cigarette hand and his eyes. His eyes followed her around the apartment; tensely, as if she were dangerous. “What’s wrong?” she asked a dozen times.
“Nothing,” he said. “Don’t you have your sculpture class today?”
“I haven’t gone in two months.”
“Why don’t you go?”
She went; tore away old plasticine, reset the armature, and began anew, doing a new model among new students. “Where’ve you been?” the instructor asked. He had eyeglasses and an Adam’s apple and made miniatures of her torso without watching his hands.
“In Zanzibar,” she said.
“Zanzibar is no more,” he said, smiling nervously. “It’s Tanzania.”
One afternoon she went down to Macy’s and Gimbels, and when she came home there were roses in the kitchen, roses in the living room, and Guy coming out of the bedroom with one rose and a forgive-me smile, like a reading he had once done for her of Chance Wayne in Sweet Bird.
“I’ve been a living turd,” he said. “It’s from sitting around hoping that Baumgart won’t regain his sight, which is what I’ve been doing, rat that I am.”
“That’s natural,” she said. “You’re bound to feel two ways about-“
“Listen,” he said, pushing the rose to her nose, “even if this thing falls through, even if I’m Charley Cresta Blanca for the rest of my days, I’m going to stop giving you the short end of the stick.”
“You haven’t-“
“Yes I have. I’ve been so busy tearing my hair out over my career that I haven’t given Thought One to yours. Let’s have a baby, okay? Let’s have three, one at a time.”
She looked at him.
“A baby,” he said. “You know. Goo, goo? Diapers? Waa, waa?”
“Do you mean it?” she asked.
“Sure I mean it,” he said. “I even figured out the right time to start. Next Monday and Tuesday. Red circles on the calendar, please.”
“You really mean it, Guy?” she asked, tears in her eyes.
“No, I’m kidding,” he said. “Sure I mean it. Look, Rosemary, for God’s sake don’t cry, all right? Please. It’s going to upset me very much if you cry, so stop right now, all right?”
“All right,” she said. “I won’t cry.”
“I really went rose-nutty, didn’t I?” he said, looking around brightly. “There’s a bunch in the bedroom too.”
Eight
She went to upper Broadway for swordfish steaks and across town to Lexington Avenue for cheeses; not because she couldn’t get swordfish steaks and cheeses right there in the neighborhood but simply because on that snappy bright-blue morning she wanted to be all over the city, walking briskly with her coat flying, drawing second glances for her prettiness, impressing tough clerks with the precision and know-how of her orders. It was Monday, October 4th, the day of Pope Paul’s visit to the city, and the sharing of the event made people more open and communicative than they ordinarily were; How nice it is, Rosemary thought, that the whole city is happy on a day when I’m so happy.
She followed the Pope’s rounds on television during the afternoon, moving the set out from the wall of the den (soon nursery) and turning it so she could watch from the kitchen while readying the fish and vegetables and salad greens. His speech at the UN moved her, and she was sure it would help ease the Vietnam situation. “War never again,” he said; wouldn’t his words give pause to even the most hard-headed statesman?
At four-thirty, while she was setting the table before the fireplace, the telephone rang.
“Rosemary? How are you?”
“Fine,” she said. “How are you?” It was Margaret, the older of her two sisters.
“Fine,” Margaret said.
“Where are you?”
“In Omaha.”
They had never got on well. Margaret had been a sullen, resentful girl, too often used by their mother as the caretaker of the younger children. To be called by her like this was strange; strange and frightening.
“Is everyone all right?” Rosemary asked. Someone’s dead, she thought. Who? Ma? Pa? Brian?
“Yes, everyone’s fine.”
“They are?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes; I said I was.”
“I’ve had the funniest feeling all day long, Rosemary. That something happened to you. Like an accident or something. That you were hurt. Maybe in the hospital.”
“Well, I’m not,” Rosemary said, and laughed. “I’m fine. Really I am.”
“It was such a strong feeling,” Margaret said. “I was sure something had happened. Finally Gene said why don’t I call you and find out.”
“How is he?”
“Fine.”
“And the children?”
“Oh, the usual scrapes and scratches, but they’re fine too. I’ve got another one on the way, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. That’s wonderful. When is it due?” We’ll have one on the way soon too.
“The end of March. How’s your husband, Rosemary?”
“He’s fine. He’s got an important part in a new play that’s going into rehearsal soon.”
“Say, did you get a good look at the Pope?” Margaret asked. “There must be terrific excitement there.”
“There is,” Rosemary said. “I’ve been watching it on television. It’s in Omaha too, isn’t it?”
“Not live? You didn’t go out and see him live?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Honest to goodness, Rosemary,” Margaret said. “Do you know Ma and Pa were going to fly there to see him but they couldn’t because there’s going to be a strike vote and Pa’s seconding the motion? Lots of people did fly, though; the Donovans, and Dot and Sandy Wallingford; and you’re right there, living there, and didn’t go out and see him?”
“Religion doesn’t mean as much to me now as it did back home,” Rosemary said.
“Well,” Margaret said, “I guess that’s inevitable,” and Rosemary heard, unspoken, when you’re married to a Protestant. She said, “It was nice of you to call, Margaret. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ve never been healthier or happier.”
“It was such a strong feeling,” Margaret said. “From the minute I woke up. I’m so used to taking care of you little brats . . .”
“Give my love to everyone, will you? And tell Brian to answer my letter.”
“I will. Rosemary-“
“Yes?”
“I still have the feeling. Stay home tonight, will you?”
“That’s just what we’re planning to do,” Rosemary said, looking over at the partially set table.
“Good,” Margaret said. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” Rosemary said. “You too, Margaret.”
“I will. Good-by.”
“Good-by.”
She went back to setting the table, feeling pleasantly sad and nostalgic for Margaret and Brian and the other
