The Hunger Moon (19 page)

June tiptoed in to look at Charlie. He was sleeping deeply, his hands relaxed on top of his Winnie the Pooh quilt. His mouth was ajar and the pacifier had slipped out but was stuck hanging from one side of his lower lip, giving him a slightly dissolute look. June set the pacifier to one side of the crib and brushed her fingers over the top of his forehead. Her touch was more definite than she intended. The baby stirred in his sleep. June made herself leave the room before he caught her jumpiness and woke up.

She stopped in the living room and turned out all the lights. She had an overwhelming desire to make herself hurt. She would feel the pressure inside her stomach as she ate without stopping, and then she would feel the pain of forcing it up her throat. Her head would begin to throb from the sugar spike she gave herself, and a dull depression would settle over her like
the
lead apron they covered you with at the dentist’s office. She had the power to make it hurt right now. She could feed herself so much food that she could split herself right open.

Y
OU WOULDN’T THINK SO MANY PEOPLE
would be out on Friday the thirteenth,” Bill said as he efficiently opened six Mooseheads and lined them up on her tray along with six frosted pilsner glasses. “It’s nuts back here,” he said, directing his chin toward the packed bar.

“It’s crazy in the dining room, too. I forgot it was the thirteenth; maybe people want to be in a crowd tonight to feel safe.”

“Believe me, this crowd’s not safe,” he said, grinning. The singles were out in full force, glossy men and women laughing loudly to their friends, all the while eyeing strangers across the room.

Renata hardly had time to think as she worked her station; she didn’t have an empty table all night. People weren’t lingering, either. They seemed full of nervous energy and wanted to get to a movie, or migrate to another bar, or wherever they figured that the evening would culminate in the maximum amount of entertainment. She didn’t like the feel of this crowd, mostly hyper-stylish types from downtown and the Back Bay, everyone gleaming with hair gel and taking phone calls from tiny phones ringing in their purses and jacket pockets.

Even though things were hopping, she was having a good enough time. Ron was pleasant every time she put in an order or
picked up her plates, and Bill was turning up the charm behind the bar. She and the other wait staff looked out for each other’s tables. Gil had long ago ceased to treat her specially or keep an eye on her. Renata felt at home. Even Martin was over the worst of his nicotine withdrawal and turned out to be friendly.

When she counted up her money at the end of the evening, Renata was amazed: three hundred twenty dollars. She had had a birthday table of eight that chalked up a four-hundred-dollar bill, and group of lawyers from a conference who ate and drank themselves up to three hundred. These big groups got charged fifteen percent for service automatically. Best of all, both groups wanted to get somewhere to hear music or go dancing after dinner, so they didn’t tie up her station all night. Even after tipping her bus-boy and the maître d’, she still walked away with two hundred fifty to herself.

She was just putting her coat on when Bill loomed in front of her in his blue parka.

“How about that drink tonight?” he said.

Renata was inwardly amused. The rain check was for coffee, but suddenly the ante had risen to a drink. Oh, well, why not?

“Okay. I’ve got to call my baby-sitter first.” She had been ashamed of herself for not mentioning her baby right away last time. At home that night watching Charlie’s sweet concentration as he nursed, she had sworn never again to tiptoe around the issue. If a guy wanted to go out with her, he had to know straight away about her son.

Bill looked surprised, then he smiled. “Sure.”

Renata dialed home. After four rings the answering machine clicked on. “June, it’s me. Are you there?” She waited for June to pick up, drumming her nails. She knew June often fell asleep watching television, but why wouldn’t the phone wake her? Then she remembered that she had turned down the volume of the ringer and the voice this afternoon when Charlie was having trouble taking a nap. June might easily sleep through a call, especially if she had one of her late movies playing in the background. “Okay,
I guess you’re asleep. That’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I’m having a drink with a friend. I’ll be home around one-thirty. See you then.”

Even though she had left the message, Renata had misgivings. “I can’t reach her,” she said, hanging up. “She’s probably just asleep, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea that I go out tonight.”

“She has your work number, right?”

Renata nodded.

“So, she would have called you if anything was wrong, which leaves the explanation that she’s sleeping. And if she’s asleep, then the baby must be asleep, right?”

“Oh, all right.” Renata laughed. “A quick drink.”

“I know a great spot on the waterfront,” Bill said. “Let’s leave your car here and take mine.”

“I’d feel better if we stayed in the neighborhood.”

“Let’s look at it from your baby-sitter’s—what’s her name?”

“June.”

“From June’s point of view. She sleeps, she gets paid by the hour. So, what happens if you get back at two instead of one-thirty?”

“She gets paid extra.”

“Voilá”

Renata wanted to add that she also needed to nurse Charlie once more, but that seemed too intimate a detail to disclose. And in truth, she really didn’t need to wake him up and nurse him. Since he had started solid food, he could sleep through until at least five in the morning. The ritual of getting him out of his crib after coming home from her shift had mostly been for her sake.

“All right. But how far is this place?”

“Fifteen minutes from here. I get so burned out on this Back Bay scene, I like to get to where I can smell water.”

“Okay.”

“You want to call June and leave another message?”

“No, I guess not.” June certainly would have called if she were planning on leaving the apartment with Charlie for any reason.
And she would never leave without him. So, she was just asleep.

Renata had to admit that she was looking forward to this drink. When was the last time she had gone out with anyone? Or even ridden in someone else’s car, for that matter? She was an adult, after all, entitled to a little companionship of her own. She would relax and enjoy herself.

“Good girl.” Bill slipped his arm around her shoulder. It felt big and heavy. All her touch recently had been purely maternal. As soon as she could without seeming rude, she freed herself, and kept a space between them as they walked. He didn’t seem to notice.

Bill’s car was an old Porsche, a buffed and waxed creamy yellow.

“I guess you try to get women to go for a drive as soon as possible after meeting them,” Renata teased.

Bill laughed. “Boy, are you suspicious. But it is a nice car, isn’t it? My dad had it before me. He saved up for it all his life, then kept it looking like the day he bought it. In ten years he never let this car get dirty. When he died, I decided that I would do what it took to keep it nice. I probably could have been a millionaire by now if it weren’t for pouring money into this thing. There’s an irony there somewhere, but I haven’t figured it out. Maybe you can help me.”

“Oh, I’m not good at irony.”

“That’s what I was hoping. A nice, straight-forward girl.”

The gears shifted under them with a sexual throb as he maneuvered them through the emptying streets. Not familiar with Boston outside of her own routes, Renata lost track of where they were going. They wound up at a bar overlooking the harbor, with sailboats moored at a nearby dock. She smelled creosote and salt as they got out: California, except for the bitter cold. The sky was icy clear, with stars as sharp as little pins.

Inside, it was warm and subdued, a small restaurant on one side that was closed, and a bar with a nautical theme on the other, half-filled with people. A fire burned low in the hearth. Renata had
taken off her tie, but she wished for a scarf or something so she wouldn’t look so much like a waiter in her black and white. Bill had put on a fisherman’s sweater over his white shirt and looked for all the world as if he had been sitting by the fire for hours, a book or a pipe in his hand.

Renata almost regretted now that she had quit smoking. No, not regretted, of course not, because she did it for the baby as soon as she knew she was pregnant. But a cigarette was so useful for moments like this. He would help her light it, and she could draw slowly on the smoke and squint slightly at him as she exhaled, all the time looking guarded and cool. Smoking gave you something to do with your face, so you wouldn’t have to let it betray you, your eagerness or your fear.

“So, am I reading things wrong, or does this make you a little nervous?” he asked her as soon as they had their brandies.

Renata was disarmed by the question. He wasn’t as full of bullshit as she thought. “Does it really show? This is the first time, I guess, I’ve been alone with a guy since I had my son.”

“How old?”

“Almost twenty-seven.”

“I meant the son.” Bill smiled.

Renata blushed. “Five and a half months.”

“Thirty,” he said. “Just to make us even.”

“I thought you were older.”

“Well, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean that you looked
old
old. Just a little older. You have a weathered face. A
nice
weathered face,” she said, twisting a lock of hair. “I’ll just be quiet now.”

“Please don’t. I sail a lot, so, yes, I know what you mean. A lot of people have told me I have skin like a road map.”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“And you’re not going to give me any, are you?” he smiled again. He had a terrific smile. Aside from his dark, curly hair, the resemblance to Bryan was striking. Renata responded to his smile almost automatically, then felt a little guilty for her reaction, as if
it were somehow disloyal. And it wasn’t exactly Bryan’s smile. Bryan’s, though also charming, had a kind of vulnerability to it. Which was actually what had attracted Renata to him most.

“So, you have a baby,” he began again. “But not a husband, I hope, or should I start looking over my shoulder?”

“Not a husband.”

“Good. Because babies I get along with fine. But if you had a husband, he would have reason to be cross with me.”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“But I want to,” he said, reaching across the table and lightly brushing the back of her hand with his fingertips. Her hand felt paralyzed like a small, startled animal. “I think you must have figured that much out,” he said.

T
HE SNIFTER OF BRANDY
had been generously poured; it warmed Renata and relaxed her tired shoulders. The bartender gave last call and Bill ordered two more without asking her. What the hell. If June was asleep, she was asleep. Charlie wouldn’t wake up, and if he did, there was plenty of breast milk in the freezer. The only difficulty Renata would have would be feeling a little full of milk herself. But the brandy seemed to be taking care of everything. She felt fine.

Bill didn’t ask her any more about Charlie, and she was relieved. Charlie was her private life, the real part. Later she might introduce them. For now, she was content to listen to him talk about building boats, and sailing them to warm, faraway places.

“Have you ever been to the Caribbean?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

“There’s nothing like it. Sailing from island to island, the water a turquoise so clear you can see right through. I like to work eight or nine months a year, and sail the rest. When you live on a boat, you literally can’t find anything to worry about. If your engine breaks down, or bad weather’s posted, that’s just a fact of life you deal with. But you can’t worry in the sense that you feel stress.
Three months at sea can set me up for the rest of the year in Boston.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to do it all the time?” she asked him.

“I’m getting there. I’m saving to start a charter business on Saint Kitts. A friend of mine already has a hotel there, and I could rent dock space from him. I figure another year of this, and I’ll be ready to make the big leap.”

The big leap
. The phrase startled her, made her think of Bryan again, and the way he used to refer to his mother’s attempted suicide. She shook thoughts of him away. Bill only superficially reminded her of Bryan. He had goals, after all.

“Closing, folks,” the bartender said from the bar.

W
HEN
R
ENATA STOOD
, the second brandy rushed through her, making her fingers and toes tingle. She wanted to tell Bill that her teeth were numb, because she considered it a very interesting fact, but then he would assume that she was drunk. And she didn’t think she was drunk. Happy, yes, warm, yes, but drunk— definitely not. Not after two brandies. In the old days with Bryan, she could drink a whole bottle of wine herself, or a six-pack, or four brandies, and not be drunk. Old days. Was she really old enough to have old days? The thought made her giggle.