Big Easy Bonanza

bodies, merely an observer. She was pouring orange juice when the odd spectacle came back to her—the picture she’d seen with her eyes closed so long ago. She hadn’t thought of it in thirty years.
    She hadn’t wanted to do it again and had put Tolliver off by saying she was too afraid, and it was only two weeks later that she met Chauncey, whose first touch, as they shook hands, stimulated nerve endings all over her body.
    She never thought of Tolliver in a sexual context again. By the time she was settled with Chauncey, the first flush having faded, she noticed that Tolliver was there, that he had always been there. She must have assumed he always would be. She had wondered about his personal life hardly at all, had considered him an adjunct of herself and Chauncey, had not needed to know anything else. He was just there, that was all. And now that she needed him, he wasn’t at home.

2
    Henry found her snoring on the living-room sofa, the carpet beside her reeking from a spilled drink. He had arrived several hours early for their dinner date, thinking to coax her out of the house and to distract her from becoming stinko, for once.
    He cleaned up the mess, embarrassed for her, and let her sleep another hour before he shook her gently. “Bitty. Bitty, darling, it’s your baby.”
    His heart turned to jelly as she touched his face and smiled. She must have made this gesture a thousand times. He literally didn’t think he could get along without her, would probably die without her in his life.
    He was a fool not to have moved back in for the week, at least, maybe a few weeks until she was on her feet a little better. He was shocked that it hadn’t occurred to him that he could do that, had still thought of this house as his father’s house, a house in which he wasn’t welcome.
    “Henry? Baby, is that you?”
    “Rise and shine, Mother.”
    “Did I oversleep?”
    “No. I came a little early. I thought we might take a drive or something.”
    “What a nice idea, baby. Help me up the stairs, will you?”
    By the time they had reached the top of the stairs, it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere but back to bed. He tucked her under a satin comforter and went downstairs to watch television.
    He couldn’t watch; he was too worried. What would happen to her now? He had asked her to dinner tonight to give her something to look forward to and it hadn’t worked. Since he had to work that day, and Tolliver hadn’t returned his call, he had arranged with Geegaw, of whom he was half terrified, to take her to church, thinking he’d come over soon after. But he saw that he hadn’t been quick enough, that she must simply wait every day until she was alone and then head straight for oblivion.
    He needed to move in; that was obvious. He would do it tomorrow.
    He heard her stirring, running a bath, at about five-thirty. She was wonderful—never missed an engagement, apparently possessing an inner clock capable of rousing her even from a stupor.
    When she came down she was beautiful in midnight-blue silk. In response to his compliment, she said, “I must get some more black clothes. I only have the suit.”
    “I’ll take you. Tomorrow if you like.”
    She answered vaguely, and he knew she would end up pleading a headache.
    At the restaurant she pushed her salad around her plate, not eating and trying to hide it. But as she drank her wine, a pink glow colored her cheeks and she chatted quite cheerfully.
    “Do you remember when you and Marcelle were little, when the three of us went out together every afternoon?”
    Every afternoon it had taken hours to get Marcelle ready, and then they could only go to places where babies could go and Bitty had to watch Marcelle every second. Henry had to play by himself most of the time, but when he could get Marcelle alone, he threw dirt in her face.
    “Remember how much fun we had together?”
    “I always thought Marcelle was kind of a drag.”
    “Oh, darling, you know you love your sister. You were so cute with her at that age, so worried something might happen to her.”
    “Was I?”
    “Oh, heavens, especially that time she had strep throat. Remember that? She was in the hospital overnight, and you came to my room the next morning to ask if she’d died.”
    He hadn’t the least recollection of it.
    “I was thinking of those days last night. This week is so hard, Henry.”
    “I know, Mother. You need someone with you. I’d like to come stay with you