Gilbert Sorrentino - Aberration of Starlight

The sun had finally flooded the whole expanse of the church steps and he’d gone across the road to the porch where he bumped into Ralph Sapurty, just what the doctor didn’t order, and had to grin and bear it listening to his horse’s-ass chatter about God-knows-what. Just yes the poor unfortunate gawm to death and give him a nice big castor-oil smile every now and again. Then he saw Dave Warren’s car turn at the bend down the road and in a minute pull up and he watched Marie get out, loaded down with bundles to beat the band, like it was Christmas. She went past him like a ton of bricks, barely giving him the time of day, oh and how cute she was about it, saying that she didn’t want to interrupt him and Sapurty, as if she had no idea in God’s green world that the man gave him conniptions! Well, he talked with Ralph, if that’s the word for it, for a few more minutes for the sake of appearances, and then excused himself and said that he had to go upstairs and do something that nobody else could do for him, that’s the sort of remark that Ralph thought was more fun than Weber and Fields, the poor stupid man. When he reached Marie’s room he heard voices and for a minute thought that Thebus was in there with her, by God, he’d — but then he realized that it was just Billy, and you can rest assured that she’d brought him something from Hackettstown, oh the boy was spoiled rotten without a father to put his foot down, did she expect him to be father and grandfather and breadwinner all rolled in one? It had been enough of a burden even when Bridget had been alive. She wasn’t one to let things slide, when the boy needed to be taught a lesson she wasn’t the kind to shirk from it. Well, he wasn’t that kind and now, well, the handwriting was on the wall as far as all the good it had done him. He should have cracked him across the face once in while. Now they thought, the both of them, that they could walk all over him. Oh, it was grand for them. He pushed the door open hard and walked into Marie’s room.

They both looked at him as if he was something the cat dragged in and Marie was right on the verge of harping about knocking on a person’s door but he must have had a look on his face, there’s life in the old dog yet, and she shut her trap, thank God for small favors. The first thing was to get the boy to hell out of there, he was entirely too acclimated to hearing every word that passed between them, turning into a little old man he was with a wise little face on him. Aha, and there it was, by God, wouldn’t you have known it, a pair of shoes, nothing to them but a few scraps of leather, if you can call it that, and a high heel to show off her legs, the man has got her crazy as a bedbug, daffy! He held the door open and told Billy to go out and play, he had something to speak to his mother about, and she was about to open her mouth again but let it pass and the boy went out with some kind of a goddamn toy, another dollar thrown out the window, they thought he was made of money. Then he closed the door and started in on the shoes, what a pretty penny they must have cost, and for what? Could she even answer the question with a closetful of shoes not six feet away from her gathering dust? And a good time it was too to bring out what Helga had told him about young Lochinvar, that Romeo running after any skirt who looked in his direction, he never liked the cut of his jib from the first day he saw him running down off the porch all dressed in white like some horse’s ass of a sissy with a pipe stuck in his mouth like a collar ad, all for show it was, couldn’t she, for Christ sake, see what a fool he was making of her? Helga’s cousin saw him with some painted slut on his arm lovey-dovey as you please, coming out of a rattrap of a hotel, a fleabag that you’d get the itch just to pass by. This was the knight in shining armor with his hair all slicked down with brilliantine like a regular gigolo? This was the man that was taking his daughter dancing, or God knows what he had in mind? John put nothing past such an article!

He wasn’t prepared for her anger and spunk in talking back to him, and what did Bridget being sick all that time have to do with her letting this man be her escort, he’d like to know that, and could she tell him that? With a pair of high-heeled shoes meant for a girl of eighteen, not a mother who’d been married in the church at a high nuptial mass and in the eyes of God was still married. She sailed right by that and tore into Helga, that backbiting dutchie she called her, can’t you see what’s as plain as the nose on your face? That sauerkraut-eater has, oh don’t deny it, she has grand plans for you, oh my, grand. Why, you talk about what people, pardon me, the antiques here, think about Tom and me, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Don’t you think they can all see that woman setting her cap for you? And she’d say anything to play up to you, anything she thinks you want to hear, by God, she’ll say it, in spades. He didn’t mean to — maybe he didn’t actually say it — but he forbade her to go out with that sly article and her face got as white as her shoes. She said she’d do as she damn well pleased! With a bleached blonde of a tramp he was seen, a whore! he said, and blushed. That’s the kind of a man who’s taking you dancing! Worse than that greaseball of a husband of yours, and bejesus he doesn’t even have a bit of an ass on him! By God, it’s one of the wonders of the world that the man can manage to sit down. She was holding the door open for him and wiping tears from her eyes. Oh Poppa, she said, what a spiteful thing to say, what a spiteful, mean thing to say to your own daughter.

He lay on his bed, smoking one Camel after another, thank God in heaven he wasn’t the sort of a man with a filthy pipe stuck in his gob all day and his teeth black as the ace of spades. Ah Christ, she wouldn’t have dared do this if Bridget were alive, that one would have marched right up to the little cock of the walk and told him where to get off and make no mistake about it. But with him … it was his softness that let her wipe her feet all over him, telling him that she’d been the maid of all work long enough and now she wanted to have some life, and what about him, didn’t he have a right to some life? Hadn’t it been John do this and John do that and John do the other thing and what do you need with an extra quarter for years and years and years? Was he denying her her goddamn life? It was that oily little mongrel he wanted her to hold at arm’s length, didn’t she know what he wanted from her? And there she was buying a pair of chippy shoes with a heel on them that was an invitation to any man with a pair of eyes in his head, and you can bet your last red cent that they wouldn’t be lost on the likes of Mr. Thebus, oh no. And she’s even beginning to lose all respect for anything decent, the nerve of her talking that way about Helga Schmidt! She was a good respectable woman, lonely like he was lonely, it wasn’t as if they were gallivanting around in cars going to roadhouses and God knows where else.

When he woke from a short doze he heard voices from the lawn and got up to stand behind the curtain and look down. As he thought, it was Thebus and Billy, thick as thieves. You had to give the man credit for his gall. It was as clear as day that the boy — look at him now running around with that cheap tin toy in his hand — bored him to death. Ah, but what a perfect foot in the door he was, you could see that the man had the brain of your true salesman, he’d probably sell goldbricks to some starving widow if the truth were known. John had always hated salesmen, something good for the kikes to do but no job for a man. But who said that this article was a man anyway? Oho, and there he was, crossing the lawn to go and get himself all dolled up like Astor’s pet horse, ah, not yet. John craned his neck to watch Tom and saw him walk across the road to his car and begin to wipe it down with a rag. That’s right, you little mutt, make everything all spic and span for the goddamn fool of a woman who’s probably admiring her feet and watching the clock. God help us all. She’s so ga-ga she may not even be seen at the supper table, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if nobody saw hide nor hair of her until the great moment. The old man pursed his lips in contempt.