Tea & Antipathy (14 page)

“I mean those slot machines,” Mark said. “Boy, are those cool.”

“Did you see Hamlet's uncle?” Eric asked.

“I love slot machines,” Bruce said. “I love them more than anything in the world. I just lost sixpence. Wow,” he added, reaching for one, “look at the Beatle magazines.”

“'ere,” growled a Cockney voice, “get your filthy ‘ands off them books.”

“Did you hear what he said to me?” Bruce said.

“Did you see Hamlet's uncle?”

“I'm starving,” Mark said, “let's get lunch.”

“Lots of luck,” I said crossly.

“Why are you so contrary?” Mark said to me. “You always expect the worst. Look at this, let's go in here, this chicken place.”

“It looks good,” Bruce said. “Did you hear what that man said to me?”

We went into the chicken restaurant, which was crowded because it was lunchtime, and sat at a large table. There were all sorts of relatively fresh stains on the tablecloth.

“Could we have a clean tablecloth, please?” I said to the waiter.

“What do you want to eat?” he countered.

“I want a clean tablecloth,” I said loudly.

He glared at me for a minute and then two sub-waiters came up with two halves of a clean tablecloth and put them together on the table.

“What do you want?” the waiter said.

“Well, I'll have the fried fish, and Mark, do you want the fried fish too? Yes, we'll both have fried fish with fried potatoes.”

Bruce said he wasn't hungry; all he wanted was some ice cream.

At this point the waiter went away to take someone else's order.

“What a rude waiter,” I said. After five or ten minutes, the waiter came back. “That will be two fried fish,” I said. “And a fried chicken dinner for the little boy, with mashed potatoes if you have them.”

The waiter went off to seat somebody.

“He's getting impossible,” I said.

“You shouldn't have asked for the clean tablecloth,” Mark told me.

“Why not?” I asked. “They wouldn't want to serve on a dirty tablecloth, would they?”

We both knew they would, so Mark didn't answer. The waiter returned, looking very hostile.

“We'll have two fried fish dinners,” I said, “and one fried chicken dinner for the little boy, and cokes all around, and this little boy will just have ice cream, he doesn't want a dinner.”

The waiter became very agitated and put his pad away.

“You'll have to leave,” he said. “We're too busy here to bother with people who want ice cream. All of you will have to have a dinner or else you'll all have to leave.”

“I'm not very hungry,” Bruce said apologetically.

“Well!” I said to Mark, who was staring at me. “There you go. We'll leave.”

Mark continued to stare at me. “Things like that never happen to me when I'm by myself,” he said. “It must be your fault. It must have something to do with all of you.”

“But what did we do?'' I asked, getting up. “We didn't do anything.”

“I know you didn't seem to do anything,” Mark said, as we walked out. “But I go around everywhere all day for Dad, and things like that never happen to me, so you must be doing something.”

“But
what
are we doing that's wrong?”

“Besides,” he added logically, “that waiter wasn't even English. He was some kind of Yugoslav or something.”

We went to a hamburger restaurant and ate the gray meat with muddy gravy out of square metal dishes.

A
FTER WE FINISHED LUNCH
, I suggested we walk down to the Wallace Collection.

“I don't think it's very far from here. Your father and I loved it when we were here the first time. Our hotel was right around the comer from the Wallace Collection; I can show it to you afterward.”

“Let's take a cab,” Mark said.

“I think we should walk. It's not raining for a change. Let's stroll down.”

We asked the waiter in the hamburger place how far it was to Manchester Square. He said it was a ten-minute walk. I explained to the children that English people reckoned distances in terms of time because they didn't have our geometrical block system.

“Also they don't have our attitude toward walking,” Mark said. “Ten minutes means half an hour.”

We strolled off and just as we began to fail physically, we came upon Manchester Square.

“There it is,” I cried triumphantly. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I have a stomachache,” Bruce said.

“My feet hurt,” Mark said.

“I feel good, I want to see the Museum,” Eric said. “Are there any wax figures there?”

“No, of course not,” I replied irritably. “Do you think I'd ever take you to see wax figures again? There's some really lovely armor and some beautiful pictures … and the building itself ….”

“Oh, goody, armor,” Eric said. “I love armor.”

We went inside.

“I feel sick,” Bruce said. “My stomach hurts. I want to go home.”

“We've come this far,” I said. “Why not look at it? You'll love it.”

“Just a lot of pictures and some armor?” Mark asked.

“And the building itself,” I said. “Look around. And some French furniture, of course.”

“Oh, furniture, furniture,” Bruce said. “That's all you care about, furniture.”

“Why don't you smack him one?” Mark asked.

“My feet hurt, my stomach hurts, and all you care about is furniture,” Bruce said.

“Let's try to be quiet,” I said. “Everyone is looking at us. Oh, my, look at this beautiful painting. And what do you think of this clock?”

“If I ever talked to you that way, you'd smack me,” Mark said.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bruce said.

“Ask the man,” I said.

“I want to see the armor,” Eric said sweetly. “Oh, what a lovely place.”

“Eric likes this place,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “If I don't sit down, I'm going to faint,” Mark said.

“I don't think you should sit there,” I said.

“Why not? There's no cord over it or anything. It's a chair, isn't it?”

“Here, you can't sit there,” a guard cried, darting forward. “You can't sit on that chair.”

“I told you,” I said.

“I'm going to faint,” Mark said.

“Shall we go upstairs? They've got Gainsboroughs….”

“How can I look at paintings when I'm going to faint?”

“Oh, here's Bruce,” I said cheerfully. “Feeling better?”

“No, I'm not,” Bruce said, scowling. “I feel worse. My stomach hurts and I want to sit down.”

“Why don't you both go out in the courtyard and sit on a bench?” I suggested. “I'll show Eric the armor.”

I showed Eric the armor for quite a while. He seemed to admire it.

“Oh, look at the big horse,” he said. “Look at the armor on the big horse. Look at the big curved sword. Did they cut off people's heads with it?”

“That must have been the intention,” I replied. “See how beautifully it's carved?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Eric said suddenly.

“Oh, dear. It's right down that way, I think.”

“I can't go by myself. I'm afraid of Hamlet's uncle.”

“Hamlet's uncle isn't in the bathroom. I mean the lavatory. He isn't anywhere. I mean he's in Madame Tussaud's…. No, he isn't, I didn't mean that—”

“I want Mark to go with me,” Eric said loudly.

“Shhh,” I said.

We sought Mark out where he sat in the courtyard with Bruce on an institutional-looking oak bench. It was drizzling.

“I want to go home,” Bruce said.

“Shhh,” I said. “Eric has to go to the bathroom.”

“So what?” Mark said.

“Shhh. He wants you to go with him, Mark. He's afraid.”

“He's afraid? In broad daylight? In a museum?”

“I'm afraid of Hamlet's uncle,” Eric said.

“You are
not,”
Mark said.

“He is too,” I said.

“He's crazy,” Mark said.

“That's beside the point,” I replied. “The point is, the child is frightened and you're old enough to understand, you're sixteen years old….”

“Hurry
up,”
Eric said.

“Why am I only fifteen if I want to do something interesting and sixteen if you want me to do something?”

“You're all crazy,” Bruce said. “Look at that man staring at us.”

“Mark!”
I said.

“Oh, all right. Come on, you miserable hateful little brat.”

“Mommy!” Eric called back loudly. “He's pulling me!”

“Shhh. Stop pulling him.”

Bruce and I were left alone in the drizzle.

“You see this interesting courtyard,” I said. “This used to be somebody's house, imagine that, and the lady left it as a museum to the public. These horrible benches were not here when the lady lived here, of course. It must have been beautiful then.”

“I'm getting all wet,” Bruce said.

“I can't help it,” I responded testily.

“Yes, you could too help it,” Bruce said. “We didn't have to come to this awful place.”

“What awful place? England?”

“No, not England. I love England. You hate it, but I love it. I mean
this
awful place.”

“I thought you would like it,” I said sadly.

“Well, I don't,” Bruce said. He got up and went back to the lavatory. I sat on the bench in the rain and read one of Mark's rock and roll magazines until they all came back.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” I asked.

Eric said he did. Suddenly I felt rather tired.

“We'll do it next time,” I said. “Let's go.”

We walked around the corner and passed the hotel where Jordan and I had stayed on our first visit to London. I pointed it out to the children; it looked much better to me than it had the first time.

“Oh, it's lovely, Mommy,” Eric said. “Can we stay there now?”

“Hey, it's cool,” Mark said.

“You stayed in this awful dump?” Bruce asked. “What for?”

S
EVERAL DAYS HAD ELAPSED
, and the water was still streaming down the lavatory wall. Mrs. Grail alternated between telling me to leave it for Mrs. Stackpole, whom she kept seeing slinking around Knightsbridge, and urging me to do something so that Mrs. Stackpole would not fly into a vindictive rage and do something terrible to us. I had heard neither from the plumber nor from Mr. MacAllister. I decided to try the plumber again.

“He's away on holiday,” the woman said.

“But this is an emergency. Isn't there someone else I could call?”

“When he returns, I'll send him round.”

“But water has been coming down the wall for
days!
Can't you give me another name to call? Isn't there anyone else there?”

“I've already told you, Madam. When … he … returns….”

I hung up and told Mrs. Grail about it.

“At home,” I said, close to tears, “at home plumbers are listed in the phone book. They have emergency numbers. Here, they're all on vacation at the same time….”

“Ah, the cheeky things,” Mrs. Grail said.

I tried to call Mr. MacAllister.

“He's away on holiday,” the girl said.

The doorbell rang. It was the laundry man.

“Oh,” I said. “It's two o'clock and the last time Mrs. Grail said you came after two. You see, she leaves at two, and the girl in the office said you would be here
before
two.”

“They don't know nuffink in the office,” he said, growling.

“Well. Still. If you could manage to be here before two …”

“I can't know what time I can be here.” He was becoming upset. “‘Be here then, be here now.' It's all I can do to get all them calls. What do you think I am? I can't make promises, I can't say this or that. I'm not going to be picked at, they don't know nuffink in the office.”

“Oh, forget it,” I said. “Calm down.”

“‘Be here now, then go there.'” He thrust a pamphlet into my hand. “I already said I didn't know what time. I can't kill myself, I won't.”

“I said forget it,” I said, looking at the pamphlet. “What's this?”

“That's your
book,”
he said, scowling horribly. “Don't lose it.”

“But what is it?”

“It's your
book.”
He went out, slamming the door hard behind him.

“What a rude man,” I said to Mrs. Grail, who was in the basement putting her coat on.

“Ah, it's the English. They're all like that.”

“What is this thing he gave me?”

Mrs. Grail looked at it. “Ah, that's your book, dear. Don't lose it.”

“But what is it?”

“It's your book,” Mrs. Grail said.

I went upstairs and phoned Jordan. “And Mr. MacAllister is out,” I said. “Everyone is away on holiday. What on earth are we going to do about the water? Call the fire department?”

“Maybe I should look up a plumber in the directory,” he said.

“You mean you
have
one?”

“They're given to businesses.”

“Why on earth didn't you tell me this before? The carpet is soaked, the paint is blistered….”

“Please,” he said, “don't bug me. I'm going crazy. If Basil Goldbrick doesn't buy into this goddamn thing, we'll sneak out of the country under cover of darkness.”

“Well, if we have to leave, we have to leave.” I thought of what it would be like to be at home: the sun would be shining brightly, I could wear a cotton dress and no coat, the children could play outside. I could buy real meat and cook it on a real stove. “We'll just have to make the best of it,” I said gamely.