The New Yorker Stories - Ann Beattie [9]
“Have they got any Tammy Wynette records?”
“I don’t know. They might,” Michael says.
“O.K.,” Sam says.
“How come you wanted to be a shoe salesman?” Michael asks him in the car.
“Are you out of your mind?” Sam says. “I didn’t want to be a shoe salesman.”
Michael calls his wife—a mistake. Mary Anne is having trouble in the day-care center. The child wants to quit and stay home and watch television. Since Michael isn’t doing anything, his wife says, maybe he could stay home while she works and let Mary Anne have her way, since her maladjustment is obviously caused by Michael’s walking out on them when he knew the child adored him.
“You just want me to move back,” Michael says. “You still like me.”
“I don’t like you at all. I never make any attempt to get in touch with you, but if you call you’ll have to hear what I have to say.”
“I just called to say hello, and you started in.”
“Well, what did you call for, Michael?”
“I was lonesome.”
“I see. You walk out on your wife and daughter, then call because you’re lonesome.”
“Silas ran away.”
“I certainly hope he comes back, since he means so much to you.”
“He does,” Michael says. “I really love that dog.”
“What about Mary Anne?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to care, but what you just said didn’t make any impression on me.”
“Are you in some sensitivity group, or something?”
“No.”
“Well, before you hang up, could you think about the situation for a minute and advise me about how to handle it? If I leave her at the day-care center, she has a fit and I have to leave work and get her.”
“If I had a car I could go get her.”
“That isn’t very practical, is it? You don’t have a car.”
“You wouldn’t have one if your father hadn’t given it to you.”
“That seems a bit off the subject.”
“I wouldn’t drive a car if I had one. I’m through with machines.”
“Michael, I guess I really don’t feel like talking to you tonight.”
“One thing you could do would be to give her calcium. It’s a natural tranquilizer.”
“O.K. Thanks very much for the advice. I hope it didn’t tax you too much.”
“You’re very sarcastic to me. How do you expect me to be understanding when all I get is sarcasm?”
“I don’t really expect it.”
“You punch words when you talk.”
“Are you stoned, Michael?”
“No, I’m just lonesome. Just sitting around.”
“Where are you living?”
“In a house.”
“How can you afford that? Your grandmother?”
“I don’t want to talk about how I live. Can we change the subject?”
“Can we hang up instead, Michael?”
“Sure,” Michael says. “Good night, baby.”
Sam and Carlos are visiting Michael. Carlos’s father owns a plastics plant in Bridgeport. Carlos can roll a joint in fifteen seconds, which is admirable to Michael’s way of thinking. But Carlos can be a drag, too. Right now he is talking to Michael about a job Michael could have in his father’s plant.
“No more factories, Carlos,” Michael says. “If everybody stopped working, the machines would stop, too.”
“I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” Carlos says. “You work the machines for a few hours, then you leave with your money.”
“If I ask my grandmother for money she sends it.”
“But will she keep sending money?” Sam asks.
“You think I’m going to ask her?”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t mind working someplace in the South, where the women look like Tammy Wynette.”
“North, South—what’s the difference?”
“What do you mean, ‘What’s the difference?’ Women in the South must look something like Tammy Wynette, and women up North look like mill rats.”
Carlos always has very powerful grass, which Michael enjoys. Carlos claims that he puts a spell on the grass to make it stronger.
“Why don’t you put a curse on your father’s machines?” Michael says now.
“What for?” Carlos asks.
“Why don’t you change all the machines into Tammy Wynettes?” Sam asks. “Everybody would wake up in the morning and there would be a hundred Tammy Wynettes.”
Sam realizes that he has smoked too much. The next step, he thinks now, is to stop smoking.
“What do you do?” Carlos asks Sam.
“I sell shoes.” Sam notices that he has answered very sanely. “Before that, I