Compass Rose Page 7

  “Oh?” Elsie was surprised by this bit of spin on his serve but was pleased to bat it back. “Of course, that’s true of men in general.”

  “I don’t think so. But let’s not get into one of those men-in-general talks. The pipe …”

  “I’ll tell you a little bit about Miss Perry. We’ll get back to the pipe.” He stretched out his legs. So this wasn’t going to be one of her old daredevil encounters, nothing like her fantasy of wading across the Queens River, having him at her mercy.

  She told him school stories, about being Miss Perry’s prize student in Latin and natural history. A glimpse of herself as a tomboy. “My sister was the great beauty, so I took to the woods.” He raised his eyebrows but didn’t make a courtly objection. “I would have been just sullenly thrashing around, but Miss Perry took an interest. Just asked a question or two at first. Then asked me to take her to where I’d seen something extraordinary. The first thing was a lady’s slipper. On the way she pointed out other things. One time she slit open a little swelling on a twig and inside there was a nymph.”

  “Oh, sure, nymph. Like a maggot or a grub. Good bait for trout.”

  “So you’re a trout fisherman.”

  “When I was a kid, Grandpère used to take me. Now it’s rare.” The rs in grandpère were trilled French-Canadian rather than lightly gargled French-French.

  “Did you grow up speaking French?”

  “Some. My father’s family’s from Trois Rivières. They speak Quebecois. You hear it about half the time in Woonsocket—au coin. When the governor gives a speech up there in our corner, I do the introduction in French and English.”

  She said, “So what are you doing here? This little job …”

  “I’m a lawyer. And I owe Jack. He tell you I worked for him? I’m not the kind of guy Jack usually hires for his firm. I didn’t make partner, but I learned a lot in five years. Now I run my own shop—an office in Woonsocket and one in Providence. Run-of-the-mill cases, but I’m seeing more people.”

  “So, being a governor’s aide—how does that fit in?”

  “I’m not ruling out doing something in politics.”

  “ ‘I’m not ruling out’—that usually means someone’s dead set on it. I hope you don’t imagine Miss Perry’s a moneybags who’ll bankroll your campaign.”

  He smiled. “You look a lot like your sister, but you talk a whole lot different.”

  Elsie felt both flattered and stopped. He sat there smiling pleasantly. She wondered if he was really so at ease. She wasn’t used to being the one who wondered. She wondered if he was at ease because there she was in her uniform, a state employee, and he was a big cheese. She said, “So, if you get stopped for speeding, you let the cop know you work for the governor? Is there some little something on your license plate?” She held up her hand and said, “Never mind. I don’t know why …” She gave up the idea of playing her little trump card—trout, fire, wine. She felt her edge grow dull. She’d relied on that edge for years. When she was at Sally and Jack’s she was the daring gadfly. In the woods she had her badge. And although she’d worked at being just-folks, one of the guys, she had to admit she’d never quite given up the privileges of class. She’d denounced them when she saw them in someone else, most usually in Jack. She sometimes thought that her life had leached them out of her. She sometimes thought that the whole idea of class was fading, the radioactive emissions were weaker and weaker. Nothing like the Boston or Newport of a hundred or fifty years ago. But deep inside her, sometimes hidden even from herself, there was a trace. One of the chief privileges was the assurance of being the final judge of all other claims of worth—money, power, beauty, fame, intellect, or even good works. She’d used it—it wasn’t just her sassy talk or body that set men off. Her college English prof had imagined he was fucking Daisy Buchanan. The striving lawyers at Jack and Sally’s parties, not quite as literate, still sensed an allure of risk. When they were through she might turn on them, remind them that sex was pleasant enough but now that she was herself again she could see they weren’t quite the thing.

  And now—as if her bursting into tears in front of this bearish man was as physically intimate as fucking—she’d felt the old urge to put him in his place. And she’d started—“I hope you don’t imagine Miss Perry’s a moneybags …” The breezy way she mentioned money, the poke at his ambition from her position above ambition, the backward tilt of her head as if she’d finally bothered to pay attention. (One of the minor privileges—no one was really there—of course there were always people around, but no one was really there until you decided to notice.)

  She didn’t have it in her anymore. She hadn’t debated it, hadn’t examined her conscience. In fact, she’d been about to make another entrance in that role. Performance canceled.

  She hadn’t crossed the Queens River because she’d looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. With all her Exercycling and her fish-and-vegetables diet she was on better terms with her body—she didn’t mind that her feet were a half size bigger, her hip bones a bit wider, and of course her breasts bigger.

  He was staring into the fire. Without looking up he said, “No, it’s okay. I ask myself that. I’m as suspicious of my ambition as I am of anybody else’s. I won’t give you the speech about caring what happens to people. But is there a part that wants the applause? The deference? The special treatment?” He shrugged. “I can’t say there isn’t some of that. But so long as it stays in the corner … The part of myself I question more is curiosity. I applied to Jack’s firm out of curiosity. What would I see in there? What would I see from there?”

  “And what did you see?”

  “At first work was work. But after a while I saw they didn’t want to change much. They work hard, but it’s to keep things in order. They’re less corrupt than some of the state politicians because they aren’t desperate. Why should they be? They’re sailing along in a big ship. You know Jack. Half of what he says is like he’s the captain of a big ship.”

  “Why didn’t you make partner? Did Jack tell you?”

  “Yes. When I worked for one partner or another I was competent at research and writing briefs. The firm’s main income is from two sources—there are corporate clients like Ciba-Geigy or Electric Boat, and there are some rich families. I wasn’t good at attracting clients of either kind. In fact, one of the few clients I took on was some guy in an accident. The insurance company got him to sign a release for peanuts. There were more things wrong with him that they wouldn’t pay for. I won the case, on the grounds that the boilerplate form doesn’t represent an agreement between two parties in equal bargaining positions. The firm doesn’t represent that particular insurance company, so there wasn’t a conflict of interest, but the precedent has been a thorn in the paw for all the insurance companies, and some of them are clients of the firm. When I did it again I guess they thought ‘plaintiff’s attorney,’ the polite way of saying ambulance chaser. Of course, that’s a story that makes me a good guy. David beating Goliath. There were other times when I did an okay job when I should have done a very good job. I have no grievance. And when I was on my way out, Jack suggested to the governor that I could be useful.”

  “But Jack’s Republican. A right-wing Republican.”

  “Jack knows lots of people. A law firm can’t be attached to one party or the other. Jack’s views are no secret, but he manages to keep on speaking terms with whoever’s in. Sure, he can be … overemphatic.”

  “That’s delicate.”

  “Okay. He can put his foot in his mouth, but that’s when he’s on his own time. When he’s at work, he focuses. But there’s another thing. He likes to know what’s going on—not for work, just stories. He knows odd things about every corner of the state.”

  “That’s because he thinks it’s his.”

  He looked up. Out of amusement at first but then a slower satisfaction. She guessed he didn’t spend much time talking like this, certainly not a lot of time talking to women. He looked like someone su
rprised by a small pleasure, like a woman stroking the sleeve of a silk blouse.

  When he finished his coffee and gathered up the folders, she walked him to the door. As he put his overcoat on she had an impulse to touch his back. She resisted it—he had enough to think about. He shrugged to settle the collar, turned around, and said, “You’re okay, are you?”

  “Oh, yes. That was just … I’m fine.”

  “So I’ll be in touch.” He tipped his head at his briefcase. He put his hand in his overcoat pocket. She read the lift of his face.

  “Your pipe,” she said. “Maybe next time. I’m afraid I have to let you go now.”

  After he left she suddenly didn’t know what to make of it. Had she embarrassed herself? Or had she had the pleasure of pleasing? She’d certainly gone into female display—in fact, several variations of it. She puffed her cheeks and popped a breath out. Now all she was was tired.

  She slogged up her driveway, checked on Rose, paid Nancy Tran, and waited up for Mary, the comfort of telling Mary.

  When Elsie was done, Mary said, “Aw, go on. You’re awful hard on yourself. By tomorrow Miss Perry will be all apologies. And so what if you busted out crying in front of the lawyer?” Mary laughed. “Were you still sniffling when you said, ‘I’ve never cried in uniform’? I’ll bet that charmed the socks off him.”

  chapter fourteen

  Phoebe was now taking her lunch hour with May once or twice a week. May liked this arrangement, especially now that Phoebe worked her way through her own complaints more quickly and cheerfully. There was Eddie’s roughneck son, Walt, but the bright side was that Eddie was beginning to notice Walt’s erratic comings and goings. There was that awful rent increase, but Phoebe was making more money. “Eddie and I are really a very good team. You remember you asked me about that strange glow you’ve been seeing over at Sawtooth? It’s an inflatable cover for a lighted tennis court. Jack Aldrich put it up because the tennis players wanted it, but then he saw it at night and he said it looked like a giant sea slug. So he called Eddie, and Eddie and I went over there to meet with Jack and Mr. Salviatti.

  “Somehow it came up that Mr. Salviatti has relatives in Westerly, and I said, ‘Oh, where they make those beautiful statues.’ I happened to have seen an exhibit at RISD. I gushed about them. Especially the angel statues, and it turns out they were loaned by guess who. He invited me to come see them again—they’re in his garden. So that got us off on the right foot. And then Eddie was good with Jack. The problem with the inflatable thing is that it’s a great success. It’s booked every night. Now that it’s fall a lot of people can only play after work, and Jack doesn’t want to shut it down while we build something that’s not so ugly. He’s making an awful lot of money. As I well know, and I only play twice a week. Anyway, Eddie walked around the outside and said he could put up a building around it. Something that would look like a traditional barn. Mr. Salviatti thought that was fine. Jack, who had asked us to come, was the naysayer at first. He said a barn would get too hot during the summer and it would cost a fortune to air-condition. At least he could deflate the inflatable thing and have an extra outdoor court. Eddie said that the lights would bother the cottage owners. A barn would keep the light inside. As for the heat, we could put two ventilation towers on it, same as a barn. He said, ‘That way the sea breeze’ll suck the hot air right out the top. No sense in paying for something that nature’ll do for free.’ So then we went inside and there was Elsie Buttrick all by herself batting back balls—there’s this machine that shoots them out. Jack called out, ‘Ahoy, there, Elsie! Can’t find anyone to play with?’ She ignored him, hit another ball, but then the machine was out of balls so she came over, probably to say hello to Eddie; she’s very fond of Eddie. But Jack said, ‘I hear you and Johnny Bienvenue hit it off.’ As if we weren’t there or as if we don’t matter, as if Eddie and I don’t know … Then Jack said, ‘I knew you’d get along. Diamond in the rough. I’m thinking of making him a member. He said he doesn’t play tennis, so I gave him a three-month guest card, told him he should learn, get his game up to a weekend level. It’d be nice if you took him under your wing. Fun for both of you.’ Elsie looked very uncomfortable. My guess is that it wasn’t just from Jack’s bossing her around. I have a sixth sense, and I think she already has her eye on this fellow as a new beau. I thought that might ease your mind.”

  No. It didn’t ease her mind. No, she shouldn’t have told Phoebe if Phoebe was going to make it her business. And no to Elsie. Elsie should know to keep to herself, not go prancing around as if she was free as air, as if she could flit back to Sawtooth Point as if nothing had happened. Elsie was the mother of Dick’s daughter; that baby was Charlie and Tom’s sister. If there wasn’t a baby, she and Elsie could have been ghosts to each other, but there was no pretending away flesh and blood.

  “Oh, May,” Phoebe said. “I honestly thought … But okay. Let’s forget that part. The part that’s good is there Eddie and I were with two of the men who pretty much run things, and Eddie fit right in. I mean, he was himself but the best part of himself. He really does love to think of ways to fix things. At first I thought it just might be little things, but he turned to Mr. Salviatti and asked what was under the tennis court—all that about gravel and frost and soil compression. Just a friendly chat about what most people don’t stop to consider. I was really proud of Eddie. And when Jack said, ‘Can you get it done before winter?’ Eddie said, ‘Depends on two things. The weather’s one. The other’s what Phoebe can work out with her schedule. She’s the manager.’ After all the snubs I’ve had—and it’s not just Miss Perry; Jack Aldrich looks at my legs but can’t be bothered to remember my name—I felt validated.”

  Phoebe had distracted her for a moment. May was glad for Eddie, and she tried to hold on to that bit of cheer, but when Phoebe swung round at the end to toot her own horn, May went into the dark again. Elsie, Phoebe—they were like water, water running into everything, wherever there was a crack or a weak spot, they puddied up and then streamed on through. And then no again. If she felt helpless, it was her own fault. If she ducked away whenever she heard Elsie’s name, it was her own fault. No sense in blaming Phoebe for bringing the news about Elsie Buttrick. There might be no end to Elsie Buttrick, but there was no way of knowing about that unless she got out and took Elsie’s measure. Let Elsie know that she and her daughter didn’t live in some other world. Elsie might get herself up in her uniform, she might have the run of Miss Perry’s house, she might play tennis in that bubble at Sawtooth, but she got her daughter out of this family right here.

  May said, “That’s good for you and Eddie. You got your work cut out for you, though. There’s usually a good-sized gale about now.”

  “Oh, I know,” Phoebe said. “I love summer, I love winter. It’s fall that depresses me.”

  May kept from saying “You can’t pick and choose.” She herself liked fall, the hard November fall—the first bite of cold, the trees bare, the spartina in the salt marsh blown into a tangled cover for the part of life that was meant to winter over.

  chapter fifteen

  Elsie let Miss Peebles go, kept Sylvia Teixeira on for a couple of hours in the afternoon and Nancy Tran to spend the night. Miss Perry could now use the telephone and even the answering machine. She and Elsie took short walks around the garden and then longer ones up and down the driveway, Miss Perry’s arm in Elsie’s, “Bras dessous, bras dessus,” as Miss Perry suddenly remembered.

  Miss Perry was now quite fluent. If she got stuck on a word, she flowed around it. One day she asked, “Is there another … another sending our army to fight?”

  “War,” Elsie said. “No. Not now.”

  And then one day as they were walking, Miss Perry said, “Yes. Shall we go up to your house? I feel quite fit today.”

  “I’m afraid it’s a mess.”

  “We don’t have to go in.” Miss Perry stopped and freed Elsie. “I am sorry I called you a ragamuffin. These days I can’t say why I say s
ome things. Senseless. The parts of me that ought to keep silent make bubbles that burst. And the things I want to say all too often elude me.” Miss Perry took Elsie’s arm again and started up Elsie’s driveway. “What is odd at my age is to feel oneself as unaccountably changeable as an adolescent. I was reading a simple little poem from A Child’s Garden of Verses. ‘The Lamplighter’—‘O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!’—and I began to weep. I read those to Charlie and Tom Pierce when they were little. It may have been that. When I was a child we had an Irish maid of whom I was fond. Possibly that, too.” Miss Perry stopped to readjust her arm in Elsie’s. “On the other hand, some things strike me as funny in a new and peculiar way. At first my snappishness and weeping and laughing made me feel as if I was not myself. Now I suppose I am myself but that my boundaries have shifted, perhaps for the better, in the long run for the better. Though not intellectually.” Miss Perry’s shoulder moved. Elsie wasn’t sure if it was a sigh or a very soft laugh. “Quite the reverse. I fear this will be too grand a comparison, but I have been reconsidering the last days of Rome. The emperors are transient and weak, the senate fearful, the people dwindling. The Huns have come and gone, the walls have been breached and will be soon again. If one’s point of view remains Roman, it is indeed bleak. But there is a great deal going on in Pannonia, Gaul, Iberia, North Africa, even the British Isles. Amazing voyages of tribes, some admirable chieftains. Gibbon is helpful here in his way, but I imagine there is much more than marches and countermarches. Gibbon leaps from battle to battle, pausing only for a plague or a scandal at the Byzantine court. But there are decades and decades of unrecorded life, which I am now imagining as full of the enterprises of unlettered but resourceful people.”