"And?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Astra."
The fantasy of a father, an impeccable appraiser, a cocktail-cool and lethal man with a shapely hand at the small of her back, guiding her through a clamor that seems to lean toward them, toward this man, this pretty father, whose concern is for her — and she? Car is not so demurely dressed as to be expected; the back of her dress is low, and her back, her shoulders, the stem of her neck, the upswept hair, and ears, visible and smally inviting, invite touch, touch, touch, touch, touch. Car, on her knees, put her head in Astra's lap and let the sick girl pet her weeping friend; Astra finger-combed Car's hair out of her face and around the small ear, and thus they sat in Astra's room in a month reduced to dusks. March, nearing spring now and spring vacation, and the enormous old window in Astra's room waggled in the high wind, and the easterly dark was not so complete as to obscure the bombast of the air-conditioning system on the rooftop play yard of the neighboring boys' school. "God," Car said, lifting her head to see how the school's addition had obscured Astra's distant view of the river. "When did they do that?"
"That," Astra said, "was finished just before school started last fall."
"When do the little boys come out to play?"
Mothers
The fat envelope that arrived just before spring break was from Siddons and not, as Theta Kovack had hoped, from the University of Wisconsin. The fat envelope was an invitation to the School Spring Auction and included a list of live and silent auction items and raffle tickets. Top of the live auction list was this: "A fabulous stay for five nights in a beautiful four-bedroom/five-bath private retreat on the island of Kauai, Princeville, Hawaii. The property includes a swimming pool, a staff of seven, and a cook." Next came a walk-on role in a Woody Allen movie, a sleepover for twelve at the American Museum of Natural History, a VIP table at the Hampton Classic Horse Show, a weekend getaway by private jet to Palm Beach and the Breakers, and a day of sailing on a forty-foot Dufour sailing yacht with captain. How tempting to sail away, and there were families that could do just that and did just that, and, to be fair, these same cheerful rich or many of the same also spent their Saturdays at the Family Service Morning, where students and parents could jostle in a good-cause direction: roll pocket change; bead a bracelet for a sick child; decorate and fill a toiletry kit for Women in Need. Time was Theta thought of herself as a woman in need, but Dr. Bickman had hired college consultants for her. (Theta, how many years have we been together? I know Kal. His kids are going to need braces soon) And Kal had come to the apartment and explained the forms: All Theta had to do was… and Kal would ink in the final forms, and college was affordable wherever Marlene went. Once or twice, Theta had considered calling Bob… but why? Why bother was always where she settled late at night when she could almost see the green that was the wider world of college. To think Marlene was about to embark on what she, Theta, had not quite finished. Dentist's receptionist was a good job but not what she dreamed of for Marlene, for Marlene… oh something. What we hope for our students is that each will find her passion. But friends, one can be passionate about friends; some have a passionate need of them. Not so long ago, whenever it was Astra Dell left the hospital, Marlene had said, "I can't visit Astra at her home. I never went there when she was well; why would I go there now?"
"Those in need can give others purpose" was what Theta had said at the time.
Marlene looked at her as if she had farted, and the girl's expression scared Theta a little for being familiar, and for a few days Theta stayed later at work, didn't want to come home at all. Then Astra called to ask Marlene why hadn't she visited?
Siddons
"'Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.'" Kitty did a little dance in the lounge. "Tennessee Williams at last! Families in Distress!" She twirled and fell back onto the sofa. "Now blindness will only be a metaphor."
Astra showed Marlene the mock-up of her senior page and the picture of Marlene that she had found to use — Washington trip, eighth grade, braces. Marlene said, "This makes me want to cry."
"Oh, Kovack!" Astra said.
Marlene said, "I've wanted this," by which she meant her place on Astra's page, there with Miss Hodd and Dr. D, Kitty and Edie, Suki and Alex and Car. Car, Car, Car, the two Elizabeths, Ufia, Ny and Sarah, Mr. Weeks and Miss Mazur. The minister from All Souls, summer cousins in Virginia, her favorite nurse at Sloan-Kettering, Teddy — the little boy with leukemia she loved — Dr. Byron, her horse Lady, Pitiful the cat, and Rye, her mother's dachshund. Grace Dell again and again, Mr. Dell and Mr. Dell. The dog was just a nose.
Astra's quotation was from Emily Dickinson: "'Hope' is the thing with feathers."
Fools
CHF
The front and back covers of Folio were black-and-white photographs. The first Car had taken and was of a boy, a slender boy from the waist up, white distance for a landscape. He is not wearing a shirt; his back is to the camera. He is a long-waisted, long boy, long enough to be fifteen, sixteen; cocksure and surely smiling, he clasps his hands behind his back. From youth to old age is the obvious arc of the magazine; an old man reclines on a bed in the photograph on the back. The old man is Alex Decrow's famous grandfather. He looks like Picasso in a lumberjack shirt.
Elsewhere in the magazine were photographs Alex had taken of the old man's house on an island in Maine: an old door ajar, an assuring band of light; light across a ladder-back chair; lace curtains lifted in a window full of light: a clean, hard place. Car, at the literary festival assembly, talked about the photographs in the magazine. She quoted Mark Rothko, who said light was "indeed a wonderful instrument," then, as was custom, she gave the first copy of Folio to the head of school, Miss Brigham.
Siddons
"I'm sorry," Lisa Van de Ven said, and Miss Wilkes held out a box of Kleenex.
"I'm glad to talk to you after all this time," Miss Wilkes said. "And I'm sorry, too, but it's not as if Brown's said no. People get off wait lists."
"It's a courtesy."
"You don't know that."
"I do. They took Suki Morton — of course. And Elizabeth F. They never take more than two from our school."
"The competition was stiff."
"I'm smarter than Suki Morton any day," then, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay; it's a disappointment."
The girl's hand was white from playing with a piece of chalk, and she put the chalk down, set it carefully on the edge of Miss Wilkes's table, then turned away to slap her hands over the art room's industrial-size trash can. "I'm sending a check to Wash U," Lisa said. "It's farthest away from my mother." When Lisa turned back to face Miss Wilkes, she saw the chalk smears on her breasts made in the move to clean off her hands. "I'm a mess," Lisa said, and she beat away the dust.
Nothing had changed in Edie Cohen's house. "I'll never be as smart as my brother" was what she said to Kitty Johnson over the phone. "I couldn't even get into my dad's school."
Kitty said, "You have your own talents."
"Really? Like what? And nice doesn't count."