“My dream is to make people happy,” Felix said. He paused dramatically. “Does that make sense to you, Phyllis?”
“Sure it does. Who you want to make happy, Felix?”
“Everybody,” Felix said. He was still holding the first drink that had been given to him that evening. He was not drunk and had no intention of getting drunk or even slightly high. “Everybody,” he repeated. “You.”
“Me?” Phyllis grinned lopsidedly. “How would you make me happy?”
“How do you think?”
“I d’know. You tell me.”
“What would you like?”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“I’d like to go to bed,” Phyllis said. “I mean, to sleep.”
“So would I.”
“You’ve got things on your mind,” Phyllis said slyly. “Little Felix the cat has things on his mind.”
“Nothing. Just to make people happy.”
“You can’t make me happy, Felix.” Phyllis shook her head solemnly. “I’m happy already.”
“You see?” Murray said, delivering his dialect punch line. “Everybody’s cutting corduroy, we had to cut voile?”
“I think I hear David,” Eve said. “Excuse me.”
Larry had taken off his shoes, and he leaned against the sink and looked into the bottom of his glass. It was almost one o’clock, and he wondered when Eve would serve coffee and cake, wondered when all these people would go back to their own houses. The Signora had gone into the bathroom, and he stood alone in the kitchen, holding up the sink and listening to the saddest music in the world and hearing the happiest, gayest voices in the world and hearing above those the ring of the telephone.
“Telephone,” he said.
No one answered. He put down his glass, shoved himself off the sink and went into the corridor leading to the bedroom. The light in the boys’ room was on, and he could see Eve leaning over David’s crib, talking to him soothingly. The telephone kept ringing.
“Nobody going to answer that?” Ramsey shouted from the living room.
“I’m getting it,” Larry said to Ramsey. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said to the telephone, and then he picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.”
David was crying without reason, the way only a small child can cry when awakened by strange voices in the middle of the night, crying without fear, without sadness, simply crying uncontrollably.
Eve said, “Don’t cry, baby, Mommy is here. Now don’t cry, baby. Please don’t cry.”
David would not stop. She held him close to her breast, the way she had done when he was an infant, and he sobbed his misery against the naked flesh above the low-cut neckline.
“Please, darling. Come now, darling. Don’t cry. Mommy’s here,” she said soothingly, over and over again. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, darling.”
He stood quite still by the telephone. He had not expected her voice. In the darkness of the bedroom, with the laughter coming from the next room, her voice sounded calm and warm and loving.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Home.”
“Him?”
“Upstairs. Asleep. I had to call you. Can you talk?”
“No.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk. You listen. Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you drunk?”
“Because I love you.”
“I miss you, Larry. I miss you so much. It’s torture to know that you’re there having a good time.”
“Please!”
“Is it bad?”
“Yes.”
“Very bad?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. I want you to be miserable without me. I want you to miss me as much as I miss you.”
“I do. Maggie, what are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
“About what, darling?”
“About the world,” he said.
“The world?” She began giggling. “Honey, you’re drunk! You sound adorable! Oh, I wish I could hug you.”
“Honey, what’re we gonna do about the world?” Larry asked again.
“We’ll let the world worry about itself,” she said. “Let’s just worry about each other.”
“All right. But what about Puerto Rico?”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know. What about it?”
“Larry, I don’t understand you.”
“It’s poor and dirty,” he said. “It could be clean. I can make it clean.”
“Yes, darling.” She giggled again. “Oh, God, are you drunk! Oh, I could kiss you.” He heard a smack against the mouthpiece. “Did you get that? I kissed you. Did you get it, darling?”
“Yes.”
“Will you get drunk with me sometime? I want you drunk.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning. We’ll get drunk for breakfast.”
She giggled again, her voice close to his ear, her giggle very warm and very intimate.
“I love you,” he said.
“Again,” she whispered. “Again.”
“I love you.”
“Don’t cry, David. There are people here, honey. You don’t want them to think you’re a baby, do you?”
“Where’s Daddy?” David asked, sobbing.
“Outside. Do you want him?”
“Yes,” David said, nodding, sobbing.
Eve went to the door frame.
“Larry!” she called. “Will you come here a minute, please?”
“I’ll get him,” Ramsey shouted from the living room. “He’s on the phone.” Ramsey got to his feet and walked to the bedroom. Leaning in the doorway, he said, “Hey!”
Larry turned from the phone, saw Ramsey, and then turned back to the mouthpiece. “Who did you want?” he asked.
“I want you,” Maggie answered.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said. “I think you’ve got the wrong number.”
“I’ve got the right number, darling,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said, “there’s nobody here by that name.”
“Call me tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
“That’s quite all right, sir,” Larry said. “I feel the same way. Good night.”
“Good night, my darling.”
He hung up. He turned to Ramsey. “Wrong number,” he explained.
“Your wife wants you,” Ramsey said.
He walked past him and into the corridor, hearing Betty singing with Doris in the living room, seeing Felix off in the corner talking to Phyllis, hearing Murray telling a dialect joke to the Signora, watching Max using his hands to describe flight to the Garandis, seeing Fran stagger out of the living room toward the kitchen bar, her empty glass in hand. He walked past the living room and down the corridor to the boys’ room, and then into the room.
“You’d better talk to him,” Eve said frostily. “If you’re not too stinking drunk.”
“What’s the matter with him?” Larry asked.
“Nothing,” Eve said. “His father is a fool, that’s all.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing at all. I’m going to make some coffee. You can use a gallon or two.”
Larry walked to the crib. “What’s the matter, Chris?” he asked.
“I’m David.”
“Well, what’s the matter?”
“I di’n wet the bed.”
“Well, who said you did?”
“Nobody.”
“All right, so what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” David said.
“I’ll make the coffee,” Eve said. She paused in the doorway. “Who was that on the phone?”
“Altar,” Larry said. Eve left the room.