The Hunger Moon (20 page)

“What’s so funny?” Bill said, snuggling her to him as they walked to his car.

“Old days.” She started laughing and couldn’t stop.

“Hey.” He kissed the side of her temple. “You okay?”

“I’m better than okay.”

“That’s true. You’re terrific.” They stopped, and he tilted her chin up to kiss her. It was a long, serious kiss, the first she had had in she couldn’t remember how long, and the heat rising inside her was frightening. She pulled back.

“Whoa,” she said, swaying.

“I get it. Okay.” He unlocked her door and she eased inside, grateful for the secure base under her. Then the car started spinning.

“Fast car,” she said.

“Even faster when I start the engine.” He turned to kiss her again, insistently, his hands moving under her coat.

“You’re not trying to steal my tips are you?” She started giggling again.

“Why, did you make more than I did tonight? Probably. I’d tip you more than I would me.”

“In L.A. we would call that low self-esteem.”

“In Boston, we call that a compliment. You’re beautiful.” He kissed her some more, and she kissed him back. Decidedly, she was kissing back.

T
HEN THEY WERE BACK AT HIS HOUSE
, in bed, and Renata was just drunk enough to be ravenous, starved. She couldn’t get enough of him. But even through the brandy she felt how different sex was now. Her body was different. She had a moment’s pain when he entered her, and then the size and weight and roughness of him half scared her after all the hours and days of cradling the unearthly softness of her baby. Scared her and excited her. He had condoms, which relieved her, since even though she didn’t think she had started ovulating again yet, she wasn’t prepared to risk another pregnancy for this. Then, when he was holding her, all of a sudden her breasts went hard, the way they did when Charlie started nursing, and then the milk let down, all over her, and him, and the bed.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I’m sorry. You see, I usually feed him when I—”

“Shh,” he silenced her. His mouth was on hers, then on her neck, then he was sucking the milk, moving back and forth between breasts, his mouth larger and wetter than her baby’s, but, it was funny, also much clumsier, compared to the baby’s neat precision. Charlie’s use of the breast was so clear, so ordained, as he placed his tiny hands around it and looked up at her with his serious expression. Renata was shocked that this man was drinking her milk. It unnerved her that he should presume to go there; at
the same time, she was sort of fascinated, and also glad not to be spilling it all over his bed.

They drifted in each other’s arms, Renata peaceful, sated, dozing. So what if she was back at three instead of two. As he said, it wouldn’t make much difference to June at this point. Renata was secretly a little proud of herself; motherhood hadn’t made her any less sexy. He had wanted her from the moment he saw her, and when he got her, he wanted her some more.

T
HEN LIGHT FILTERED IN THROUGH THE SHADES
and she tensed, waiting for Charlie’s morning cry.

“Oh, my God. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.” She jumped out of bed and began fumbling for her clothes. Her heart was beating wildly. Little beads of perspiration stuck out on her forehead.

“What’s going on?” Bill sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“How could I, how could I…” Renata was mumbling, half crying.

“How could you what? Come on, relax.” Bill grabbed a wrist, trying to sit her back down on the bed. “It was great. You’re great. I hope you want to keep seeing me. 1 really like you.”

She wrenched away, tears of frustration in her eyes. “I can’t talk about it now, don’t you see? He’s going to be hungry! We’ve never been apart this long! And June doesn’t know where I am, and Charlie’s going to wake up and I won’t be there. I’ve never, never not been there.” She dropped her face in her hands. “Oh, Christ, I’m a shit, I’m just a shit.” She was really crying now.

Bill was out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans that were crumpled on the floor.

“Renata, it’s okay. Calm down. I’m going to drive you home now. Do you want to call your baby-sitter?”

She continued to cry.

“Renata, just call. You’ll find out that everything is okay and you can relax. I’ll drive you straight home. We can go back and get your car later. Come on, Renata.” He coaxed the phone into her hand.

Through the blear of tears and headache, Renata punched in her number. It rang four times and the machine picked up. She heard her own voice, instructing her to leave a message.

“She’s not there! Where is she? Oh, please, let’s go, let’s go now.” Renata suddenly couldn’t think of his name. She had no idea what part of town they were in. The room around her, with its clothes on the floor and rumpled king-size bed, was completely foreign.

“We’re going now. Calm down. You’re going to see your baby in a few minutes.”

The car, at least, she remembered. She blessed the deep revs of its engine; she blessed the speedometer as it climbed to forty, fifty, sixty. She blessed the stranger beside her as he drove as fast as the traffic would let him, back to her child.

E
LEANOR WAS DREAMING
that the doorbell was ringing. As she rose to the top of sleep and her eyes opened to the pale light coming through her shade, she still heard it. What was she dreaming? The dream’s substance vanished, but teasing strands of it tickled her conscious mind. Something about a journey, and her sister, something about the ocean. Where were they going, and who had interrupted them? The doorbell. It was ringing.

Eleanor wrapped her robe around her and crossed her living room, which was still dark with the draperies drawn. She opened the door to find June in the hall, Charlie in her arms. She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment. Was this June’s day to come? Why was she bringing the baby over?

“Mrs. MacGregor, Renata isn’t home yet. I fell asleep last night and there was a message on the machine from her saying she was going out after work—”

“Renata’s going out?”

“Last night, after waitressing, she went out with a friend—”

The webs of sleep began to clear from Eleanor’s mind.

“Come in, child. Don’t stand there in the hall.”

June came in with Charlie, who was whimpering in low tones, but was distracted from crying by studying Eleanor’s face, and the change of scene.

“She left a message saying she was going out for a drink with a friend, and she hasn’t come home yet. I don’t know how to reach her and I’ve got to go to my dance class.”

“Your dance class?” Eleanor was having a hard time keeping up.

“You remember, my master class. The special one I was invited to. It starts at eight o’clock, and its already six-thirty, and I have to get my dance clothes at home and get there early enough to do some stretching—”

Eleanor saw that June was near tears. Charlie was building up to tears. She was still a little foggy. Where was Renata?

“Let me hold the baby,” she commanded, holding out her arms. Charlie let her take him, but fidgeted. “Has he eaten?”

“He woke up at five-thirty, and I warmed him a bottle then. He didn’t want to take it, but he finally drank some. He’s been fussing ever since. I’m sorry to wake you up, but I waited as long as I thought I could.”

“Nonsense. You did exactly the right thing. When did Renata say she would be back?”

“That’s just it. When I was sleeping she left a message saying she was going for a drink after work and that she would be home in a couple hours. I don’t know where she is.”

“Well, we can guess,” Eleanor said. She had been wondering when a young girl like Renata was going to start needing to see men again. But she was disappointed in her for leaving June high and dry like this.

“Mrs. MacGregor, do you think you could—”

“Of course,” Eleanor said firmly. “Go to your class. I know it’s important to you. The baby and I will be fine until Renata gets home.”

“I’ll call right after my class to make sure she came.”

“She’ll be here,” Eleanor said. “You go. You did the right thing.”

June gave her a grateful hug, patted Charlie, and dashed out the door. Charlie stared at her retreating back, and looked at Eleanor. She had to laugh at the dubious expression.

“Well, yes. You’re stuck with me for a little bit. But I’m sure we’ll do just fine.”

Charlie began to cry, the volume building until Eleanor’s whole empty apartment seemed to reverberate. She rocked him for a little while, which did nothing. Neither she nor June had thought to get some of his supplies from next door. Eleanor didn’t even have a pacifier for him. She tried offering him her arthritic knuckle, but he was too far gone in his crying to try sucking it. She got up and paced, thinking. June had been rattled; maybe she had left Renata’s door open, or at least unlocked.

She left her own door ajar, and then, repositioning Charlie, who was beginning to weigh heavy in her arms, tried Renata’s door. Locked. Inside she could hear a faint ringing from the telephone. If that was Renata, she had better be calling to say that she was on her way home.

Back in her own apartment, she had no idea what to do with Charlie. She gave him various things to suck on, a dishtowel, a wooden spoon, her sunglasses, and none of these interested him even briefly. He was upset. The double absence of his mother and June on an empty stomach was too much for him. She tried to remember what June had told her about Charlie and food. He had started eating some infant cereal, she thought. But of course Eleanor had none. Maybe she should walk with him to the corner store. Even if they didn’t have the cereal, the fresh air on his face would probably quiet him.

Eleanor lay Charlie in the middle of her bed while she dressed. Then, finding a thick shawl to wrap him in, she put a ten dollar bill and her keys in her coat pocket and carried him to the elevator. His cries subsided to whimpers as he stared out from his shawl bunting at the elevator numbers glowing in red above him.

A young man sitting under the awning on the bench outside looked at her curiously, then rose to hold the front door open for her as she struggled with it.

“Thank you. Come on, Charlie, look at all the things there are to see outside.”

By the time she was out on the sidewalk, her arms and shoulders were already beginning to ache from the baby’s weight. She would need to find a couple of intermediate places to rest before they made it to the store. The cold on his face silenced Charlie, who stopped squirming a little to blink in the bright morning light.

“You like it outside, don’t you, little fellow?” She jiggled the baby and tickled his cheek. “Don’t you have a smile for me?”

A bench was up ahead. Eleanor sat on it gratefully, resting the baby on her lap. She was dizzy from the physical effort of carrying Charlie, coupled with the anxiety she was beginning to feel. Maybe taking him outside wasn’t such a good idea. This predicament reminded her of the time she had gotten herself locked out of the house when Helen was just a newborn. Eleanor had taken the bus to the pediatrician for Helen’s four-week checkup, and when they returned, the baby ready for her bottle and nap at home, Eleanor found that she had left her keys at the doctor’s office, which was now closed. Neither of her neighbors were home, and Robert, although due within the hour, could not be depended on to be prompt. There was no public telephone nearby to call him. She walked with the crying baby for ten minutes back to the main street, where she found a phone booth, but there was no answer at his office. She took the baby to a coffee shop, where they warmed the bottle for her, and Helen ate and finally drifted off to sleep in her arms. In half an hour Eleanor rang Robert at home. He was there, and picked them up, ending what for Eleanor had been a frightening episode. She had felt so competent when they put the just-born baby in her arms; she had suffered from none of the new mother jitters that others had told her about. But that day, locked out with the baby, she had been struck by the enormous number of things that could go wrong. Helen’s thin cry in the winter dusk had cut her like a knife. It was so easy to be a bad mother; a second’s inattention could undo all the care and safeguarding you had lavished on a baby since its birth.

Charlie began to cry again. Eleanor bundled him up and trudged forward. She discovered that the corner store was closed until nine; if she walked another five minutes, she would be at the supermarket where June shopped for her. Surely it would open early. On the other hand, she felt her strength waning. Maybe she should just turn around and wait for Renata to come home. A baby could stand to be hungry for an hour or so. But what if she didn’t come? What if she couldn’t? The thought suddenly occurred to Eleanor that an accident might have befallen Renata. She would walk the five minutes to the supermarket and the ten minutes back home. Then, whatever happened, she would have some cereal to feed the baby. She might pick up some of those diapers, too.

There was another bench just before the supermarket parking lot. She sat down to rest once more before going in. Charlie was probably old enough to sit up in a shopping cart. Perhaps the store would let her wheel the carriage home, and she could get that nice young man at the front desk to push it back for her. This possibility cheered her, but she still needed to summon the energy to rise and walk the fifty yards or so to the store. Waves of lightheadedness were passing through her. She felt as if she were swaying. Hold on to the baby, she told herself. She could hear him crying at a distance. Why at a distance, she wondered, when he was right there on her lap? She mustn’t let go of him, whatever happened.