“What about your coat?” Susan said. “Did you leave it somewhere?”
Milt muttered, “It’s in the car.”
“You must have got cold wandering around outside without it.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t get cold.”
Susan said, “You mean you didn’t feel cold.”
“Have it your way,” Milt said. “Hello little girl,” he said, looking past them toward the hall. “Come on in.”
Turning, Bruce saw that Taffy, in her red-striped pajamas, had come out of her room and was standing at the door of the living room, staring at them all.
“Doesn’t she talk?” Milt said.
Susan said, “She woke up and heard your voice. She probably thought it was Walt.” To the child, Susan said, “You run along back to bed. I’ll go tuck you in. It’s not Walt. You can see it isn’t.”
Milt said, “My name is Milton Lumky and I’m a pipefitter from Philadelphia, P.A.” He held out his hand. “Come over here and sit, instead of standing there.”
Walking cautiously toward him, Taffy said, “Why is your face so red?”
“I don’t know,” Milt said, as if it was a riddle. “Why is my face so red?”
Taffy giggled. “I asked you first.”
He reached down and lifted her up on the couch. “What was the idea of saying you had chicken pox that night in November 1956 when I wanted to have a big dinner and go dancing?”
Giggling, Taffy said, “I don’t know.”
To Bruce, Milt said, “Did you ever know a child who wasn’t a liar? How old are you?” he asked Taffy.
“Seven and a half,” she said.
“You see?” Milt said to Bruce.
“She is,” Susan said. “Seven and a half.”
“Here,” Milt said to Taffy. “I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and hauled out a cylindrical metal object. “Combination bottle opener and ball point pen,” he said. The thing, made out of tin and plastic, had stamped on it COMPLIMENTS OF WHALEN INC. SPOKANE WASH. “For writing on the inside of bottles,” Milt said, showing her how to scratch blue lines on the back of her hand. “Can’t be erased. Good for the rest of your life. I’ll tattoo you.” He drew a sailing boat on her wrist, with gulls flapping over it. Taffy giggled incessantly, embarrassed.
“What would she do with a bottle opener?” Susan said.
“She could pull off the heads of dolls,” Milt said.
Seeing him and the child, Bruce realized that he had never considered her in his relationship with Susan. He and Taffy had no contact, and neither of them expected any to develop. But Taffy had gone directly to Milt Lumky, full of curiosity and friendliness.
It occurred to him, then, that he had never had any contact with children. And certainly he had no experience; he did not know what to do or say, so he did and said nothing.
Susan would want someone who likes children, he thought. Or would she? She had made no attempt to stir up his interest in Taffy. Maybe she did not care. Maybe she intended to be everything herself, fill all roles. If Taffy became dependent on him, then it would be difficult for her if he left as Walt and Pete—and perhaps others—had left.
That isn’t what I’m wanted for, he realized. To jiggle Taffy on my lap and tell stories and play games. And, for the first time, he had a deep sinking sensation. Susan had absolutely no idea of an equal relationship. The complete inequality of it confronted him in a sort of revelation, full and undeniable.
But how could he complain? He had made no move to approach the child. No use blaming Susan; he had shown her that he did not notice or care about Taffy. Too late now. But perhaps if he had—as Lumky was busy doing—he would have put an end to his relationship with Susan. He saw her expression as she watched Milt Lumky. There was no sweetness there. No pleasure at his interest in the child. Only a frigidity, a wariness. Almost an outright hostility, as if, at the first pretext, she would snap her fingers and demand Taffy back.
Now, on Taffy’s other wrist, Milt had begun to draw a woman’s torso. “This is the story of Gina Lollobrigida and the whale,” Milt said, sketching in enormous breasts. Taffy giggled witlessly. “Once upon a time Gina Lollobrigida was walking along the seacoast of sunny Italy when a gigantic whale appeared, tipped his hat, and said. ‘Lady, have you ever thought of going into show business? Let’s face it, with a figure like that you’re wasting your time.’ ”
“That’s enough,” Susan said.
Milt paused in his sketching. “I’m now drawing the magical sweater on her,” he said. “So it’s okay; don’t worry.”
“That’s enough,” she repeated.
“The magical sweater is important,” he said, but he stopped. “The rest of the story,” he said to Taffy, “has to do with the wholesale underwear industry and you wouldn’t be interested.” He released her arm, to her disappointment.
“She can keep the combination bottle opener and pen,” Susan said, in a tone that implied she had worked it out as a rational compromise.
“Fine,” Milt said, handing the thing over to Taffy.
“What do you say?” Susan said.
Milt said, “I say it’s a hell of a cold mean world when you can’t do nice things for children.”
“I don’t mean you,” Susan said. “I mean, Taffy, what do you say when somebody gives you something?”
Spluttering and simpering, she managed to say, “Thank you.”
“ ‘Thank you, Uncle Lumky,’ ” Milt said.
“Thank you, Uncle Lumky,” she echoed, and then she leaped away and rushed from the room, back up the hall. Susan went with her, into her room, to tuck her into bed.
Milt and Bruce remained.
“That’s a pretty nice little girl,” Milt said in a subdued voice.
“Yes,” he said.
“Do you think she looks like Susan?”
Up to now he hadn’t thought about it. “Some,” he said.
“I never know what to tell kids and what not to tell them,” Milt said. “I made a vow once not to moralize with them, but maybe I’m leaning over backward in the other direction.”
“There’s no use asking me,” he said. “That’s one topic I know nothing about.”
“I like kids,” Milt said. “I always feel sorry for a kid. When you’re that small you can’t take on anybody. Except smaller kids. And that isn’t worth much.” He rubbed his chin and studied the living room, the furniture and books. “She has a decent place here. Come to think of it, I’ve never been here before. It’s comfortable.”
Bruce nodded.
Returning to the room, Susan said, “She asked me why your breath smelled so funny. I told her you had been eating exceptionally strange foods that we don’t serve.”
“Why did you tell her that?” Milt said.
“I didn’t want to tell her that it was beer.”
“It wasn’t beer. I haven’t been drinking beer. I haven’t been drinking anything.”
“I know you have,” Susan said. “I can tell by the way you acted when you first came in. And your face is so flushed.”
His face became more flushed. “I’m serious; I haven’t had anything to drink.” He arose to his feet. “It’s my high blood pressure. I have to take reserpine for it.” Reaching into his pocket he brought out a pill wrapped in tissue paper. “To keep my blood pressure down.”
They both were silent, wondering about him.
“Everybody’s so suspicious of everyone else in the world,” Milt said. “There’s no mutual trust anymore. And they call this a Christian civilization. Kids lie about their age, women accuse you of things you haven’t done.” He seemed genuinely angry.