Peter and Mel decided to stay home on New Year's Eve, and drink champagne by the fire, and Mark took Val and Jessie out to a couple of parties he'd been invited to. Mel was pleased that he had included Jessie as well, although she didn't look too thrilled to go and Val wasn't in top form yet. Mel suggested that they not stay out too late, and warned them to be careful driving, and then she went upstairs to check on Pam, who had a friend sleeping over. Matt was asleep in his bed with a noisemaker beside him. He wanted someone to wake him up a midnight so he could blow his horn, but Mel correctly assumed that there would be no one awake in the house by midnight to wake him up. She was half tempted to wait up for Mark and the twins but she and Peter were exhausted. And as he sat in bed reading some of his medical journals, Mel wandered around the house, trying to make herself feel as though it were her home now too, but it just didn't feel like it yet. And then she remembered, as she saw the photographs of Anne in the silver frames. She began gathering them up one by one, there was a grand total of twenty-three, and she put them all in a drawer in Peter's study, and as she crossed the living room with the last batch in her arms, she saw Pam standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting some pictures away.” There was a strange exchange of looks and Mel saw that Pam was rigid as she stood there.
“Of who?”
“Your mother.” Mel's voice didn't waver.
“Put them back!” Her voice was almost a snarl, and Mel saw that the friend who was sleeping overnight was standing just behind her.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, put them back. This is my mother's house, not yours.” If Mel didn't know her better she would have said she was drunk. But she wasn't. She was just extremely angry and upset, so much so that she was shaking where she stood.
“I think we can discuss this some other time, Pam. When we're alone.” Mel was determined not to lose her cool, but she found that she was shaking too.
“Give me those!” And then suddenly, Pam lunged at her, but Mel saw her coming and dropped the pictures into a chair and grabbed Pam's arms before she could do any damage. She held her fast and spoke to her in a stern voice.
“Go to your room. Right now!” It was nothing different than she would have said to the twins. But Pam ignored her and frantically picked up all the framed photographs Mel had dropped into a chair. And she stood glaring at Mel with her arms full.
“I hate you!”
“You're welcome to all the photographs you like. I put the rest in your father's study.”
Pam ignored her. “This is our house, ours, and my mother's, and don't you forget it!” Mel's palm itched to slap her, but it seemed unwise in the presence of her friend. Instead, she took a firm grip on Pam's shoulder and propelled her to the door.
“Go upstairs to your room right now, Pam. Or I'm going to call your friend's mother and ask her to pick her up. Is that clear?” Pam said not a word, she trundled upstairs with the photographs of her mother, and her embarrassed friend Joan trailing behind her, as Mel stayed long enough to turn off the lights downstairs and then went up to her bedroom, where Peter was still happily reading his journals. Mel stood staring at him for a long moment, aware that at least some of what Pam had said was true. It was their house. Mel hadn't even been allowed to put her furniture in it. And it still had Anne's mark on it everywhere.
Still trembling from her encounter with Pam, Mel stared at Peter as he looked up.” I want that portrait taken down tomorrow.”
“What portrait?” He looked at her as though she were crazy, and she almost looked it.
“The one of your late wife.” She spoke through clenched teeth and he was totally baffled. Maybe the champagne had gone to her head.
“Why?”
“Because this is my house now too, not hers. And I want it taken down. Immediately!” She was almost shouting at him.
“It's by a very famous artist.” He started to stiffen too. Her attitude seemed totally uncalled for and he knew nothing of the exchange with Pam.
“I don't give a shit who it's by. Get rid of it. Throw it out. Burn it. Give it away. Do whatever the hell you want with it, but get it out of my living room!” She was suddenly on the verge of tears as he stared at her in disbelief.
“What in hell is wrong with you, Mel?”
“What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? You move me into a house where not so much as a hat pin is mine, where everything belongs to you and your children and you've got photographs of your first wife all over the house, and I'm supposed to feel at home?”
He was beginning to understand, or so he thought, but she still sounded irrational. And why now? “Then put the photographs away if you want to. But you didn't object to them before.”
“I didn't live here before. But I do now.”
“Apparently.” He was getting annoyed.” I suppose you don't find the decor adequate for you?” There was suddenly a nasty tone in his voice.
“It's perfectly adequate, if you don't mind living in Versailles. Personally, I'd rather live in a house, a home, something a little warmer and on a slightly more human scale.”
“Like that dollhouse you had in New York, I suppose?”
“Precisely.” They stood across the room from each other as each one steamed.
“Fine. Then put the photographs away if you want. But the portrait stays.” He said it just to annoy her, because he didn't like the way she'd broached the subject at all, and Mel's mouth almost fell open.
“The hell it does.” And then, “It goes or I do.”
“Doesn't that sound ridiculous to you? You're behaving like a complete horse's ass, or weren't you aware of that?”
“And you're behaving like a total prick. You expect all the adjustments to be mine, and you don't change a thing, not even the photographs of your wife.”
“Then have some photographs taken of yourself and we'll put those around too.” He was being nasty now and he knew it, but he was tired of hearing her bitch about Anne's pictures. He had thought of putting them away once or twice himself, but the thought depressed him and he didn't want to upset the children. And he reminded her of that now.” I don't suppose you've thought of what reaction you'd get if you threw that portrait out.”
“Oh, yes, I already know that.” She advanced on him with a vicious look.” I was just putting the photographs in question in your study, and your daughter informed me that this is your house and not mine, or more exactly, her mother's.”
And suddenly Peter understood it all. He sat down with drooping shoulders and looked up at Mel. He could just imagine the scene with Pam, and that explained Mel's behavior to him. It hadn't made any sense before. He didn't think she was given to rages. “Did she say that, Mel?” His voice was kinder now, and his eyes were too.