CHAPTER 4

Carolyn left the house at four-thirty and hurried down the street to her car. Minutes later she turned left on Eighty Sixth Street and sped toward Central Park.

She felt sorry now that she had accepted her mother's invitation to come to dinner and bring Walter. But her parents were lonely and old and she would not disappoint them, not even for Angie. Yet this time she felt sorry, for she wanted to be with the girl.

She had tried all day to talk to Angie, to tell her they were through playing games. And all day Angie had managed to evade her. Carolyn understood that she could no longer trust the girl to be faithful. But she could not even pretend that she didn't care. Her heart sickened with the thought of Angie and Jimmy together. Alone, maybe even in her own bed.

Annoyed, she jammed her foot down hard on the accelerator. The little car shot around the corner. She saw Walter toss a cigarette away and start down the steps. He wore the blue suit she liked and a crisp white shirt. His sunburned forehead glistened.

Carolyn had never considered Walter exciting, he was just her closest friend. The building he lived in was a sort of cherished antique, a townhouse, well-worn but still solidly intact among its renovated neighbors. Something honest and substantial about the old building always comforted Carolyn and, watching him come toward her, she thought how right it was that Walter should live here.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said before he'd opened the door.

He smiled a greeting and slid in beside her. "I just came downstairs," he said. "I called and got no answer, so I figured you were on the way." He pushed the seat back as far as it would go.

He had a gentle, easy way of speaking that Carolyn usually found good for her nerves. Now she heard only the words. They made her furious and worried, but she said nothing. As soon as he shut the door, the Renault shot forward. She raced across Seventy Ninth Street and onto the center lane of the East River Drive. A Thunderbird blared at her and roared past. She swerved to the right side of the road.

Walter looked at her quizzically and put one hand up to brace himself against the dashboard. "I got those ballet tickets," he said casually. "Two weeks from Thursday." His tone demanded no answer but he waited expectantly.

She nodded thanks but kept her gaze on the road. She could think of nothing to say. Not even to Walter. He wasn't trying to pry. She knew that he sensed her tension and wanted only to help if he could. But she didn't feel like talking about Angie. She didn't even want to think about Angie any more. And for some reason, for the first time in all the years she had known him, it annoyed her that Walter realized she needed help.

She heard him take out a fresh pack of cigarettes and peel back the cellophane.

He lit two and handed one to Carolyn. She nodded her thanks.

Walter sat back against the seat and smoked in silence. She felt him watching her and she grew more nervous. He had never disapproved of her relationship with Angie so long as she was happy. But he had told her quite bluntly what he thought of the girl. And now she could not bear to hear him say: I told you so.

They roared through the Battery Tunnel into Brooklyn. The crowded Parkway glinted with fugitives from the Manhattan heat dashing out to the Island for sea food and a breath of fresh air. They brought the oppressive heat of the city with them and even along the Narrows there was no breeze, only the smell of salt and tar and fish.

Walter poked his head out the window and inhaled deeply. "Smell that air!" he said happily. "Say, do you realize I've been trying to get you to the beach since May?"

She glanced at him quickly but he kept his attention on the water.

"Maybe next weekend," he said. "We could pack a lunch."

She smiled. He was trying so hard. "Maybe," she said. "But I can't promise. Weekends are usually pretty busy. You know how it is."

He looked at her squarely now and there were deep lines of concern around his eyes. "Yes, I know how it is," he agreed. He frowned and shook his head. "But I'm not so sure you do."

"What?"

"Angievitis," he said.

"Walter—" she started, a warning in her voice.

"Look," he said calmly, "I've known you for a long time, Carolyn. Don't try to tell me there's nothing wrong when I know that you're miserable."

"I didn't try to tell you anything. I just don't want to talk about it, Walter. Leave me be."

He shrugged. "It's none of my business, after all, is it?" He paused, then went on. "But when you feel like talking, Carolyn, you'll know where to find me."

His quiet way of always winning a point infuriated her suddenly. How the hell could he be so sure of himself and always be right?

"Damn it, Walter, leave me alone," she muttered. "I don't need help from you or anybody else. I got myself into this and I'll get myself out."

He held up his hands to ward her off. "Okay, okay," he said. "I didn't mean any harm."

She felt her cheeks flush warmly. She always hated to argue with Walter. She rarely did. There was something about the two of them together that made disagreements ridiculous. She remembered the afternoon they met, in the library at school, back in the stacks. She had been thumbing through a copy of Moby Dick. He had taken the book out of her hand, led her outside under the trees and spent three hours convincing her that reading fiction was a waste of time. He had given her a long list of books on everything from the sayings of Buddha to the raising of bees and lent her underlined, annotated copies to read.

It had always been like that, until Angie came along. Angie didn't have the patience for books. Or for Walter. And the hours Carolyn spent with him now were not hours of quiet discussion. They were fraught with nervousness, with his disgust for Angie and Carolyn's guilt at having left the girl alone. Still, her friendship with Walter was the one thing she would not let the girl destroy.

At Ocean Avenue they turned off the parkway and back onto city streets. She had always hated the neighborhood where her parents lived. It was noisy and dirty and poor, without color and without pride.

The Webers lived in a third floor walk-up above a bakery and a tailor shop and the bakery sent them cockroaches and the tailor sent them steam. Yet she had never heard either of them complain. It was not their way. She did not know what miracle had left her parents uncontaminated by the air of defeat that permeated the rest of the neighborhood, but she thanked God that it was so. The happiness they shared had even tided them over the blow of having their only child move away from home. They did not understand her need for independence, but they accepted it without question because it was what she wanted.

She parked the Renault in front of the house and Walter followed her into the bakery where she bought a dozen rolls. Every week she brought a little something. It was the most they would let her do.

Upstairs, the two of them let themselves into the apartment which was fragrant with the aroma of good food that hung always in the air. Together they yelled "hi" to Mom as she came out to meet them. Walter had called her Mom the first time they met and Mom had taken him to her heart. It was a good thing for both of them, for his parents were dead and she had no son. She had never quit hoping that Carolyn might marry Walter. Neither had Pop.

Carolyn leaned in at the livingroom doorway and waved to the old man. He had the checkerboard already set up between his knees.

Walter grinned at Carolyn and went on into the room to join Pop.

In the kitchen her mother took the package of rolls and gave Carolyn a hug in exchange. Then she stepped back and narrowed her eyes to peer closely at her daughter. "Something's wrong, Carolyn?" she said. "I never saw you look so tired."

Carolyn shook her head. "Nothing's wrong, Mom. I've been working hard, that's all." She knew that her mother had no conception of the mysteries of bio-chemistry and that to her, at least, even thinking about such things must be hard work. She smiled but Mom did not smile in return.

"Uh huh," Mom said. "Your Angie called. She sounds lousy. She's been working hard, too?"

Carolyn's breath stuck in her throat. It was peculiar, the way Mom said "your Angie." She had no idea of the relationship between them, but she understood well enough that Angie had caused the worry and unhappiness in her daughter's face. There was an edge of annoyance in Mrs. Weber's voice that Carolyn had rarely heard before.

"What did she want?" Carolyn asked.

Her mother lifted her shoulders and held out her hands. "Just to talk. You two had trouble?"

Carolyn shook her head. "Not really," she said. "Just… a misunderstanding."

"Maybe it's not so good, Carolyn, that you should be friends with this Angie?" Mrs. Weber said tentatively. "A girl like that, so young and so far from her parents. Girls like that get into trouble."

Carolyn sighed. "Did she say I should call back?"

"I forgot to ask her. So give it a try."

"Mom, you can't lie worth a darn," she said.

Mrs. Weber chuckled, then worriedly watched her daughter go to the phone and dial.

The phone rang and rang. Carolyn knew it was useless. She went back into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair beside the table.

Mrs. Weber stood at the stove, rotating a big spoon in a pot of chicken soup. She tasted, poured in a palmful of salt and stirred some more.

Carolyn had the feeling there was something Mom hadn't told her. She wanted to seem casual, to wait until the woman got around to whatever it was. But she was too nervous, too worried about Angie.

Finally she blurted, "Well, what did she say?" Her mother knocked the spoon against the rim of the pot, then laid it in the sink. Thoughtfully, she wiped her fingertips on the skirt of her apron. "Well, she said she was visiting her cousin in Queens and she’ll be home very late." She avoided meeting her daughter's eyes. "Maybe not till tomorrow."

"Oh," Carolyn said. She was not at all surprised, but she felt nauseous nevertheless.

Mrs. Weber looked at her daughter cautiously. "She's got a cousin in Queens, Carolyn?"

"Of course she's got a cousin in Queens," Carolyn snapped. "Who hasn't?"

Mom tilted her head to one side and examined her daughter as though she had not really looked at her for a long time. She shook her head sadly. "It's not like you to shout, Carolyn."

Carolyn flushed guiltily and reached out quickly to clasp her mother's hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that—"

She shrugged, not knowing how to explain to her mother about the girl.

"Uh huh," Mom muttered. "Whatever it is, it's no good, that's what I think. You know I don't try to tell you what to do anymore, you're too old for that. But I’ll tell you this much," she waggled a finger at Carolyn, "I don't like the idea of you living with that girl. You never know what you might find in your apartment when you get home."

Carolyn frowned and turned away. She knew her parents didn't care for Angie, they had made that plain from the start. Yet she had not expected this attack from her mother. Besides, the timing was just all wrong. She couldn't even think of an answer.

Mom went on without waiting for one. "So, if you're smart, maybe you should get married already and forget this career girl business." She moved closer and lowered her voice. "Walter's a good boy," she said. "And he's waited a long time."

Carolyn heard the earnest pleading in her mother's voice and wanted to cry. What could she say to the woman, how could she tell her about Angie, about herself? She knew Angie was to blame for her mother's outburst. Angie and her stupid, obvious lie. Angie, the lonely and lost one, without parents or cousins in Queens.

"Oh, Mom!" she wailed. She threw herself into her mother's arms and buried her face against the woman's shoulder.

She did not cry but in her heart she cursed Angie for the humiliation and the shame.

The more she thought about Angie, the angrier Carolyn got. The anxiety, the fretting gave way to rage. For the moment, she forgot Angie's tactics, the scenes on the fire escape and the overdoses of pills. She forgot the tantrums, the threats and the tears. She even forgot that she loved her.

She busied herself with setting the table and carefully avoided further conversation with Mom. Mrs. Weber, happy in the knowledge that she had done her duty by her child, accepted Carolyn's silence as thoughtfulness and let her alone.

When Walter came in with Pop for supper, he took one look at Carolyn's face and promptly announced an early appointment in the city. Carolyn thanked him with a relieved smile.

The Webers did not waste time talking when there was food in front of them. Carolyn watched her father spoon soup into his mouth. He was a very long and lean old man, except for the mound at his waistline, and his white hair was still thick and wavy. She thought him the handsomest man she'd ever known and the nicest. His one weakness was a fondness for his wife's cooking. Tonight, his gleeful gluttony irritated her and she lost what little appetite she had.

Over coffee, Pop pumped Walter, as he always did, about the insurance business and how Walter was making out.

He liked to tell the story about the first time Walter had come to the house with Carolyn and how Walter had right off the bat sold him an insurance policy he couldn't afford and didn't really want. He respected Walter and considered him, he informed Carolyn at least once a week, a good catch for any girl.

Pop started to tell Carolyn the whole story for perhaps the hundredth time. She looked at her mother pleadingly.

"All right, Kurt," Mrs. Weber said. "That's enough."

Startled, the old man started to protest. "I was only tellin' Carolyn how—"

"She's heard it before," his wife said quietly.

Pop looked at Walter and shrugged. "Women!" he said. "I've been livin' with that one forty years and she still nags."

He poured himself and Walter a third cup of coffee. "But, anyhow, like I was sayin'…"

Carolyn dried the dishes for her mother, glancing every few seconds at her watch. Finally she put away the last cup and hung up the towel. She went to stand behind Pop's chair and sent Walter a signal with her eyes.

Walter stood up almost immediately and extended his hand to the old man. "We’ll have to keep the rest for next time, Pop."

Mrs. Weber put her fingers on Walter's arm and squeezed it. "Come next time, Walter, when you can stay awhile. I hardly saw you."

He bent to kiss her cheek.

"And you," Mom said to Carolyn. "You think about what I said. If you want to come stay home for awhile, don't be proud. Come." She spoke sternly but her eyes were soft with concern.

Carolyn promised that she would, kissed them both and ran down the stairs with Walter right behind her.

The drive back to Manhattan was an aggravation Carolyn could easily have done without. Cooler but still crowded, the day-at-the-beach traffic streamed back to town. By the time she reached the Battery it was after eight.

She had no idea what she would find at home or why she was in such a rush to get there. There were many possibilities but knowing Angie, she favored two: either she was supposed to find them in bed or expected to prevent them from reaching it. This time she didn't give a damn. Angie was going out on her ear. She'd pack Angie's bags and—

Walter brought her back to earth. She had stopped in front of his building and before he got out, he said, "Just one thing, Carolyn. If she tries another stunt like the sleeping pills, call the police. There's no reason why—"

"She won't," Carolyn assured him. "She's got a better gimmick this time."

He didn't look convinced. "Well, maybe. But a person who does things like that needs help. You can't take the responsibility for her."

"Oh, Walter," she said impatiently. "There's nothing wrong with Angie, you know that. She's just—"

"A spoiled brat?" he finished. "Yes, I know. Look, you told me months ago you only put up with all this because Angie needs you. Right?"

"Yes," she said. "She does. She's much better now than she was when I met her."

"Maybe, maybe not. The point is, Carolyn," his voice was very low, "do you need Angie?"

She wished she could laugh in his face and tell him that for once he was wrong. But she couldn't really. Not yet.