Of course, and yet always when that thought had come to her there were those words beneath the title on the cover of the book, words that, as if by accident, his finger had pointed to as he read: “The Tale of an Impossible Love.” Where there was love nothing was impossible.
She read the letter over and over. In its plainness it was more elegant than a poem: “I’m happy to say I can accept your kind invitation.” Who would have suspected, reading that, the meaning which for them was so obvious?
And then, throwing caution to the winds: “Love, Len”!
Eleven o’clock, and everything still to be done—the groceries, wine, a new dress, and, if she dared—Did she? Was there anything she didn’t dare now?
I’ll go there first, she decided. When the girl showed her the chart with the various swatches she was no less decisive. She pointed to the brightest, carroty orange and said, “That.”
25. The Dinner (2024)
Lottie opened the door, which hadn’t been locked after all, and said, “Mom!”
She had figured out, coming up the stairs, just what tone to take and now she took it. “Do you like it?” She dropped the keys into her purse. Casualness itself.
“Your hair.”
“Yes, I had it dyed. Do you like it?” She picked up her bags and came in. Her back and shoulders were one massive ache from hauling the bags up the stairs. Her scalp was still all pins and needles. Her feet hurt. Her eyes felt like the tops of lightbulbs covered with dust. But she looked good.
Lottie took the bags and she looked, but only looked, at the mercy of a chair. Sit down now and she’d never get up.
“It’s so startling. I don’t know. Turn around.”
“You’re supposed to say yes, stupid. Just ‘Yes, Mom, it looks fine.’” But she turned round obediently.
“I do like it,” Lottie said, taking the recommended tone. “Yes, I do. the dress too is—Oh Mom, don’t go in there yet.”
She paused with her hand on the knob of the living room door, waiting to be told of whatever catastrophe she was about to confront.
“Shrimp’s in your bedroom. She’s feeling very, very bad. I gave her a bit of first aid. She’s probably sleeping now.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“They’ve busted up. Shrimp went and got herself another subsidy—”
“Oh Jesus.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“A third time? I didn’t think that was legal.”
“Well, her scores, you know. And I suppose the first two must have their own scores by now. Anyhow. When she told January, there was a row. January tried to stab her—it’s nothing bad, just a scratch on her shoulder.”
“With a knife?”
Lottie snickered. “With a fork, actually. January has some kind of political idea that you shouldn’t have babies for the government. Or maybe not at all, Shrimp wasn’t too clear.”
“But she hasn’t come here to stay. Has she?”
“For a while.”
“She can’t. Oh, I know Shrimp. She’ll go back. It’s like all their other arguments. But you shouldn’t have given her pills.”
“She’ll have to stay here. Mom. January’s gone to Seattle, and she gave the room up to some friends. They wouldn’t even let Shrimp in to pack. Her suitcase, her records, everything was sitting in the hall. I think that’s what she was upset about more than anything else.”
“And she’s brought that all here?” A glance into the living room answered the question. Shrimp had emptied herself out everywhere in layers of shoes and underwear, keepsakes and dirty sheets.
“She was looking for a present she’d got me.” Lottie explained. “That’s why it’s all out. Look, a Pepsi bottle, isn’t it pretty?”
“Oh my God.”
“She bought us all presents. She has money now, you know. A regular income.”
“Then she doesn’t have to stay here.”
“Mom. be reasonable.”
“She can’t. I’ve rented the room. I told you I might. The man is coming tonight. That’s what those groceries are for. I’m cooking a nice simple meal to start things off on the right foot.”
“If it’s a question of money. Shrimp can probably—”
“It’s not a question of money. I’ve told him that the room is his, and he’s coming tonight. My God, look at this mess! This morning it was as neat as a, as a— ”
“Shrimp could sleep here on the couch,” Lottie suggested, lifting off one of the cartons.
“And where will I sleep?”
“Well, where will she sleep?”
“Let her be a temp!”
“Mother!”
“Let her. I’m sure it wouldn’t be anything new. All the nights she didn’t come home, you don’t suppose she was in somebody’s bed, do you? Hallways and gutters, that’s where she belongs. She’s spent half her life there already, let her go there now.”
“If Shrimp hears you say that—”
“I hope she does.” Mrs. Hanson walked right up to the door of the bedroom and shouted, “Hallways and gutters! Hallways and gutters!”
“Mom, there’s no need to—I’ll tell you what. Mickey can sleep in my bed tonight, he’s always asking to, and Shrimp can have his bunk. Maybe in a day or two she’ll be able to find a room at a hotel or somewhere. But don’t make a scene now. She is very upset.”
“I’m very upset!”
But she let herself be mollified on condition that Lottie cleared away Shrimp’s debris.
Mrs. Hanson, meanwhile, started the dinner. The dessert first, since it would have to cool after it cooked. Cream-style Strawberry Granola. Len had mentioned liking Granola as a boy in Nebraska, before he’d been sent to a home. Once it was bubbling she added a packet of Juicy Fruit bits, then poured it into her two glass bowls. Lottie licked the pot.
Then they transported Shrimp from the front bedroom to Mickey’s bunk. Shrimp wouldn’t let loose of the pillow Mrs. Hanson had put out for Len, and rather than risk waking her she let her keep it. The fork had left four tiny punctures like squeezed pimples all in a row.
The stew, which came in a kit with instructions in three languages, would have taken no time at all, except that Mrs. Hanson intended to supplement it with meat. She’d bought eight cubes at Stuyvesant Town for $3.20, not a bargain but when was beef ever a bargain? The cubes came out of two Baggies dark red and slimy with blood, but after a fry in the pan they had a nice brown crust. Even so she decided not to add them to the stew till the last minute so as not to upset the flavor.
A fresh salad of carrots and parsnips, with a small onion added for zest—she’d been able to get these with her regular stamps—and she was done.
It was seven o’clock.
Lottie came into the kitchen and sniffed at the fried cubes of beef. “You’re certainly going to a lot of trouble.” Meaning expense.
“First impressions are important.”
“How long is he going to stay here?”
“It probably depends. Oh, go ahead—eat one.”
“There’ll still be a lot left.” Lottie chose the smallest cube and nibbled at it delicately. “Mm. Mm!”
“Are you going to be late tonight?” Mrs. Hanson asked.
Lottie waved her hand about (“I can’t talk now”) and nodded.
“Till when do you think?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. “Till morning sometime if Juan is there. Lee made a point of inviting him. Thanks. That was good.”
Lottie set off. Amparo had been fed some snaps and sent up to the roof. Mickey, plugged into the teevee, was as good as invisible. In effect, till Len came, she was alone. The feelings of love that she had felt all day on the street and in stores returned, like some shy child who hides when there is company but torments you afterwards. The little rascal frolicked through the apartment, shrieking, sticking his tongue out, putting tacks on chairs, flashing images at her, like the glimpses you’d catch, switching past Channel 5 in the afternoon, of fingers sliding up a leg, of lips touching a nipple, of a cock stiffening. Oh, the anxiety! She delved into Lottie’s makeup drawer, but there wasn’t time for more than a dab of powder. She returned a moment later to put a drop of Molly Bloom beneath each earlobe. And lipstick? A hint.