Desert of the Heart: A Novel Page 15

  “Thanks. Don’t be long, Ann.”

  It was something between an assertion of possessiveness and a plea. Ann understood Silver’s uncertainty in the use of her name. She had not called Ann by name more than three or four times in four years they had known each other. Ann turned away at once, grateful not to have to cope, but she would certainly not take long. The sooner she got Silver away from Evelyn the better. Even in ten minutes Silver could do irreparable damage, but perhaps it was just as well. Evelyn had wanted to know what kind of world Ann lived in. Now she would find out. Ann reached into her closet for something to wear that would not be a comment on Silver’s garishness. She chose an apricot cotton she had bought to please Bill. Silver had also been delighted with it. “I like that new plunging waist line.” Then she put on earrings, which she hardly ever wore, and a bracelet and a ring.

  “Got up like a common whore,” she murmured, but, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, she caught in her own eyes the same look of critical hopefulness that she had seen in Silver’s. “Have your cake and eat it, that’s what you want.”

  She hurried down the stairs, apprehensive about what might already have happened.

  “All set,” she said, looking quickly at Evelyn.

  “Evelyn’s coming with us,” Silver said.

  “Are you?”

  “It sounded like fun.”

  “She’s promised to come to the wedding, too. We can pick out your dress today.”

  “My dress?”

  “I have to buy you a dress,” Silver said, almost reproachfully. “I’m going to be in champagne. Evelyn and I have decided you should be in caviar.”

  “Black?” Ann asked, “or red caviar?”

  “Pewter,” Evelyn said quietly. “The color of your eyes.”

  “Won’t it be a little dreary?” Ann protested, fighting down the same ridiculous tenderness that had threatened her so often in the last weeks.

  “Subtle,” Silver corrected. “Are we ready?”

  They went out together, stopping only for a moment to explain to Frances that they would not be back for dinner.

  “Did you get the wedding invitation?” Silver asked.

  “I did,” Frances answered. “I’ll be there.”

  Ann and Evelyn had already started out the door.

  “I’m sorry about last night. It was too late to call.”

  “It’s all right. Will you be home tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Ann said, and, before she could say anything more, Silver had joined them.

  When they got to Magnins, Silver and Evelyn approached the clerk together. Silver, in her role as bride-to-be, mixed earnestness with comedy, vulgarity with parody. Evelyn, quick-eyed and quiet, defined the range of Silver’s taste and confined herself to it with tact and good humor. As Ann watched them, she still felt tentatively protective of Silver, whose gaucheness made her seem suddenly very much younger and more vulnerable. In a way, though her makeup revealed rather than concealed the hard uses she had put herself to, she did actually look five years younger than Evelyn. For Evelyn had let her hair begin to gray, and her aristocratic bones and candid intelligence gave her face an authority and quietness that is always associated with age. Ann studied Evelyn for any faint sign of condescension. Was it there in the way she seemed to keep Silver from any outburst of graphic appreciation when Ann tried on a dress too tight for her? Was it there in Evelyn’s almost uncanny ability to reassure Silver at the very moment she was discouraging her from making a choice in outrageously bad taste? If she was condescending, Silver obviously did not feel it. Ann had rarely seen her so wholehearted in an effort to please anyone; and, in her own eyes, Silver felt she was succeeding, for she grew less assertive and more genuinely good-humored every moment. When Ann had tried on all the dresses Silver and Evelyn had selected, they had found nothing that really pleased them.

  “Don’t you want to look for yourself?” Ann asked.

  “No, not now. Let’s go to that classy little shop around the corner. I’ve never been in it.”

  “I can’t bear the place,” Ann said. “Anyway, everything’s outrageously expensive.”

  “You’re not paying for this,” Silver said. “I am.”

  There was no one else in the shop, and the only clerk was on the phone.

  “Where do they hide the clothes?” Silver asked, starting over to the closed cupboards.

  The clerk half turned, alarmed, as if she expected a raid. Evelyn touched Silver’s arm and nodded to a settee. The clerk turned back to her hushed conversation, reassured but still uncertain.

  “This reminds me of the female trade,” Silver said suspiciously. She would not sit down with Evelyn but stood looking around. “You know that corset shop on West Second they closed about a year ago?”

  Ann laughed.

  “I’m not kidding. I’m not letting you in that dressing-room alone.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ann said, grinning. “I’d scream.”

  “Cigarette?” Evelyn said.

  “No thanks. Is this really on the level?”

  “I think so,” Evelyn said, amused.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” the clerk said to Evelyn, ignoring Silver and Ann. “May I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Evelyn said, her dignity suddenly cool. “Miss Childs is looking for an afternoon dress.” She nodded to Ann as she spoke, suggesting the color and material.

  “Size twelve?” the clerk asked, her eyes never seeming to have looked anywhere but at Ann’s face.

  “Usually,” Ann answered.

  “Won’t you sit down?” the clerk suggested to Silver, her tone subdued to politeness by Evelyn’s manner. “I’ll bring a chair for you, madame,” she said to Ann, “and then I’ll show you what we have.”

  Silver sat reluctantly, but she, too, seemed subdued.

  “If it isn’t on the level,” Evelyn said, picking up Silver’s phrase and suspicious tone, “I’ll bet they’re losing money.”

  Silver relaxed into a guffaw of laughter. Ann looked down at Evelyn with surprised admiration. Then their attention was directed to the clerk, who had brought out three dresses.

  “That’s the one,” Silver said immediately.

  “Exactly,” Evelyn agreed.

  “Hadn’t I better try it on?” Ann asked.

  “I suppose so,” Silver said, arching her invented eyebrow.

  Ann, in the dressing room, had an almost overpowering desire to scream. It was an hilarity that came from a need to do something with the tense energy the afternoon had created in her. She felt reckless and uncertain. The dress, paler in color than she had imagined, was like smoke or moonlight, and, though the folds of material were decorous, only softly suggestive, the effect was of something transitory that at any moment might simply be cast aside. It was a magnificent whim. To model it properly she should step out in it and then step out of it in one free, exalting gesture. Only her conventional underwear really prevented her. How sad it was that madness was so frail and easily inhibited. She walked out, wistful, to Silver and Evelyn.

  “My God!” Silver said softly.

  “I think it suits your daughter, don’t you?” the clerk said to Evelyn.

  “She’s not my daughter,” Evelyn said, her eyes on Ann, her quiet voice so final that the clerk could not even apologize. “It becomes you.”

  “You’re almost unbelievable, little fish. It’s a good thing I’m not worried about competition,” Silver said. Then she turned to the clerk. “How much is it?”

  “A hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “I’ll write a check.”

  “Sil …” Ann began, sobered by the price.

  “It’s worth twice that. Don’t argue.”

  “But it’s …”

  “Hush. Go take it off carefully before it disappears all by itself.”

  Ann stood, reluctant to let Silver win the argument. She could buy it herself if Silver wanted her to wear it to the wedding. To let Silver buy i
t made Ann really uncomfortable. She looked over at Evelyn, but Evelyn would not help her. She had obviously withdrawn from this moment of the afternoon because it had nothing to do with her. Ann went back into the dressing room, the secret hilarity gone, the dress nothing more to her now than an embarrassment; but, if she was going to let Silver buy it, she must be glad of it. She did not want to ruin Silver’s pleasure. Ann had never been so aware of considering Silver before. The self-consciousness of it troubled her because her very concern seemed a kind of criticism of Silver which she was refusing to acknowledge. Was it Evelyn’s criticism, or was it her own? Ann rejoined her two friends, determined to be pleased.

  She did not, therefore, complain when Silver suggested that they should go to the top of the Mapes for an early dinner. Ann did not like the place. It irritated her to have to thread her way through gaming tables to get to the bar or the dining room. And the noise of the three or four machines being played got on her nerves. Away from the Club, she did not want to have to put up with it. Silver had thought Evelyn should see the view, but the desert and the mountains were as unreal as a picture postcard from here, and the town looked cluttered and dusty and embarrassed about itself. Ann struggled to hide the impatience she felt with the world Silver wanted to show Evelyn.

  “Why don’t you come down to the Club with us after dinner?” Silver suggested.

  “Not tonight, Sil!” Ann protested at last

  “Tonight’s the best night. You haven’t seen Frank’s Club until you’ve seen it on a Saturday night.”

  “I should get back,” Evelyn said. “I’ve taken off enough time today. I’ll come down some other night.”

  “You should have been there last night,” Silver said.

  Ann got up from the table and excused herself. She went into the ladies’ room, washed her face with cold water and ran cold water on her wrists. She did not want to be reminded of last night. She was suddenly terribly tired, and the thought of going back to work depressed her. She did not even want to go back to the table. The gaiety had worn off, like champagne in the middle of the day. She felt stale and strained and a little unreal.

  “Are you all right, Ann?”

  “Yes, I’m all right,” Ann said, startled by Evelyn’s appearance in the room.

  “You look tired.”

  “I am a little, just for the moment.”

  “I’m sorry you have to work tonight.”

  “Well …” Ann said vaguely. “Oh, I wanted to give you the keys to my car. Would you drive it home for me?”

  “Sure, but how will you …?” Evelyn did not finish her question, obviously regretting it.

  Ann wanted to say that she would come home, but the very power of her desire prevented her. She dreaded another night with Silver and was angry with that dread. She felt her silence turn Evelyn away. “I’m afraid, Evelyn,” Ann wanted to say, and “Take me. Somehow make me come home,” and “I don’t know what to do, Evelyn,” and “I’ve got to go home with Silver.” But she said nothing, and they went back to the table in silence. Silver had already paid the bill and was anxious to leave. Giving Evelyn Ann’s dress to take home, they parted company with her at the alley.

  “It’s a beautiful dress, Sil,” Ann said, as they walked up the alley together.

  “I wonder why I’ve never bought you anything before,” Silver said. “I used to like to dress my women as well as undress them. I guess I’ve lost the knack since Joe.”

  They were silent.

  “You don’t really want to come back with me tonight, do you?”

  “I do, sure. I’m just tired.”

  “I wish I could decide which one of you to be jealous of.”

  “Jealous?” Ann asked, genuinely surprised, for, though she had felt on this afternoon somehow unfaithful to Silver, her infidelity had been to Silver’s person, not to the relationship between them. “You aren’t really.”

  Silver turned and looked down at Ann with tired impatience. “I sometimes don’t understand how a person with brains like yours can be so stupid about people.”

  “But why should you be jealous? You never have been. What about Joe?”

  “What about him?” Silver demanded, stopping and turning on Ann, but she broke her pose of rage almost before she had taken it up. “Little fish,” she said quietly. “Little fish, I’ve bought you a wedding dress, the only present I ever gave you. Pewter.” Her voice went wry. “The color of your eyes.”

  “Sil, don’t!” Ann said, astonished.

  “No, I won’t.” They had reached the employees’ entrance. “I’ll meet you here tonight and give you a lift to your place.”

  “I don’t want a lift to my place,” Ann protested angrily.

  Silver smiled, recovering something of the self-assurance Ann so loved in her. “I know you don’t, love. I know you don’t. But I’m giving it to you anyway. We can’t argue with the game warden.”

  “I don’t want to go home, Sil!” Ann said, her voice an urgent, tight-throated whisper so that she would not be overheard by other employees passing by them.

  “You two taken to the streets?” Joyce asked, coming up behind them. “I didn’t recognize you for a minute.”

  “We’d better change,” Silver said. “We’re late.”

  Ann pulled off her cotton dress and slip, kicked off her shoes, and stood in her bra and pants taking off her jewelry.

  “Not bad,” Joyce said, standing by her, adjusting the cord on her hat.

  “I didn’t know you were interested,” Ann answered lightly.

  “I’m not,” Joyce said. “Just curious.”

  Ann turned quickly to the locker and took out her shirt.

  “Ann, I’m just kidding around.”

  Ann did not trust her voice to answer. She buttoned her shirt roughly and reached for her trousers.

  “Then you do mind,” Joyce said.

  Ann could not distinguish between concern and malice. “Get off my back,” she said tightly. “And stay off.”

  When she turned around, Joyce had gone. Ann took her hat and apron and hurried up the stairs. She was late, and the crowd that confronted her when she pushed open the door would neither take her in nor let her through. She hesitated for a moment in the deadly cold air, in the brain-splitting noise. Then she stepped into that wall of human flesh, using her elbows and the heels of her boots to cut a way through.

  At three thirty, when she walked out of the door, she had no idea how the hours had passed. Only her legs and back told her that she had stood and carried the weight for the allotted time. Silver was waiting.

  “Lose anything tonight?” she asked, amiably.

  “Nothing but my mind,” Ann said.

  “I had a rare time,” Silver said. “A slightly stoned man of God was preaching to the dollar machines, ‘Man can’t live by bread alone.’ I should think he’ll be glad to know it tomorrow morning unless he’s on the American plan. And this other guy, a real philosopher type …”

  Silver talked their way to the car, talked their way to Ann’s house. When she stopped the car, she was still talking.

  “Oh, shut up, Sil,” Ann said, taking hold of the lapels of Silver’s shirt and offering her mouth as an interruption to the endless story.

  “Have a good time, little fish,” Silver said gently. “I’ll see you in church.”

  Ann got out of the car, and Silver pulled away quickly and noisily like a high-school kid. The light in Evelyn’s bedroom went on. Ann looked up at it, resentful and glad.

  “Lady of the City, Mother,” she said softly as she walked up to the house, “Game Warden, Lover. Rich Ann, Poor Ann, Beggar Ann, Thief. ‘Take. Eat,’ said the serpent.” And then she sang, “You’re the apple of my eye.” But, as she closed the front door behind her, she knew she had hopscotched to the final square. “The game’s up,” she said in her sheriff’s voice, but it really was. “I didn’t hear you, Mother, until the fourth time you called. And now I’m on the first step. And now I’m on the secon
d step … Evelyn?”

  Evelyn opened the door and took Ann into her arms.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” she said quietly.

  “I want a bath,” Ann said, “and a drink.”

  It was a long bath, in which Ann entertained herself with phrases of songs, punch lines of bad jokes, and a muted Sunday rhetoric that ranged from bits of Plato to a good imitation of Billy Graham. The rehearsal over, she was ready to entertain Evelyn. She drank two large Scotches to accompany herself and tried not to notice whether Evelyn was amused or not. Then she got up and stretched herself out on the bed next to Evelyn. She closed her eyes and heard, echoing in the painful, empty vault of her skull, her mother’s voice, hard and clear, “Don’t. It’s not worth the money.” What in hell did that mean? She was asleep.

  When she woke, Evelyn was up and dressed, reading at her desk.

  “Frances!” Ann said.

  “Good morning, my darling. It’s all right. I told her you’d had a couple of drinks with me and fallen asleep.” Evelyn got up and walked over to the bed. “Which is quite true.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Very well. And so did you, except for one or two initial nightmares.”

  “That must have been pleasant for you.”

  “It was. You’re lovely asleep.”

  “But awake …?”

  “Shy and full of conversation. Interesting conversation though.”

  “You say so little.”

  “You don’t give me a chance. The minute you stop talking, you’re asleep.”

  “Talk to me now,” Ann said.

  “And I’m not sure that what you say isn’t often misleading.” Evelyn held Ann’s face in her hands gently. “Do you always tell such long, irrelevant stories?”

  “Probably.”

  “There’s only one solution then. I must have you like this, and, while you’re telling and telling, I can find my own ways about you. But perhaps your body can mislead me, too, take sudden turnings I only clumsily follow. …”

  “I want you.”

  “In a while, my darling. In a while. You mustn’t be impatient. You’re hardly awake.”

  Ann turned, the longing of her body straining against the last reluctance of her mind, and she felt Evelyn’s tentative, almost casual beginning gradually give way to an authority of love. Ann was held urgently, brought into being, then restrained, caught again, held, until she wanted nothing ungiven, until she wanted nothing, until she came to wonder, not asking any longer, but naming, “Evelyn.”