Evan Hunter - The Moment She Was Gone

Aside from that one outburst in the Spanish restaurant, however, Annie’s been fine ever since she got home, helping with household chores, leaving her work space tidy and neat, and being a truly pleasant companion. My mother sometimes becomes dejected about Annie’s misspent life and wasted prospects, but she honestly believes Annie’s essentially a contented person with great talent and sincere convictions, and that’s what my mother feels is important. In fact, she is delighted when Annie tells her she’s managed to find a part-time job in a jewelry store in Brooklyn, and will begin work there on the Saturday after the Fourth.

My mother really thinks Annie is okay now.

Really.

But suddenly, all of that changes.

As best I can figure it, Shirley’s birthday party took place on the Saturday my sister started work in Brooklyn. This would have been the day after my mother and I had our summit meeting in the park. Shirley was my mother’s best friend, and so the ladies were taking her to lunch at Le Cirque, an extravagance to be sure, but, hey, how often do you celebrate your sixty-fifth?

When my mother gets back to the apartment at around three that afternoon, Annie is watching television in the living room. My mother is surprised.

“Hi,” she says. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Short day today,” Annie says. “How was your party?”

“Oh, it was such fun,” my mother says. “How’s the job?”

“Fine. Too bad I wasn’t invited.”

“Well, it was just the girls,” my mother says. “Tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell. It’s a job.”

“Can I turn this off, honey?”

“Sure.”

My mother turns off the television set, and comes to sit beside Annie.

“Is he a nice man?”

“He’s fine. Were any of the other daughters invited?”

“No. I told you. It was just...”

“Just the ladies who lunch, I know. Sondheim, Mom. Remember Sondheim? You were in West Side Story, remember, Mom? You ought to know Sondheim. You ought to know ‘The Ladies Who Lunch.’ ”

“That wasn’t in West Side Story. ”

“Wherever it was.”

“But yes, I do know Sondheim,” my mother says. “Personally, in fact.”

“The way I know Sheng-yen Lu personally,” Annie says. “How’d Sondheim like your tiny feet?”

“I do have tiny feet.”

“Yes, I know. I thought maybe some of the other daughters were invited.”

“No.”

“I thought maybe some of your friends invited daughters they aren’t ashamed of.”

“Annie!” my mother says. “Whatever gave you such an idea? I adore you, why would I be ashamed of you?”

“Maybe none of your friends have daughters who were locked up in Sicily.”

“I wouldn’t trade a dozen of them for you, darling,” my mother says and pats her hand.

“I’ll bet,” Annie says. “How’d Shirley like that scarf you bought her?”

“Oh, she loved it. Well, anything Hermes, you know.”

“I guess she doesn’t wear jewelry, right?”

“Jewelry, too. Hermes jewelry, yes. She adores anything...”

“Any Gullivers in her collection?”

“Gulli...?”

“Her vast collection of jewelry? Any pieces by the talented young Annie Gulliver?”

My mother looks at her.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” she says, “forgive me. I never thought of it. Of course, I should have given her a piece of your work. How stupid of me. You should have suggested it, Annie. I’m sure she’d have loved it.”

“Oh, I’ll bet. The way you love it.”

“I do love it. I think you’re very talented, darling.”

“Oh, yes, and your friends all have such wonderful taste, too, I know. How could Shirley not love a cunt pinned to her left breast?”

“Annie, please! I hate that kind of language.”

“But you love my work, right? I can’t say cunt, but it’s perfectly all right for me to sculpt cunts!”

“Are you deliberately trying to offend me?”

“Far be it,” Annie says, and puts her hands together as if in prayer, and bows her head to Mama. “But you just might have thought about giving Shirley a genuine work of art instead of something frivolous you picked up at Barney’s or Saks...”

“Berg...”

“Wherever the fuck you bought it! The point is...”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Annie says, and the room goes silent.

“Can we get off this now?” my mother asks. “Please?”

“Sure. What’d you have for lunch?”

“Never mind lunch. What’d you mean a short day today? How could Saturday...?”

“A short day for me, Mama.”

My mother still looks puzzled.

“I quit, Mama.”

“You quit? This was your first day on the job, how could you quit?”

“He was looking at me cockeyed.”

“Who, Annie?”

“The owner of the shop.”

“Cockeyed how?”

“Cockeyed. Like he didn’t trust me or something.”

“Thank God. I thought you meant he was some kind of rapist!”

“All men are predators, but this one kept watching me as if I was planning The Great Jewel Robbery. All his precious costume jewelry! A fat-ass jeweler in Brooklyn with the intelligence of a cockroach. I’ll never go back there, never.”

“Annie, you said it yourself. It’s a job. A job is a job.”

“I have a job. I make jewelry.”

“And you’ll sell it one day, I know you will. But meanwhile...”

“Not to you or your friends, that’s for sure.”

“Annie, how often must I apologize for...?”

“Forget it, you apologized, right, I forgot.”

“You just have to give it time, darling. But meanwhile, I think you should try to find a job you can hold for a while. You’ve never...”

“I didn’t want to hold this job.”

“Well, Annie, you’ve never held a job for more than a week. I don’t see any difference between this time and all the other...”

“Quitting a job isn’t the same thing as not being able to hold a job! I quit this job, Mom. I quit it because I was onto that fat bastard from the minute I walked into his shop. I knew he’d been warned about me beforehand, and I knew he was just waiting for me to make a false move so he could report me. Besides...”

“Report you? To whom? I thought he was the owner of the...”

“Besides, that’s not the kind of work I want or need. I have my jewelry. I’m an artist. And to continue growing I have to keep improving my spiritual life. Trotting all the way out to Brooklyn is not my idea of spiritual enrichment!”

“That’s all well and good, Annie, but everyone needs to eat.”

“I’m not interested in material things, the way you and your ladies who lunch are, the way my fat brother Aaron is! I’m happy to work on my jewelry, to be able to commit to my religious beliefs through my jewelry. If you and your ladies who lunch...”

“Let me remind you,” my mother says quite evenly, “that one of your so-called ladies who lunch is putting food in your belly and a roof over your head while you recuperate! I certainly don’t expect gratitude, but the least you can...”

“For your information, I’m fully recuperated, Mama. I’m a happy and healthy person. In fact, I was never happier in my life than I was in Italy, when those bastards came along and fucked it all up. I’m not to blame for what others...”

“How can you say you’re happy? You’re almost thirty-six years old, and all you’ve got to your name is a pair of dirty socks with holes in them!”

“Hyperbole, Mama, hyperbole! Besides, I don’t need material things! I’m an artist. I build spiritual communication with people who share my sensibilities and beliefs. These people are my true friends. They don’t care if my socks have holes in them, who gives a shit about...?”