“Then how do you expect to wash your hands?”
I told him I planned never to wash my hands again, and he stormed off and sat in the front window. There he crabbed at the people who passed by. He yelled at a guy who touched the sewing machine Alba had left on the curb, hoping someone might take it. He yelled at a neighbor whose gate squeaked. “You ought to oil that damned thing.”
“You ought to oil your fucking head!” the man shouted back, apparently unaware that he was talking to a very important petty thief and heroin addict.
August 4, 1991
New York
The day before yesterday, Patrick and I moved a humorless waiter from 171st Street to 110th. The guy said that he’d had both Milton Berle and John Gotti as customers and that the latter had left him no tip. We didn’t like the waiter, but he was much better than Lola and Raoul, the idiotic club kids we moved last night. She’s from Nigeria, he’s from Israel, and between the two of them, they hadn’t a single box. Who moves without boxes? They had vases of flowers, plates, all the things you’d find in an apartment, just sitting there. Unbelievable. Lola was very beautiful and must have had money in order to afford all the expensive clothing I handled. She had a little lapdog named Poochie that yapped nonstop. The entire job was a nightmare. I’d carry something to the truck and she’d say, “No, not that lamp. Take it back upstairs.”
And Raoul was just as bad, all “Come here now” and “You must listen to me.”
August 20, 1991
New York
Before moving people, I talked to Tiffany. Then Mom called to say that Lisa and Bob’s wedding will take place in a dry county. Bob’s parents don’t approve of cigarettes, so she said we’ll have to drink and smoke in our hotel rooms.
September 20, 1991
New York
Amy is in town to do our play so we were together last night when Mom called and told us that she has lung cancer. She phoned from the hospital, her voice stuffy-sounding due to a tube she had in her nose. We are all of us shocked. The surprise isn’t that it’s lung cancer over any other type but that she has it at all. It made sense that Mrs. Steigerwald, Mrs. Rury, and Uncle Dick had cancer. Not that they were deserving of it, but you could picture them in waiting rooms. I always felt certain we weren’t that kind of people. It’s silly, but that’s what I’d told myself.
The tumor is lemon-sized, but it hasn’t spread, which is good. On Monday the doctor will present a treatment plan, and she’ll let us know what it is.
After Mom hung up, Amy and I talked to Lisa and Tiffany. Paul doesn’t know yet. She hasn’t told him. On the phone, she said it very simply: “I have news for you. I have cancer.”
This is the last day of summer. The temperature was in the low sixties, crisp. Before rehearsal I went to the new apartment on Thompson Street and watched for a while as Hugh chipped away plaster and exposed the brick wall beneath it.
September 24, 1991
New York
Mom called to say they have outlined a course of treatment. Surgery’s been suggested, but first they have to make her strong enough to withstand it. They have her exercising, trying to improve her breathing. It’s hard to imagine Mom jogging or riding a bike, so for the time being, she’s just walking. Meanwhile, she’s going through her jewelry, setting things aside for each daughter. She said she’s not stepping into her grave but just managing her time, and that since I don’t wear jewelry she’s sending me a thousand dollars. Lately, what with the play, I worry about money until my gums bleed. So it will come in handy.
Next week Mom and Eleanor are going out wig shopping, which is scary. She told me she’s still smoking, but only four cigarettes a day. Afterward she sprays the bathroom with perfume so that Dad won’t smell anything. She has a collapsed lung, so it’s not a great idea for her to go to the mountains for Lisa’s wedding, but still she’s determined to make it. “I’ve talked about this with Tiffany and Gretchen and I don’t want any of you smoking at the wedding dinner, not at the table. Bob’s people don’t like it, so the least you can do is to step outside.”
October 14, 1991
New York
Lisa got married on Saturday afternoon on top of Eaglenest Mountain. I’d worried it might be sort of hokey, but in fact it was nice to be outdoors and in such a beautiful place. Lisa wore white but not a wedding dress. She and Bob stayed someplace nice and the rest of us were at an Econo Lodge in Waynesville. It was on a highway, but across the road was a pleasant cemetery we could walk to and get high in a circle of stone crosses tall enough to actually crucify people on.
This morning Mom has her first appointment with the radiologist, and tomorrow they’re doing a scan of her brain. Wednesday they’re looking at her bones, and she’s just taking it as it comes. All weekend she was sneaking cigarettes, asking for a drag off mine or Gretchen’s or Tiffany’s.
October 15, 1991
New York
All day I had a terrible headache, so I went and had my hair cut at a place on 6th Avenue that I’d passed several times but never entered. The barber was Italian and really took his time. All the magazines, I noticed, had naked women in them, Playboy on the soft end, and on the hard side, Pink in Film, which had on the cover a woman wearing a strap-on penis.
While I was gone, the play continued. William said that the shows went well but that the audiences were on the small side, six to eight people per night.
October 16, 1991
New York
Amy and I walked up 8th Avenue to Intermezzo, where Hugh and his friend Sue were having lunch. “Here you are!” Amy shouted. “Just what do you think you’re doing? You can’t afford to be eating here, not when I’ve got a five-month-old baby waiting in the car. And wine too! You’re drinking wine! I hate being your sponsor, I really do.”
Everyone stared and Hugh turned bright red.
Afterward I went to Macy’s, where I filled out umpteen forms, peed into a jar, and had my eyes tested. This year, as a returning elf, I’ll make $9 an hour. Regular Christmas help gets only $6.
October 28, 1991
New York
Last night was the final performance of the play (Jamboree). The house was packed so we brought in extra chairs. Unfortunately we brought too many, meaning that, once again, we had empty seats. In the end the audience numbered sixty-four, which was great, the biggest so far.
Afterward we struck the set and then came home to cook chicken, which we ate at three thirty in the morning.