Chapter 25

As he had last time, Darold drove Emm to his next home. Darold hadn’t volunteered much about Garnish, and Emm had been too anxious to press him. He regretted not having paid more attention to his son as a boy, so he’d have an inkling of what to expect in the man. The mental turmoil had taken a toll on Emm’s body too. He’d had a power outage in his right arm and was too weak to pull the car door shut. As Darold closed it, Emm finally got up the nerve to ask about Garnish.

Darold went around to the driver’s side and checked the map twice. Emm didn’t know if he was genuinely unfamiliar with the route or was stalling while he decided how to answer his father’s question. “I’ve only been to his place once, but I remember it being a lot neater than ours.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, Dad. My brother isn’t a crazy cleaning fanatic, like Betty.”

Emm was too tense to laugh over the jibe at Cleon’s wife.

“Seriously, Garnish is a talented graphic designer. In fact, he did some projects for Eaton. Not in my department, but my colleagues were impressed with his work. Outside of that, he directs community theater. Musicals, I think. We’ve never gone to see one. When our kids were young, he took them to the Art Gallery, but I don’t think he kept that up with the grandchildren.”

Darold turned the wheel so sharply that Emm grabbed the dashboard with his left hand to keep from falling over. Once steadied, he asked his son what he really wanted to know. “Do you think he’ll be easy for me to get along with?” If Mrs. Cray had been in the back seat, she’d have said it wasn’t up to Garnish, but to Emm, to smooth the way. He was glad she wasn’t along for the ride.

“Garnish is a ... sweet man.” Darold shrugged. “That’s about all I can tell you.”

Emm was uneasy. For a man who kept tabs on the family, Darold was surprisingly silent about his brother. Was he hiding something? Emm tried to reassure himself. Darold had his hands full with Foy. And Erissa. It was understandable that his contact with Garnish was limited.

When they reached Garnish’s apartment, Darold carried in Emm’s things. He refused the mint iced tea and hand-dipped chocolate strawberries, shook his brother’s hand, and hugged Emm goodbye. He told his father to call him after he got settled and was ready for his next visit with Foy.

Emm avoided looking at Garnish, afraid he’d see something that would knock him off balance. He let Garnish lead him to a chair with a straight back and wide metal tubes for arms. “I think you’ll find this comfortable, Father.” The other seats were low slung or soft and shaped liked giant bean bags, and the cushions on the curved sectional sofa were only inches above the polished wooden floor. Emm would never be able to sit down on those, let alone get back up.

After Garnish left to fix them a snack, Emm looked around the rest of the large living room. He saw floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with leather-bound volumes and a stereo turntable with enormous speakers. In front of the couch was a low glass-topped table holding enameled ash trays and glossy magazines. There were hanging plants in the wide street-facing window and two shaggy rugs, one on the floor and the other hung on the wall opposite him. An abstract painting of geometric figures in bright primary colors took up the entire wall to Emm’s left. He saw Garnish’s signature and a date, March 1971, in the bottom right corner.

Through an open archway, Emm saw his son filling tall glasses with tea and sprigs of mint. The kitchen was almost as big as the living room. Black and white ceramic tiles, in alternating diamonds, covered the floor. Pots and pans of all shapes and sizes hung on hooks over a counter that held racks of knives and other, less familiar, utensils. Between the oversized living room and kitchen, Emm couldn’t imagine what a single man would do with so much space. Compared to the old-fashioned, shabby furnishings of the house where he’d lived, Emm felt tiny and shopworn. On the other hand, the smooth floors would make it easy to slide his walker along, provided he didn’t trip on the scattered rugs. Thankfully, there was no “upstairs” to threaten him.

“I wouldn’t mind extra sugar in my tea,” Emm called out. “Maybe something a little more substantial than the strawberries to go with it.” His stomach had been too jumpy to eat lunch before they left Darold’s. Now he was ravenous to fill the emptiness inside.

“Sure, Father. I’ve got sesame crackers and Brie. Also, paté, although that might be a bit rich for your stomach. Just tell me what you’re used to eating and I’ll shop tomorrow.” Garnish came back carrying a tray and put it on the coffee table. He opened a small folding table, inlaid with wood, and set it in front of Emm. It was too fancy to be called a television tray, and Emm, his right arm still shaky, was afraid of spilling something and staining it. He put a purple linen napkin in his lap and ate slowly with his good hand.

Garnish draped himself on the couch and twirled a mint sprig, the way a girl might twirl a daisy before tucking it in her hair. As his son bent over to pluck a strawberry from a glazed dish, Emm, feeling more stable now that he was seated, was finally ready to look at him. Garnish wore a shiny shirt with a pointed collar, beneath a cable-knit cotton vest that was belted in the middle. Was it like some ancient gladiator’s tunic, Emm wondered, or closer to a woman’s short skirt?

More jarring were the plaid pants and an oversized pinky ring, encasing what appeared to be a lock of hair. Emm wondered whether Garnish’s own dark ringlets were still natural or if he dyed them to cover the gray. Had his son always had curls? Emm’s memory was blank. Garnish cupped his hand and brushed the hair back from his forehead. The delicate gesture was similar to Izora’s before she bobbed her hair. Men typically swept their hair away with their forearm, the same way they wiped the sweat off their brow.

Too uncomfortable to continue looking at Garnish, Emm switched back to the apartment. “You’ve got quite a place here. I guess you call this style modern?”

“A mix of modern and antique. I buy what I like. Or more accurately, only what I love. I’ve learned that as long as you buy things you really care for, they end up going together.”

Emm’s eyes did another tour around the room. It was then that he noticed, on a simple wooden table near the door to the hallway, what could only be called a shrine. Filled with baby things: a rattle, a bottle, and a teddy bear, plus a clear plastic cube filled with another lock of fine hair. It was creepy. He wondered who the hair belonged to, whether it was from a child who was still alive or had died. He’d read once that Victorians wore lockets with the hair of their beloved dead ones. Emm thought momentarily of Garnish’s dead twin. He hadn’t looked at her long enough to remember if she was bald, like many newborns, or had arrived with hair on her head.

He turned back to his son. “I’m glad your apartment is quiet.” Erissa’s housing complex had been filled with noisy neighbors, while Foy’s group home buzzed with ever-present chatter. After living alone for so many years, Emm had found himself exhausted by the constant sound in those places. “I won’t have trouble getting enough rest here,” he told Garnish. “Since the stroke, I tire easily. Not that I’ll be a burden. I’m quite self-sufficient as long as things are in reach.”

“I’ll make sure there’s an assortment of dishes on the bottom shelf.” Garnish looked at the wall unit. “You shouldn’t have a problem using the stereo. Any books you want to read that are too high, I’ll be glad to move to a lower shelf.” Garnish stretched his legs across four sections of the sofa. “Fair warning, though. I do a lot of entertaining, often until the wee hours. Even though your bedroom is at the end of the hall, I’m afraid the noise will keep you awake at night.”

That explained what Garnish did with all this space. Emm worried he’d have to set up a new routine to remember to take his medication before bed, which might now be at unpredictable hours. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful, however, so he told Garnish that as long as he could sleep late the next morning, and nap in the afternoon, he’d be all right.

“In that case, you better rest before dinner because I’m having a party for the cast and crew of Guys and Dolls. Our final performance was last night, and every show was sold out. We’re ready to celebrate.” Garnish slid his legs to the floor and led Emm to the spare bedroom that would now be his. On the way Emm peeked in the bathroom—more hanging plants, a floral pastel shower curtain. The spicy-sweet aroma in his bedroom came from scented candles on top of the dresser. He’d have to open the windows to breathe and hoped he wouldn’t need ear plugs to muffle the street noise. Tomorrow, he’d ask if Garnish wouldn’t mind removing the candles.

Emm waited for Garnish to leave before examining the rest of the room. He pulled back the spread on the double bed, uncovering blue silk sheets. He wondered who else had slept there and what had gone on, then banished the thought. Darold had unpacked Emm’s suitcase, using up only two drawers and a few hangers. Next to his pants were coats, presumably Garnish’s, and a turquoise robe with a red and gold dragon embroidered on the back. Behind four pairs of slippers sat large pieces of electronic equipment with tangled wires. Emm had no idea what they were.

He was afraid his nerves would keep him up, but Emm slept soundly until the whirr of gadgets in the kitchen woke him up. After visiting the bathroom, and finding nothing unusual in the medicine cabinet, he sat at the big round table and watched Garnish cook. There was a bowl of cubed meat, shredded cheese piled beside a mountain of torn bread chunks, and dark chocolate slabs with cut-up fruit. Emm couldn’t imagine how those ingredients would go together in a meal.

“It’s a fondue party, Father.” Garnish explained how the guests would use long-handled forks to dip the meat, bread, or fruit in hot oil, melted cheese, or melted chocolate, respectively. He asked if Emm would like to help mix the dipping sauces for the meat.

“I’m afraid of spoiling it,” said Emm. “I’m not much of a cook. Heating is as far as I go.”

“Then you’ll like the fondue,” said Garnish. Emm doubted it. His stomach craved Izora’s simple but hearty casseroles. Even Bruna’s fancy cakes were easier to get his mind around than chocolate fondue. He hoped Garnish wouldn’t sneer at the plain foods Emm asked him to buy.

***

Emm sat in “his” chair as the guests arrived. He debated greeting them at the door with Garnish, but that implied this was his house too, which wasn’t yet the case, if it ever would be. Besides, from his perch, Emm could see each person and prepare his face and a word or two before being introduced. He expected a parade of oddities. Instead, the men and women, some single, others in couples, were rather ordinary. Pretty much like Emm, in fact. A few dressed like Garnish, but most wore plain clothes. They were young and middle aged. Several were older, also like Emm.

At dinnertime, Garnish set the bubbling fondue pots in the middle of the table and handed out color-coded forks. Emm sat between the young red-haired woman who had played Adelaide in the show and a fifty-ish man who did the lighting. Emm’s right arm shook as he speared pieces of meat or bread and aimed for the oil or cheese. He switched to his left hand but that was even clumsier. Stymied, he looked around at everyone else jabbing, thrusting, swirling, and talking.

“Let me get that for you.” The redhead took his fondue fork, cooked several pieces of meat, dipped each in a different sauce, and put them on Emm’s plate. “There you go.”

Meanwhile, the lighting expert made him some cheese fondue. “Takes practice to get the hang of it. Wait a tad before you bite into a morsel. They tend to absorb a good deal of heat.” Emm half expected the man to blow on the food to cool it off for him. He felt like a baby being served and coddled at the grown-up table. He had to concentrate so much on getting the meal to his mouth that he couldn’t pay attention to the conversation flowing around him. Garnish looked over now and then, smiled encouragingly, and went back to chatting with his neighbors. When the meat and cheese were exhausted, he brought out the chocolate fondue and coffee, which he called espresso and served in tiny cups. Emm longed for a mug of Lipton tea. He remembered that by the time he drank his second cup at Bruna’s, she already knew to give him lemon and extra sugar.

Several guests helped clear the dishes and then everyone moved to the living room. Emm returned to his chair while others took the remaining seats or sat cross-legged on the floor. “Hit it,” said Garnish. “You first, Jeanine.” Someone offered Adelaide a handkerchief. She pretended to blow her nose and belted out “A person can develop a cold.” Several other numbers from Guys and Dolls followed, ending with Sky Masterson singing about “My time of day, a couple of deals before dawn” to Sister Sarah. To Emm, there was nothing magical about those early hours. That’s when Izora crawled out of bed to feed the crying babies and he went back to sleep. Nevertheless, he hummed along with everybody at the party. Before long, he was enjoying himself.

After covering their recent musical, the group switched to numbers from their past shows—Pajama Game, West Side Story, The King and I, and Cabaret. Emm was both touched and a bit embarrassed when the man who dressed most like Garnish sang “Willkommen” directly to him. The others clapped and asked Emm if he had any musical favorites.

Emm remembered crooning to Izora. There was a time, way back, when she wasn’t the only one who sang around the house. Her carols were for the children, but his serenades were for her. “When Garnish’s mother and I were first married, we were partial to Cole Porter and Noel Coward.” Emm cleared his throat and softly began “Let’s Do It.” The others joined in, and by the time they got to “People say in Boston even beans do it,” his baritone came out loud and clear. He next suggested “Don’t Put Your Daughter on the Stage, Mrs. Worthington,” an old theatrical number that turned out to be a favorite of the group, especially the line “She’s a bit of an ugly duckling, you must honestly confess, and the width of her seat would surely defeat her chances of success.” Hearing the clever lyrics for the first time since he’d sung them to his wife, Emm wondered if they were behind the comfort he’d found making up rhymes after her death. Singing them tonight made him more comfortable with Garnish’s friends; they also made him miss Izora.

As much fun as he was having, Emm was eager to get to bed. The party finally broke up at an hour when Sky Masterson would have been in his element. Women hugged him and men clapped him on the back, urging him to attend their next musical, My Fair Lady. Adelaide told him to audition for a part. “I bet the director would show you favoritism in the casting.”

Emm said he’d think about it. He’d enjoy playing Eliza Doolittle’s father, “getting married in the morning,” and figure out a way to dance with his walker. He took his pills and slid between the silken sheets. Performing on stage was like being a car salesman, persuading people to go along for the ride. Of course, in the theater he’d be singing as well as talking, and he wouldn’t be the only actor on the floor. He’d have to learn to become a member of the troupe, but it was never too late to try something new. Emm was confident he could do it, with Mr. Carnegie’s encouragement. “The man who goes farthest is generally the one willing to do and dare.”

Mrs. Cray would second that idea. The next time Emm called her, it might be to tell her he’d gotten a part. And to invite her to be his guest on opening night.