down the hall toward the rear of the house. Andrea followed them. “Sorry,” he said. She only shrugged and walked on after the girls.

He started in the same direction, turned to replace the phone receiver and remembered suddenly that there was someone on the other end. Andrea’s father appeared from the kitchen, stirring a cup of coffee.

“What did he want?”

“I haven’t found out yet.”

He said hello. There was a silence and he repeated it and then a voice came on.

“Just a moment, Senator. Governor Fenstemaker …”

“Neil? Neil, you all right?”

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to check. Have a good Easter?”

“Yessir. What time is it? Can you tell me?”

“Little before twelve. Eleven-forty. See the papers?”

“I glanced at them. I just woke up.”

“I’ve got ’em all here. All of ’em. Ten or fifteen. We did all right, by God. Listen to this …”

He read from several editorials.

“That one’s front page …”

He read from several more, and then from the news stories, the majority of which had quoted the Governor’s unscheduled post-luncheon address at great length. Edwards had obviously got very much the worst of it. The reports treated Neil with a good deal more respect, although there was a certain indirectness in the printed accounts. Almost with the reverence shown for the dead. Everybody seemed bent on speaking well of him, but he was hardly a felt presence, scarcely a public image for anyone to rally round.

“I think we’re in good shape,” the Governor said. “I’m having some surveys run, and we should know something fairly soon. They’ll probably show Edwards out front at first, but —”

“He’ll be ahead?”

“Imagine so. He’s been politickin’ this state for years. He’s well known. But not particularly well liked. Not by a damn long shot. What we need is to let people take a look at you in contrast. If we’re not more than four or five percentage points behind him I’d say we got the cotton halfway to the gin. Just a matter of time. Ole Owen’s got all the votes he’s goin’ to get — shot his bolt of uglies a long time ago — and we haven’t even tapped our possibilities yet. He’s had his and it’s never been quite enough, and you’ve got noplace to move but straight up. Just time, that’s all.”

“How about the money?” Neil said. “Any coming in yet? Do we have enough for some broadcasts?”

“Yes. And I think you might plan one this week sometime. When are you going back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, it can be handled here or there. The thing is to get the time — a good time slot — bought and paid for now. Otherwise, they’ll slip you in behind the Mickey Mouse Club or put you in the place of something everybody’d rather hear than you. You got to study these things …”

“I’ll talk to Stanley about some speeches …”

“Good. You might use a little of that egghead stuff … That sounded pretty good yesterday.”

“You think so? Really?”

“Well I don’t mean overdo it. I mean it just looks good up next to Edwards. Keep your virility for God’s sake, but make yourself some pretty speeches if you want. Just make sure you got some
wholesomeness
in there. You know — Eric Sevareid eating apple pie. Like that.”

“What about labor?”

“What about it.”

“I had a talk last night …”

“So I heard. Jay told me. Appreciate what you said. You did all right.”

“You think they might lay down on us?”

“They’ll come around. When they see they either got to fish or cut bait.”

They talked on for a period of time until the Governor grew impatient of the silences and rang off. Neil headed for the backyard. He could see the girls with their baskets full of brightly colored eggs. The phone signaled in the hall.

“Wait a minute,” the old man said. “That thing’s been ringin’ all morning.” He returned in a moment. “It’s for you.”

Neil headed back to the phone. He kept wondering whether the girls had found all the eggs. He was the only one who knew where they were hidden.

“Hello.”

“Senator — this is …”

It was someone from another city wanting to place his advertising.

“I’ll let you know. We haven’t selected an agency. We’ll have to make a decision …”

The next time he had got as far out into the yard as the sand-pile and was just beginning to say something to Andrea and her mother when the old man yelled at him from the back door. A newspaperman was on the line.

“We’re trying to get our Monday leads in early,” the fellow said, “so we can go home and enjoy the holiday. Would you have some kind of statement? Could you give us something?”

Neil said he would ring him back. Then he got Stanley out of bed at the hotel.

“Can you come out and eat with us? … And bring your typewriter. Try to think of something harmless to say so we can be in the Monday papers. And maybe it ought to be simple and non-political … It’s Easter
Sunday,
that’s why … Yes … Elsie? Who …? Oh! That’s right … You get home okay? Well listen, try to drive out here soon as you can … We’ll call the wire services …”

When he reached the backyard again, the girls had fled into a neighbor’s house to show their loot to friends. Andrea was upstairs, changing, Emma in the kitchen preparing lunch. The mother-in-law wandered abstractedly around the backyard, brandishing a butterfly net. He stood there under the shade of the big trees, wondering about the older woman. She offered no explanation, so he returned to the house.

The telephone continued to ring. He got Emma to answer them and take the names down, most of which were garbled and some of which had to be given a return call. The Sunday papers still did not interest him and neither did the old man who followed him from room to room talking about the crazy goddam Eisenhower budget. He put a record on the phonograph, but even old Bunk Johnson seemed strident and overbearing on a Sunday afternoon. He stood around, picking at the open pots of food in the kitchen. Andrea’s mother came in from the backyard.

“Neil, dear, would you help me a moment?”

He said yes. She led him into the dining room.

“I’ve been doing this thing … Nature photography. Several of my friends and I. We’ve become rather good at it and —”

“She even bought a goddam three-hundred-dollar Leica,” her husband said.

“… We take these lovely pictures.
Nature
pictures. We get insects and bugs and animals and freeze them and —”

“
Freeze
them?”

“Yes. And —”

“Freeze
an
imals?”

“Yes. Well not large animals. I mean … see these?”

She unfolded her net enough to show him several trapped insects of no particular distinction, along with a gorgeous brown and yellow butterfly and a rather large bee.

“Just a moment — I’ll go get my case.”

She disappeared into another part of the house. He stood there looking at the net with the butterfly flapping desperately inside it.

“Watch this,” the old man said, grinning conspiratorily. His wife returned, smiling gaily. They both looked quite mad. She opened a small overnight bag and set out several bottles and dabs of cotton and a plastic container one might use for leftover foodstuffs.

“Here, will you help me? Dad won’t have anything to do with it.”

“Damndest thing I ever saw,” the old man said.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s an anesthesia. Here — can you just … We get the loveliest color photographs …”

She went after the insects with the dabs of damp cotton. Neil held the net for her.

“Careful … We don’t want to soil their little yellow fur …”

When all had been gently etherized she slipped them into the food container and asked Emma to set it inside the freezer. Emma started to say something to Neil about a job for her eldest daughter, but then gave it up. “Specimen jar?” she said, uncomprehending, but still uncomplaining, accepting the container and taking it with her into the kitchen. Andrea’s mother produced a picture she had made of a katydid. At least she said it was a “pretty little” katydid — to Neil the color close-up rather resembled some primitive throwback, a Martian or a rocket ship or possibly a prehistoric mammal. He stood looking at it for a few minutes, making sympathetic sounds, and then wandered half crazed up the stairs to the children’s rooms.

There was an erupting toy box which he picked over for a few minutes before he began to examine the cartoons and paintings on the walls. John Tom had done them for the older sister several years before. They were imaginary animals, mainly, being led around by amoeba-shaped people. I ought, he thought, to get them an enlargement of that goddam kaytdid. He heard the children’s laughter from next door and moved over to a window, hoping to catch sight of them. Andrea came into the room while he was standing there.

The phone jangled incessantly downstairs.

“I’m sorry about the eggs,” he said.

“That’s all right. I just didn’t know. It would’ve been a real job trying to keep the girls occupied and out of sight while we hid them, and you saved me that.”

They talked about the girls, the drawings on the walls and the picture of the katydid. Yes, she said, she had seen the katydid. He decided she must be avoiding the subject of the night before and his late return, so he brought it up himself.

“What time did you get in?”

“I don’t think I even looked,” she said. “Kermit lent me that awful car of his and I ran out of gas on the way home. I just collapsed. Why were you so late?”

He wondered how much she knew and whether she had been aware of the hour of his return.

“I took that girl home — the one from the bookshop — and then came here. Then I couldn’t sleep so I went out driving again. I just rode around until dawn. Saw all the early mass and sunrise service types filling up the city and came back home.”

“She’s the loveliest girl …”

“Who?”

“Elsie.”

“Oh … Yes … Very. I think Stanley is interested in her.”

“Too bad he passed out.”

“I couldn’t budge him. Neither of us got much sleep the night before — or the night before that. When did you get to the party?”

“It must have been just after you left.”

“How long did it go on?”

“On and on,” she said. “It was a pretty bad party.”

“Yes. Everyone was misbehaving. I got into an argument with some … How was your party? The one earlier.”

“Oh it was nothing. We had drinks and then a late start for dinner. We looked in at one other place before I finally got them started in the right direction. I’m sorry we missed all the way around.”

“I should’ve waited. Who were you with?”

She named several people.

“Is that all?”

“There were some others I don’t think you know.”

They were silent.

“I didn’t even know them very well.”

“Who?”

“The others in my party.”

“Did you see Kermit’s colored people?”

“Yes. They were nice.”

“I just saw them. We passed going out as they came in.”

“I thought they were all rather nice … But I suppose it’s just as well you missed them.”

“Why?”

“If that idiot Edwards heard about it. I told my father this morning — I shouldn’t have — and he was almost out of his mind. God! With our crowd, you forget what other people are like.”

“Other people are all right,” Neil said. “They collect katydids, trot off to Sunday School. Sing hymns instead of folk songs.”

“What’s she like?”

“Who?”

“Elsie.”

“I don’t know. Does she sing folk songs, too?”

“Probably. She looks like she would fit in that bunch.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Really? What did you think?”

He sat on one of the children’s beds and propped his back against the wall. “Not much. She was hard to talk with. I really think Stanley is interested in her.”

“Did they talk?”

“I suppose. I left them alone most of the evening … Do you mind if he comes for dinner? We’ve got some work to do here.”

“Fine. I haven’t even seen Stanley this time.”

“That’s right.”

The telephone continued to ring downstairs. He had a picture in his mind of all the unanswered and garbled messages piling up.

“When do you have to leave?” she said.

It came out of him without his even thinking about it.

“Tonight.”

Her face seemed to fall.

“Oh hell. I’m sorry, Neil. We should have stayed home together last night. I’ve hardly seen anything of you …
Damn!
Could you put it off another day?”

“I … don’t think so. We’ve got a good deal of work ahead of us.”

“Neil?”

He looked up at her. She sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“What about?” He looked at her innocently and groaned to himself. One or the other was always throwing up the barricades.

“Please, Neil …”

“Well … I’m sorry, too.”

“What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen to us?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even tell you what’s
happened
to us.”

“I wish one of us could.”

There was another silence.