A. Homes - In A Country Of Mothers

Claire didn’t answer. They walked five blocks and couldn’t find a place that made sundaes. Ice cream was too uncool, unhealthy, drippy. They ended up at Mondadori Cafe with the high-cheekboned crowd, cappuccinos and three-berry tart.

W ednesday at six-thirty in the morning Jody’s phone rang.

“I had a horrible nightmare,” Ellen said. “Can you have breakfast with me?”

Jody grunted.

“Come on, get up, I’ll take you out. I have to take a fast shower and get rid of someone. It’ll be about twenty minutes. Meet me in the lobby.”

Jody stood up and pulled her nightgown off over her head. “There isn’t a federal law that requires you to notify me every time you sleep with a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger anymore.”

“You’re right. Bring him to breakfast.”

“I’m not sure he speaks English,” Ellen said.

“So,” Jody said, when they were safely awake, around the corner in the coffee shop. “What did you dream?”

“The bank went under and I had to turn sex into a profession. All my customers were men I’d known all my life — friends of the family, old teachers, the president of the bank. All day I had to fuck and fuck.” Ellen spoke loudly, but no one in the coffee shop seemed to notice. “I had to do all these strange things exactly the way they wanted or I wouldn’t get paid. In the end, I stole a gun from this cop I’m blowing and shot myself in the crotch.”

“It’s been done before,” Jody said, breaking an egg yolk with a corner of toast, mopping up the yellow.

“What do you mean, ‘done before’?”

“Shot in the crotch. I can’t remember the name — a French film with Gérard Depardieu, and that old Frenchwoman, maybe Jeanne Moreau. In the end she puts the gun inside her and pulls the trigger, makes a huge mess, and takes a long time for her to die. Very symbolic. Almost heavy-handed.”

“You’re telling me my life’s been done before? My nightmare?”

“Everything.” Jody flagged the waiter for more coffee. “Can I ask you an intensely personal question?”

Ellen nodded.

“Do you always wear sunglasses indoors at seven a.m., or is it something you want to talk about?”

“I have a boo-boo.”

“What, like the stranger’s fist met your face?”

“Unfortunately, more embarrassing.” Ellen took off the glasses for a second, flashing a semicircular black-and-blue mark at Jody.

“I’m listening.”

“We were, shall I say, engaged, and I kind of reared up and came down hard on the edge of the headboard.”

“That metal thing?”

Ellen nodded. “Completely knocked me out, only I don’t think he noticed. When I came to we were still doing it.”

“Well, you must not have been out very long.”

“If I go to work like this, they’ll think someone did it.”

“Someone did. So say you were in a cab accident, they smashed into a truck, your face was slammed against the Plexiglas. Happens all the time.”

Ellen laid her hand out on the table. On her right hand, fourth finger, was a shiny diamond ring. “Rob gave me this yesterday. What do you think?”

“He gave you an engagement ring and you brought a stranger home?”

“He didn’t exactly say it was an engagement ring. He should know better than to try and marry me.”

“You’re nuts.”

“You’re just jealous. Here, try it on.” Ellen took off the ring and tried to slip it onto Jody’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Jody pulled her hand away. “You need professional help.”

Ellen shook her head. “Every time I go to a shrink all they want to do is fuck me.”

“Go to a woman.”

“What makes you think she wouldn’t want to fuck me?”

“Ellen, I know this will be hard for you to accept, but not everyone wants to sleep with you, and that’s all right. It’s supposed to be like that,”

“I couldn’t. I hate women. Disgusting. I can’t imagine what I’d tell a woman.”

The waiter brought the check and Ellen grabbed it. “Whoever does the most talking pays.”

“Thanks,” Jody said.

“You never said anything about L.A. — how was it?”

“Nice. Very nice. Sunny, warm.”

“Is everyone really good-looking?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Ellen tapped her face. “Do you think I can cover this with makeup?”

“Take a piece of gauze, tape it over your face, and tell people how long you had to sit in the emergency room waiting to get your skull x-rayed.”

“Do you think about your brother a lot?” Claire asked. Five minutes into the session, Jody was starting to space out. It was pouring rain outside. She looked past Claire and out the window. Somehow it was easier to look over Claire’s shoulder than to deal with things inside.

“Would it be better if I closed the blind?” Claire asked.

“No. Sorry,” Jody said.

“How would you describe your relationship to your brother?”

“My relationship? He died before I was born.”

“Do you think of him as your friend? Your enemy?”

“My ghost,” Jody said. “I am him, he is me.”

“What does that mean?” Claire asked, eyebrows raised.

Jody shrugged. This was getting a little too close for comfort.

“Did your parents want a boy, or did they purposely adopt you because you were a girl?”

“They adopted me before I was born,” Jody said, annoyed. “The deal was, whatever the baby was, it was theirs. The guy who was in on it called my parents when I was born and said, ‘Your package is here and it’s wrapped up in pink ribbons.’ Isn’t that incredibly queer? ‘Your package.’ What did they do, mail-order me?”

“People didn’t talk about adoption very openly twenty-five years ago.”

“Tell me about it,” Jody said.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Claire said.

They were silent. Rain splattered down onto the air conditioner outside, and Jody forgot where she was for a minute, slipping back and forth in time and geography.

“The whole year I was nine,” she said, “I thought I was going to die. Every day I waited. I didn’t know how it would happen — if it would be a sudden, quick snapping thing or something that would creep across me for days or weeks. After that, regardless of what happened, I always felt like one of those miracle cancer patients who lives despite the odds.”

“What made you think you were going to die?”

“He was nine when he died and somehow in my head I figured all children died. That was just the way it went.”

“Depressing,” Claire said.

“Very,” Jody said.

“Did you ever have fun?”

“Yeah,” Jody said, laughing. “I played funeral home with the kid who lived next door. I made her lie down flat and then I covered her face with baby powder.” Jody paused. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“You say the most upsetting things and somehow they sound funny. I’m not sure whether you’re kidding.”

“The funnier it gets, the less I’m kidding,” Jody said dryly. “Can we change the subject?”

“Do you find it difficult to talk about your family?”

“No, it’s like eating a York Peppermint Patty, uplifting, refreshing, get the sensation.”

“You’re very angry.”

“Annoyed, not angry. When I get angry, little flames start coming out of my ears, it’s a whole different thing.”

What do you want from me? Jody was tempted to ask.

“I’m curious why you’re having such a hard time today,” Claire said. “The trip to L.A. went well, so there should be some acknowledgment of success, but you don’t seem willing to discuss that, either. Maybe you want me to know that despite your ability to succeed, there’s still something you need me for.”