CHAPTER 119, THOUGHTS
October 24, 1930
New York City
Dictated by Timmy Bates
Dear Milady-Granny,
We walked on the Brooklyn Bridge. I want to build bridges. I want to build a bridge to your house. A skyscraper too. You can go to the top. You can see New York and wave to me.
We ate at the Automat. It's the best restaurant in the world! It has 90 desserts. It's true. Uncle Pooh picked me up to see. I gave our $2 to the lady in front. She gave me nickels. Milly and I shared. We had macaroni and cheese. We had creamed spinach. We had queen bee cake. It was good, but I couldn't find the bees.
I'm going to a Halloween party! It's at Leo's. Leo lets me try his mitt. He's swell. Dr Hanson is his dad. Dr Hanson and Milly are friends. Milly is his potter-jay. [I believe Timmy means protégé.] Dr Hanson has a skeleton. Milly isn't scared. She's learning bone names. I learned too by accident. The head bone is crani-mum like the flower. The chin bone is Mandy's bull.
I want you to visit. I want to show you the Bronx Zoo and my school and Chinatown and Woolworth's and the Automat and Leo and the skeleton. Come in summer. I'll show you Babe Ruth.
I miss you,
Timmy
P.S.
My Darling,
I miss you too. After Timmy builds his bridge, I'll meet you half-way.
Your Loulou
Bartholomew Hotel
The Bates Suite
Shortly after midnight
Bates turned off the lamp and felt his way to the living room table. He found the sketchbook he had left open to a fresh page and retrieved a pencil from his robe pocket. He located the center of the page where he rested the pencil's point. His left hand moved to the bridge of his nose, and his fingers explored the eyebrow that rimmed the curved bone above his eye. His right hand drew what his left hand saw.
Bates worked slowly, pushing his recent, private turmoil to the edges of his mind. His fingers moved to the creases that radiated from his eye like a Chinese fan. They followed the slight indentation under his cheekbone to his jaw and pressed against his flaccid jowl. Bates thought back to a time when his skin was fresh and taut. Before I met Anna, he thought and suddenly felt quite sorry for his wife. With some reluctance, he forced his thoughts back to himself. His fingers detected the shape of his chin. It's a proper chin, strong but not haughty. His vanity was short-lived. It fizzled the instant his fingers encountered the flabby pouch that served as his neck. He pinched the slack skin between his thumb and forefinger and jiggled it. Once more, Bates thought of his wife who often fell asleep wrapped in his arm with her head on his chest. Is this the last thing she sees before she drifts off?
The window was open, and the chill in the air sharpened. Bates was too engrossed to notice how the cold had stiffened his fingers or to hear the old cart rattling down the corridor. He jumped when the door opened. "Who is it?"
"It's me," answered Thomas, flicking on the light switch. "You knew I was working 'til midnight."
"I lost track of the time."
"Why were you sitting in the dark?"
Bates pocketed his pencil. "I was trying my hand at a drawing exercise."
"In the dark?" Thomas parked the cart near the table. "Let me see," he demanded and picked up the sketchbook. He examined the disjointed lines and declared, "It's a bulldog."
"What?" Bates stood and viewed the sketch over Thomas's shoulder. He burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. I'm only surprised that you guessed it."
Thomas shrugged. "It's obvious, even if the lines are a bit off. What's the point of drawing in the dark?"
Bates dropped back into his chair. "It's supposed to force me to see what's truly in front of me instead of what I think I should see."
"I must be a Philistine. I think it's silly." Thomas returned the sketchbook to Bates. "It's freezing in here!"
"Is it?"
"I can see my breath, John." Thomas shut the window and returned to the cart. "I didn't bring anything for Anna. She said she was making an early night of it."
"That's right. It's only the two of us. What did you wheedle out of Jake this time?"
"Pastrami," replied Thomas, lifting a cloche to reveal a hefty sandwich. He picked up a sharp knife and cut the sandwich in two. "Half each. I've been overdoing it a bit." Thomas patted his flat belly for emphasis.
Bates understood Thomas's diplomacy. "Half will do."
"And half entitles us to dessert."
"Good thinking."
Thomas opened a bottle of Dr Brown's Celery Tonic and filled two glasses. Bates picked up his share of the sandwich and stretched his mouth wide.
"John, what's wrong with your hands?"
"Nothing," Bates replied and again prepared to take his first bite.
"What do you mean, nothing? Can't you see how red they are?" Thomas plucked the sandwich from Bates's grasp and took hold of one of his hands. "It's half-frozen!" He pressed the offending hand to Bates's cheek as evidence.
Bates did not like to be at the center of a fuss. "My hands are fine. They only need to warm up."
"I'll take care of that!" Thomas sandwiched the icy hand between his two and rubbed briskly.
"Don't bother yourself, Pooh. They'll warm up on their own."
"Shush, you old goat." Thomas switched to Bates's other hand. "Are you such an alter cocker that you can't take care of yourself?"
Bates chuckled at the use of Mrs Gold's vernacular. "Suit yourself." He watched as his little brother rubbed his hands warm, switching from right to left and back again. His gaze could not help but settle on the youthful line of Thomas's jaw and neck. He resisted the urge to follow the line with his fingers.
Thomas raised his head. "Better?"
"Much. Thank you."
All at once, Thomas seemed overcome with shyness and averted his eyes.
Bates was touched but did not want to embarrass his little brother. "Enough, Pooh. Let's eat. I went to the Y this morning, and I've earned that pastrami. "
The two men ate without further discussion. Bates savored the mingling of spicy mustard, earthy rye, and not-to-lean pastrami. There was nothing better to wash it down than crisp, slightly bitter, celery tonic. As he wiped the last crumbs from his fingers, he became aware that Thomas was watching him. "What is it now?"
"Anna's worried about you."
"Is she? She hasn't said anything to me."
"Well, she has to me. She said that you've been in a mood, and she thought it would pass, but it hasn't."
"And what do you think?"
Thomas shrugged and sliced a pickled tomato in half. "Do you think I have nothing better to do than to make a study of your moods?"
Bates knew that Thomas was teasing, but still, his feelings felt a bit bruised. "I think no such thing."
Thomas set down his fork and raised his soft blue eyes to Bates. "I did notice, but I thought it was my imagination until Anna confirmed it."
"I see."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"It's private, Pooh."
Thomas slammed his hand on the table. He stomped to his bedroom, opened the door, and slammed it shut without entering. He turned furiously back to Bates. "You can say that to me?" he demanded.
"Apparently," Bates answered quietly.
"You'd never tolerate that from me. I have to tell you every detail of my life."
"That's different, Pooh. I'm older."
Thomas threw up his arms and let loose a loud exclamation.
"Quiet, Pooh. You'll wake the whole house."
Thomas stared at Bates a moment and heaved a great sigh. He trudged back to his seat and stood hesitantly at the table.
Bates did not like to see Thomas upset. He stuffed one of the tomato halves in his mouth, propped his elbow on the table, and rested his chin on his hand so that his head bobbed up and down as he chewed.
Thomas shook his head and laughed. "You old goat." He pushed his chair close to Bates and sat, hooking his arm about Bates's neck as Bates so often did to him in the wee hours. He leaned until their foreheads were touching. "Talk to me, Bonnie John," he purred.
There was a time when Bates had been immune to Thomas's charm, but that was in that other life, that life of suspicion and grudges. Bates no longer found it easy to ignore Thomas, especially when his little brother chose to reveal his more tender nature. Still, Bates demurred. "How can I tell you when I can't tell Anna?"
Thomas lifted his head. "Since when do you and Anna keep secrets from each other?"
"Since I've been ashamed to face her."
Thomas's brow furrowed. "So this is serious."
"Yes, it's serious, and it's private."
"So you said," Thomas noted with surprising calm. He transferred a second covered dish to the table. "Tell me, John, are you in the mood for pudding, pie, or cake?"
"Whatever you've brought is fine, Pooh."
"No, I want you to tell me."
"Why?"
"Tell me."
"Fine. I'd prefer cake."
"Would you?" Thomas lifted the cloche to reveal a slice of chocolate layer cake.
"How did you do that?" demanded Bates.
Thomas laughed. "You truly don't know?"
"No, Pooh. How?"
"You were eyeing the cake display at dinner." Thomas picked up a fork and separated the slice into two pieces. "How is it that a man of mystery has such a transparent head?"
"I am not a man of mystery."
"That's not the word on the street."
"Are we going to talk or eat?"
"We can do both." Thomas turned the plate so that the larger piece was closer to Bates. "Sanka?"
"Certainly."
Thomas filled two cups and sat opposite Bates. "John?"
Bates picked up a fork. "Mm?"
"I know what it is to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders."
Bates met Thomas's gaze. "I know, Pooh."
"Do you know what helped me?"
"No."
"Yes, you do. It was opening up to you, John, and I'm grateful.
"I didn't do anything."
"I'm grateful, damn it, and now I'm going to return the favor."
"There's no need," Bates replied lightly.
"I wasn't asking permission, John. It's your business whether or not you tell Anna, but you are going to tell me."
"Playing Mama Bear doesn't suit you, little brother."
"And playing a stubborn jackass doesn't suit you."
The two men finished their pieces of cake in silence. Bates drained his coffee cup.
"More Sanka?"
"No, too much gives me heartburn." Bates picked up his sketchbook and moved to the sofa where he covered his legs with the knit lap rug Anna kept on hand for chilly evenings. He watched Thomas clear the table in that meticulous way of his. Bates had taken his turn clearing the night before, but his technique was less particular.
Thomas strode across the living room to his suite. "I'd like to change first."
"First?"
"Before our little talk."
Bates knew he could delay but not avoid. "Fine."
"I won't be long."
Bates settled back and closed his eyes. He imagined Thomas stowing his wristwatch and wallet in their assigned off-duty locations, inserting trees into his shoes, and laying out his pajamas. Within a few minutes, he heard water running. Thomas showered twice a day when he could. Bates suspected that his little brother's aversion to dirt and disorder had its origin in his years with Northcott, but he never asked.
By the time Thomas returned, Bates was sketching again, this time from memory. His subject was the skull of Hanson's skeleton.
Thomas joined Bates on the sofa. "I could watch you sketch for hours," he murmured.
"I can't think of anything more dreary than watching me draw. I've told you that if you'd practice, you'd develop some skill of your own."
"No, John. You're the artist in the family. It isn't in me." Thomas pointed to the skull's penciled mouth. "That's the old boy's smile, all right. I wonder how he lost that tooth."
Bates looked up from his work. Thomas's newly-washed hair fell forward in that boyish way of which he was so fond. This was a favorite time of day for Bates. It was the hour when Thomas transformed from astute businessman to the little brother who looked up to him, the little brother who, in a single moment, could be mischievous and guileless and affectionate. "That's enough for tonight." Bates closed the sketchbook and set it on the side table. " He tossed a side of the rug over Thomas's legs. "Warm enough?"
"Mm."
"Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I'm not working tomorrow, and Anna's taking the kids to the five and dime to choose Halloween masks."
Bates was amused by Thomas's new habit of referring to the children as kids. It was easy to imagine Timmy and Milly as a pair of gamboling goats. "I suppose another hour won't hurt."
"Thank you, Mama Bear."
For a few peaceful moments, the brothers enjoyed their shared refuge under the rug. Thomas was the one to break the silence. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Talk."
"Must we do this?"
"Yes."
Bates sighed. He was used to hearing confessions, not making them. He was not accustomed to the nervousness that made him shiver. "I don't quite know where to begin."
"It doesn't matter as long as you begin." Thomas scooted closer and pulled up the rug over Bates's chest. "It shouldn't be so difficult to talk to me, John." He leaned his head against Bates's shoulder and gazed up with large moon eyes. "I'm your little brother, remember?"
Bates laughed. His anxiety was no match for Thomas's pout. "You win."
"I know."
"I've told you about the women who model at the school."
"Is that what this is about? I've told you, when we're better fixed, we'll see what we can do."
"No, it's not that. Not all the models are desperate for money."
"All right."
"Last week, we were painting, and we had a model repeat her pose for a few days." Bates turned to Thomas. "You were right, Pooh."
"Good. I like to be right." Thomas smoothed the lapel of Bates's robe. "Right about what?"
"Some of these women like what they do. This one even looked at our canvases during her breaks and gave us opinions."
"She walked about nude?"
"What?"
"Did she …"
"I heard you the first time! No, Pooh, she wore her robe."
"I don't understand. What does she have to do with you? Did she not like your painting?"
"She didn't say."
"John ... "
"I'll show it to you." Bates picked up the portfolio that he stored between the sofa and the wall. He pulled out a canvas and spread it over their laps. The model was facing a bed but was glancing back over her shoulder.
"She's in a bedroom."
"We're supposed to place the model in a setting of some sort."
Thomas gestured to a shadow falling over the model. "Is this a man's shadow?"
"That's right."
"There's something ominous about him."
"Is there?"
"Who is he?"
"He's me."
Thomas stared at Bates a moment and then at the canvas. A gasp escaped his mouth before he leapt to his feet, dropping the canvas to the floor. "You're having an affair!"
It took a moment for Bates to digest the accusation. "How can you think that?"
"Because you were ... " Thomas seemed confused. "Are you planning to meet with this woman?"
"I've never even spoken to her."
Thomas dropped onto the sofa. "Christ, John. How could you scare me like that?"
"Because … because I may as well be having an affair."
"John, stop this nonsense and tell me what you've done!"
Bates pressed his hands to the sides of his head as though trying to squeeze out the words. "This woman … it's not that she's lewd. It's more that she doesn't experience shame the way we do. When she's posing, I can't help myself from imagining … "
"What? What do you imagine? What it would feel like to touch her? What you could ask her to do that you would never ask Anna?"
Bates felt the weight of his shame pressing on his chest.
Thomas's voice softened. "John, what is it you think you've done? You can't betray Anna with a thought."
"There's no difference between a thought and an act, Pooh. Don't you see? I'm married. I took a vow to be faithful to Anna, but in my thoughts, I'm an adulterer." Bates could no longer face his little brother.
"You're telling me that you've never considered approaching this woman?"
"God no."
"Because you think she would turn you down?"
"No, Pooh. Because I love my wife."
"My Bonnie John, my darling Bonnie John." Thomas slipped his arm about Bates's shoulders and pulled him close. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"You haven't been listening."
"Yes, I have. I know you, John. You're devoted to Anna and want to give yourself to her in every way that you can. But you can't give her your thoughts."
"Because they're stained."
"No, John! Because that's not what God intended."
"Is that so?" Bates picked up the canvas and returned it to the portfolio. "I didn't know you were privy to God's secrets."
"John, listen to me. God gave us free will. Do you agree?"
Bates nodded.
"Good. If He gave us free will, then He must have given us some way to choose among our options. Are we still agreed?
"I don't see ..."
"Are we agreed?"
"Yes."
"Don't you see? God gave us private thoughts so we'd have a safe place to experience possibilities. What matters are the actions we choose after the thoughts. That's how He judges us."
"That's too easy, Pooh."
"Is it? What about your marriage vow?"
"You mean my broken vow?"
"I'm telling you, John, it's not broken. What does a vow prove if it's never been tested? Think about Lent. If I were to give up licorice for Lent, would that prove my devotion?"
Bates lifted his head. "No. You don't like licorice."
"That's right. A vow without temptation is meaningless. You allowed your thoughts to experience the temptation of this woman and then rejected any possibility of acting on it. You've proven your devotion, John. Your vow is intact."
Bates wanted to believe Thomas but wondered if his words were too clever. "I don't know, Pooh."
Thomas crossed his arms. "You know I'm right, John. You just don't want to admit it."
Bates gazed at Thomas. He raised his finger and dragged it down the center of his little brother's pouting lips. Thomas pretended to bite and the pair laughed.
"Do you feel better?"
"I believe I do. Thank you, Pooh." Bates leaned back and stretched out his legs, and Thomas copied his posture. Bates yawned and stretched, and Thomas did the same. "Ready for bed?"
"Almost."
"You're stalling."
"I know." Thomas curled up against Bates. "I like sitting with you when the world's asleep."
"Me too." Bates reached across his chest and gave his little brother's hair a tug. "I like to imagine how it would have been if we had grown up together."
"It wouldn't have been together. We're not that close in age."
"If I'm going to imagine, then I'll imagine what I like!"
Thomas smiled. "Pardon me."
"No matter." Bates tweaked his little brother's cheek. "I like to imagine how much happier my home would have been if my mother had been able to deliver a second baby; how proud I would have been to introduce my little brother to my cousins; how noisy my little attic would have been."
"What about Flossie?"
"The more the merrier." The two sat in silence, and Bates wondered if Thomas was indulging in the same fantasy. "Pooh ... ?"
"Mm?"
"I do feel better now. Truly."
"I'm glad."
"You must think I'm a loony for feeling guilty."
"No, I think you're a man of passion."
"They're the same, aren't they?" The two chuckled softly. A new thought occurred to Bates. "Pooh, do you think Anna has thoughts?"
"She lives and breathes, doesn't she?"
"I mean, do you think she has thoughts about other men?"
"I don't know, John, and I don't care. It's not my business, and it's not yours."
Bates smiled. "You're right. Thank you, Pooh." His little brother was becoming a wise man. Perhaps he should have talked to him about that other thing.
