Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way (7 page)

“When I told my father I was reading Crusoe, he told me I was still reading kids’ books.”

Sally didn’t want to discuss the merits of parents. “Remember how Crusoe read a bible passage to sustain him every day? “I can’t remember where now; but I read a book where a business man picked up Robinson Crusoe each morning the same way -- to hear what the universe was saying to him.”

“I’ll try it in Lincoln.” Art went on to describe dinners with his parents. Not fun. The night before he stared at his emptied plate listening to his father demean Tony Montgomery. “My dad says I might amount to something if Tony would leave me alone. But Tony’s grades are better than mine.”

“Folks always want us to be better than themselves.”

‘But never as bad.” Art laughed.

As Art slowed, before downshifting for the turn from
Main to the Dean Street turn-off, Sally’s imagination went into high gear. She envisioned them escaping their parents, riding off to catch the sunset, starting a life together, talking forever into the night, even laying embraced in each other’s arms on some uninhabited island. She sighed as Art made the turn.

“What?’ he asked.

“I’ve missed you.” She gathered her wits.

In the driveway Art sat quietly with the car’s engine purring. As Sally started to open the door, he reached across her and closed it. “It’s nice to have a fan club at home.” The he kissed her cheek.

“I’m it.” She smiled at him. Her appreciation for every line of his body, every tone of his being, made her forget for a moment all the doubts about her own attractiveness. As she got out of the car, she glanced back. Art’s arm was outstretched toward her empty seat. She smiled good-bye again, content. She would hear from him.

Still on the telephone with Jill, Sally contemplated falsely claiming to have dated Art. There was no sense lying. “A ride home, just a ride home from the library.”

“Sure, sure,” Jill said. “Will your mother let you come down with me?”

“I’m nineteen. What shall I pack?”

“It’s homecoming. You could take your prom dress.”

When Sally hung up, the dreadful high-school prom night replayed itself. Her sister, Loretta, had arranged a date with a friend of her husband. Bill, the date’s name was, didn’t say three words the entire evening. In her nervousness, Sally talked non-stop from the moment she got in the boy’s car until they stood in the dark, smelly gym maneuvering around the dippy decorations she helped put up. Bill’s zombie appearance remained intact while he danced. At times, she experienced an overwhelming pity for the guy. He probably thought he she was the worst date in the place. Jill and Tony stopped by their table. Tony complimented Sally’s dress; but when Bill remained silent, Jill had rolled her eyes and pulled Tony away. It was stupid to go out with the idiot. Fifteen library books on Sally’s bookshelf stood ready to provide more heartbeats. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, if Bill was paid to accompany her.

So, Art Woods had asked to see her, to visit him at college, not directly, but by way of Jill. Why hadn’t he called her? She would take the dumb dress, which needed at least a second night out before her mother gave it away to the church’s auction.

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June 1958

On the day of the Lincoln trip, Sally wore blue-and-white checked, thigh-gripping shorts which showed off her fitness. Thank God for Flicka, the rental horse she road every rainless Saturday. The posting exercise firmed up the last of her baby fat. The blouse with a matching collar could be turned up so her hair wouldn’t cling to her neck in the heat. Her prescription sunglasses might even impress Jill.

The drive down to
Lincoln was tiresome, with monotonous flat landscape creeping by. They stopped for gas once. After handing Jill a ten spot for the gas, Sally hurried into the dirty bathroom. The walls were gray from fumes, the sink untouchable. When she tried unlocking the door to leave, it wouldn’t open. She pulled and pounded until Jill came over and yelled directions. The sticky lock finally gave way and the door opened. “Locked in a dirty, gas station washroom for eternity,” Sally said, as she got in the car. “There’s a description of Dante’s Inferno.”

“We wasted ten minutes.” Jill’s short red hair never dared slip out of place. Her khaki shorts kept their pleat and her dark green blouse remained free of any perspiration stains. Easy to become acquainted with on the surface, Jill kept her inner-self hidden. Jill didn’t delve into the workings of her own mind. A block of some kind rose to shield her from self-scrutiny. Outside she exuded perfection, while her soul stayed crouched in a morass of fear. Fear of what? Probably rejection. Jill continued to harp on two subjects. One was how much her father hated Tony and the other was how long did Sally know Art.

Sally devised a defense. Whenever Art was the subject of inquiry, she would ask a question about Tony. Jill said she didn’t know why she was so attracted to Tony.

“The lack of moral severity could make Tony a delight.”

“Moral severity?” Jill hooted. “Half the time people don’t know what you’re talking about. What is Dante’s Inferno? All I know is my father wants Tony to leave me alone!”

When they finally reached the
Lincoln campus, Sally escaped the confining car. Tall elms provided slim shade on the leaf-strewn paths to the dormitory. A hint of wintry breeze cooled her lungs, heightened her spirits. Awkward around Tony and Jill, Sally thought Art’s cold hello meant he was as uncomfortable. Tony’s mocking remarks about Sally’s appearance sounded too familiar, insincere. Art suggested lunch. Sally was too excited to eat in the diner.

Tony told an off-color joke. Sally couldn’t laugh, it was so gross. Art groaned, but Jill laughed on cue. Sally ordered coffee, but when the black sludge arrived it proved too tepid to drink.

Jill scolded her. “We’re all waiting for you to finish your coffee.”

“I don’t want it.” She was embarrassed by Jill’s vehemence.

“Then why did you order it?” Tony demanded.

“Never mind.” Art defended her.

“It’s too cold.” Sally looked into Art’s eyes.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.” Then turning to Jill and Tony, he offered, “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Good idea.” Tony winked. He drove Jill’s car with Art and Sally in the back seat.

Art slid over next to Sally and put his arm around her shoulder with his other hand on her knee. “Why do you smell like fresh cut grass?”

Sally laughed. “I was born on a farm?” She gave herself up to the delicious pleasure of being held by Art. Every few miles, she pushed his hand back down to her knee, twice. Finally, Art put his head in her lap pulling her down for a kiss. Sally returned his sweet kisses. How had she existed, survived so long without them. Her hair swept his face whenever she straightened up. She loved his face. His great dark eyes were offset with long black lashes. She wanted to bite them they seemed so tantalizing. His nose was straight and not too thin. Changing expressions caused his forehead to seem prominent when his thick brows lowered giving his eyes a predatory hood. His square jaw-line kept his full lips in balance. “It’s a wonder,” she said, “women don’t lay down in front of you in the street so you can walk on them.”

“Wow! Tony, did you hear what she said?”

Tony turned around in the driver’s seat causing Jill to cry out as she rescued the abandoned wheel. “The kid likes you.” Tony laughed, but Sally turned away from his lecherous grin.

Art kissed her a full minute, then whispered in her ear. “I like you, too.”

Tony found a bumpy, country path behind a field of standing corn. Jill and Tony slipped out of the car leaving Art and Sally alone. “Have fun.” Tony called as Jill pulled him into the rows of corn.

Art held Sally close, wrapping his arms around her, burying his sweet head in her shoulder. “I’m so glad you came. You feel like home to me.”

“We’re safe now.” They clung together for an hour. Art fell asleep in her arms. She roused him with a kiss when she spied Tony and a rumpled Jill returning.

“Hey let the guy come up for air.” Tony slammed into the car.

Art stretched into a yawn. “Boy am I thirsty.”

“Sally sucked him dry,” Tony rescued a corn shuck out of Jill’s hair, then explained to Sally with a leer, “We rolled around a bit in the hay.”

“He’s just kidding.”

“Oh no I’m not, Miss
Priss.” No one commented as they drove to the motel where Jill and Sally needed to change clothes for the dance.

“We’ll be right back.” Tony slapped Jill on the bottom. “Keep it warm for me.”

After they left Sally said, “I can see why your father hates Tony.”

“And why I have to have him.” Jill stripped for her shower.

The boys came back with a six-pack. Tony joined Jill in the shower. Art tried to make polite conversation. He finally turned on the television. They sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, watching some football heroes smash into each other for half an hour.

“Who’s winning?” Tony asked, zipping up his pants as further evidence when he joined them.

Jill finally came out decently wrapped in a robe, with her red hair up in one of the motel towels. “Your turn,” she said to Sally. “You guys get out of here so we can get ready. And don’t forget the corsages.”

“Geez!” Tony grabbed the six-pack.

“Leave it here,” Art said. “Just take a swig. We don’t need to get arrested for drunk driving.” He waved at Sally and they were gone.

Jill got under the covers, “That guy wears me out! Don’t let me sleep past six. They’ll be back at seven.” She rolled over and was out like a light.

Sally turned off the television set and undressed in the bathroom. The couple left one towel untouched.

At the dance, Art continued to compliment Sally’s dress. “Blue is really your color and you have the sweetest body.”

“Now if I could just stop blushing.”

“It suits you.” Art moved his hand up and down the back of the gown. “Your blush let me know you were a passionate girl. Remember in the library when we first spoke?”

“I didn’t think you would remember.”

“I do. And then I was so stupid showing off in front of Tony.”

Sally smiled as Art led her out onto the floor. Their steps weren’t intricate. She loved being held in his arms with the sweet music and pushing crowd around them. “I wish this could go on forever.”

When they rejoined Tony and Jill at their table, Sally could tell something was amiss. Tony pounded the table. “Guess why she came down here?” He pointed to a tearful Jill with his thumb. “Her daddy wants her to date Chuck
Reddinger, that rich wimp.” Tony slumped in his chair for a moment before hissing, “Slut!” He stomped out of the college dance hall.

Jill combed her hair with her fingers. “Daddy never liked him.”

Sally shuddered. Art draped his arm around Sally’s shoulders as if to protect her. The three of them sat in silence until a small, almost fat girl came up and asked Art in a halting voice to dance with her. Art turned a questioning look to Sally, who nodded politely. Encouraged by his willingness to dance, four other girls lined up for Sally’s permission.

After the sixth beauty whisked Art away, Jill couldn’t resist. “Art seems to be having a good time away at school.” Sally admitted Art made a lot of friends, but then how could a handsome man not be flattered by all the attention. When Art sat down again, Jill said, “We have to get back. I want to start out early for home.”

Art kissed Sally in a long embrace before he let her get into the car. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. I’m reading Robinson Crusoe every day. Can you get a car of your own?”

“I will.” Sally planned to come down every weekend.

Even though Sally bought her own car, events surrounding Jill and Tony stopped the planned trips to Lincoln.

First Thursday in January

Sheriff Woods was glad to let Tim drive the police car from
Wayne to Geneva’s countywide police station. The visit to Tony Montgomery parents’ home flooded him with memories of Sally, Mrs. John Nelson now, and the fate of his friend, Tony. When he was only twenty years old, Art wanted Tony to see the light, stop being such a stud and develop a few feelings. But Tony jumped off an emotional cliff. After Jill dumped him, his friend wouldn’t attend classes at Lincoln College, wouldn’t eat, couldn’t seem to sleep.

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October 1958

“There are other girls,” Art said to Tony, once.

Tony met his eyes, let him see the agony. “You should take me out somewhere, behind a deserted barn and put me out of my misery, the way you would a dying dog. I’m not good for anything now.”

Art started staying with Tony, offering him water, soup, to call his folks, anything. Two weeks after homecoming, Tony‘s father came down south to Lincoln College to pick up his failing son. “He’s high-strung like his mother.” Mr. Montgomery had said, before he took Tony’s last suitcase out to the car. “Hard work will snap him right out of this.”

Art wasn’t sure of a cure for
Tony’s fixation with Jill. He’d had no experience with people suffering to the degree Tony allowed.

Alone now in the dorm room he had shared with Tony, Art reached for Robinson Crusoe. The page he opened read. “When I came down the hill to the shore, I was perfectly confounded and amazed; nor is it possible for me to express the horror of my mind, at seeing the shore spread with skulls, hands, feet, and other bones, where the savage wretches had sat down to their inhumane feastings upon the bodies of their fellow creatures.”

Art summoned up a vision of the strutting braggart Tony was the last time he drove him home from high school. Jill had spit Tony out like a prune pit. Now, Tony was shriveled up in the back seat of his father’s car.

Art went back to Crusoe. “Recovering myself, I looked up with the utmost affection of my soul, and with a flood of tears in my eyes, gave God thanks that had cast my first lot in a part of the world where I was distinguished from such dreadful creatures.”

Surely, Sally would never have thrown him away for someone with more money, as easily as Jill discarded Tony.

Sheriff Woods tried to remember why he broke up with Sally. They’d separated after Jill’s wedding, after Tony suicide. He couldn’t remember the cause. He doubted he’d ever allow himself to love again. Love became a dangerous word, an emotion to be avoided. He often told Gabby he cared for her because
she
loved him.

His contentment was real, but not the passionate love Tony claimed for Jill. Sheriff Woods kept himself sane by staying free of deep emotional entanglements. He didn’t want to experience the fearful degree of rejection Tony suffered. It was sadly simple, he wanted to survive, so he limited his emotional range.

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First Thursday in January

Recovering from her memories of Tony and her teenage crush on Art, Sally surveyed the masculine front room of her new husband’s house, their home. The black leather couch was huge and comfortable. The ceiling-high stone fireplace dominated the room. Jarring modern art canvases on the opposite wall provided the only color. She should think about making some changes if she wanted to feel at home here. “Coffee,” she begged and John responded in a short time with a full cup.

“Did you microwave it?” Sally asked.

“No, I set up the coffee maker earlier. You seem to inhale coffee. I just needed to plug it in.”

“Thank you. Microwave coffee lacks the aroma of newly brewed coffee.”

John got cozy on the couch with her again. “So tell me again about Sheriff Woods and the Montgomerys.”

Sally groaned. “I rather talk to you about redecorating.”

“Another touchy subject.” John described where he bought the modern art, who the painters were, how much the artwork cost, into an entire soliloquy of his love of art. Poor Sally could not concentrate. Her mind roved teenage recesses, dragging out old memories of Jill and Tony and the promise to buy a car to visit Art.

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November 1958

Sally thought her peach linen suit ought to do the trick. Taking a deep breath, she straightened the shoulder strap of her purse. After standing in line to make deposits each week, she knew where to find the loan desk. Mr. Westland, the loan officer, was acquainted with her father and Jack Stone, her boss at DuKane. “Good morning, Sally. What can we do for you?”

“I don’t want you to call my father to co-sign for a car loan.” Sally eased into the arm-less chair next to his desk, one foot behind the other for balance, back straight. “Mr. Stone’s private secretary should be able to afford car payments on a used car. How long will it take before the bank will approve my loan?” She had practiced the speech in front of her mirror at home five times.

Without letting his good-natured smile falter, Mr. Westland tapped his pen on a small note pad. “Have you picked out the car?”

“The Naylor’s Chevy is two years old.” She couldn’t remember the price of the car.

“Sally, you’ve done your homework.” Mr. Westland said. “Before you sign the papers out at Naylor’s, they’ll call me. We need the vehicle registration number. Give me your social security number for the loan.”

Trying not to seem too childishly elated, she thanked him and walked out of the bank. Loretta waited to drive her to the dealership, where an older salesman made the call to Mr. Westland. Sally had nervously smiled as he nodded at her, still talking on the phone to
Westland. After a lot of paperwork and a promise to return with the bank’s check, the salesman handed Sally the keys to her first car.

Sally called Art as soon as she rushed into the house after parking the white and blue Chevy next to her father’s paint truck behind the house. “I bought a car, Art!”

“So your mother won’t worry,” he said, not sounding nearly as giddy as she felt. “Tell them you’re bringing me home from school.”

“Oh, Art!”

“Tony couldn’t survive school without Jill. I’m coming home, too.”

“How’s your dad taking it?”

“I only talked to Mother.” Sally thought she heard Art’s voice break as he hung up.

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Down in Lincoln, Sally stopped her car at the same spot Jill parked two weeks earlier. A freak snowfall iced the green campus. Barren elms stood along the empty sidewalk. Art hugged Sally before she stepped into his room.
Tony’s side of the room was empty, the mattress bare. “His father came for him.” Art said, before she could ask.

“He loved her, then.”

“If that’s love, I never want to fall in love.” He held Sally by the shoulders. “That wasn’t love, Sally. It was a thing without affection. It consumed his mind and body, leaving no place for his soul to rest.”

“You’re right.” Sally tried to calm his fierceness. Nevertheless, as she got into her second-hand car to drive home, she judged Tony to be a romantic because he grieved so much for his lost mate. Without thinking of her words effect on Art’s nerves, she said, “Black swans die within twenty-four hours of the other swan’s death. Their hearts stop.”

“He wants to die.”

“I never understood Jill. Once when I was talking to the boys in my study hall, she took me aside. She told me not to waste my time on them. They couldn’t afford cars.” Art didn’t respond. “And another time after Mrs. Forbes invited the Latin Club over for Christmas, Jill estimated the cost of every lamp in the place.”

“Her first love,” Art said.

“Money?”

“My dad called,” Art said, once they turned north on to Route 66 heading for St. Charles. “He’s arranged for me to work at DuKane, in Customer Relations.”

“Wow.” Sally kept her eyes on the scant rural traffic.

“He’s not happy.”

Rich people seldom are, Sally’s head replayed Daddy’s saying. Then she offered Art an invitation, one guaranteed to please Mother. “Could we stop off in Bloomington and say hello to my grandmother?”

“It’s your car.”

“She’ll love you.”

Grandmother Kerner could be counted on to hug the poor guy and fill him full of soup, certainly enough cookies to raise his sugar level out of any depression. “Do you like oatmeal-raison or pecan ice-box cookies?”

“Both.” Art smiled slightly.

When they stopped for gas, Sally called her grandmother to say she was bringing a friend to taste-test cookies. “I’ve got’ta plenty in the freezer,” Grandma Kerner said. “Bring more milk if you want any.”

Grandma’s German accent struck a chord of homesickness in Sally. She wanted to be eight years old again without a care in the world to fully enjoy her share of Grandma’s hugs and cookies. For an entire summer she stayed in
Bloomington, when her mother broke her pelvis in a fall from a barn’s hayloft in Algonquin, Illinois. Loretta came too, but Loretta was put to work helping with Aunt Rosie’s brood of nine. Loretta could bake bread and iron by the age of eleven. Sally only dusted the steps up to the bedrooms every day with a damp cloth for Grandma with a pat on the behind if she missed a speck. Somehow, her grandmother convinced Sally in those four summer months that she was a lovable and wanted person, not like at home.

Rejudging
the brown, tar-shingled house of her grandmother, Sally tried to see the house from Art’s viewpoint. The grape arbor in the side yard stood ugly with its cap of dripping snow. The window boxes on the front porch were empty of flowers. Art Woods started up the front steps. “No, no,” Sally called. “Come this way.”

As Sally opened the side door, the familiar odors of a tomato and cabbage soup reached her. The dark stairway up to the kitchen needed guidance. She held Art’s hand until they stepped into the bright kitchen. “Hello,” she called and heard a muffled reply. She went around the refrigerator to open the door to the bedrooms’ stairwell.

“I’m on the throne,” Grandma called.

“She’ll be right down.” Before Sally found a place in the packed refrigerator for the milk, Grandma appeared...even shorter than she recalled.

Grandma peered up at Art, after the introduction. At four-foot eleven and shrinking, Sally thought her grandma would be impressed with Art’s six feet two inches. “I’ve got three grandchildren taller than you.” Grandma cut Art down to size. “Are you a good Catholic boy, hanging around our Sally?”

“No, Ma’am.” Art sat down to get eye to eye. “I’m Protestant.”

“Go to church?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Sally, you take this boy in hand now.”

Sally intended to. “About those cookies, Grandma.” She retrieved the milk carton and placed it on the oilcloth covering of the table.

“Get that off of there.” Grandma spanked her behind. “Pour the young man a glass of milk and put the rest away.”

Sally poured three glasses as Grandma briskly went down the narrow hall between the parlor and the front room out to the giant freezer housed on the front porch. Returning with plastic containers balanced up to her chin, Grandma went to the cupboard corner next to the sink and set out an array of cookies on a green glass platter. “You drink coffee?” she asked, pouring Sally and herself each a full cup.

“Not yet,” Art said.

Grandma put her hand on Sally’s arm, a warm gesture making Sally feel a part of Grandma’s life.

Art devoured the plate of cookies with appropriate “oohs” and “ahs” of appreciation. “They’re the best.” Art turned in his chair to ask Sally, “Can you bake these?”

Grandma laughed. “She’s a third daughter. Marie, her mother, got tired of teaching by the time Sally was old enough to learn. All this child does is stick her nose in books. But we love her.”

For an hour they traded gossip about the four generations in the family. Who married, gave birth, died. Art moved around restlessly. “We better head home,” Sally finally said.

“Well, use the bathroom at the head of the steps before you leave, while I pack up a few cookies to take back with you.”

“Could I have a few for my mother?” Art asked. “She doesn’t bake.”

“He’s a sweet boy,” Grandma said as Art headed upstairs. “You make sure he takes those catechism lessons, like your daddy, before you agree to marry him.”

“He hasn’t asked.”

“He will.” Grandma gave her an extra good-bye hug. “I’ll call Marie; tell her you’re on your way. No sense worrying her beads.”

As they got on the road with Art driving, he said, “That’s the kind of mother I want my kids to have!”

Sally caught a sob in her throat. “Me too. I miss her already.”

Art didn’t notice. “My grandmother lives in Florida. Grandpa has Parkinson’s, but she’s fine. She plays tennis and bridge every day. She says I’m the cat’s pajamas.”

“Grandmothers love us best.”