Chapter 27 #4
When I see her coming for her third visit, I run to the piano and start playing “Oh Peter Go Ring Dem Bells.” I miss some notes but I play it loud like Ophelia showed me.
Well, well, Meg can play the piano, she says, and I turn and look all surprised like I did not know she was coming.
Something tells me you’re a smart cookie, Meg.
It is not something telling you, lady, it is me, so you do not return me back to that damn place. Before she leaves, I tell her, Goodbye, Mrs. Heidelberg. Thank you for stopping by.
She pat-pats my head and gives Tom a good hug. She does not say, Oh, please call me Grandmama, yet, but like Marybeth said, these things take time.
I’m proud of you, Son, she tells him.
That’s all I want, Mama. Is to make you and Daddy proud.
Soon as the clock hand ticks two, I holler, It’s time! Tom, it’s time!
I got my swimsuit on up under my clothes and am waiting to bolt out the door since the rule is wait ONE HOUR after eating or you will get a cramp and sink and die and be food for the fishes.
It is clear and hot today, and when we get to the lake, it is just us there, no cousins or aunts or maids.
I would’ve liked to seen Marybeth, but Tom will do just fine.
The hot metal ladder burns my hands, and I am kicking before I even hit the water.
It smells green as it looks here, and when I go under, it feels nothing like pretending in the bathtub.
It is more like what I suspect it feels like being borned.
A blue-green wet world where everything looks thick and fuzzy and then whoosh, I come up gasping!
If I drink up a little lake it is bound to be all right, considering the fish drink it daily.
Tom practices me doing the frog leg, the dog paddle, and holding my breath.
And then it is swimming independent time.
What I like best is to float on my back.
I stare up at the blue sky and float and think, about how when Lucille is away I get Tom all to myself.
I find my mind drifting to the blue swimming pool in the magazine, and then I think about that other mother.
I wonder if maybe she went on to Cal-i-for-nia without me …
decided she did not need a girl to weight her down anymore—
That’s too far, Meg, come back. It gets awful deep out there. Yes it does, Tom.
When we need a break, we pull ourselves up the ladder. It is a relief to unsuck that rubber swim cap off my head, and it makes a good thuck sound. We lay on our towels in a smooth spot under the loblolly pines. Just enough sun comes in to dry us off, though those little pine stickers tickle.
I ask Tom how the book writing is going since when Lucille gets back, he won’t talk about it much.
I think I’ve really turned a corner, he says and smiles.
He has brought the one he likes called This Side of Paradise.
Full of parties on the avenue and fur coats and folks acting awful even if they are supposed to be in love.
He says it is not appropriate for a child, but back at the house, he let me look at it.
I saw he had underlined things right on the page.
Mrs. Olive Block from the lending library would not put up with that mess. She would tell Tom’s mama on him.
When you met Lucille, was it love at first sight? I heard of that somewhere.
Well, not exactly. He laughs. It’s a longer story than that.
Will you tell it to me?
It’s kind of grown-up. But … I can tell you a little.
I sit up. All I really want to hear about is Tom. If Lucille has got to be in the story too, well, that is just the cost of doing business. Birdie used to say that.
I was actually seeing a different girl when I met Lucille.
Her name was Darcy Davenport. He props up on one arm.
That old buddy of mine, Bill Davenport, the one who worked at Scribner’s, well Darcy was his sister.
My parents thought it was a swell idea for us to be together because we come from similar backgrounds.
You mean she was rich too, I say.
He nods. Like I told you, Lucille was secretarying for Bill, and when I’d go up to his office to see him, Lucille and I would talk and flirt a little, but she knew I was going to be engaged to Darcy.
Then one day, Lucille called me up at home and said there was something important she needed to tell me.
She asked me to meet her at the Ritz that night, and to be honest, I was sort of excited to see her.
Things were … getting a little too serious with Darcy.
He runs his fingers along the scratchy part of his chin.
So I met Lucille at the Ritz, and she was flustered and upset about, I don’t know, mixing something up at work and she was afraid she might get fired.
So we had a few cocktails to let her settle down …
But they are illegal, I say.
He shrugs. If you ask Harry a certain way, he’ll serve you as many as you want. Anyway, she was upset, so we had a few drinks and then we started dancing and one thing led to another and … we kissed. He frowns. This might be a little grown-up for you.
It’s alright, Tom, you can tell me. I have seen things. I have not seen things, but I want to hear the rest of this story. Now was that a kiss on the lips or just on the cheek?
He thinks it over. Lips. Cheek. Both. He closes his eyes up at the sun coming through the pine tree. Tom does not brown, he burns pink like me. She had on this emerald-colored dress and a rose in her hair. So there we were, dancing and kissing at the Ritz … and who do you think walks in?
Fitzgerald?
He laughs. Darcy. With her brother Bill.
Lucille claimed she’d been so flustered that she’d accidentally put it on Bill’s calendar that they were supposed to meet me that night at the Ritz.
Darcy was furious, Bill was … just confused, and that was it.
Darcy hung me out to dry, and Lucille … I suppose you could say she chased me until I couldn’t help it anymore, and I fell in love with her.
You do not have to be smart to know what happened. Lucille didn’t have anything to tell you, did she?
Nope, she made the whole thing up. He presses his lips together, smiling. I am not near impressed as he looks. My parents were awfully disappointed. They wanted me to be like my older brother, Nick. He married his college sweetheart.
What is college like? I ask him. It’s in Oxford, isn’t it?
Well, you’re talking about the University of Mississippi. I studied at a college up north called Yale.
I sit up straight. Was it hard? Was it interesting? Will I get to go?
I hope you get to go. Yale is where I really learned to read, and it’s certainly where I learned to write.
I wonder if that is the truth. Not to make him feel bad, but that sounds pretty late. Even if men are slow learners.
What I mean is, Yale is where I learned to really understand the story—short stories, essays, the novel. I learned to look at history differently, and art … I don’t think I even knew how to see colors properly before I went to college.
Lord, I want to go. I start asking him questions like how many paddles do they give for talking back, and did he get him a piece of paper to tack on the wall when he finished, like Miss Gertrude gives in fifth grade? Is it up on the wall in your office? Can I see it?
I think that’s enough for now. Come on, how about we take one more dip?
He teaches me to do what he calls a proper stroke, where you turn your head and breathe, turn and breathe—Just like that, Meg, get a rhythm, that’s it!
When we have our fill of the lake, we walk through the quiet woods.
I take his hand, and he whistles a tune.
I remember the words from another time …
I can’t give you anything but love, baby.
That’s the only thing I’ve plenty of, baby.
This time it doesn’t make me sad thinking of that, it makes me remember how when I was little I used to imagine my daddy was a important explorer or a war hero or a secret government spy somewhere. When all along, it was Tom.