The Girl Next Door (10 page)
It was embarrassing. It was friends she was talking about here.
“Look,” I said. “So Ruth got mad at you. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s having a bad day. But nobody else got mad. Willie and Woofer and Donny didn’t get mad.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Willie and Woofer and Donny never get mad. It’s not that. Not with them. It’s just that they never seem to see me here, either. Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I talk to them and they grunt and walk away. Or else when they do notice there’s something ... not right about it. The way they look at me. And Ruth ...”
She’d started now and there was no stopping her.
“... Ruth
hates
me! Me and Susan both. You don’t see it. You think this was just one thing just this one time but it’s not. It’s all the time. I work all day for her some days and I just can’t please her, nothing’s right, nothing’s ever the way she’d do it. I know she thinks I’m stupid, lazy, ugly ...”
hates
me! Me and Susan both. You don’t see it. You think this was just one thing just this one time but it’s not. It’s all the time. I work all day for her some days and I just can’t please her, nothing’s right, nothing’s ever the way she’d do it. I know she thinks I’m stupid, lazy, ugly ...”
“Ugly?”
That, at least, was obviously ridiculous.
That, at least, was obviously ridiculous.
She nodded. “I never thought I was before but now I don’t even know. David, you’ve known these people all your life practically, right?”
“Yeah I have.”
“So
why?
What did I do? I go to bed at night and it’s all I can think about. We were both real happy before. You know, before we came here I used to paint. Nothing very much, just a watercolor now and then. I don’t suppose I was ever too great at it. But my mother used to like them. And Susan used to like them, and my teachers. I’ve still got the paints and brushes but I just can’t start to do one anymore. You know why? Because I know what Ruth would do, I know what she’d think. I know what she’d
say
. She’d just look at me and I’d know I was stupid and wasting my time to even try.”
why?
What did I do? I go to bed at night and it’s all I can think about. We were both real happy before. You know, before we came here I used to paint. Nothing very much, just a watercolor now and then. I don’t suppose I was ever too great at it. But my mother used to like them. And Susan used to like them, and my teachers. I’ve still got the paints and brushes but I just can’t start to do one anymore. You know why? Because I know what Ruth would do, I know what she’d think. I know what she’d
say
. She’d just look at me and I’d know I was stupid and wasting my time to even try.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t the Ruth I knew. You could see Willie and Woofer and Donny acting strange around her—she was a girl, after all. But Ruth had always been good to us. Unlike the rest of the mothers on the block she always had plenty of time for us. Her door was always open. She handed us Cokes, sandwiches, cookies, the occasional beer. It didn’t make sense and I told her so.
“Come on. Ruth wouldn’t do that. Try it. Make
her
one. Make her a watercolor. I bet she’d love it. Maybe she’s just not used to having girls around, you know? Maybe it just takes time. Do it. Try one for her.”
her
one. Make her a watercolor. I bet she’d love it. Maybe she’s just not used to having girls around, you know? Maybe it just takes time. Do it. Try one for her.”
She thought about it.
“I couldn’t,” she said. “Honest.”
For a moment we just stood there. She was shaking. I knew that whatever this was all about, she wasn’t kidding.
I had an idea.
“How about me, then? You could make one for me.”
Without the idea in mind, without the plan, I’d never have had the nerve to ask her. But this was different.
She brightened a little.
“Would you really want one?”
“Sure I would. I’d like it a lot.”
She looked at me steadily until I had to turn away. Then she smiled. “Okay. I will, David.”
She seemed almost her usual self again. God! I liked it when she smiled. Then I heard the back door open.
“Meg?”
It was Ruth.
“I’d better go,” she said.
She took my hand and squeezed it. I could feel the stones in her mother’s wedding band. My face reddened.
“I’ll do it,” she said, and fled around the corner.
Chapter Twelve
She must have got right on it too because the next day it rained all day into the evening and I sat in my room reading
The Search for Bridey Murphy
and listening to the radio until I thought I’d probably kill somebody if I heard that fucking Domenico Modugno sing “Volare” one more time. And then after dinner my mother and I were sitting in the living room watching television when Meg knocked at the back door.
The Search for Bridey Murphy
and listening to the radio until I thought I’d probably kill somebody if I heard that fucking Domenico Modugno sing “Volare” one more time. And then after dinner my mother and I were sitting in the living room watching television when Meg knocked at the back door.
My mother got up. I followed her and got myself a Pepsi out of the refrigerator.
Meg was smiling, wearing a yellow slicker, her hair dripping wet.
“I can’t come in,” she said.
“Nonsense,” said my mother.
“No, really,” she said. “I just came over to give you this from Mrs. Chandler.”
She handed my mother a wet brown bag with a container of milk inside. Ruth and my mother didn’t exactly socialize but they were still next door neighbors and neighbors borrowed.
My mother accepted the bag and nodded. “Tell Mrs. Chandler thank you for me,” she said.
“I will.”
Then she dug down underneath the slicker and looked at me, and now she was really smiling.
“And this is for you,” she said.
And handed me my painting.
It was wrapped with sheets of heavy opaque tracing paper taped together on both sides. You could see some of the lines and colors through it but not the shapes of things.
Before I could even say thanks or anything she said, “Bye,” and waved and stepped back out into the rain and closed the door behind her.
“Well,” said my mother, and she was smiling too now. “What have we here?”
“I think it’s a picture,” I said.
I stood there, Pepsi in one hand and Meg’s painting in the other. I knew what my mother was thinking.
What my mother was thinking had the word cute in it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Yeah, sure. Okay”
I put down the Pepsi and turned my back to her and began working on the tape. Then I lifted off the tracing paper.
I could feel my mother looking over my shoulder but I really didn’t care all of a sudden.
“That’s really
good,”
my mother said, surprised. “That’s really very good. She’s really quite something, isn’t she.”
good,”
my mother said, surprised. “That’s really very good. She’s really quite something, isn’t she.”
And it was good. I was no art critic but you didn’t have to be. She’d done the drawing in ink, and some of the lines were wide and bold and some were very delicate. The colors were pale washes-only the subtle suggestions of colors but very true and lifelike with a lot of the paper showing so it gave you the impression of a bright, sunny day.
It was a picture of a boy by a flowing brook, lying on his belly across a big flat rock and looking down into the water, with trees and sky all around.
Chapter Thirteen
I took it up to The Dog House to have it framed. The Dog House was a pet shop turned hobby shop. They had beagle pups in the front window and bows and arrows, Wham-O hula hoops, model kits and a frame shop in the back, with the fish, turtles, snakes and canaries in between. The guy took a look and said, “Not bad.”
“Can I have it tomorrow?”
“You see us going crazy here?” he said. The place was empty. The 2-Guys From Harrison chain store up on Route 10 was killing him. “You can have it tonight. Come back ’round four-thirty”
I was there by a quarter after four, fifteen minutes early, but it was ready, a nice pine frame stained mahogany. He wrapped it in brown paper.
It fit perfectly into one of the two rear baskets on my bike.
By the time I got home it was almost dinnertime so I had to wait through the pot roast and green beans and mashed potatoes with gravy. Then I had to take the garbage out.
Then I went over.
The television was blaring the theme from
Father Knows Best,
my least favorite TV show, and down the stairs for the billionth time came Kathy and Bud and Betty, beaming. I could smell the franks and beans and sauerkraut. Ruth was in her chair with her feet up on the hassock. Donny and Willie sprawled together on the couch. Woofer lay on his belly so close to the TV set you had to wonder about his hearing. Susan sat watching from a straight-back chair in the dining room and Meg was out doing the dishes.
Father Knows Best,
my least favorite TV show, and down the stairs for the billionth time came Kathy and Bud and Betty, beaming. I could smell the franks and beans and sauerkraut. Ruth was in her chair with her feet up on the hassock. Donny and Willie sprawled together on the couch. Woofer lay on his belly so close to the TV set you had to wonder about his hearing. Susan sat watching from a straight-back chair in the dining room and Meg was out doing the dishes.
Susan smiled at me. Donny just waved and turned back to watch TV
“Jeez,” I said. “Don’t anybody get up or nothing.”
“Watcha got there, sport?” said Donny.
I held up the painting wrapped in brown paper.
“Those Mario Lanza records you wanted.”
He laughed. “Creep.”
And now Ruth was looking at me.
I decided to jump right in.
I heard the water shut off in the kitchen. I turned and Meg was watching me, wiping her hands on her apron. I gave her a smile and my guess is she knew right away what I was doing.
“Ruth?”
“Yeah? Ralphie, turn the TV down. That’s it. What’s up, Davy?”
I walked over to her. I glanced over my shoulder at Meg. She was coming toward me through the dining room. She was shaking her head. Her mouth was forming a silent “no.”
That was okay. It was just shyness. Ruth would see the painting and she’d get over it.
“Ruth,” I said. “This is from Meg.”
I held it out to her.
She smiled first at me and then at Meg and took it from me. Woofer had
Father Knows
Best turned low now so you could hear the crinkling of the stiff brown paper as she unwrapped it. The paper fell away. She looked at the painting.
Father Knows
Best turned low now so you could hear the crinkling of the stiff brown paper as she unwrapped it. The paper fell away. She looked at the painting.
“Meg!” she said. “Where’d you get the money to buy this?”
You could tell she admired it. I laughed.
“It costs just the framing,” I said. “She
painted
it for you.”
painted
it for you.”
“She did? Meg did?”
I nodded.
Donny, Woofer and Willie all crowded around to see.
Susan slipped off her chair. “It’s beautiful!” she said.
I glanced at Meg again still standing anxious and hopeful looking in the dining room.
Ruth stared at the painting. It seemed like she stared a long time.
Then she said, “No, she didn’t. Not for me. Don’t kid me. She painted it for
you,
Davy.”
you,
Davy.”
She smiled. The smile was a little funny somehow. And now I was getting anxious too.
“Look here. A boy on a rock. Of course it’s for you.”
She handed it back to me.
“I don’t want it,” she said.
I felt confused. That Ruth might refuse it had never even occurred to me. For a moment I didn’t know what to do. I stood there holding it, looking down at it. It was a beautiful painting.
I tried to explain.
“But it’s really
meant
for you, Ruth. Honest. See, we talked about it. And Meg wanted to do one for you but she was so ...”
meant
for you, Ruth. Honest. See, we talked about it. And Meg wanted to do one for you but she was so ...”
“David.
”
”
It was Meg, stopping me. And now I was even more confused, because her voice was stem with warning.
It made me almost angry. Here I was in the middle of this damn thing and Meg wouldn’t let me get myself out of it.
Ruth just smiled again. Then looked at Willie and Woofer and Donny.
“Take a lesson, boys. Remember this. It’s important. All you got to do any time is be nice to a woman—and she’ll do all kinds of good things for you. Now Davy was nice to Meg and got himself a painting. Nice painting. That
is
what you got, isn’t it, Davy? I mean that’s
all
you got? I know you’re a little young but you never know.”
is
what you got, isn’t it, Davy? I mean that’s
all
you got? I know you’re a little young but you never know.”
I laughed, blushing. “Come on, Ruth.”
“Well, I’m telling you you
do
never know. Girls are plain easy. That’s their problem. Promise ‘em a little something and you can have whatever you want half the time. I know what I’m saying. Look at your father. Look at Willie Sr. He was gonna own his own company when we married. Fleet of milk trucks. Start with one and work his way on up. I was gonna help him with the books just like I did back on Howard Avenue during the war. Ran that plant during the war. We were gonna be richer than my folks were when I was a kid in Morristown, and that was pretty rich, I’ll tell you. But you know what I got? Nothing. Not a damned thing. Just you three poppin’ out one, two, three, and that lovely Irish bastard’s off to God knows where. So I get three hungry mouths to feed, and now I’ve got two more.
do
never know. Girls are plain easy. That’s their problem. Promise ‘em a little something and you can have whatever you want half the time. I know what I’m saying. Look at your father. Look at Willie Sr. He was gonna own his own company when we married. Fleet of milk trucks. Start with one and work his way on up. I was gonna help him with the books just like I did back on Howard Avenue during the war. Ran that plant during the war. We were gonna be richer than my folks were when I was a kid in Morristown, and that was pretty rich, I’ll tell you. But you know what I got? Nothing. Not a damned thing. Just you three poppin’ out one, two, three, and that lovely Irish bastard’s off to God knows where. So I get three hungry mouths to feed, and now I’ve got two more.
“I tell you, girls are dumb. Girls are easy. Suckers straight on down the line.”
She walked past me to Meg. She put her arm around her shoulders and then she turned to the rest of us.
“You take this painting now,” she said. “I know you made it for David here and don’t you try to tell me any different. But what I want to know is, what are you gonna
get
out of it? What do you think this boy’s going to give you? Now Davy’s a nice boy. Better than most I’d say. Definitely better. But darlin’—he’s not gonna give you nothing! If you think he will you got another thing coming.
get
out of it? What do you think this boy’s going to give you? Now Davy’s a nice boy. Better than most I’d say. Definitely better. But darlin’—he’s not gonna give you nothing! If you think he will you got another thing coming.
“So I’m just saying I hope that painting’s all you been giving him and all you will give him, and this is for your own good I’m telling you. Because you already got what men want right down here and it ain’t your goddamn
artwork.”
artwork.”
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