The Wapshot Chronicle - John Cheever [110]
Her overtures to Mrs. Frascati continued to be met with sullen smiles and she invited the woman in the next house—Mrs. Galen—in for a cup of coffee, but Mrs. Galen had several college degrees and an air of elegance and privilege that made Betsey uneasy. She felt that she was being scrutinized and scrutinized uncharitably and saw there was no room for friendship here. She was persistent and finally she hit on it. “I met the liveliest, nicest, friendliest woman today, honey,” she told Coverly when she kissed him at the door. “Her name’s Josephine Tellerman and she lives on M Circle. Her husband’s in the drafting room and she says she’s lived on nearly every rocket-launching reservation in the United States and she’s just full of fun and her husband’s nice too and she comes from a nice family and she asked us why didn’t we come over some night and have a drink.”
Betsey loved her neighbor. This simple act of friendship brought her all the delights and hazards of love. Coverly knew how dim and senseless Circle K had seemed to her until the moment when she met Josephine Tellerman. Now he was prepared to hear about Mrs. Tellerman for weeks and months. He was glad. Betsey and Mrs. Tellerman would do their shopping together. Betsey and Mrs. Tellerman would be on the telephone every morning. “My friend Josephine Tellerman tells me that you have some very nice lamb chops,” she would tell them at the butcher. “My friend Josephine Tellerman recommended you to me,” she would tell them at the laundry. Even the vacuum-cleaner salesman, ringing her doorbell at the end of a hard day, would find her changed. She would be friendly enough, but she would not open the door. “Oh, hello,” she would say. “I’d like to talk with you but I’m very sorry I don’t have the time this afternoon. I’m expecting a telephone call from my friend Josephine Tellerman.”
The Wapshots went over to the Tellermans’ for a drink one night and Coverly found them friendly enough. The Tellermans’ house was furnished exactly like the Wapshots’, including the Picasso over the mantelpiece. In the living room the women talked about curtains, and Coverly and Max Tellerman talked about cars in the kitchen while Max made the drinks. “I’ve been looking at cars,” Max said, “but I decided I wouldn’t buy one this year. I have to cut down. And I don’t really need a car. You see I’m sending my kid brother through college. My folks have split up and I feel pretty responsible for this kid. I’m all he’s got. I worked my way through college—Jesus, I did everything—and I don’t want him to go through that rat race. I want him to take it easy for four years. I want him to have everything he needs. I want him to feel that he’s as good as the next fellow for a few years. …” They went back into the living room, where the women were still talking about curtains. Max showed Coverly some photographs of his brother and went on talking about him and at half-past ten they said good night and walked home.
Betsey was no gardener but she bought some canvas chairs for the back yard and some wooden lattice to conceal the garbage pail. They could sit there on summer nights. She was pleased with what she had done and one summer night the Tellermans came over to christen—as Betsey said—the back yard with rum. It was a warm night and most of their neighbors were in their yards. Josie and Betsey were talking about bedbugs, cockroaches and mice. Coverly was speaking affectionately of West Farm and the fishing there. He wasn’t drinking himself and he disliked the smell of rum that came from the others, who were drinking a lot. “Drink, drink,” Josie said. “It’s that kind of a night.”
It was that kind of a night. The air was hot and fragrant and from the kitchen, where