Stephen Dixon - Gould

“He misses you, pines for you, has returned to wetting his bed every now and then,” she said on the phone week after she and Brons left. “When are you coming back? We both need and miss you. My bed wants you. The whole house is groaning for your return. Just skip out on the future rent and let them follow you to California if they’d ever do that,” and he said “Can’t do, it wouldn’t be right. If I come, then I first pay them what I owe,” and she said “Dummy, nobody in New York would and the landlord knows and expects that.” She wants him, he thought, so she can have someone pay the bills. Maybe in three months, just so he can save some money from substitute teaching every day and also to give him time to get someone to take over his lease.

His mother said “My advice is not to go. She doesn’t seem the right girl for you. She’s not soft, her background’s too different, I’ve a feeling she’ll end up bossing you around and treating you like a schmo. You were always such a proud and independent guy but something’s happened to you.” His father said “She’s a pig, no personality, ugly as sin and with brains to match. She treats you like a doormat. Her son’s not yours but you play around birdbrain-like that he is, and this is going to ruin your future life and keep other women a hundred miles from you. Get rid of her fast. Don’t waste your money calling her anymore, don’t write, for sure don’t go back. Get a real woman who looks like one and not like a boy and who has a body that can have babies after you marry her. This one’s an operator and schemer, cagey as they come and only thinks of herself and her gorgeous garish clothes and layers of makeup, as if she’s a rich princess who all the eligible men adore, when she’s more like a witch. How can she walk on such pin legs and breathe when she has no nose? You two look stupid together — Mutt and Jeff, she’s so short — and she also has no respect for your parents when she knows you love us and we’ve been good as gold to you. She comes in here, always wanted to be waited on, never once said thanks, and when she left, ‘good-bye’ was a dirty word to her, and no note since for the two weeks we put her up and the mattress her son ruined.” His mother said “Not true, the no-thanks part. She was usually polite, had very nice manners, cleaned up after herself and her son, and the boy is a darling. If she could raise him to be so good, even if I bet some of that the last year had to do with Gould’s contribution, then there’s a lot to be said for her. She simply isn’t right for him though. There doesn’t seem to be that necessary thing between them, the lights and respect, nothing. Maybe because they were financially strapped here, but they were usually backbiting, fighting — in front of us — almost never agreeing on any one thing.” “She’s flighty,” his father said. “Had a husband devoted to her—” “He wasn’t so devoted,” Gould said. “Then had a husband, period, and leaves him in a week or so after the boy’s born and takes up with who knows what and eventually you. Now she wants to be an actress, or that’s finally over. What did she want to be before?” “The part about taking up with other guys right away is wrong, all wrong.” “When you were in California you wrote us she was going to be an interior designer, before that a furniture designer and before that an architect,” and Gould said “Those things were momentary aspirations; more ideas to think over and discuss the possibilities of than anything concrete, and I did her a disservice by mentioning them. I suppose I wanted to — you know — build her up to you.” “Just because you felt you had to do that shows how little you thought of her,” his father said, and he said “That’s not how I see it. Anyway, theater, an actress, becoming one, that was the first serious thing she really wanted to do and you have to give her credit for uprooting her life to pursue it. That it didn’t work out . . and his father said “It didn’t because she couldn’t act to herself alone in front of a mirror if you gave her two hours to. And she was never pleasant, always that sour mug of hers, or something where you had to tickle her silly to get out the simplest smile. So what was there to her? Tell me, I’m asking. Did men stop dead in their tracks on the street for her?” “Yes, as a matter of fact, sometimes.” “Bull. And if there’s one thing a girl ought to have, if she doesn’t have good looks and personality and a great job or lots of promise and there’s no big family money around, which anyhow you don’t care about — money, hoo! what does it mean to you — is brains. And for you especially she should have this and maybe most important: an intellect, to be a member of the intelligentsia you aspire to, and that she also lacked, take it from me,” and his mother said “I found her to be quite smart, well read and full of interesting insights into life. It’s the chemistry between them that I think was missing,” and his father said “Chemistry and brains, then, but a lot else wasn’t there. If her only attributes were that she was an all-star in bed and a good mother, big deal — you can’t live off the first forever and the second shouldn’t affect you much if the kid isn’t yours. I think you’re only going back for the boy, and a greater mistake couldn’t be made. You aren’t his father, you’ll never be his father, and no matter how much the boy loves you now and you feel close to him, in ten years — in fifteen, you name it, if his real father doesn’t grab him first — he’ll be out of the house and in college and then you’ll be stuck alone with her.” “We could have other children,” and his mother said “I’d advise against hanging your hat on that. She told me a number of times that having Bronson was the worst experience she ever had — throwing up violently for three months and then the long delivery, which nearly drove her mad with pain till they put her out — that she’d never want to have another child.” “I overheard that too,” his father said, “since of course she’d never say it to me. She never said boo to me. She knew I was on to her the moment she stepped into our house. And that despite all her primping and painting — toenails, fingers, face, eyes and hair, the whole can of worms — what I also thought of her looks.” “Some people think she’s beautiful,” Gould said, “everyone at least thinks she’s pretty. But what are we talking about, for the one thing we haven’t mentioned so far and is more important than anything is that she’s a very good person inside,” and his father said “In my eyes she isn’t, and the ones who think so or see that ought to get their eyes and heads examined. She’s got a homely face and a shifty mind and a heart that’s like a stone. There’s a combo for you, one only an idiot would go for,” and his mother said “That’s not so — not even near the truth. Though there were some things I questioned about her, she has many fine qualities,” and on it went, till his father said “Enough; nothing’s going to sink through his hard head. And besides everything else, as if I have to say this, I’m not well, your mother can’t do all the taking care of me at her age, and I’ll probably get a lot worse before I get a little better, if I don’t drop dead in a year, so it should be easy for you to see we need you here or just around the city for sudden calls,” and he said “I wish I could; honestly, there’s nothing I’d want to do more; but I can’t be in two very far-apart places at the same time and I’m going out there. If you really need me — a sudden emergency, or just some help for a couple of weeks — which I’d hope not because I’d hate for you to get worse — I’ll fly right home.”

Years later he was standing at a bar with a friend who said “You know, you might not want to hear this. But since you brought her name up before or maybe you do, now, or wouldn’t mind, when it’s so long after the fact, but I never knew what you saw in that California broad — Angel, or Evangel, or Angelina. She wasn’t—” and he said “Evangeline. She never liked it shortened or would tolerate any nickname,” and his friend said “Evangeline, then. But just that , that she wouldn’t, with such a mouthful of an uncommon name. But she wasn’t smart or sharp or good-looking. Her body was like a board. She didn’t like one person you knew, me most especially, I think because I was your closest friend. She in fact looked on everyone we knew as if she wanted to spit great wads on top of their heads. She hated the city, was afraid of everything, and treated you like shit. She wouldn’t even cook part of the dinner when Beverly and I came over — you had to do it all because we were your friends, not hers. What possibly could have possessed you? Usually your taste in women was pretty good,” and he said “You sound like my dad there, may his soul, etcetera, and the rest of him . . ” and his friend said “Then your dad was right. He knew a looker; look at your mom. He also knew — I could tell, even sick as he was the last times I saw him and with not much use for talking because of his paralysis problem — what was up and who was phooey and what in life was hype or gauze or fake.” “There was something between her and me that can’t be explained. But I’ll try, right? That’s what I usually do. If you don’t think she was good-looking or smart or anything like that.