"Baby sister. Twelve. Maybe thirteen." Joe shrugged.
"Well, your parish priest thinks she ought to go into a home for expectant mothers but your mother feels that she would be better off at home. There is something about a neighbor family named Johnson."
"Skip."
("Baby Boy, Mama dont hardly never get a letter from you since Eunice died. Aint there no letterwriter in your block? You dont know how a mother worries when she dont hear from her little boy. I watch the-mailbox every day be sure nobody swipes it fore 1 get it. But no letter from my little Josie—just ads and once a month the Check.")
"She says she hasn't heard from you in a long time, Joe. I'd be glad to write one for you before I go, anything you dictate—and send it by Mercury to be sure she gets it."
"Maybe. Thanks." Joe did not seem enthusiastic. "See later. Paint first. Any more? Just tell."
(Eunice, here comes the tough part.) (So skip it!) (I can't!)
("I seen you in the teevee and almost dropped dead when you said you gave away a thousand million dollars you had every right to. Dont your own mother mean nothing to you? I didnt raise you and love you and take care of you when you busted your collarbone to be treated like that. You go straight to that Miss Yohan Bassing Bock Smith and tell her she can just wipe that nasty sneer of / her face because l want my rightful share of whats coming to me and I'm going to get it. I already been to a lawyer and he said hed take my side for fifty-fifty as soon as I paid him a thousand dollars for expenses. I told him he was a thief. But you just tell that stuckup Miss Smith to pay up or my lawyer will put her in jail!!!!
"Sometimes l think the best thing is just pack up everybody and go visit you till she pays up. Maybe just stay. Would be hard to leave all our old friends here in Philly but you need somebody to keep house now that you havent got no wife to do for you. It wont be the first time lye made sacrifices for my darling boy.
"Your Loving -Mother."
"Joe, apparently your mother watched my identity hearing on video and heard your testimony. She seems disappointed to learn that you gave money to establish a memorial to Eunice, when you could have kept it."
Joe made no comment.
Joan went on: "She says she may pack up all the family and pay you a visit but the way it's phrased I don't think she will. That's all except she sends you her love. Joe, I can see how your mother could be disappointed in what you did about—"
"My business. Not hers."
"May I finish, Joe? From this letter I think she must be poor and I have been poor myself and know how it feels. Joe, I think that your memorial to Eunice was a wonderful thing, the most gallant tribute of a husband to the memory of his wife I've ever heard of. I heartily approve and I think Eunice must feel honored by it." (I do, Boss. But maybe he overdid it, huh? Jake could have set up a little annuity for Joe—eating money, I mean—with part of it. But Joe never did know how to do anything part way—whole hawg, or nothing; that's Joe.) (Maybe we can fix it, dear.)
"Joe, if I paid your mother an allowance—you know I can afford it!—it wouldn't be you accepting money from Eunice's death."
"No."
"But I would like to! She's your mother, it would be sort of an additional memorial to Eunice. Say enough to—"
"No," he repeated flatly.
Joan Eunice sighed. "I should have kept quiet and arranged it through Jake Salomon." She memorized the return address, intending to do it anyhow. "Joe, you are a lovable man and I can see why Eunice was devoted to you—I've fallen in love with you myself and I think you both know it—without any intention of crowding you out, Gigi; I love you just as much. But, Joe, sweet and gallant as you are...ou are a bit stiff-necked, too." (Sure he is, Boss darllng, but it's no use trying to change people. So drop it. You didn't need to sneak that address; I could have told you.)
"Joan."
"Yes, Gigi?"
"Hate to say this, hon—but Joe's right and you're wrong."
"But—"
"Tell you later, we'll talk while we pose. Grab the bathroom if you need to while I put dishes to soak; Joe wants to start."
Joan was surprised to learn that she could visit with Gigi while they posed. But Joe assured her that he had the expressions he wanted from the photographs; he simply wanted them to hold still. He took even more pains to get them arranged than he had for the camera. Talk did not bother him as long as it was not to him. Nevertheless Joan tended to whisper while Gigi used the normal tones of a face-to-face conversation.
"Now I'll tell you why you must not send money to Joe's mother. But wait a sec—he's done it again. Joe! Joe! Put on your shorts and quit wiping pigment on your skin." Joe did not answer but did so. "Joan, if you've got money to throw away, flush it down the pot but don't send it to Joe's mother. She's a wino."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Joe knows it, her Welfare Visitor knows it; they don't let her have her family allowance in cash—she gets one of the pink checks, not a green one. Just the same she'll take groceries around the corner and trade ‘em for muscatel. That stomach trouble—forget it. Unless you want to help her drink herself to death. No loss if you did. The kids might be better off."
Joan sighed. "I never will learn. Gigi, all my life I've given money away. Can't say I did any good with it and I know I've done lots of harm. Me and my big mouth!"
"Your big heart, dear. This is one time not to give it away. I know, I've had a lot of her letters read to me. You trimmed that one, didn't you?"
"Did it show?"
"To me it did—because I know what they sound like. I learned from the first one never again to have somebody just read them aloud to Joe; he gets upset. So I listen—I'm a quick study, used to learn my sides and cues just from two readings aloud when I was finding, out I wasn't an actress—and then I trim it to what Joe needs to hear. Figured you were smart enough to do it without being told and I was right—except that you could have trimmed it still more and Joe would have been satisfied."
"Gigi, how did such a nice person as Joe—and so talented—come from such a family?"
"How does any of us happen to be what we are? It just happens. But—look, it's never polite to play the dozens, is it?"
"I shouldn't have asked."
"I meant it isn't polite for me to. But I'm going to. I've often wondered if Joe was any relation to his mother. He doesn't look like her; Joe has a picture taken when she was about the age he is nose. No resemblance."
"Maybe he takes after his father."
"Well, maybe. But Paw Branca I'm not sure about; he left her years back. If Paw Branca is his Pop. If she has any idea who his father is."
"I guess that's often the case. Look at me—pregnant and not married; I can't criticize."
"You don't know who did it, dear?"
"Well....es, I do. But I'm never, never, never going to tell. It suits me to keep it to myself and I can afford to do it that way."
"Well—none of my business and you seem happy. But about Joe—I think he's an orphan. Somebody's little bastard who wound up with this bitch though I can't guess how. Joe doesn't say so. Although he never talks much—unless he has to explain things to a model. But his mother has had one good influence on him. Guess."
"I can't."
"Joe won't drink. Oh, we keep beer for friends, when we can, but Joe never drinks it. He won't touch pot. He won't join a Circle if it calls for a high. You know how it is with drugs—all of them against the law but as easy to buy as chewing gum. I could show you three connections in this one complex where you can buy you-name-it. But Joe won't touch any of it." Gigi looked sheepish. "I thought he was some kind o( a freak. Oh, I was never hooked but I couldn't see any harm in an occasional trip with friends.