Bingo (37 page)

She appeared thoughtful. “Ever think about why you’re gay?”

“I became a lesbian out of devout Christian charity. All those women out there are praying for a man and I gave them my share.”

Michelle’s jaw dropped to her chest.

“Got you that time, didn’t I?” I flashed a victory “V.” “And now, Brenda Starr, I’m off to the Curl ’n Twirl.” The summons from Mom had come.

Pewter, Lolly, and I started out of the building. Michelle called after me: “I’m onto you, Nickel. You deflect people with your humor but one of these days you’re actually going to talk to me—about you.”

As I closed the door I replied, “Only if you talk about you. To get you gotta give.”

Mr. Pierre greeted me with a conspiratorial air. Mother, Orrie, and Wheezie were loudly arguing the merits of my editorial, Gary Hart, and men in general. Men were taking a beating. I felt like importing three of them so there’d be a fair fight.

“You’ve got the town abuzz.” Orrie even had the paper in her hand.

“That’s my job.”

“I certainly think you could have done without mentioning … you know.” Wheezie was referring to the line about blow jobs.

“Yeah, but it got your attention, didn’t it?” Mother said.

“There are less vulgar ways to do that,” Louise sniffed.

“Name one.” Mother put her on the spot.

“Juts, that’s not Wheezie’s expertise. Nickel’s the expertise stripper.” Mr. Pierre winked at me.

Georgette sang out, “Line one for you, Mr. Pierre.”

“Excuse me, darlings.” He picked up the phone and was soon immersed in ordering hair supplies.

Orrie shifted her weight on the chair. “A looker.”

Mother craned her head to get a better look at the Donna Rice picture in the paper. “Maybe she knows how to sail a yacht—better rename that boat the
Titanic.
”

“All tips and no icebergs.” Wheezie spoke knowingly about Miss Rice as she tossed Goodyear and Lolly tiny Milk-Bones. Mr. Pierre kept a bowl of them on the counter.

“Now, who’s focusing on sex?” Mother teased her.

“I wasn’t upset over the sex part. I don’t think Nickel should have used those—words.”

“I hope the girl can count.” Orrie folded up her paper.

“Why?” Mother asked.

“Because women who miscalculate are called mothers.”

That set the girls off. Mr. Pierre hung up the phone. “What did I miss?”

Orrie repeated her jibe, which received fresh laughter.

Mother glanced from Mr. Pierre to me and back to Mr. Pierre again. She felt it was now or never.

“Wheezie, I have something to tell you and I thought it would be nice to hear it among friends.”

“You sick, Juts?” Louise’s brow furrowed.

“No.” Mom stuck. Nothing issued from her mouth.

Orrie checked her wristwatch. “I’ve got to meet Ann Falkenroth at Mojo’s in five minutes.”

“I didn’t know you were having lunch with Ann.” Wheezie crossed her legs.

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

Louise’s answer was simple and direct. “Yes.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, tell you everything at once.” Mom did this in one breath. “Ed and I are going to live together.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Orrie’s laughter tinkled.

Mr. Pierre impressed upon her the gravity of the situation. “It’s true.”

Louise stood up. “I saw him first!”

“No, you talked to him first.”

Orrie, perceiving that Louise’s blood pressure was spiraling upward, said, “Now, now, that’s not—”

“Shut up.” Wheezie put her hand over Orrie’s mouth with a backhanded flick of her wrist. “You did this to spite me!” She spat the words at Juts.

“I did not. We get along and—”

“He gets along with me too—oh, little did I think you could stoop so low. Only now do I know.”

Mother got flippant. “You’re just pissed because you didn’t ask him first.”

Louise stomped for the door, opened it, and hollered as she was framed in the doorway: “I’m tired of being the buttocks of your jokes!”

She slammed the door behind her. Mr. Pierre winced. Orrie, a trifle pale, again checked her watch. “I think I’d better be going.”

“You aren’t going after her to console her?” Mother asked, her voice rising.

“She’s your sister, not mine. She’ll huff and puff and blow the house down and then get over it. Besides, all is fair in love and war, Julia, and it looks like you win—this time.”

We watched Orrie leave. I sat in a chair and so did Mr. Pierre. Georgette called Verna to tell her the news.

Mother brazenly called out, “Tell her to put it on the blackboard. Julia Ellen Smith shacks up with Ed Tutweiler Walters.”

“Mom, don’t rub it in.”

“I’m not rubbing it in. If it’s going to be all over town by the end of lunch hour it might as well come from me.”

Mr. Pierre rubbed his chin. “Wish I knew what Wheezie is going to do. She won’t take this lying down.”

“What can she do aside from have a fit and fall in it?” Georgette asked, now that she’d hung up the phone with her mother.

“What’d Verna say?” Mother wanted to know.

“She says Ed is old enough to know what he’s doing and so are you.”

“That’s it?” Mother seemed disappointed.

“That’s it,” Georgette promptly replied.

“I think Aunt Wheezie really cares for Ed,” I said.

Mother did not appreciate my concern or my line of chat. “You stay out of this.”

“You wanted me here for moral support—or is it immoral support?” I didn’t like her tone of voice.

“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” Mother’s eyes bored into me.

“Hey, Mom, I’ve graduated to being a part-time adult. When I want you to live my life for me, I’ll let you know.”

“Trees manage their affairs better than you do.”

That did it. I left. If she was upset over her sister, she could damn well take it out on someone other than me. I burned off energy walking around the Square and decided to go into the Medical Arts building to see if my tests had come in.

Trixie motioned me into her office as she emerged from an examining room. She didn’t keep me waiting.

“I was going to call and tell you to come over.”

“Am I healthy?”

“You are in splendid health and I’m glad of it”—she paused and came a bit closer to me—“because you’re pregnant. Since you were being cute and clever during the exam concerning your sex life, I shall assume a star is rising in the East.”

“Holy shit.”

• • •

Bet I drove over every back road in the county. The dog and cat fell asleep in the car. When I finally got home I called Mr. Pierre. He said he’d marry me and I shouldn’t give it a second thought. He also said that I should go straight to Mother with the news.

With reluctance I did as he advised.

Mother was experimenting with her new pillows on the sofa when I walked in.

“Are bygones bygones?” she asked, her version of an apology.

I lowered myself onto the sofa as she pulled a pillow out from behind my back. She tested it in the other corner.

“The last few days have been hectic. “This was a weak start.

“Never a dull moment.” She stepped back to study the color combinations.

“It’s not over yet.”

She looked sharply at me. “Oh.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant. Trixie Shellenberger told me after I left the Curl ’n Twirl.”

She gripped the other arm of the sofa and launched herself back on her pillows. “Oh, my God!”

“I’m going to have the baby.” I repeated myself. I didn’t know what to say.

“I should hope so—I want to be a grandmother, but what a mess. What a fine kettle of fish.” She rubbed her temples.

“Mr. Pierre offered his hand in marriage.”

“He did?”

“I don’t know if he meant it or not.”

“Well, if he does mean it take him up on it fast. It may be the only way to save our face—what’s left of it.”

“Thanks.”

“You haven’t exactly been conventional.” I could see she was
torn between elation and despair. “Why’d you talk to Mr. Pierre before me?”

“I thought he’d be more objective than either you or I,” I said.

She murmured an agreeing noise and sank farther into the pillows.

“Mom, what are we going to tell Aunt Wheeze?”

“Nothing.”

“She’s bound to find out sometime.”

“She’s had one shock. Another one might put her under.” She rested her hands on her cheeks.

“Are you thinking?”

“You try thinking. I’ll try praying—that we get out of this one alive.”

“It’s not that bad—is it?”

“Have you thought about what your child is going to do when he or she grows up?” Her eyes were solemn. “She’s going to write a biography of you called
Mommie Queerest.
”

T
he Virgin Mary’s was a planned pregnancy. Mine was not. I awoke at six-thirty
A.M.
, my mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts, my emotions in the electric blender. I would be unemployed at five tonight. I was to deliver sometime in December a child whom I conceived without the benefit of a husband. My Jeep lay in sections at the garage. I couldn’t pay to fix it and Jackson couldn’t wrangle with Eagle until he was back in the office, full steam. If he was strong enough I should enlighten him about this unexpected event. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him ever, but that seemed cruel. I don’t sleep around. During the sexual revolution I was the only person of my generation not getting any. Now I got more than I bargained for.

Self-pity is the simplest luxury. I nearly surrendered to it, but after a punishing workout and a hot shower I recovered my good sense or what was left of it and considered the pluses. I was healthy. My mother appeared to be supporting me, and for all her bravado and wisecracks, this must be emotionally affecting her. Life wasn’t turning out as she had envisioned it, but does it ever—for anyone? I had two furry souls, Lolly and Pewter, who loved me. Kenny loved me too. I lived on a fine patch of the earth. I was okay. And the more I thought about it the more excited I became. I wanted to be a mother. I was prepared to welcome this little person into the world, planned or unplanned, and do what I could to prepare her/him to survive it and occasionally triumph.

When I was fresh out of college I knew everything. Now I
wasn’t certain what I knew. I had surrendered all my beliefs. I wait for the Truth to find me.

I did know that I believed in life and I was joyous, down deep, to be giving life. I wanted a healthy baby. As to the social stigma, could it be any worse than being gay? I’d fight if I had to but I was going to have this baby.

Whistling down the hill in the Chrysler, I beheld the town and it appeared brighter to me. The water tower off the Emmitsburg Pike loomed like an ugly sentinel of the town, but even the tower with
SOUTH RUNNY 1988
painted over it looked beautiful to me. The spire of Christ Lutheran, gold and blue, was gleaming, and the darker tone of Saint Rose’s steeple and Saint Paul’s shot up over the rooftops. I loved this place. I wanted my child to love this place. I reckoned someday she or he would climb the water tower, in the depths of the night, and paint her class’s year on it. David Wheeler would sputter and then send a clean-up crew. It’s not as if David didn’t do the same thing in 1970.

May ushered herself in with soft sunshine and little humidity. I pulled the Chrysler around into the parking lot. It was still early. No other cars rolled around the Square. Pewter, Lolly, and I strolled around the entire Square. We took our sweet time.

I thought about being a mother and I thought about Mom. Mothers invent our idea of love. Mother feeds us. Cleans us. Puts us to bed at night. Mine read to me every night until I could read to myself. Mother patches your cuts and bruises. Packs your lunch. Puts your clothes on and teaches you how to tie your shoes. She teaches you how to tell time too. You watch the little hand for the hours and the big hand for the minutes. Mother not only tells you right from wrong, she shows you. One time I stole from the old Bon Ton a yellow yo-yo with a black stripe through the middle; it looked like a bumblebee and I love bumblebees. Mother marched me right back into the store and forced me to return my booty. I was seven. I never stole again. Mother teaches you sympathy for others and responsibility. She scolds, chides, and
whacks you when she has to but she’s there. She’s always there. She’s the person who presents you to the world your first day of school. Even as you depend upon her she is teaching you to let go. Dad is beloved and in my case even worshipped but he’s not there the way Mom is. A man grows up and expects to find some of this mother-love in his wife. A woman has to transfer her affections to a man. She doesn’t expect a man to love her as her mother did. Already, we expect less.

I wondered about this with Lolly dancing at my heels and Pewter madly chasing squirrels. Our entire concept of love would shift if men cared for children the way women do. Please, this is not to fault men. They are imprisoned in the workforce. Nobody gives them the choice of working or staying home with the children. They work until they drop or they’ve made enough to retire. And it’s good to work, gives you confidence, but they’re overworked. Their own children all too often are strangers to them as they work to put food in their mouths. Their lives are one big ambush as other men try to take away what they’ve earned, beat them into the ground for a promotion, steal their woman. Is it any surprise that so few men are truly friends with one another? Even when they are supposed to be relaxing they compete.