She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling. Mirelle snickered at her sleepy thoughts, from Wordsworth to Shakespeare. Backward, oh time, in thy flight.
Unbidden the dream sequence started its remembered round to fall apart with the alarm clock and the morning's reluctance to begin a new day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ON SATURDAY, Mirelle and Steve did go together to the registration at the elementary school. Sylvia Esterhazy was very much in evidence and introduced the Martins to her husband, a tall extremely attractive leonine man, with the slightest trace of an accent.
Mirelle was disconcerted when George Frederic Esterhazy held onto her hand in a lingering fashion. Steve would notice such attentions and bring them up the next time he was consumed by jealousy. Esterhazy made her slightly nervous anyway, with the all-knowing scrutiny of rather penetrating cynical eyes. He reminded her of the actor George Saunders, not altogether a compliment to Esterhazy. Mirelle wondered what Sylvia had told him of her. Fortunately two women swept up to divert George Frederic and she took the opportunity to get on with the business of registration.
"Esterhazy seemed taken with you," Steve remarked when they were leaving the building.
"No more me than anything else in skirts in his vicinity," Mirelle replied with a scornful laugh.
"I guess you're right," was Steve's rejoinder as he noticed Esterhazy ingratiating himself to another female arrival.
The rest of Saturday passed in a similar state of truce. Sunday was placid and Mirelle didn't really have any sense of change in their routine until Monday evening when she realized that she'd be cooking full dinners every night. When Steve was on the road, she and the children generally made do with pancakes, scrambled eggs or hash, saving the big cuts of meat for the times when Daddy was home. These evenings, Steve would be home in time for a drink. The children did less fooling and more eating at the table and, as Steve was engrossed in his new responsibilities, the family dinners were downright enjoyable.
Steve made no overtures to Mirelle, for which she was thankful. She really did not wish to rebuff him openly. She had no warmth left toward him to dissemble. Only the habit of fifteen years of marriage sustained her.
On Thursday morning, she answered the phone to hear Sylvia's bright and challenging 'hello!'
"How did the registration go?"
"Ninety percent of all eligible voters," Sylvia was chortling with understandable pride. "I am assuming, of course, that the reluctant and un-American ten percent are all Republicans and we can do without them. Say, you made quite an impression on my husband."
"Nonsense."
"Not nonsense at all."
"He was doing the gallant with every… one." Mirelle nearly said everything in skirts.
"He breathes, too," Sylvia replied with a kind of sardonic undercurrent in her voice. "But he doesn't remember doing it. It's when he talks about a certain female hours later… I have never argued with his taste. However, that wasn't what I called to say. Would you join us for dinner at the Country Club tomorrow evening? And no wheezes about not belonging or not dancing. I have to go because G.F. is entertaining business associates, but I held out for a couple of my choosing to make the pills palatable. You and I can have our heads together all evening because people are accustomed to me behaving rudely or in other bizarre fashion. Part of my democracy."
"I'll have to ask Steve…"
"Don't ask him. Tell him. Oh, all right, then. Do the wifely and get permission of your lord and master, so long as the answer is 'yes'. "
"Let me call you back tomorrow."
"If you don't, I'll be over there."
Sylvia gave Mirelle her unlisted number. Surprisingly enough, Steve didn't hesitate a moment, remarking that they hadn't had any evenings out in a long while. It occurred to Mirelle that Steve would have agreed to anything she suggested right then: an advantage which she'd had rarely and wasn't certain she wanted. His compliance emphasized his remorse over Lucy. Perversely Mirelle wished he'd had to be persuaded against his will. However, Roman agreed to babysit if he could stay up as late as he wanted, watching TV. As Tonia was apt to fall asleep whenever she got sleepy, Roman didn't fuss when she said that she was going to stay up all night, too. Mirelle and Steve left the kids, eating hamburgers, eyes glued to the predictable pattern of a Western.
The Esterhazys were waiting for them in the gold and white open hallway of the new clubhouse.
"The McNeills and the Clarensons are being fashionably late," Sylvia said to Mirelle.
"Steve has a thing about being on time, a hangover from the Army," Mirelle said with a smile.
"Mine comes from difficult judges insisting on punctuality," Esterhazy said as he deftly relieved Mirelle of her coat. He and Steve moved off to the checkroom, leaving Sylvia with Mirelle.
"Oh, he is giving you the treatment," said Sylvia with a laugh. "Don't blush. He'll do much the same to Fritzie McNeill and Adele Clarenson but without the extra flourishes. Or is your husband the jealous type? G.F. takes getting used to."
"Oh, Steve fancies things," Mirelle replied, astonished to hear herself making such a casual admission. But then, perhaps Sylvia would kindly drop the word to G.F.
Sylvia snorted, glaring over her shoulder at Steve's broad back. "Then he should have married a plain woman instead of an exotic one. That shade of red is superb on you. How do you keep your figure? Oh gawd, here comes death and boredom," she said sotto voce, switching almost instantly to smooth cordiality as she greeted their other guests.
No sooner had the Clarensons been introduced around than the McNeills arrived and the party went in to the bar. Mirelle saw an imperceptible sign pass from G.F. to Sylvia who deftly herded the three women to one side, allowing the men to do a bit of pre-dinner business. Watching Sylvia as a hostess, Mirelle was a little awed. She would never have guessed that Sylvia privately held the women in good-natured contempt. She was graciousness personified: seemed to recall every detail of their domestic routine and recent tribulations. She listened with every appearance of concentrated attention. Only the slight glazing of her stare told Mirelle that neither Adele's latest servant trials nor Fritzie's dietary restrictions were registering. What, wondered Mirelle, was Sylvia's private opinion of Mary Ellen Martin then, vouchsafed at another time to other, more vivacious companions?
Two cocktails later, G.F. seemed to have concluded his business talk and the women were drawn into general conversation. They adjourned to the dining room to a reserved window table and G.F. began to carry on a flirtation with Adele who was taking it as no more than her due. Fritzie McNeill got herself seated between Bob Clarenson and Steve, across the table from her husband whom she watched even as she coyly chatted with her seat mates.
They aren't even subtle about it, Mirelle thought, more than a little disgusted. Sylvia, at least, was witty and funny but the general atmosphere depressed Mirelle, who was not at ease in social chitchat, and unable to act the coquette, the role in which she was generally cast at first encounter.
They were waiting for dessert and coffee when Mirelle noticed G.F. Esterhazy squinting at someone on the other side of the room. Steve also concentrated in that direction so noticeably that Fritzie turned around to see what they were staring at. She gave an exasperated snort.