Scott Spencer - A Ship Made of Paper

ily.With them, every wedding is a royal wedding, part ofsome grand al-liance.They’re all demonstrating some idea they have ofperfect family life, and I can guarantee you one thing, he would make my life hell.He’d be merciless.In terms offinances…”

“Who cares about that?”

“I do, Daniel.Come on, be realistic here.This is my life we’re talking about.And Nelson’s, too.He’d go for custody, Hampton would, he would try to hurt me in any way he could.”

“He could try for custody.That doesn’t mean he’s going to get it.He won’t.The courts are used to these guys who suddenly are Father ofthe Year.Hampton’s not set up to raise a kid.And he’s not that great with Nelson.He bullies him.”

“You know, these family court judges,”Iris says.

”Idiots,”says Daniel.

”Yes, well, a lot ofthem areAfrican-American.African-American women.I think they’d give Hampton whatever he asked for.They would, wouldn’t they?Tell me I’m wrong.Please.I wish you would.But you can’t! I’m not going to lose my son!”

“Iris…”

“And I’ll tell you another thing,”Iris says.“IfHampton thought I was leaving him for a white guy, that would make it all the worse.”

“I’m not all that white.”

“I’m being serious, Daniel.”

“Sorry.But he’s not all that black, that’s for sure.”

“What are you talking about? He’s not all that black?You don’t really know what you’re talking about.Hampton is a black man, he feels it, his world is based on it, his social life, his business, his identity, he may be light-skinned and think like a banker, but I can promise you ifhe ever found out I was fucking some white guy, he’d be Louis Farrakhan before the day was out.It would be the ultimate betrayal.”

“Is this what you came here to talk about?”Daniel says.He lets go of her, and, just as he feared, his touch was all that was keeping her close.

She drifts away from him, stands at the window.Drops ofmoisture—rain? snow?—are forming on the black glass.

“No.I wanted to come someplace where you might be, or at least somewhere that belongs to you.I’m just so crazy about you, it’s ridiculous.”

The phone on his desk rings with a sound as sudden as a rock through a window.Daniel thinks, This is either a wrong number or trouble. The an-swering machine picks up, SheilaAlvarez’s soothing voice.After the tone, Kate’s voice:“I just called you on your cell phone but you’re not answering, so I’ll leave this happy holiday message for you at your office, Asshole.I woke up from the little nap you so considerately convinced me to take, and guess what I found?An unattended child and a sink full of dirty dishes.So, Asshole, are you having fun?”

Daniel finally rouses himself and turns the volume offon the machine, so the only evidence ofKate’s continuing diatribe is the light—as red as a pinprick ofblood—blinking offand on.

There was a break in the black sky and the platinum moonlight poured down on them.The whites of Hampton’s eyes glittered.His shirt was dirty, his khaki trousers were covered in burrs and black with mud at the knees.Daniel looked down at his own hands.There was a scrape on the heel of his hand.And then the crack in the sky healed, and the moonlight disappeared.

TwoSundays later, there is an afternoon party at Eight Chimneys, to inaugurate the Eight Chimneys Foundation, which MarieThorne has set up as a first step in turning the old house into an official NewYork State Historical Site.Despite Susan Richmond’s antagonism to the proj-ect—she can’t bear the thought ofticket-holding strangers traipsing around her property, and she also knows that the entire scheme has cre-ated a little dome ofprivacy, a secret spot in which Ferguson and Marie can carry on their repulsive flirtation—leaving the planning ofthe party itselfto Ferguson and Marie is beyond her powers offorbearance.Fergu-son is as domestic as Buffalo Bill, and Marie’s ideas for the party are pa-thetic, culled from some grotesque guide to“elegant living”—caterers cooking and serving hot appetizers, expensive booze, chamber musicians from Marlowe College, vases filled with Casablanca lilies.Marie, despite having been born and raised on the property, seems to have no idea that such froufrou touches have no place at Eight Chimneys, where one en-tertains simply and cheaply.Susan feels that ostentation is the province of the middle class, who always seem to be saying“Look what we have!”

whereas at Eight Chimneys one likes to behave in such a way that implies

”We’ve all had enough chamber music and porcini tarts, and the long, tiresome trek through the gardens ofplenty has led us to believe it’s a hell ofa lot more fun to fill up a few bowls with potato chips, get store-brand sodas at the Price Chopper, jeroboams ofcheap wine, and not make such a big deal out ofeverything.”Susan cannot resist a chance to express her own artistic talents, and on each ofthe ninety invitations sent out she cre-ates a tiny watercolor, usually just a few wavy blue lines to symbolize the river, but sometimes a finely wrought chimney, or a cow.

The invitation in Kate’s hand has been personalized with the wavy blue lines.Beneath the times ofthe party, from2:00to4:00p.m.,there is a line that readsdonation: twenty-five dollars per person.On Daniel and Kate’s invitation, Susan has drawn a circle around the amount, with a line running offthe circle that leads to the messageno exceptions!Kate has been going on about the boorishness ofthis re-minder since its arrival onTuesday, and now, sitting at her dressing table, putting on her lipstick, with the invitation propped up against the mir-ror, she suddenly sees Daniel in the glass and begins again.

“Does Susan Richmond really think we’re going to try and sneak in without paying?”she asks.She doesn’t turn to face him but watches his reflection in the mirror.His hair is still wet from the shower;his eyes are dark and startled in the middle ofhis scrubbed face.He has lately be-come meticulous about his grooming, as he has with every other detail ofdomestic life, from getting up with Ruby every morning and making breakfast for the family, to the dutiful little good-night kisses he places on Kate’s cheek at night.He is like a British officer in captivity, keeping up his own morale with close shaves and crisp salutes.

“I’m sure it’s a joke,”he says.He checks the time.“You look very nice.”Which is his way ofsaying,“Hurry up, it’s time to leave.”

“I’ve started a new novel,”she suddenly announces.

“That’s good.It’s great.I’m really glad.”

“You are?”

“Ofcourse I am.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see.But it does seem that connubial bliss was interfering with my creativity.Ever since…youknow, the big confession, I’ve really felt inspired.And this book—well, I don’t even want to talk about it.I don’t want to jinx it.It could all disappear.I could spend the rest ofmy life just writing articles.”

“I’m really glad,”Daniel says.“Are you almost ready?”

“Ruby?”she asks, still gazing at him in the mirror.

”I think she’s all set.I’ll go check.”

Except for not loving Kate, Daniel has been a model partner since his confession in the hotel room two weeks ago.No socks on the floor, im-peccable table manners, he has even purchased over the Internet some spray he squirts on the back ofhis throat at night, which has virtually eliminated his snoring.The respect he shows for her sleep is boundless.

Not only has the snoring stopped, but he no longer tugs at the blanket, and when he rolls over nothing ofhim so much as grazes her, she cannot even feel his breathing, he has less presence than the dead, and in the mornings he is quieter than the rising sun when he slips out ofbed to mind Ruby and get her offto school.Yet he is not entirely cold, not like someone who is furious, or who wishes to punish you.Ifshe rolls next to him in bed, he is accepting.Ifshe presses herselfagainst him he gathers her in.Ifshe kisses him, he kisses her back.Ifshe wants to fuck, he fucks.