Happy All the Time (21 page)

“It's never wise to be honest,” said Vincent.

“Yeah? That's pretty sophisticated. I thought you were a real straight arrow. But, man, this is really getting to me. This morning Betty Helen said I had a gray aura, and usually it's yellow.”

“Betty Helen?” said Vincent. “You discuss these things with Betty Helen?”

“No, man, I'm just saying what Betty Helen said about my aura.”

“What does all this mean?” said Vincent sternly.

“Geez, Vince. Didn't you ever talk to her? She's really weird. She believes in spirituality. She sees auras and they tell you what kind of mental state you're in. Like for example she said Guido is usually light blue but he's turned a sort of dark, muddy purple color. And that makes sense what with Holly going into a convent.”

Vincent stared at Stanley. “A what?”

“A convent,” said Stanley. “Holly went into a convent.”

“A what?”

“Don't keep saying that,” said Stanley. “I heard Guido on the phone this morning with Holly's mother. Holly went into a convent.”

“You sit here,” said Vincent. “You just sit here and don't move. I'll be right back.”

He walked angrily over to the bar and demanded to know where the public telephone was. He was directed to a wooden booth that was occupied by a nervous-looking young woman holding an address book and talking a mile a minute. Her face was to the wall so that Vincent's furious pacing did not catch her eye. After about two minutes, Vincent knocked on the glass.

“How long are you going to be?” he shouted.

“This is a very serious conversation,” said the girl. “I'll be on for a little while.”

“This is a public telephone!” shouted Vincent. “You are not supposed to make serious telephone calls.”

“This is very important,” snapped the girl.

“If you don't get out of there, I'll call the police,” said Vincent. “This is a matter of life and death.”

“Well, just a minute,” said the girl. She murmured into the phone and then hung up.

“It's all yours,” she said. “You may have ruined my life.”

The booth smelled of French perfume. Vincent dialed Guido's number angrily.

“Stanley tells me that Holly has entered a convent,” he said. “Just what is this all about?”

“I have no privacy,” said Guido.

“Screw your privacy,” said Vincent. “I'm your oldest friend.”

“Holly went on a retreat,” said Guido. “She found some tasteful monastery and off she went. She thinks it's good for a baby to hang around in a serene atmosphere.”

“What baby?” shouted Vincent.

“For God's sake, stop shouting,” said Guido. “Holly is having a baby. Didn't Misty tell you?”

“How does Misty know?”

“I told her,” said Guido. “Maybe I told her not to tell you. I can't remember. I was pretty upset.”

“I think you'd better come over for dinner tonight,” said Vincent. “I don't
get
this.”

“It's the usual. Everything's wonderful. Holly's having a baby and she's gone off to commune with some Anglican nuns. I don't understand anything and I'm going to be a father.”

“Congratulations,” said Vincent. “That's actually wonderful. It's too bad I'm too furious to appreciate it. I'll see you tonight. Christ, I'd really like to break your neck.”

“I'm going to be an uncle,” said Vincent, sitting down. “Holly is having a baby.”

“I thought she was going to be a nun,” said Stanley. “Anyway, that doesn't make you an uncle. It makes you something like a third cousin once removed.”

“It makes me an uncle because I will feel like an uncle,” said Vincent. “And Holly has gone to a monastery on a retreat.”

“Yeah?” said Stanley. “Far out. We used to have to read some of that monastic stuff when we studied Church Latin. Very weird. Jews don't have any of that hoo-ha. Geez, you look furious. Did you let Guido have it?”

“No,” said Vincent. “I was angry, but I'm not now. Eat your lunch.”

“Don't practice being an uncle on me, man,” said Stanley. “I can see you're angry. I'd be angry if my best friend held out on me. Well, enough about you. What about me?”

“Your problems are mush,” said Vincent. “Just wait till you grow up and have real problems. Meanwhile, my advice to you is to have some of that pastry for dessert. An éclair or two promotes clear thinking.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Stanley. “In that case, I'll have an éclair and a Napoleon on the side.”

Vincent left the office early and walked home alone. He wanted some time to himself to think things over. Guido had held out on him. Misty had held out on him. What was the reason for this? His companion on his walk was a deep sense of persecution. Had Guido and Misty discovered some insufficiency in him? Was he incapable of handling vital information? Was he so self-absorbed that no one told him anything anymore?

Or perhaps this was a trend. After all, Stanley felt he was holding out on Sybel. Who else, he wondered, was holding out on whom? He passed a row of brownstones whose lighted windows had always made him feel that lives of warmth and stability were conducted behind them. Now he wondered how many secrets were being kept by how many people in those houses. Which husbands were lying to their wives? Which wives were lying to their husbands?

At home Vincent sat down with a glass of whisky. Best friends should tell each other important things, he thought. Having a baby was an important thing, especially when an uncle was involved. The whisky warmed his chest and made him think that perhaps he was making a big deal out of nothing. He picked up a magazine from a basket next to the chair and began to look through it. Vincent was on the mailing list of every do-good institution in the country and he received all of their publications. The magazine he picked was produced by the Foundation for Human Fellowship. On its cover was a detail from a Bosch painting and the words: “Is the World Going to Hell?” Vincent was certain that it was: the warmth of the whisky had worn off.
Human Fellowship
, as this magazine was called, had a monthly column containing a quote, and humanistic opinions about the quote. This month's was from Georg Simmel and read: “The farther individuals are removed from our most intimate personality, the more easily we can come to terms with their untruthfulness, both in a practical and in an intimate psychological sense—while if the few persons closest to us lie, life becomes unbearable.”

Vincent threw the magazine on the floor. It was his wife who believed that there were no accidents. This quote was no accident. The few people closest to him had lied. Life was unbearable. He finished his whisky in a fury.

When he heard the click of Misty's key in the lock, he leaped from his chair and stood in the hallway glowering. He did not say hello or kiss her. He watched her hang her coat up in the closet.

“Why are you standing in the hallway blocking my path and looking so petulant?” said Misty.

“I am tired of being lied to!” shouted Vincent. “I am tired of having my good nature taken advantage of. I am tired of being scorned as a cheery fool while the rest of you grownups go around being serious.”

“So Guido spilled, huh?”

“So Guido spilled,” said Vincent menacingly. “How coy. Yes, Guido spilled, because your cousin Stanley is an eavesdropper. Now I discover that my best friend and my wife have been sharing information to which I am not permitted access. Is that because I'm not deep enough to understand it? Is it because my temperament is too lighthearted to deal with these grim realities? If my best friend's wife is pregnant and I am about to be an uncle, am I not to be told?”

“Third cousin once removed,” said Misty.

“And if my best friend's wife who is carrying my niece or nephew goes to a monastery, am I also not to be told?”

“A monastery?” said Misty. “Holly?”

“Ha!” said Vincent. “I see you don't know everything. Holly has gone on a retreat.”

“How chic,” said Misty.

“Is that chic?”

“It is now,” said Misty. “I think you have real dramatic talent, Vincent. I think you ought to ask Hester if she can get you some acting work. I had no idea you were so Shakespearean.”

“I am furious at you and Guido,” said Vincent.

“So I see,” said Misty. “Now if you will let me out of this hallway, I shall explain.”

Vincent sat in his chair and waited. Misty did not speak. She simply looked at her husband quizzically.

“Spill,” said Vincent.

“I will not speak from a stand,” said Misty. “I will speak from your lap.”

“No you don't,” said Vincent. “You keep your feminine wiles off me.”

“Nope,” said Misty. She climbed into his lap and put her arms around him.

“You know what, Vincent?” she said. “You really are nicer than other people. You really do take the right things seriously. I'm just a small-timer. Guido came over on Saturday and I think he needed to talk to a woman. He was very upset because he isn't able to figure out how Holly feels about things and Holly doesn't talk. She just
does
. So she got pregnant, sprang it on him, and he went all to pieces. He asked me not to tell you because he felt so awful.”

“And he assumed that I would come over all happiness and he wouldn't be able to stand it. Right?”

“Right. So here's the situation. Guido was waiting until he felt right enough to tell you, and you would have been happy in either case. That's love for you.”

“Where do you fit into this neat equation?”

“Me?” said Misty. “I'm big time about small issues. Guido told me not to tell, and when someone tells you not to tell, that's sacred writ. Any thirteen-year-old girl knows that. It's teen honor and I have never outgrown it.”

“Do you realize,” said Vincent, “that this incident has broken down the barriers of trust? Do you know that when those closest to you lie, life becomes unbearable?”

“Of course I do,” said Misty. “We read the same magazines. I'm like a dog with a bell when it comes to secrets. That shows you how undeveloped I am. If I had been big time, I would have told you, but you would have felt the same way, wouldn't you?”

“Certainly,” said Vincent. “Mad at Guido and glad at the baby.”

“Well, that's the problem with good people,” said Misty. “You can't tell them anything.”

“In that case,” said Vincent, “there's no point in being good.”

Guido appeared for dinner looking grim. Vincent was still furious and Misty was edgy. Politeness broke out on all sides. Dinner was finished off amidst a great deal of forced chatter, and when it was time for coffee Misty felt that she ought to retire to the drawing room for a cigar in order to leave the boys alone.

“Oh no you don't,” said Vincent.

“Don't leave,” said Guido.

“Are we going to sit around and discuss our clash of temperaments?” said Misty.

“Yes,” said Vincent. “We are going to sit at this table and discuss that very thing. I will begin. You, Guido, have concealed vital information from me. You, Misty, have been an accomplice. Guido has failed to distinguish between his rotten mood and our friendship and you have failed to give up some teenaged ideas you have about confidences.”

He sat back in his chair and lit a cigar. Guido and Misty gave each other looks of pure relief. Once Vincent had aired his anger, he always forgot it. He was no longer angry and they both knew it.

It was now Guido's turn.

“If this makes you feel bad, think of how I feel. Holly gets pregnant without so much as a discussion. I didn't know she wanted a baby. She never said a word to me. From the way she behaves, you'd think the stork flew in the window and left the idea of a baby under one of her floral arrangements. Not a word! I can't believe she sprang this on me. It isn't that I don't want a baby. I do. But this is the twentieth century. We're a married couple. Aren't married couples supposed to discuss these things?”

“According to what rule?” said Misty.

“Would you spring a baby on me?” said Vincent.

“It's a pleasure to spring anything on you since you're such a goop,” said Misty.

“She
sprang
it on me,” said Guido.

“But you want a baby,” said Vincent brightly. “And now you're going to have one. Why don't you just sit back and enjoy it?”

“It's not the baby,” said Guido. “It's the idea of it. It's that Holly harbored this desire and didn't bother to tell me. We were supposed to talk about it together.”

“How disgusting,” said Misty. “Now it's my turn. You expect Holly to behave as you would behave. She doesn't and she never will. Did you ever for a second stop to think that maybe Holly already knew you wanted a baby and didn't want to have endless discussions about it? Maybe she wasn't up for one of those mechanical modern conversations about sperm. Maybe it was an accident and she thinks it's a happy accident. I can see your point and you're entitled to it. But you have to see Holly's and Holly is not you. Besides, Holly answers everything you think about the world and loves you too. You win both ways. You can brood with nothing very serious to brood about. You can think the universe is dark and full of awful surprises and you can be right and wrong at the same time. Holly is the perfect wife for you. If you were married to someone just like you, the two of you would sit around and discuss every tiny event in your past, present, and future and you'd never have any fun.”

“If Holly is so perfect,” said Guido, “why do I feel so awful?”

“Because what you wanted to happen happened, but not in the way you wanted it to,” said Misty. “You didn't orchestrate it. In short, you are a spoiled brat.”

“That isn't nice,” said Vincent.