A. Homes: Music for Torching

"If our friends are disgusting, does it mean we're disgusting?" Elaine asks.

"Probably," Paul says.

"Disgusting," Elaine says, going into the bathroom. "Horrible, hateful, and ugly." She closes the door and then opens it again, immediately. "Don't forget," she says. "The Nielsons' barbecue is this afternoon. We get to see everybody again."

The phone rings. Paul dives across the bed to Elaine's side and answers it. "Hello," he says, breathlessly. Then he calls to Elaine, "Your mother."

"Can I stay at your place tonight?" the mother asks Elaine.

"What do you mean?" Elaine says.

"Your father is driving me crazy. I thought I'd come and stay with you, unless of course you tell me I can't."

"I would never tell you you couldn't."

"So I can," she says. "It's all right?"

"Yes," Elaine says. "We have a barbecue this afternoon, but we'll be home early. The sitter will be here."

Mother is coming-without Father, which is a little odd, but who cares? Mother is coming-that's what counts. Mother will make everything all right.

"Oh, don't worry," the mother says, "I won't even get there before nine-thirty or ten."

"My mother is coming," Elaine tells Paul, already stripping the bed. She goes down the hall to the linen closet and gets clean sheets.

Sammy comes out of his room. "Did you wet your bed?" he asks.

"Grandma is coming," Elaine says.

Sammy goes back into his room and closes the door. "I don't like Grandma," he says through the door.

"If she's by herself, do we really need to give her our room?" Paul asks. "Couldn't she sleep in one of the boys' rooms?"

"Let's not make a thing out of it," Elaine says. "Let's just do it the way we always do it, otherwise it'll mean something

that she came alone and we didn't think enough of her to give her our room. Help me," she says, pulling the fitted sheet across the bed. "Help me."

In the bathroom mirror, Paul looks at himself. He rubs the cut on his neck, rubs until blood seeps out. He wonders if the date will call, wonders what he will do with her if she calls? Will they make a plan to meet? Where will he take her-the Carlyle? Or Ardsley Arms, the motel by the highway that advertises cozy cabins? No. He can't spend the money. If he spends any more money, Elaine will find out-she's better at math than he is; she does the bills. They'll go to the date's place or they'll meet somewhere public, like Rye Playland. He'll buy lots of ride tickets. They'll go through the haunted house, rushing to be finished, released, and relieved before their car kicks through the double doors and back into the daylight. They'll go through two or three times. The first time they'll kiss, long and tenderly, as though they mean it. He'll fondle her. The second time his head will be in her crotch, her mouth on his cock. The third time she'll straddle him-she'll sit so tall that her head will bang against the fabricated fiberglass rafters, the pseudo-timbers, which will crack at well- timed intervals over their heads. The things that go bump in the night will be entirely real.

"And what about Henry's hair?" Elaine had said. Paul looks at himself in the mirror and wonders what's wrong with Henry's hair. Paul is just like his friends, as is Elaine. Their friends are just like them. They like it that way. When one of the friends changes, when something is different, they all get nervous, as if it will be contagious-as if this bit of bad luck, or poor fortune, will now be visited upon the rest of them. Elaine's words echo in his head: "Who does he think he's fooling?"

The phone rings again. "I'll get it," Paul screams through the house. "I'll get it! Hello?" he says.

"What are you wearing?" the date asks.

Elaine picks up the phone downstairs.

"Hello?" she says.

"I've got it," Paul says. Elaine hangs up.

"You didn't answer me," the date says. "I asked you what you were wearing."

"What if my wife had gotten it?" Paul says.

"She would have answered me already."

"What are you wearing?" Paul asks her.

"What would you like me to wear?" she asks back.

"Very little," he says. "Something, but not much."

"Are you a doctor?"

He starts to say no, but then stops himself. "Would you like me to be a doctor?"

"I'm in pain," she says.

"Tell me about it," he says.

"Examine me and I will."

"You were on an awfully long time," Elaine says when Paul finally comes downstairs. "I made pancakes. Daniel spread caviar on his. It's out of control."

They look out the kitchen window. "Grass needs cutting," Paul says. The children are playing in the yard. Daniel has Sammy trapped, with a butterfly net over his head.

"Big-game hunt," Paul says. "Next he'll try and attach a tag to Sammy's ear."

"You were whispering," Elaine says.

"Big deal," Paul says. It's unclear whether he means big deal as in "none of your business," or big deal as in "a large business transaction."

Elaine stuffs clothes into the washing machine.

"Aren't you supposed to separate the coloreds and the whites?" Paul asks.

"Segregation ended," she says, closing the lid.

"But I thought-"

"If you want to do the laundry, feel free." She picks up her purse. "I'm going to Liz's. I need some time to myself. Keep an eye on the kids."

"Why do you go to Liz's? Isn't she there? And what about Jennifer? Isn't Jennifer there? Is that time to yourself?"

"Jennifer stays in the basement," Elaine says.

"You spend more time with Liz than you do with me."

"I like her better," Elaine says, leaving.

Saturday afternoon at the cookout, regardless of the fact that they were all together the night before, they act glad to see each other. Perhaps they are not acting, perhaps they are genuinely glad to see each other. Perhaps it was that difficult being left to their own devices for twenty-four hours. Who knows? But they are in surprisingly good spirits; they are the kind of people who believe in putting on their party clothes and a party face, or at least starting off with a smile.

"Can I get you a drink?" George Nielson, the host, asks at regular intervals. "Freshen that? Are you running out? Pour you another? More ice? Splash?"

Henry is there with the date.

Paul sees her from across the yard and blushes bright red.

"Are you all right?" Elaine asks. "Are you ill?"

He sips his drink. "Spices," he says. "Bloody Mary."

"Joan is here without Ted?" someone says.

"He's not well. He ate too much last night."

"Call him, tell him to come anyway," Pat Nielson says. "We miss him. He doesn't have to eat, he can just drink. He can still drink, can't he?"

Ted's wife, Joan, shakes her head. "He's better off in front of the TV."

"And where are the Montgomerys?" Elaine asks. "They didn't come last night either." The tsk-tsk, don't-ask face is made.

"Lost his job," Joan whispers. "They don't know what to do. They're living off Catherine. A mortgage, two in prep school, one in that special place-it's a lot, an awful lot."

The subject is changed. "You have such a beautiful home," Elaine tells Pat, knowing it is the right thing to say. "Everything you do comes out perfectly." She neglects to add how intimidating the perfection is.

"Thank you," Pat says. "It means so much to me to hear you say that. It's all I do. House, house, house," she says as though nothing else matters, as though that's all there is in the world.

"It's breathtaking," Elaine says.

The Nielson twins, Margaret and Mary, play waitress. They wear little black dresses with white aprons tied on. The guests applaud their servitude and wonder aloud how much Pat and George are paying them. The guests can't tell the girls apart and so just call them Mmmm…, and the girls each fill in the rest accordingly.