Three Women (6 page)

Her heart turned over to see her mother sitting helplessly at the table, staring into space.

"He's going to sleep," Paula said. "Maybe I'd better get Mike for supper." She had to keep things going. Life had to keep on going, no matter what happened. And besides, she couldn't really believe that Pa was going to die. You get used to having a person around and it's just not conceivable that all of a sudden he would stop being there. Sure, he'd be sick for a while. Plenty sick. But he would get better. He had to.

Even so, Paula knew that it was her duty to take charge. Her job alone would have to support them all. Her strength alone would hold the family together. She felt terribly little and she wanted Ma to tell her everything would be all right. But Ma was sitting there, worn out and exhausted from the years of constant struggle.

"If you can get supper started," Paula repeated, "I'll be back with Mike just as soon as I find him."

Once again, she got her coat and left the house. She had to ignore the knot of aching nerves in her head. Her neck even ached with the tension. Actually, she didn't know where Mike would be. Maybe over at one of the other boy's homes. She got out in the street, undecided which way to go. But she had to do something, had to keep moving. She couldn't just stand there and be defeated without any kind of fight. So she went first to the corner candy store, hoping some of the boys might be hanging around.

She looked inside but the stools were empty. It was after six o'clock and everybody was probably home eating supper, just as she would be if things were as they always were.

Maybe she should go to the clubhouse. It was half a dozen blocks down the street at the Lennox Settlement. She looked into the pingpong room and asked some of the kids, but nobody had seen Mike. Paula felt herself getting irritated. Mike should have had the decency not to hide himself at a time like this. Paula thought he should be grown up enough by now not to cause more trouble on top of all the trouble they already had. She found a pay phone and called Charlie, Mike's best friend. No, Mike hadn't come home with him. No, he didn't know where Mike might be.

Paula slammed down the receiver and went back into the streets, feeling ready to scream. She strode around the block, peering into stores and bars, thinking she might run into him accidentally. Oh, she wasn't about to spend the night chasing after her fool brother. Then, for no good reason, she thought of phoning Phil. Maybe it was force of habit. Phil answered the ring. His deep, long and drawn "hello" brought a catch to her throat

"Oh, Phil," she said, knowing he no longer expected her to explain about the other night "I'm looking for Mike. Have you seen him, by any chance?"

And miraculously, because Phil always solved her troubles, he helped her now. Yes, he had seen Mike. In fact he was up there. But he didn't want to go home. And he didn't want to speak to her, either. She could come over and try to talk to him if she wanted. But he was not in any mood for the big sister act.

She thanked him and with relief hung up the phone. There wasn't time to think about the strangeness in Phil's voice. The peculiar coldness that made her feel she had put him behind bars. Things would have to be all right with Phil. Eventually she could straighten things out. But this just wasn't the, time. If anything, she was more confused and undecided than before.

The bus took her over to Phil's house. He answered the door with a curt nod, hands jammed tightly into the pockets of the fatigue pants streaked with car grease.

Mike was sprawled in the easy chair, slugging down a can of beer. She had never seen Mike drink before and she wondered whether this were the first time or if he had been doing it all along behind everyone's back. The apartment smelled of that pungent beer odor. She realized that it wasn't just the house, it was Phil. Both he and Mike had been drinking.

"Look, Mike," she said, "we need you at home." It was a direct appeal. She spoke as one adult to another.

Mike didn't look at her. He stared sullenly at the fishing pole propped in one corner of the room

"Pa's going to be in bed a couple of weeks and we’ll all have to put our heads together about what has to be done."

Still no answer. He swung one sneakered foot emphasizing the feigned indifference and outrage that consumed him. Phil had flopped down on the sofa and crossed his hands behind his head. He didn't interfere but lay still as though trying to make himself invisible.

"Why in hell are you being so stubborn?" Paula's voice rose. "I tell you we're in trouble. You've got to come home."

"Yeah," Mike said, his voice thick. "You need me. You all need me like a hole in the head."

"Oh, behave, for Pete's sake," Paula clasped her hands together with impatience. "Are you going to be sensitive now because I pushed your friends out?"

"You pushed
me
out." He glared at her. Patches of beard roughened his smooth skin.

How was she going to convince him? There wasn't time to explain the facts of life to him now, not with Ma home by herself.

"All right" Paula gave in. "So I pushed you out. It's just one of those things."

"So it happened. So now I'm going to stay away. Phil and me both. We're not a couple of dolls that dance when you say we should."

She looked at Phil but he didn't come to her defense.

"So that's the way it is?" she said. "You're going to sit here and feel sorry for yourself. You won't help out."

"If it doesn't suit your convenience, that's too damned bad."

I'm arguing with the alcohol, she decided, not Mike. "Okay, stay here as long as you want. But remember, Pa's out of work and I don't bring home enough to keep things going. If you don't get a job after school, I don't know how we'll manage."

He took a long slug from the beer can and swallowed with a grimace of distaste. A thin line of foam clung to the shadow of his mustache. "That's tough," he said.

There wasn't anything she could do. She wheeled and stalked out of the place, hating Phil for not helping her in the slightest. Surely he understood what was happening. Even if she had hurt him, he could be big enough to overlook it in this case. He felt very much like Mike, probably. Unwanted. Unneeded. So they teamed up against her. It was too ridiculous.

By the time she got home, Ma had pulled herself together. Two portions of ham and eggs were waiting. Paula knew that Ma was too sick inside herself to have an appetite. She had fixed dinner for only Paula and Mike.

Seeing Paula alone, her fine dark eyebrows came together in question.

"I found him,'' Paula volunteered. "He's over at Phil's place and he doesn't want to come home."

"Did you really expect something different?" She put a single serving on the table.

"Yes. I expected him to act like an adult."

"Well, eat your supper. He’ll calm down by tomorrow. Don't worry about it."

Paula sat down and played with the fork. Her own appetite was gone but she knew she should try to eat. "I'm not worried. I'm disgusted. He's sixteen years old."

"Weren't you?"

It was an unfair reply. She was working so hard to be brave and keep things organized. And even her own mother wasn't helping. She pushed a piece of bread into her mouth and chewed it slowly. The whole world was ganging up on her. Phil thought she was a traitor. Mike was living in a fog of hurt feelings more important to him than anyone's life or death. And here was Ma taking everybody's side but hers. The supper was going down in lumps but she forced herself to keep on eating.

Mike didn't come home that night. Paula paced around her room, cursing his stubbornness. She felt trapped and miserable. Wasn't there anyone who could understand her feelings? She climbed into bed and dug her face into the pillow. The memory of patient warm fingers massaging the cold flesh of her feet swept through her. She saw the freckles crinkling with laughter across the nose, the steaming coffee offered to warm her.

Oh, Byrne, she whispered, take me away!

All through Tuesday, Paula fought to stay calm. She had to type letters three and four times to get them right. Her fingers refused to move sanely on the keys. They leaped and jumped and stumbled unmanageably. The girls, usually so talkative, started conversations with her but soon drifted away, sensing that Paula was in no mood for light chatter.

She hadn't bothered to take lunch along. When twelve o'clock came, she went to the coffee machine in the cafeteria and drowned herself in gallons of black liquid. She knew she was tired under everything. But the blood raced through her veins and her mind sped dizzily along its crazy channel of thought.

How could she leave the house tonight and go to Byrne? What excuse could she give Ma for deserting her?

But she had to see Byrne. She couldn't stay in that hopeless apartment caged by those dismal surroundings. Byrne, cool Byrne, flowed like clear water through the desert of her life. She would rather die than not go tonight.

She lit a cigarette from the stub of another and put her head in her hands. Around her the chatter and clinking of dishes went unnoticed.

I don't even know her last name, she thought. I can't even phone her and explain why I can't come.

Instantly she thought of phoning Phil and asking him. Then she rejected the idea. Even if he didn't ask, Phil would want to know why. He might even get in touch with Byrne to find out what was going on.

The afternoon dragged on with its usual businesslike boredom. The round clock on the wall ticked but its hands didn't seem to move. Paula lived a hundred years before five o'clock came.

When Paula came home, the doctor had already paid his visit. She noticed that there were no more pills in the bottle. Then she saw another bottle with different colored tablets standing behind the bedlamp. Pa lay sleeping. He breathed in long, slow breaths and she didn't have to ask her mother if he were drugged. He looked thinner than ever and more colorless than a piece of paper. A bowl of broth, almost full, sat on the floor beside his bed. There was nothing for Paula to say to her mother. They moved their own silent ways through the stillness of the apartment.

When she had washed her face and renewed the lipstick, Paula felt a little better. She knew she was going to Byrne's tonight. It was senseless to stay home anyway. What could she do to help? If Pa were up and needed attention, that would be one thing. But as long as he slept, Paula felt free to go out for a few hours.

Her mother noticed the fresh lipstick. "Don't you want any supper?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry." Paula answered. "Has Mike been home?"

"No. But I spoke to him on the phone. I think he’ll be through sulking pretty soon. Will you please try not to make him feel like a baby when he does come home?"

"I just don't see why you allow him to go around like that without having him help out at all."

"He told me Phil is going to help him get a part-time job in the paint store."

"Well, that's a little, better," Paula said, grateful that Ma didn't reply with an I-told-you-so.

"Since you're going out, I suppose I should tell Phil when he comes up not to wait?"

So, Paula thought with irritation, he's trying to patch things up behind my mother's apron.

But even as she thought that, Paula felt guilty. After all, the situation was not Phil's fault. He was simply trying not to be objectionable. She knew he was wondering what he had done wrong, questioning himself, searching, and regretting what had happened that night. Poor, dear Phil. He would never know that the wrongdoing, the fault, was not his.

"Yes," she said, "tell him not to wait. He has no business expecting me to be home whenever he thinks I ought to be."

"You usually are home, my dear. And you've always been home during the week."

Paula realized that even if she didn't owe Phil an explanation, she owed her mother one. The faith that underlined her mother's words to her was precious. Any other mother would demand to know where her daughter had suddenly started spending time. But her mother trusted her. And Paula yearned to be worthy of that trust.

"Believe me," Paula said, as she checked the contents of her purse, "I'm not doing anything you would be ashamed of. I simply have a new friend. And it's right to make friends."

"You don't have to explain. I know that I've brought up a good, sensible girl."

Impulsively, Paula kissed the plump cheeks, then quickly left, before their conversation became an agony.

Once free in the winter-dark streets, the weight of her home dropped away and Paula flew with light feet over to Fifth Avenue. The thought of Byrne flooded through her body, lending strength and life and joy, and she succumbed completely to the delightful vision of her new world. She didn't care if she were early for her appointment. If Byrne were eating supper, if Byrne were doing anything, she would sit in a corner and wait. Wait throughout eternity so long as Byrne were near.

She took the brownstone steps two at a time and knocked vigorously at the door. When it opened, she stood there, grinning like a maniac at the cameo face, so near to her at last.

"And what's so funny," Byrne said, tugging Paula inside by the collar. She wore a turtle neck sweater of dark green that made her eyes seem stormy. The cable stitching outlined the fulness of her breasts.

Oh, take that sweater off, Paula thought. Let me draw them. Paint them. Let me see!

The beige skirt surprised her. For the first time, it occurred to Paula that Byrne didn't always stay at home, that she had a life outside. But Paula must get to know that life. She must know everything about Byrne.

"I'm laughing," Paula said, dropping her coat on a chair, "because I don't even know your last name."

"You know other things that are much more interesting," Byrne replied. The high heels she wore lent a certain formality to her. Paula had expected the same intimacy they had shared last time to reappear automatically, but Byrne seemed preoccupied. She refused to sit down, as though expecting another, more important visitor. She played with the ring on her finger and occasionally glanced out the window. Anxiety wrinkled her forehead.