Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel

25


“I admit it,” Edward says. “In many ways, I’m a walking cliché. But I’m very comfortable with that. I know my own self. I’m a good person and I have nothing to apologize for.” He is sitting at my kitchen table, handsomely dressed in tweed pants and a beautiful cream-colored shirt, one long leg crossed over the over, sipping coffee. He reminds me of a young Fred Astaire: a thin, narrow face, hair looking as though it will recede a bit farther if you turn your back. When Edward talked about knowing himself, he laid his hand over his heart. I like people who do that. I feel I can trust them.

“Well, King certainly speaks highly of you,” I say.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Is he a doll? I just love him. He’s really very handsome, you know. Under all that … sort of … flesh. Every time I cut his hair, I think, boy what a little weight loss would do.”

“He has lost some. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Yes, I thought so. But I’m talking about … I mean, can’t you just see him in a Gucci ad?”

I smile.

“Oh, I know,” Edward says, “I have a very good imagination. My mother used to get after me all the time for lying on my bed and dreaming up things instead of going outside to grow big and strong and heterosexual. She was sort of like Bette Davis: The Later Years, only she was like that all her years.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, she used to come in my room and scare my friend Martin Harris to death. I think we were in love with each other, but it was only fourth grade. She didn’t like him, of course—he took ballet, for one thing. She’d open the door and there would be her pop-out eyes and this really magnificent scowl. Red lipstick. She’d be holding a cigarette with her arm bent up, big chunky bracelet, and she’d take this incredibly deep drag and say”—here Edward lowered his voice—“ ‘What are you boys up to? Is this any way to spend a beautiful day?’ and then she’d exhale for about an hour and a half. So we’d go outside for a few minutes and then come back in and play dolls with our soldiers.” He shrugs. “But you had to like her, you know? I mean, I liked her.”

“Edward,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind my asking this. But why would you want to live here?”

“I don’t mind your asking. I like families. I don’t like living alone. And I don’t like living in … the Community. It’s just a little too intense.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, sure.”

Silence.

Well, fine, I’m dying to know, but if he doesn’t want to tell me …

“You could get back to me,” he says. “I know the idea is a bit unusual. I will tell you, though, I’m a very good roommate. I clean, I cook, I’m quiet. And I’m … entirely discreet. Plus I’ll cut your hair for free. I think, if you don’t mind my saying so, you could use some color, too.”

My hand flies to my hair. “Really? The gray?”

Edward nods solemnly.

“It’s really obvious?”

He nods vigorously.

“Well, I don’t mind it. I mean, it’s natural. It’s what happens, you know, when you get older.”

“Honey, you can have gray hair when you’re sixty. For now, you’re much too young and attractive. I’d use a dark brown base, then a little copper for highlights. It would make your eyes look greener.”

I nod, think for a moment. “Okay, I’ll let you know.”

Edward gathers up his coat, stands. “You can call me whenever you like. And I’ll understand if you can’t let me move in.”

“Oh, no. I mean, I’ll think about the hair color. You can move in on the first.”

He sits down again. “Really?” His happiness is so dear, so transparent. We sit for a moment, smiling shyly at each other. And then Edward says, “But don’t you think you should, you know, check me out? Call my references?”

Oh. I should probably do that. But why? What would he do, give me bad references? “No need,” I say.

Edward takes a folded paper from his man’s purse. “Well, here they are anyway. My former employer, the family I used to live with, a few customers.”

“Why are you moving out?” I ask. This seems like a good question, something someone responsible would ask. Perhaps I should ask him where he sees himself five years from now.

“They’re moving to Arkansas,” Edward says. “They asked me to come. Can you imagine?”

“Well …”

Edward wraps his elegant scarf around his neck, slides his coat on. “My sentiments, exactly.”

I watch out the window as he drives away. A little navy blue Toyota. Not a speck of dirt on it. Of course he can move in. Maybe I can borrow his clothes sometime. I head for the bathroom to stare into the mirror and imagine myself as a redhead, dressed smartly.

“You mean that friend of King’s?” Travis asks later that afternoon, when he has returned from school. “That Edward?” He pulls a carton of milk from the refrigerator, then takes a drink out of it.

“What have I told you about that?” I say.

“What?”

“About drinking out of the carton?”

“Not to do it.” He puts it back on the shelf, closes the refrigerator door.

“So why do you do it?”

He shrugs, sits down at the kitchen table. “I forgot.”

“So anyway,” I say. “We’ve got another roommate!”

“What’s this guy do?”

What’s this guy do? David’s influence.

“He’s a hairdresser.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, I am not. He owns his own shop.”

Travis snorts. “Is he like, gay or something?”

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

Travis stops smiling, pushes away from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“My room.”

“Travis,” I call after him. “Come here for a minute.”

He turns, reluctantly.

“What’s the matter?”

“You’re getting really weird, Mom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head, continues upstairs, slams the door to his room.

I push his chair back under the table. Am I getting weird? Well, who should live here? An accountant and his wife and his 1.4 children? I have to take who I can get. I open the door to the freezer, look to see what we can have for dinner. Chicken. Anything weird about that?

Later that afternoon, Travis calls me to his room. I close his door, sit on his bed, and smile at him, sitting at his desk. Finally, “What’s up?” I ask.

“I want to live with Dad.”

Well, there it is.

“Okay?”

“Travis, what brought this on?”

“I don’t want to live here. There’s too many people.”

“Well, I have to have people living here in order to keep the house. You know that. Don’t you want to keep the house?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

He turns away, sorts through some papers, mumbles something.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“You don’t have good judgment.”

I laugh. “Who told you that? Dad? Did he say that?”

Travis shrugs.

“Listen, Travis. Didn’t you like Lydia?”

“Yeah, and she’s gone.”

“Well, it’s not my fault! She got married! But I picked her! That was my judgment that picked her!”

“I know! But you also got that crazy girl in the basement! She’s crazy!”

I sigh, lean back on my elbows. What to say? Perhaps the truth.

“Well, that was kind of a mistake. But she doesn’t hurt anyone. She’s quiet. Maybe we just need to give her some time.”

“I don’t want to stay here, Mom. I don’t want to live with you!”

There, in the center of my chest, a splitting feeling so strong I wonder if something really has split. “Travis—”

“Can I just live with Dad? Please?”

“He can’t take you, honey,” I say quietly. “He works too late. He can’t be there for you after school.”

“I don’t care.”

“But you can’t come home alone.”

“Yes, I can!”

“Travis, you’re eleven years old.”

“Lots of kids my age come home alone! Way younger kids! It’s no big deal. I don’t even want you to be here when I come home!”

“Oh. I see. Well, I didn’t know that, Travis.”

I really didn’t. I need to get away from him right now. I need to cry. I need to punch the too-wide surface of my bed. I need to lean out the window and scream, “Just wait a minute!”

“Could you tell me something, Travis? Is it because of the roommates we have here that you want to live with Dad?”

“Not only.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.” I go over to kiss the top of his head. “It’s okay.” And then, on feet that have no feeling, I walk to my bedroom, where I close the door quietly and sit on my bed until the sky darkens, and it is time to make dinner for my son and the crazy girl in the basement who is making us both crazy, too.