Confessions of a Crap Artist

15

While in my bedroom sewing a rip in Elsie’s blue skirt I heard the doorbell and then Bing barking. I went on sewing, expecting Jack to go to the door, but finally I realized that he had shut himself up in his room and wasn’t hearing the doorbell, so I put down my sewing and hurried through the house to the door.

On the porch stood Maud Mayberry, from Inverness Park, a large florid woman whose husband works down at the mill near Olema. I knew her from the PTA.

“Come in,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you right away.”

We sat down at the dining room table and had coffee; I sewed on Elsie’s skirt while Mrs. Mayberry chatted about various events around north west Marin.

“Have you heard about the saucer group?” she said presently. “Claudia Hambro’s bunch?”

“Who cares about those nuts,” I said.

“They’re predicting the end of the world,” Mrs. Mayberry said.

At that I put down my sewing. “Well, I have to hand it to Claudia Hambro,” I said. “I take off my hat to her. Just when I get to thinking that my own life is a mess and I’m an idiot and can’t handle the simplest situation, then I hear about something like this. They’re psychotic; they really are. They ought to have medical attention.”

Mrs. Mayberry went on to tell me details. She had gotten them second hand, but she seemed to think they were accurate. In fact, they had come from the wife of the young minister living in Point Reyes Station. The saucer group evidently expected to be whisked away to outer space just before the calamity. It was the most far-out crap I have ever heard in my entire life; it really was.

“They ought to cart that Claudia Hambro away,” I said. “She’s spreading this contagion like the plague. Next thing, everybody in north west Marin County will be going up on Noren’s Acres and waiting for the saucer. I mean, this is going to get written up in the newspapers. This is what you read about. This happens once in a decade. I never thought it would happen with people I actually know. My good god—Claudia Hambro’s little girl was over here only the other day, with the Bluebirds. My good god.” I shook my head; it was really the end. And this was what my brother had gotten mixed up in.

“Your brother’s in the group, isn’t he?” Mrs. Mayberry said.

“Yes,” I said.

“But you’re far from sympathetic.”

I said, “My brother’s as nutty as the rest of them, and I don’t care who hears me say it. I just wish I hadn’t brought him up here. Hadn’t let Charley persuade me to bring him up here.”

Mrs. Mayberry said, “Do you know about the story your brother wrote for the group?”

“What story?” I said.

“Well, according to what Mrs. Baron said—that’s who I get it from—he did some automatic writing under hypnosis, or under the telepathic influence of their spiritual leader… who lives, as I understand it, down in San Anselmo. Anyhow, he brought this story to the group, and they’ve been reading it and passing it around, trying to get at the symbolistic meaning beneath it.”

“Christ,” I said, fascinated.

Mrs. Mayberry said, “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard about it. They had a couple of special meetings about it.”

“How would I hear about it?” I said. “When do I get out? My good god, I have to go down to S.F. three days a week, and now that my husband’s in the hospital—”

“It’s about you and that young man who just recently moved up here,” Mrs. Mayberry said. “Nathan Anteil, who rented the old Mondavi place.”

At that, I felt cold all over. “What do you mean, about me and Mr. Anteil?” I said.

“Well, they haven’t showed it to anyone outside the group. That’s all Mrs. Baron knew.”

I said, “Have you heard anything about me and Mr. Anteil from other sources?”

“No,” Mrs. Mayberry said. “Like what?”

“That fucking Claudia Hambro,” I said, and then, seeing the expression on Mrs. Mayberry’s face, I said, “Excuse me.” I threw down my sewing; I was so mad and upset I could hardly see. Going to my purse I got out my cigarettes, lit one, and then threw it into the fire– place. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to go out.”

Running into the bedroom I changed from my jeans to a skirt and blouse; I combed my hair, put on lipstick, got my purse and car keys, and started out of the house. There, at the dining room table, sat that big horse’s ass, Mrs. Mayberi-y, staring at me as if I were a freak.

“I have to go out for a while,” I told her. “Good-bye.” I ran down the path and jumped into the Buick. A minute later I was driving up the road, as fast as possible, toward Inverness Park.

I found Claudia out in her cactus garden, weeding. “Listen,” I said, “I think if you had any social responsibility you would have telephoned me as soon as you got your hands on that thing he wrote. Jack wrote.” I was out of breath from running up her flagstone path from the car. “Can I have it, please?”

Claudia stood up, holding her trowel. “You mean that story?”

“Right,” I said.

“It’s being read,” she said. “We passed it around the group. I don’t know who has it.”

“Have you read it?” I said. “What does it say about me and Nat Anteil?”

Claudia said, “It’s in the form usual with telepathical writing. You can read it. I’ll put your name down and when it gets back to me I’ll bring it over to you.” She had amazing calmness; I have to give her credit for that. She kept really poised.

“I’ll sue you,” I said. “I’ll take you to court.”

“That’s right,” Claudia said. “You have that big attorney down in San Rafael. You know, Mrs. Hume, in a month from now none of us will remember or even care about all this. It’ll be all washed away.” She smiled her dazzling, beautiful smile. Probably there wasn’t another woman as physically beautiful as Claudia in Northern California. And she certainly wasn’t intimidated. She didn’t bat an eye, and I know I’ve never been so angry and upset in my entire life. I really felt that in a couple of moments with me she had gotten the upper hand. It was that magnetic personality of hers, that assurance. She really is a powerful woman. No wonder she had control of that group. Anyhow, I have never been good at dealing with women. All I could do was keep my temper and speak as rationally as possible.

“I’d appreciate having that thing back,” I said. “Possibly you could contact the different members of your group and find out who has it and then I’ll drive over and get it back from them. I frankly don’t see what’s so difficult or impossible about that. If you’ll give me the names of your group I’ll call them now.”

Claudia said, “It’ll come back. In due time.”

I went away feeling like a child that had been reprimanded by its teacher. Good god, I thought. That woman completely takes over; there’s nothing I can do. I know she has no right to be circulating that god damn thing, and she knows it, too, but she made it sound as if I was asking for something completely outrageous. How did she do it? Now! felt more depressed than angry; I didn’t even feel scared. Ijust felt how incompetent and idiotic I was, how unable to handle my affairs.

Looking back on it I saw that I should have been able to march up to her and simply demand that thing, not threaten or yell but just hold out my hand, say nothing at all.

As soon as I had gotten back in my car I made up my mind to get Nathan and get him to get the damn thing back for me.

After all, it involved him, too.

I drove over to his place and parked and honked the horn. No one appeared on the porch, so I shut off the motor and got out and went up the stairs. Nobody answered my knock, so I opened the door, looked in and called. Still no one. The motherfucker, I thought. I returned to the car and began driving around purposelessly, with no more idea of what to do than a year-old baby.

After half an hour I drove back to my own house; the time was two-thirty and the girls would be getting home. Mrs. Mayberry had left, thank god. I took a look into Jack’s room, but he wasn’t there; he probably had been eavesdropping on me and Mrs. Mayberry and had had the good sense to get out of the house.

Going into the kitchen I poured myself a drink.

This is really the pit, I thought. It’s all over town, and not only that, it’s being circulated by the screwiest, craziest, nuttiest bunch of simps in the entire North American continent. Of all the people to get hold of the god damn thing. What do you suppose it says, anyhow? I wondered. What did the asshole say?

I called my attorney, Sam Cohen. After I had told him the situation he advised me to sit tight and wait until I had actually seen the document or whatever it’s called. I thanked him and went and made myself another drink. Then I called Doctor Andrews. The receptionist said I couldn’t hope to get through to him until four; he had a patient until then, and for me to call back. By now the girls had come home. I hung up and went outside, onto the patio, and watched the Rouen drake chasing the Muscovy around the pen. First he chased her up onto the feed can, and then she flew to the far end, onto the water trough. He ran after her and she then flew back.

At four-ten I was able to get hold of Doctor Andrews. He told me to take one of the Sparines he had given me and to wait until I actually saw the god damn story.

“By then even the farms out on the point’ll know about me and Nathan,” I said.

In his usual fat-assed way he mumbled about keeping cool and taking a long-term view.

“That’s what I’m doing, you hick analyst,” I told him. “You slob. My reputation in this town is going to be ruined. You never lived in a small town; it’s easy enough for you to say, living in San Francisco. You can screw anybody you want and nobody gives a damn. Up here they’re voting on you in the PTA before you have your pants zipped back up. My god, I have the Bluebirds, and the dance group—they’ll stop sending their kids, and I won’t be able to get my mail delivered, or the electricity—they won’t sell me food at the Mayfair; I’ll have to drive to Petaluma every time I want a loaf of bread—I won’t even be able to buy gas for my car!”

Andrews told me I was getting worked up inordinately. Finally I told him to go to hell and hung up.

Anyhow, I thought, that’s what analysts are for, to have steam blown off at them.

In a sense he’s right. I am getting too excited.

At six o’clock, while the girls and I were eating dinner—Jack was still hiding out somewhere—the front door opened and Nat Anteil walked into the house.

“Where have you been?” I said, leaping up. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.” And then I saw by the look on his face that he knew. “Can’t we sue them?” I said. “For defamation of character or something?”

Nat said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wait,” I said. I led him out of the dining room and into the study; closing the door so the girls couldn’t hear I said, “What is it?”

He said, “I was down in San Francisco, talking to your husband. Evidently Jack told him about us; anyhow he knows.”

“Jack told everybody,” I said. “He wrote it up and gave it to Claudia Hambro.”

“Charley and I had a long talk,” Nat said, but I interrupted him before he could go into one of his two-hour speeches.

“You have to go over to Claudia’s and get it back,” I told him. “Tell her you’ll give her a hundred bucks for it; that ought to get it out of her.” Going to the desk I got my checkbook out and sat down on the bed to write out a check. “Okay?” I said. “I’ll leave it up to you. It’s entirely in your hands; it’s your responsibility.”

Nat said, “I’ll go do what I can.” He stood holding the check, however, not doing a damn thing.

“Go on,” I said. “Go get it. Or is this another of those degrading domestic errands that so offends you?”

“Your husband said that when he gets back up here he’s going to kill you.”

I said, “Oh, the hell he is. I’ll kill him. I’ll buy a gun and shoot him. Go get that thing from Claudia, will you? Don’t worry about Charley; he’ll probably fall dead of a heart attack on the way home. He’s been saying that for years. He came home one day when I sent him to buy me Tampax and practically killed me on the spot. It’s the kind of solution that comes into the mind of a man like that; it’s predictable, and when you’ve been married to him—”

By this time Nat had started out of the study, holding the check in his hand.

“You’re going to do it?” I said, following him. “Get it back? For me? For us?”

“Okay,” he said, in a weary voice. “I’ll try.”

“Work your sexy charm on her,” I said. “Do you know her? Have you ever met her? Go home and get that marvelous rust-colored skiing sweater you had on that day I first met you—god, have you got an experience in store, meeting Claudia Hambro.” I followed him outdoors, to his car. “She’s the most sensationally beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. She looks like a jungle princess, with that mane of hair and those filed teeth.”

I told him how to find her house, and he drove off without saying anything further.

Feeling much more cheerful, I returned to the house. The girls were fooling around at the dinner table, sliding mounds of spinach back and forth at each other. I gave them a couple of swats with my hand and then reseated myself and lit a cigarette.

I’m smoking too much, I thought. I’ll have to get Nat to help me cut down. He’d probably force me to stop entirely, once I gave him an inch. He probably thinks it’s too expensive anyway.

Later on, since Jack had not put in an appearance, I cleared the table and got the girls to do the dishes. Seated in the living room in front of the fireplace, I began meditating about what Nat had said, the business about Charley.

Like hell he’ll kill me, I thought. But maybe he will. I’ll have to go get the sheriff or something. Get somebody to come over and stick around.

I thought of calling Doctor Andrews at his home and asking him about Charley. In the past he had been able to predict what Charley was going to do; it was part of his field to know those things. How the hell could I tell? Maybe the heart attack had scared him so much he might actually do it.

The front door opened. For a moment I thought it was Nat, back with the document, but instead it was Jack, wearing his old army raincoat and hiking boots. Jumping up, I said, “God damn it, I don’t mind you telling Charley, but why the hell did you have to tell the Inverness Park flying saucer group?”

He glanced down sheepishly and grinned in that idiotic way.

“What did you say in that nutty piece of writing?” I demanded. “Do you have a copy of it? Yes? No? Do you remember? You probably don’t even remember what it said, you—” I couldn’t think of any words to fit him. “Get out of here,” I said. “Get out of my house. Go on, get your stuff and go. Pile it in the car and I’ll drive you down to San Francisco. I mean it.” By his reaction I saw that he didn’t believe I was serious. “I wouldn’t have you around here,” I told him. “You lunatic.”

In his creaky voice he said, “I have an open invitation from the Hambros to stay with them.”

“Then go stay with them!” I shouted. “And get that woman to pick up your crap; tell her to come drive you and it over there.” I grabbed up something—it felt like one of the children’s toys—and threw it at him. I was so furious at him I was virtually out of my mind; if he could stay at the Hambros’ we’d never get him out of town—he could stay there and give them all the inside dope on us, write one telepathical paper after another, supply junk for an endless number of meetings. “And don’t expect me to drive you over.” I yelled, running past him to open the door. “You get over there on your own power. And get all your crap out of here tonight.”

Still grinning his idiotic grin he sidled past me and out. Without a word—after all, what could he say?—he shambled off down the driveway to the road and disappeared into the darkness beyond the cypress trees. I slammed the front door, and then I hurried through the house, to his room, and began gathering up all his crap.

At first I tried to lug it out front, to the driveway. But after a few trips I gave up. Why should I carry his stuff for him? Kill myself over a lot of rubbish—.

Getting madder and madder, I threw it all together into the cardboard carton we had intended to use as a cage for the girls’ guinea pig. Taking hold of one end, I dragged it out the back door of his’room, onto the field and over to the incinerator. And then I did something that at the time I knew was wrong. Getting the gallon jug of white gas which we used with the roto-tiller, I poured gas onto the carton, and, with my cigarette lighter, ignited it. In ten minutes the whole thing was nothing but glowing embers. Except for his collection of rocks, the whole thing had been burned up, and I for one was relieved. Now that I had done it I ceased feeling regret; I was glad.

Later in the evening I heard a car out front. Presently Jack opened the front door. “Where’s my stuff?” he said. “I only see a little out front.”

I had seated myself in the big easy chair, facing him. “I burned it all,” I said. “I threw it in the incinerator, the whole god damn mess.”

He stared at me with that asinine expression on his face, that giggle. “You did?” he said.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” I said. “What’s keeping you here?”

After fidgeting around, he wandered out, leaving the front door open. I saw him gather the junk that I had put out front into Claudia’s car. And then Claudia backed down the driveway to the road.

Wow, I thought. Well, that’s that.

I got the bottle of bourbon from the cupboard in the kitchen and carried it and a glass and the tray of ice cubes into the living room and put them down beside the big chair. For a time I sat drinking and feeling better and better. At least I had gotten my asshole brother out of the house, and that was something. I could get Nathan to help me in a lot of ways that Jack had helped. The girls would miss him, but again Nat would take his place.

And then I began thinking about Nat and Claudia Hambro, and I stopped feeling better and felt worse. Was he over at their house? Was everybody over there, my brother and Nat both? House guests of the Hambros?

No doubt Claudia Hambro was ten times as attractive as I. And Nat had never seen her before. Her magnetic personality—her ability to influence people; look at how she had gotten the upper hand with me, and Nat was far weaker a person than I. Not only that, it had always been evident that he was the kind of man that a woman can easily deal with. I saw that from the start. If an ordinary-looking woman like me, with only average intelligence and charm, could get such a reaction from him, what would Claudia get?

Thinking that, I began to drink as never before. After a while I lost count. All! could think of was Nat and Claudia Hambro, and then it all became mixed in with Charley coming back and killing me, possibly killing the girls . – . I saw Charley coming in the front door with the jar of smoked oysters for me again, and I found myself getting up out of my chair and going toward him, reaching for the oysters and being so glad that he had brought me a present.

He really will kill me, I realized. This time when he comes in the door he won’t hit me; he’ll kill me.

I got up from the chair and told the girls to put themselves to bed. Then I went into the utility room, bumping into the washer and drier as I did so, and got the little ax that I used to cut up kindling. Going into my bedroom I locked the door and all the windows and sat there on the bed with the ax on my lap.

I was still sitting there when I heard a man come in the front door. Is that him? I thought. Is that Charley or Jack or Nat? He couldn’t get out of the hospital tonight; he’s not supposed to get out until the day after tomorrow. And Jack hasn’t got a car. Didn’t I hear a car? Going to the window, I tried to see out onto the driveway, but a cypress tree blocked my view.

“Fay?” a man’s voice called from somewhere in the house.

“I’m in here,” I said.

Presently the man came to the door. “You in there, Fay?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

He tried the door and discovered that it was locked. “It’s me,” he said. “Nat Anteil.”

I got up, then, and unlocked the door.

When he saw the ax he said, “What’s wrong?” As he took it out of my hands he saw the empty bourbon bottle; I had carried it into the bedroom with me and finished it. “Good god,” he said, putting his arms around me.

“Don’t you hug me,” I said. “Go hug Claudia Hambro.” With all my strength I shoved him away. “How was she?” I said. “A real good lay?”

He took me by the shoulder and half-led half-pushed me into the kitchen. There, he seated me at the table and put on the kettle of water.

“Go to hell,” I said. “I don’t want any coffee. Caffeine gives me nocturnal palpitations.”

“Then I’ll fix you some Sanka,” he said, getting down the jar of instant Sanka.

“That nothing coffee,” I said. But I let him fix me a cup of it anyhow.