How odd it was. – .we had wanted so badly to meet the Anteils; we had been drawn to them so intensely, and now that it had come about—not boredom, surely, but—not what we had expected, somehow. And yet I felt terribly tense. My entire body, all my muscles, were drawn up and tense. Leaving my book I went to the kitchen and poured myself another martini. Here I was, keyed-up and feeling irritable. The sun hurt my eyes, and that always indicated that I was getting into a foul mood. Or perhaps I was pregnant again. My legs certainly ached; all those big thigh muscles hunt, as if I had, for the last hour or so, been carrying an enormous load.
Lying down on the concrete, outdoors on the patio, I began doing a few exercises. Certainly I could still get my legs up as well as ever. My stomach felt somewhat bloated, though. So I got the trowel and began weeding in the garden, a good exercise, that squatting and weeding; the best in the world.
A day on so later, during the afternoon, I got a phone call from Mary Woulden about the Bluebirds’ peanut sale fund. During our discussion she mentioned that the Anteils had told about meeting Charley and me.
“Oh my god,” I said, “do you know them? Why didn’t you say so? We turned heaven and earth over to try to meet them—when we first laid eyes on them we swore we’d get to know them and invite them up to the house, and we finally just had to walk up to them cold and introduce ourselves and invite them up.”
“They’re sweet people,” Mary said. “They’ve been coming up to Inverness for years, but now they’re renting a house all year round. They were just summer people; that’s why you never saw them. You know how summer people are; they spend all their time at McClure’s Beach.” And then she gave it to me right between the eyes. I had no warning whatsoever. “Apparently you didn’t make too much of a hit with him,” Mary said.
“Why?” I said, on my guard and apprehensive. I started, at once, to have hot and cold flashes. “They seemed to be enjoying themselves—we put ourselves out trying to make them comfortable. And good god, we practically picked them up off the street.”
“She likes you,” Mary said. “And I think he does, too. What he said was, if I can remember it exactly… something about you striking him as being a bossy person.” She added, “Actually he came out and said he didn’t particularly care for you.”
“Well, we argued about history,” I said, feeling the back of my neck boil with heat. “Possibly he resents the idea of a woman discussing his pet subject with him.”
We talked about various trifles, and then I rang off. As soon as the connection was broken I dialed the operator and got the Anteils’ number. I dialed them, seated on the bed and seeing my hands shaking. In fact I was trembling all over with indignation and a variety of other emotions that I did not have time to decipher.
The boy himself answered. “Hello.”
“Listen,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. It seems to me that I did keep it calm, too. “Maybe I just don’t understand the masculine mind, but in my book anybody who talks about another person behind his back but doesn’t have the integrity to come out to their face and say what he thinks—” I had trouble winding up what I had to say. “Didn’t we treat you hospitably?” I demanded, and at that point my voice broke.
“Who is this?” Anteil said.
“This is Fay Hume.”
After a pause, Anteil said, “Evidently some inadvertent remarks made in conversation got carried back to you.”
“Yes,” I said, breathing with difficulty and trying to keep the racket from being picked up by the phone.
“Mrs. Hume,” he said in a slow, somber voice, “I’m sorry you’re so upset. Let me assure you that it’s needless.”
“It’s upsetting,” I said, “to have somebody go through the motions of pretending to enjoy your hospitality, and then talk about you. Do you object if I try to talk to you in your own terms? I took a history minor; I like to discuss Rome. I may not be competent to discuss it, but—”
“This is difficult to discuss over the phone,” Anteil broke in. “Well, what do you propose?” I said. “Frankly, I’m not particularly interested in discussing it with you; I just wanted to acquaint you with my feelings.” At that point I hung up.
Almost at once I felt, acutely, that I was a hysterical nut. They shouldn’t trust you with the phone, I said to myself. Getting up from the bed I paced around the bedroom. Now it’ll get all over town, I realized. Fay Hume calls up some people in Point Reyes and naves like a drunk. That’s what they’ll say: I was drunk. Sheriff Chisholm will be by to take me away. Maybe I ought to phone him myself and eliminate the middleman.
I did not know what to do, but I had the keen insight that I had left it at a bad point, that someone had to do something. And here I was, the hostess, the woman of this quite outstanding house, placing a vast emphasis on providing people with a meal and conversation they would remember… a few incidents like this and I could forget considering myself hostess to anybody. What a faux pas. You’re just a child, a two-year-old, I told myself. Worse than Elsie on Bonnie. Even the dog has more self-control, more diplomacy.
That night Gwen Anteil appeared at the front door. Charley and I were doing the dishes; the children had gone off to watch tv. “I’m sorry to bother you,” Gwen said in her sweet but somewhat hollow fashion. “May I come in for a moment?” Her bike was propped up at the edge of the porch, and she had on capri pants and a sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back and her face was flushed, probably from the bikeriding.
“Come in,” Charley said. I hadn’t told him about either Many’s call or mine to Anteil, so for a moment I floundered; I knew at once that Gwen’s visit had to do with the business between me and her husband, and I knew that this was going to be difficult. I had to get rid of Charley, so I said,
“Honey, there’s something we have to discuss that doesn’t concern you.” Putting my hand on his shoulder I propelled him away, in the direction of his study. “You leave us alone for awhile. Okay?” And before he realized what had happened, I had gotten him into his study and was shutting the door after him.
Sullenly, he said, “You god damn women and your women’s subjects.” But already he had started switching on his desk lamp. “Did she come alone?” he said. “If Nat shows up, send him on in.” He was starting to complain some more, but I closed the door after him, and, turning to Gwen, forgot about him.
“I owe your husband an apology,” I said to her.
Gwen said, “That’s what I’m here about. Nat is terribly disturbed that something he said could cause you distress. You both were so nice to us the other day when we were over.” She made no move to sit down but stood by the door, like a school child, reciting her set piece. “I didn’t tell him I was coming over to patch it up,” she said. “It’s just one of those things that a third party can blow up if they want all out of proportion. Nat likes both you and your husband, and he’s desperately concerned to get this out of the way.” She added, “I told him I was going to visit the McRaes. I think you know them.”
“Yes,” I said absentmindedly. I was trying to figure out if he had sent her, or if this was her idea. If it was her idea, then he might not care so much about making amends; it might merely seem to her that in such a rural area, with so few families, no one could afford a social hiatus of this sort, especially a new couple that had just moved in and was trying to get established and accepted by the people already here. After all, their whole social life depended on healing up a rift of this sort; I could afford to drop them, but could they afford to drop the Humes? Thoughts of that kind certainly had entered this girl’s mind; I could see it written all over her rather fatuous face. “I’m quite happy to stay on good terms with your husband,” I said. “I think he’s headstrong and too wrapped up in himself and what he thinks, but you’re both marvelous people. It was just a misunderstanding.” I smiled at her.