The assistant funeral director
stopped in his tracks at the back of the chapel. The pureness of tone with which
the actress cried out these words caused him to consider them. He had heard a
world of things in this business. But had he ever heard this in this setting?
No, he decided. And he wondered why not. Then he continued to the front of the
room. "I'm sorry," he said softly, but startling Yvonne. "We close now for a few
hours. You're welcome to come back at seven... Excuse me, was the deceased your
brother?"
Yvonne didn't know that
she had spoken aloud, didn't remember even thinking the question from Genesis.
But she answered, "I don't know." The confused man retreated. Yvonne rose to go,
pulled on her coat and gloves. But after turning her back on the coffin, she
changed her mind and went to Gabriel. At first she was fearful. But then she
stroked the polished wood lovingly and spoke,
Come gentle night, come loving black-browed night,
Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O I have bought the mansion of love,
But not possessed it.
And so Gabriel did have a funeral.
And then Yvonne left Gabriel and
went into the deadly cold February night. Snow had iced the city like a wedding
cake while she'd been mourning. The wind smashed through her breath like an ice
block through cellophane. Just as the natural shocks were purging Yvonne of
morbid thoughts as she stood on the mortuary steps, Hal Howard flung himself
from a cab that slid and lurched to the curb. Hal rushed up the swept sidewalk
and steps.
"They're closed," said
Yvonne.
Hal gave a terrified
glance over Yvonne's shoulder toward the mortuary wherein his young lover lay.
He regrouped his gorgeous face and said, "No, grandma. I came for you. It's the
baby! The baby's here! Everyone's been looking for you. Paul finally realized
you'd be here."
"Is everything
all right?" Yvonne said faintly, her heart pounding more cold and more wild than
the winter wind.
"Fine! Fine!"
said Hal, grinning as warm and handsome as a summer day.
"Girl? Boy?"
"Girl," Hal answered and he
escorted her to the waiting cab.
"Hal," said Yvonne, when they were settled in the cab and underway to the
hospital, "if you ever call me grandma again, I'll put a fucking sword straight
through your black heart."
Hal
had laughed, but Yvonne said, "I'm thirty-two years old. I know five women older
than myself who just in the last year or so have had their first baby. I don't
know what I am to this little girl, it's all a bit confusing. I..." she
faltered.
And Hal had grown sober
and concerned. There was something in her voice that frightened him a little.
She wasn't under control. He put his arms around Yvonne and she sobbed into his
big handsome chest all the way to the hospital. Even black-hearted,
self-absorbed, not-very-bright Hal could see it was all a bit much. And he and
Paul moved in with Hilary and Yvonne and the baby for a few weeks because Yvonne
had a minor breakdown at this point. Yvonne needed the help a woman needs after
she has a baby.
And what she
turned out to be to the little girl was a mother. The bond was magical and
all-redeeming. Jillie, as Hilary named her daughter, became the center of
Yvonne's world.
Hilary, though,
was greatly disappointed in the while business--pregnancy, labor, birth, baby,
baby's father, even the money and all.
Julian was indifferent to the
baby on his visits from Los Angeles. Merely polite to Hilary. He was patient and
good with his mother as always, but as always as mystified with her as she was
with him. Julian paid the bills to support Hilary and Jillie, and made more than
decent legal declarations and arrangements. But he was as detached from the
situation as he had promised he must be.
Yvonne directed everything. She
made Hilary go back to high school, graduate and go to college to study
electronics. Hilary hated Yvonne for everything she did for her and the baby.
Hilary resented the plush life her daughter was born into. Like everyone who
contrives successfully to live out their fantasies, Hilary discovered that the
fantasy had a complicated inner works, a life of its own. The fantasy had taken
control of Hilary. For one thing, she hadn't known that being "rich" was so much
trouble, so much hard work. She had thought that people who had as much money as
the Yvettes lived a sort of sweet-aired Edenic routineless existence, where all
accomplishments fell from heaven. It had been misleading for the girl to know of
Julian's ready-made talents. She thought his grace was a bought thing. And even
though Yvonne was wonderfully nice to the girl, and ever ready to be friends,
Hilary had certainly met her match. It it had been easy for Yvonne to
out-manipulate Hal and Maggie who were world-class past masters at manipulation,
Hilary's little scheme was snapped like a twig under Yvonne's benevolent
management.
If Hilary was
miserable, Julian bemused, Hal and Paul admiring and attentive, Yvonne was in
heaven. For the first six months of Jillie's thriving, happy life, Hilary and
her daughter lived with the director. Yvonne would go at odd hours into Julian's
room and stare into the crib at the tiny girl. Yvonne was the one who got up for
the nightly feedings while Hilary swore in her sleep at the baby's cries. When
Yvonne folded the wash after lugging it up from the basement laundry room, she
marveled lingeringly over the tiny garments and would even kiss the top of a
stack of the amazing cotton kimonos. But mostly, and for hours on end, Yvonne
held the honey-colored baby. She would stroke the jet hair, murmur into the navy
blue eyes, and laugh at the homely face. And she gently, as inobviously as
possible, trained Hilary to be a serviceable mother by the time Hilary and the
baby were in their own apartment.
And, in the midst of all her maternal bliss, Yvonne still could be made quietly
furious when Hilary would come home from visits to her own mother with the baby.
Yvonne got second-hand through Hilary the many criticisms of the other
grandmother. Hilary's mother wanted no part of the day-to-day life of Hilary and
Jillie, but had a great deal to say critically about how the baby was being
cared for and treated. The salient attitude was the classical one. It was
Hilary's mother's opinion that Jillie was a spoiled brat. Yvonne sputtered
internally long hours over this idea. So Yvonne not only got to experience every
little joy a baby brought, but she also got to experience the annoyance of
stupid advice that is the lot of most new mothers.
Yvonne had bought her parakeet at
Woolworth's the day after she moved Hilary and Jillie to their new apartment.
She made this little knowingly futile attempt to fill the void.
But she got to see a great deal
of the baby still. As soon as Hilary had gotten her figure back, she turned
latter-day punk. So Hilary had a tough agenda with school and punk obligations.
So Yvonne got to take care of the little girl almost as much as she wanted to.
Yvonne had resumed acting and directing at the six month point, but Hilary was
sensible enough to work her schedule around Yvonne's. The one threat Yvonne had
ever made was that if Jillie were ever left with a sitter with less than the
credentials of a saint, Yvonne would spare nothing to get custody. Hilary was
clever enough to know that Yvonne meant it, that Yvonne could easily get Jillie,
and that as unhappy as she was living in the belly of her fantasy, to be outside
of it again would be worse than life ever had been. So Yvonne was the
babysitter, other than the daycare that was the director's choice.