asked.
“No,” Robin answered, avoiding eye contact. “They were here from before.”
Since one match was still smoking, Linda knew she had a strong argument, but decided not to use it. She was looking forward to visiting Sally and wanted to persuade Robin into some degree of conviviality. It would be marvelous to talk to someone her own age again. Although she and Sally had not had an intimate friendship in high school, there was a natural intimacy among all women these days, and Linda eagerly considered the luxury of having a confidante. Sally was married, and had a family, the experience that Lindaalways imagined would confer automatic wisdom. She herself had not been married long enough to find out. Maybe Sally could tell her what to do. At least she would listen with a sympathetic ear.
Skylark Lane was a street of identical hi-ranch houses. There was a Chevy station wagon in the driveway at 2119, and the front lawn was littered with toys.
Linda would not have recognized Sally. She had gained thirty or forty pounds during the last eight years. She greeted Linda speculatively, as if she had never seen her before. Linda wondered if she had changed radically, too.
There were more toys in the living room, in direct counterpoint to the three rifles mounted on the wall above the fireplace. Were they loaded? Linda remembered that Rod had been a moody, short-tempered boy.
The baby had a cold. It lay in a playpen in the middle of the room, inhaling and exhaling the same green globule of snot, and stared at the strangers. It was bald and naked, except for a diaper and rubber pants. There was a faint rash across its tiny tapered chest, and the visible ribs pulsed as steadily as a digital clock. Linda couldn’t decide if the baby was a boy or a girl. She suspected that Sally would be insulted if she asked. People usually were if you didn’t recognize the sex of their children. “Don’t you just love them when they’re little like that?” Linda said to Robin, who snorted and went to the fireplace to gaze up at the rifles. “Well, hello there,” Linda said to the baby. “What’s
your
name?” hoping someone else would answer and give her a clue.
“It’s
my
baby,” the older child said from the doorway. She was a girl and her name was Bambi. Her piercingvoice on the telephone had not prepared Linda for her astonishing beauty. Her eyes were huge and so heavily fringed she appeared drugged. Her face was small, even for that delicate neck, and it had the sweet, soft-chinned shape of a cat’s. Who did she look like? Linda pictured Rod, a kind of bird-faced teenager, with ears like a loving cup’s. And Sally wasn’t pretty, not now, or back in high school when she was younger and slim. “
My
baby,” Bambi said again, coming closer. She pinched Linda’s leg and ran out of the room.
“That kid needs to be murdered,” Sally said. Then she sat on the couch and lit a cigarette. Linda sat next to her, and Robin collapsed into a chair. “Do you want some coffee or anything?” Sally asked.
Linda would have liked a cup of coffee, but she felt the offer was perfunctory, so she said, “No, thank you, we just had lunch. We’re stuffed to the gills.” After that she sat there, searching her head for something casual to say, something that would lead them into a mood of familiarity. Robin, slumped and sullen, was certainly not going to help. “How’s Rod?” Linda asked.
“He’s okay,” Sally said.
“Still with the telephone company?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you ever hear from Bobby Masterson, Sally? He and Rod were such a riot when they did that routine. You would have loved it, Robin. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Rod swallowed the potion and Bobby turned into the monster.” Linda did a fast takeoff on Bobby’s part of the act.
“He was killed in Vietnam,” Sally said, when Linda was all fangs and claws.
“Oh,” Linda said, and sat back on the couch. She felt guilty for never having really thought Bobby
“No,” Robin answered, avoiding eye contact. “They were here from before.”
Since one match was still smoking, Linda knew she had a strong argument, but decided not to use it. She was looking forward to visiting Sally and wanted to persuade Robin into some degree of conviviality. It would be marvelous to talk to someone her own age again. Although she and Sally had not had an intimate friendship in high school, there was a natural intimacy among all women these days, and Linda eagerly considered the luxury of having a confidante. Sally was married, and had a family, the experience that Lindaalways imagined would confer automatic wisdom. She herself had not been married long enough to find out. Maybe Sally could tell her what to do. At least she would listen with a sympathetic ear.
Skylark Lane was a street of identical hi-ranch houses. There was a Chevy station wagon in the driveway at 2119, and the front lawn was littered with toys.
Linda would not have recognized Sally. She had gained thirty or forty pounds during the last eight years. She greeted Linda speculatively, as if she had never seen her before. Linda wondered if she had changed radically, too.
There were more toys in the living room, in direct counterpoint to the three rifles mounted on the wall above the fireplace. Were they loaded? Linda remembered that Rod had been a moody, short-tempered boy.
The baby had a cold. It lay in a playpen in the middle of the room, inhaling and exhaling the same green globule of snot, and stared at the strangers. It was bald and naked, except for a diaper and rubber pants. There was a faint rash across its tiny tapered chest, and the visible ribs pulsed as steadily as a digital clock. Linda couldn’t decide if the baby was a boy or a girl. She suspected that Sally would be insulted if she asked. People usually were if you didn’t recognize the sex of their children. “Don’t you just love them when they’re little like that?” Linda said to Robin, who snorted and went to the fireplace to gaze up at the rifles. “Well, hello there,” Linda said to the baby. “What’s
your
name?” hoping someone else would answer and give her a clue.
“It’s
my
baby,” the older child said from the doorway. She was a girl and her name was Bambi. Her piercingvoice on the telephone had not prepared Linda for her astonishing beauty. Her eyes were huge and so heavily fringed she appeared drugged. Her face was small, even for that delicate neck, and it had the sweet, soft-chinned shape of a cat’s. Who did she look like? Linda pictured Rod, a kind of bird-faced teenager, with ears like a loving cup’s. And Sally wasn’t pretty, not now, or back in high school when she was younger and slim. “
My
baby,” Bambi said again, coming closer. She pinched Linda’s leg and ran out of the room.
“That kid needs to be murdered,” Sally said. Then she sat on the couch and lit a cigarette. Linda sat next to her, and Robin collapsed into a chair. “Do you want some coffee or anything?” Sally asked.
Linda would have liked a cup of coffee, but she felt the offer was perfunctory, so she said, “No, thank you, we just had lunch. We’re stuffed to the gills.” After that she sat there, searching her head for something casual to say, something that would lead them into a mood of familiarity. Robin, slumped and sullen, was certainly not going to help. “How’s Rod?” Linda asked.
“He’s okay,” Sally said.
“Still with the telephone company?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you ever hear from Bobby Masterson, Sally? He and Rod were such a riot when they did that routine. You would have loved it, Robin. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Rod swallowed the potion and Bobby turned into the monster.” Linda did a fast takeoff on Bobby’s part of the act.
“He was killed in Vietnam,” Sally said, when Linda was all fangs and claws.
“Oh,” Linda said, and sat back on the couch. She felt guilty for never having really thought Bobby
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