John Casey - Compass Rose

During the changeovers Patty began to take more time, carefully toweling off her face and hands, fiddling with her wristbands.

Elsie came back from 2–4 to win the first set 6–4. Patty sat on a bench. She smiled up at Elsie and said, “You’re certainly making me scramble.” Her red hair was getting a pretty curl, her face was flushed, the veins in her throat were sky blue. Elsie felt like a vampire, ready to drain this succulent girl.

Elsie said, “I haven’t seen you around — not that I’m exactly a regular.”

“I just moved up here from Washington. My fiancé used to belong; he’s a friend of Jack Aldrich’s. He gave us a summer membership. Is there a water fountain?”

Elsie pointed to the bubbler. Patty kept her knees straight as she leaned over. The back of her skirt tilted up — a wren dipping at the birdbath, tail feathers twitching. Patty’s sheathed bottom was full and dainty. If I were a man, Elsie thought, I’d have her just like this. A flurry of feathers — peep, peep, peep — and into the underdown.

Patty wiped her mouth and said, “And — small world — my aunt works here.” Elsie’s eyes tightened and fixed on Patty’s face. She should have seen the family likeness. “Is your aunt Mary Scanlon?” If she hadn’t quarreled with Mary, Mary would have told her. So it served her right.

“Yes. My father’s sister. I haven’t seen her for ages. My father was in the navy, so we were all over the world while I was growing up, and then I worked in Washington. But now it looks like Rhode Island is home. At least until the election. I’m working on a congressional campaign.”

“You’re working for Johnny Bienvenue?”

“Right again,” Patty said. “I keep forgetting what a tiny state this is. Oops — I’ve got to watch that. I was actually born here — my father was stationed at Quonset — but I’ve got to stop saying ‘tiny state.’ ”

Elsie heard herself say, “Don’t worry, we know it’s small,” even as she felt the details gathering into a wave. She looked at Patty’s left hand. “So you’re engaged.”

“Yes. After what I’ve seen in Washington, I swore I’d never be a political wife, but here I am — working just as hard and not even on the payroll anymore. After you finish me off I’ve got a meeting with a Mr. Salviatti. We’re going to Westerly to talk with some Italian stoneworkers. When my father was stationed in Naples, I learned some Italian. I suppose you know Mr. Salviatti, too.”

“Yes.” Elsie was dizzy with being taken by surprise, dizzy at having foreseen — how long ago? — the perfect wife for Johnny.

Patty got up. She was as tall as Mary. She said, “You know, I wasn’t paying all that much attention, they just told me ‘Go to court number two.’ ” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Patty Scanlon.”

“Elsie Buttrick.”

Elsie felt Patty’s hand. Not a quiver. She watched Patty’s eyes. Not a flicker. Could it be he hadn’t told her?

“Oh my God, you’re Aunt Mary’s housemate! She’s absolutely crazy about your daughter; her old Christmas letters were all about Rose. Rose this, Rose that. Rose, Rose, Rose. And, of course, Johnny was crazy about you.”

So that was it — a little pat on the head.

Patty said, “Wait — I’m just getting my bearings here. Sally Aldrich is your sister. That means your brother-in-law’s the rock-ribbed Republican going against the grain to back Johnny. Sometime I’d love to hear you explain him. But look — we’d better start playing again if I’m going to get to Mr. Salviatti. Any last-minute notes on him? Johnny just said, ‘Speak some Italian, get the names of all those cousins of his in Westerly.’ Is he short? I could wear flats.”

“Not too short. Old, but he likes pretty women. Traditional Catholic — he sent his daughter to Catholic school, Monsignor Prout. Rich, but he was snubbed by a lot of the old Yankees. He likes that Jack took him on as a partner in all this”—Elsie pointed at the Wedding Cake—“but he rolls his eyes when Jack’s being an asshole. Oh — you could admire the road to Westerly. His company re-paved it.”

Patty tipped her head a notch at the end of each sentence, clicking it into the file. Elsie wondered at herself — here she was being a good little helper, showing off that she, too, could have been the good political wife.

And then she was rolled by the bigger wave tumbling through the water. She’d mocked Johnny when he showed up on the Pro-Jo’s list of Rhode Island’s eligible bachelors — ex — altar boy in search of a wife — mocked him, thinking she didn’t care. And then she’d erupted. At herself for being impossible? At him? Whatever Elsie had wanted and not wanted, however on-again/off-again she and Johnny had been, whatever muddle of mockery and fury she’d felt, she’d perfectly conjured this vote-getting, child-bearing, Italian-speaking, red-haired Irish-American beauty. And there was Patty Scanlon walking to her side of the court, scooping up a ball with her racket and giving it a bounce, carelessly floating into Rhode Island, not knowing her fortune had been told in the Providence Journal Sunday supplement.

It was true for a moment, and then not true. Elsie could no more reduce Patty’s life than Patty could reduce hers by saying, “And, of course, Johnny was crazy about you.”

Patty said, “I forget — did you serve last?”

“Yes.” Elsie reached over the net and flicked a ball toward Patty. Elsie felt the first breath of the noon sea breeze. Johnny had been an awkward tennis player but a graceful skater, speeding around thick-frozen Hothouse Pond, somehow making his solid body fluid. She could let that go. Another thought came to her with a slower, deeper breath than physical yearning. She thought, He was the nicest man I ever slept with.

Elsie won. She played well, but the more decisive factor may have been that Patty wanted to be on time for Mr. Salviatti.

Tom brought Mr. Aldrich to the house. Mr. Aldrich asked about their putting up one of the Sawtooth performers. Dick said, “That’s up to May.”

May couldn’t fault him but wished he’d just said no. She said, “I’m afraid things are just too unsettled, Mr. Aldrich.”

“Jack, please. I understand completely. Don’t give it another thought. What I’m really here for is something a bit different.” He turned to Dick. “I’m trying to give that son of mine a sense of what Sawtooth really is. My thought is that it shouldn’t just go to him on a platter. I’m more old-fashioned than that. I’m going to have Jack Junior spend a week in the kitchen with Mary Scanlon. He’s already spent more than a week with Tom here, getting the waterfront in shape. I have to say Tom’s got just the right touch — knows when to kid with the boy, knows when to get tough. But what I was wondering is if you’ve got a spare berth on board Spartina . Just for one trip. Because when you come right down to it, the sea is what’s giving us all a living. I don’t know if you’ve read Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling, but the lesson that boy learned on that fishing vessel is just what I have in mind.”

Tom said, “The way that boy ended up on that schooner is that he fell off a yacht and the fishermen pulled him out of the drink. I hope you’re not planning to make Jack Junior do it the hard way.”

Mr. Aldrich said, “Well, that’s sort of amusing, Tom.”

May closed her eyes. Tom didn’t try again.

“Jack Junior has sailing experience. He can steer a compass course,” Mr. Aldrich said. “I’m not saying he could replace one of your regular hands, but as an extra hand, someone to take the wheel now and then. Just the odd moment. And, of course, he wouldn’t get a share.”