Carmela narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. The only reason you came home and bothered with us is because you were washed up over there. We didn’t see hide nor hair of you when you were a big success in Germany. You didn’t even show up for Christmas! Never. You just lived your selfish life and went your selfish way … and did you ever think that maybe you were missed? That you were needed? You think you were the only one who suffered losing Michael? You think you loved him maybe more than we did? Do you? Because I can remember nights when I would come up these ‘rickety stairs,’ as you so picturesquely put it, just to get away from the sound of Mom crying at night. And did you ever hear a grown man cry over there in your travels, in your quest to see the wide, real world? Because I can remember nights that Dad would put on his Beethoven tape and think we couldn’t hear him. Or do you think the mourning went away when you left? After the excitement of the funeral parlor died away and all the relatives were gone and nobody from the precinct came around anymore, it was just us, without him. Who the hell do you think cleaned out his sock drawer? You? His dear twin sister? So who are you going to call the user? Me?”
Claire let the one tear roll down her cheek without wiping it. “You’re right. And it is because I’ve been a failure in so many ways that I wound up back here, still looking inward, like a teenager does, trying to know myself and all that. I don’t deny that I’m a failure. The only thing is that I’ve been a success in ways you think I’ve been a failure and a failure in what you take for granted I’ve succeeded in. I was such a waste while I was making all that money. I was so nothing, so nowhere. I couldn’t sleep unless I had the light on and a couple of joints under my belt. I used to get these great travel jobs, traveling to these incredible places, and all I could see were the printed results I’d get out of it … what was going to look great in the dais. I didn’t see the Sugarloaf in Rio, I saw an impressive backdrop for the clothes I was shooting. Oh, Carmela! I didn’t see anything, I was so driven. So paranoid. I let myself fall in love with a vicious, megalomanic, woman-hating bastard just to satisfy my rotten self-image. And I was right. I was a total shit. I only started to come to myself, to love myself, when I was so broken down and lonely that even I had to feel sorry for me. The best I was was at my worst, with nothing. I just gave up, surrendered … and went out on my own. And it was only then that I found the courage to want to come home. So I am using you. I certainly am. But finally for the right reasons.”
Carmela was putting her hair in a braid. ‘“And it was then that I found the courage …’ How moving. I suppose I’m supposed to feel sorry for you now, too. It must have been awful making all that money without having to take the subway for it. It must have really bent your artistic pride. This might be new to you but, you know, a lot of people never even get the chance to be a hack at their art. They wait tables.”
“Those are actors, Carmela.”
“So they shoot weddings.”
“Now what do you want? Me to feel guilty for being successful at what I hated anyway? I’ve got enough things I feel comfortable being guilty for. That’s not one of them. Let me ask you something. Why the hell do you have such an attitude? Did I do something to you? What is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She sat back down on the bed.
The Mayor groaned. This night was going on forever. Would they never stop jabbering? He rolled over and broke calamitous wind.
They both held their heads in submissive meditation while the thunderous moment passed.
“I always play the bitch with you,” Carmela said. “I admit it. You always did bring out the worst in me. But I’m only sending out mixed signals. It’s really not so bad that you’re home. I mean, it could be worse.”
They sat watching each other fondly, warily. The rain battered down above their heads.
“I’ve got to sleep,” said Claire.
“And you won’t forget my car?”
“No.”
“Good night, then.”
“Yeah. Night.”