10

WHAT MRS. GOLDBLUM’S
PRIDE WROUGHT

It was a dreadful situation, Mrs. Goldblum knew, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to make the calls she knew she would have to. Soon.

Next week, no doubt.

Sigh.

There were no more stocks in the safe deposit box. There were no bonds left. There were sixteen love letters from Mr. Goldblum, the negatives of Sarah’s wedding pictures and Mrs. Goldblum’s engagement ring that had become too large for her to wear.

Bernard Meltzer speaks of Empire Diamond on his radio program. He says I can trust them for an accurate appraisal.

It could not come to that. Could it?

Sigh.

Daniel would be of no help. To tell him would only burden him with guilt about the money she had given him. Freely... She could hardly take the bread out of her grandchildren’s mouths. Could she call Ben, wonderful Ben? He was remarried, for several years, and had three children now. She could hear Ben saying to her, “I’m only glad you called. How much do you need?” Sarah had married well Sarah.

Oh, Sarah, my baby, I miss you so much. Still.

Ben was out of the question. It would break Daniel’s heart if she asked Ben for help. They did not see eye to eye, those two...

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Goldblum said aloud, covering her face with her hands at the kitchen table. Missy rubbed against her leg. She smiled and leaned over to pet her on the head. “Little Miss,” she said. Then the dizziness came back and she had to right herself, slowly, grasping the edge of the table. She would wait a minute and then prepare some milk and honey. That would make the dizziness go away.

Missy meowed. She was hungry too. Mrs. Goldblum couldn’t get up yet to feed her and it made her sad that the kitty had to sit there and be hungry. Missy’s eyes were looking up at her—”Did I do something wrong?” they asked. Tears started to rise and Mrs. Goldblum folded her arms on the table and slowly let her head sink down onto them.

You must pull yourself together, Emma Goldblum. There have been harder times than these. Deep breath.

Robert darling, please tell me what to do.

Several minutes passed.

Until you have time to think it through, you must cut back your expenses, she heard.

I have, Robert, I have.

All that you can?

Mrs. Goldblum was feeling a bit better when Amanda stopped by, darling girl. She had brought Mrs. Goldblum a basket of yellow and white gladiolus from Embassy Florists, to, she said, apologize for canceling their tea on Tuesday. Without thinking, Mrs. Goldblum asked her to stay for luncheon (there was nothing but the one Stouffer’s souffle for Rosanne), but Amanda declined, explaining that she had received a new sense of inspiration about Catherine and was eager to get to work. (They did not pursue this topic; Catherine pulled Amanda into a world where Mrs. Goldblum did not care to follow. When some of one’s relatives have spent their lives running away from Russians, Mrs. Goldblum did not see any reason to pay them a visit even by way of fiction.)

When Mrs. Goldblum saw Amanda to the door, Amanda said she had thought Rosanne would be there.

“She called this morning to say she would be late.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, averting her eyes.

Tell, Amanda. Explain the situation to her. She would give her right arm to help you.

“You’re using your cane. Is your hip bothering you?” “What, dear? Oh, this—” Tell her. Pause. “Yes, a little. Arthritis, you know.” I can’t. Daniel I would be so ashamed. “Would you ask Rosanne to telephone me? I left a message for her yesterday, but she must not have received it.”

Mrs. Goldblum promised that of course she would, and hurried their interview to an end. Mrs. Goldblum felt terribly guilty; she imagined that Amanda could sense it, hence the strange expression on the dear’s face. An expression Mrs. Goldblum recognized. Worry. She had seen it on her own face in the mirror every day since the arrival of that hateful letter from that awful Mr. Robin.

Rosanne did not appear until close to two. Mrs. Goldblum retired to the living-room couch, waiting, thinking about how to handle the task in front of her. Rosanne must have suspected something, she thought, because Rosanne this day was strangely quiet.

When Rosanne dragged the vacuum cleaner into the front hall, Mrs. Goldblum decided she must go through with it before she lost her courage. “Rosanne dear—”

“Yeah?” “I won’t require—that is, I mean to say, I won’t be needing you to clean for the next few weeks.” Rosanne was silent, her mouth drawn in a tight line, her arms holding the vacuum attachments up against her chest.

Mrs. Goldblum’s hand tightened around the tissues in her hand. Slowly, carefully, “It will only be for a short while. Dr. Campbell seems to think I should try to do the household tasks myself. For my arthritis, you see. Exercise of any kind—”

Rosanne let the attachments crash to the floor. “You could at least tell me the truth,” she said, eyes flashing with anger.

Mrs. Goldblum looked down at her hands.

“Say somethin’ to me, Mrs. G.”

Still Mrs. Goldblum couldn’t speak.

Rosanne walked over and stood in front of her, hands on her hips. “What did Amanda tell you this morning?” Mrs. Goldblum, startled, looked up at her. “Amanda has nothing to do with it,” she said softly.

“So you just want me outta here, huh?” Rosanne’s eyes started to fill and she turned away. “Jesus, Mrs. G!” she cried suddenly, whirling back around. “After all this time, you don’t trust me—do ya?”

“I do trust you, dear, it’s just that...” She brought the tissue up against her nose, unable to look at Rosanne. She shook her head. “It’s a family matter,” she finally said.

Rosanne took a hard intake of breath and then bolted for the kitchen.

Mrs. Goldblum tried to stand, but dizziness forced her back down onto the couch. When Rosanne flew back through the hall with her things, heading for the front door, Mrs. Goldblum raised her hand, saying, “I will pay you for today, dear. It will only be for a few weeks.”

Slowly, Rosanne turned around at the door. She was blinking back tears. “If you can’t trust me, I don’t want nothin’ from you. Ever. “She yanked the door open, her bag hitting the wall. “And tell—” Her voice broke.

And then the door slammed and Rosanne was gone. Tears rolled down Mrs. Goldblum’s face and she did nothing to wipe them away.

Rosanne strode home to 94th Street, banged her way through the lobby and, when the elevator didn’t come, marched up the seven flights without pausing. She pushed open the door to their room and stood there in the doorway.

Frank was sitting at the table, exactly where she had left him, only now the side of his face was resting in the plate of spaghetti she had left him for lunch.

He was in the nod. The heroin nod.

Rosanne threw her bag to the floor and walked over to him. Yanking his head up out of the food by his hair, she said, «Where did you get the money for junk? Where?» She shook his head and his eyes parted slightly. «Answer me, god damn it, where did you get the money?” When he didn’t answer, she shoved him out of the chair. He fell to the floor and Rosanne kicked him. Instinctively he curled up to defend himself.

“I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!”

Interested neighbors stood by the door, watching. Frank started crawling toward them. Rosanne spotted Creature. “Get him out of here before I kill him! Get him out!” Creature handed his can of Old English to the woman standing next to him and came in. He touched at the red stains on Frank’s face, examined his fingers, smelled them, and then laughed.

Rosanne ran to the closet and started jamming clothes into a pillowcase. Creature got hold under Frank’s arms and pulled him up to his feet. “Take my son,” Rosanne was ranting, “take my money, take my job away from me —you’re nothing but a goddam junkie and I’ve had it with you.” With Frank’s head lolling on his shoulder, Creature managed to stumble him out the door.

Rosanne threw the pillowcase out into the hall. “You’re not going to wreck my life anymore, you hear me?” She ran back in and then back to the door. She pitched something wrapped in a red bandanna which Creature seemed to recognize, for he lunged to catch it.

“Take your goddam junk and your goddam junkie friends and never come back here—” Frank fell down again, his hands making a splat noise against the linoleum.

For an instant Rosanne’s anger wavered. But when Creature hauled him back up and Frank said, “Lez go-da Sissy’s,” Rosanne said, “If you ever come near me or Jason again, I swear to God I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you, do you hear me?”

And, with that, she cleared the neighbors with one long, unflinching glare.