Chapter 39 #3
Art dealing, wine importer—boy, that was a mess.
What about when you decided you wanted to be a cotton farmer, remember that, Tom?
The only thing this godforsaken state is good for, and you couldn’t even do that?
She takes off a black heeled shoe and holds it up.
I bet if I planted this shoe out there in the yard, I could grow myself a goddamn Bergdorf Goodman shoe department!
I give her my meanest-eye stare—she knows Tom is not strong like her, he is a very sensitive man. Tom tries to snatch the shoe from her, but she jerks it away. You’re drunk, Lucille, and you need to go to bed, he says.
She snorts loud. And you’re one to talk! Then there’s Yale. Can’t forget about that one, can we? She looks at me and bats her eyelashes, smiling terrible like some crazy clown. Meg, did you know our Tom failed out of college after only two semesters?
You did? I did not mean to ask that, it just came out. We have talked about Yale and how much he loved it. Tom looks away, and I am so sorry I said that. I don’t care, I say to her. I don’t even know how many whatever those things are there is in college!
A lot more than two, she says and laughs dry.
And Tom failed right out. Lucille Heidelberg, married to a regular world-class failure.
She takes an angry long pull on her cigarette.
Tears are running down her face now. I want to tell Tom he is not a world-class failure.
I want to hug him and tell him that. A long snaky ash from her nasty cigarette drops onto her fruit ambrosia.
I hope she eats that and it makes her sick.
You know what the worst part is, for you, Tom? she says and then quieter, You told your mother and father how proud they’ll be when you get your big advance check.
Tom looks like all his air is gone from his body. All his joy gone. She has sucked it out of him. His face looks like it has slipped to the side. It is strange. That is all I know to describe it.
I watch the cigarette ash sink into Lucille’s ambrosia, turning it gray. Tom says, I think you should go on upstairs now, Meg.
Yes sir. I leave my plate of unate food and go like I’m told. After a while, I hear feet and Tom’s office door shut.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep in the first place and then I get woke up by a noise.
It is not those dogs, no, I think it is a door downstairs.
It is still dark out and my windup clock says it is five in the morning.
I lay there awhile, but now that I am awake, I get to thinking.
And I have got something important to tell Tom.
I go sit at my table and prepare it on paper.
And it is, in my opinion, Lucille is not somebody he ought to trust if his book is bad or not.
Just because she was Bill’s secretary at Scribner’s does not make her a expert, especially when you consider she was probably drunk when she read it.
And while I will not say who I heard it from, I happen to know for a fact that some liquor turns lazy, some it turns crude, but every one of them it turns stupid. Plumb rots a personality.
Though in Lucille’s case, she is awful even when she is not drinking. I will not say that, she is his wife. But that is my opinion.
Then I will tell Tom to let me read the book. Even if it is not eleven-year-old material, I know quality when I see it.
When I look out in the hall, their bedroom light is on and the door is open, but they are not in there.
I slip downstairs in the dark, and I can see Tom’s office door is cracked open.
I creep over and peek through, and Lordamighty, in the dim light I see papers flung all over that room.
Some torn or wadded up, some stepped on, one has a cigarette put out on it, and I go in and start gathering them all up.
When I turn around, I realize Lucille is in here too, laid out on Tom’s sofa.
Still in her white nightgown. I don’t know where in the hell Tom has gone off to.
Lucille, you need to get up and go upstairs now, I tell her.
Because this is serious. That is all I need, Willy May showing up here in a hour or two and seeing her like this!
Laid out drunk beside a half-empty bottle and a glass of it on the coffee table, not even a drink coaster placed under it. That mess will leave a ring for good.
When she does not move, I poke her white arm with a finger and say it with authority this time: Lucille, get up. You cannot be sleeping in here like this!
Real slow she lifts her head. The black crayon around her eyes has run down her face.
Her hair is a flat red mess, red lipstick smeared from her mouth corner to her ear.
She gets herself up to a sitting position, then to her feet, swaying and blinking around.
She looks certified crazy, anybody would say so.
And what does she have the gall to say to me?
Didn’t I tell you not to wake me up?
I am sorry, Lucille, but Willy May will be here soon, so you need to get upstairs. Now where has Tom gone to? Tell me now. I have not spoke to her with so much sass ever. I expect a argument.
But she jerks her thumb over to the window.
Before she weaves out of there, I hand her the bottle and that glass.
I don’t know where they keep the key to the cabinet, so she can just take it upstairs with her.
Then I peer through the office window into the dark, cradling my hands around my face.
A sliver of pink sun has already come up, and in the side yard I spot Tom.
There is just enough light to make out one of Lucille’s bottles hanging from his hand.
Oh Tom, Tom! You know better than to fool with that!
I shut the office door and run out the front and look for him.
He is strolling off in the direction of the damn woods.
His hair is stuck up funny in the back and half his shirttail is hanging out his pants.
This is not like Tom at all, he likes a neat appearance.
I watch him take a long swig from that bottle.
When I catch up with him, I say, Tom, that is enough. You need to come inside with me now and go to bed.
He turns and smiles and says, Meg. How are you? It’s good to see you, like we are at a damn party on the avenue.
Good to see you too, Tom. Now come with me before the maid or your mama shows up here and sees you like this.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and says it like he means it, I’m so proud of you, Meg. I hope you know that. I’m so proud of you.
I am proud of you too, Tom, but it is time to get in the house.
It takes me a while of tugging and begging and steering but I finally get him turned in the right direction.
He lets me lead him by the elbow back to the house, and I help him up the front porch steps and inside.
I tell him like I did Lucille, Just tote that bottle on up there with you, thataway.
I walk careful behind him up the stairs.
It feels somewhere between helping a toddler and a old lady.
Down the hall I aim him to his bedroom, where Lucille is already fast asleep.
Tom climbs up in the high four-poster bed and lays down, shoes and all.
Something dribbles out his pockets, Lord if he didn’t stuff them with dirt and sticks and leaves.
I tell him we did not need that mess brought in the house but I will have to deal with it later.
Long as I got them both in here in bed. I stuff both their bottles and Lucille’s glass in his side drawer.
Tom sits up. He isn’t wearing his glasses, and I can see his freckles. He looks like a young boy.
I’m sorry, Meg. I know I’m a sorry excuse for a father.
You are not a sorry excuse, Tom. We all have a bad day. That is just a part of life.
Thank you. For taking care of us, Meg.
You’re welcome, Tom. Lucille might get stupider and meaner, but Tom just gets sweeter. I bet Mrs. Heidelberg would be glad to know that if I could ever damn tell her.
It is close to seven o’clock. Willy May is due anytime now. Anytime. Lord knows what these two left sitting out. Their whole room smells like a damn liquor factory; I nearbout feel drunk breathing it myself and am afraid the smell will leak out under the door.
Tom sits up again like he has something important to say. Meg. Meg? he says.
Yes, Tom.
Tomorrow we’ll go swimming, alright, Meg?
I smile at him. Sweet, dear Tom. Yes sir. Tomorrow we’ll go swimming.
When Willy May comes in at seven, I got the place under control. Dishes done, countertops wiped down in case she brings in the bloodhounds. I gathered up all the pages in Tom’s office and shut the door again.
I tell Willy May, Lucille and Tom are not feeling good today. They must’ve picked up a head cold of some kind. They said for you to go on back before you catch it. I hope this will keep Mrs. Heidelberg away too. We have not seen her all week.
They both feeling sick?
That’s right. Both of them. Tom said to tell you to go on back to the big house, we will be fine.
When Willy May goes on, I do some pacing around. Checking did I miss this, that or the other. Once I am satisfied, I sit down with my new arithmetic book, might as well try and get ahead.
It is hard to pay attention when you got a problem to solve across the hall bigger than which is a integer.
I tell myself, it was only the one night, Meg.
And everybody needs a drink now and then. Even President Roosevelt said so in the newspaper.
I have half convinced myself when, wouldn’t you know, the black car pulls up.
I put a petticoat on quick and run downstairs. She is knocking on the door like to beat the band. I locked it in case something like this came up. You cannot be too careful when it comes to a concerned mother.
I open the door and right off she says, Why was the door locked, Meg? Willy May said Tom and Lucille aren’t feeling well?
Yes, ma’am, that’s right. They are upstairs resting.