That’s what Senator McCarthy’s doing. They don’t like it.”
Ralph looked distressed.
“It’s about time,” said Harry. “They need someone to go in there and clean up the whole mess.”
“Sometimes you wonder if the end justifies the means,” said Ralph, picking his words and smiling as he said them.
“What are you talking about, the end justifies the means? They’re trying to undermine the country, aren’t they?”
“Well—.”
“Aren’t they?”
“I was thinking of civil liberties.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, boy. Down the D.A.’s office they’re not worried about civil liberties. They get a crook, they put him in jail.”
“Well—.”
“Don’t they?” Harry had his forefinger up against Ralph’s chest.
Ralph swallowed. “If we come out and say a man’s guilty before it’s proven in a fair trial, they’ll put us in jail.”
Jim was rooting for Ralph. Thatta boy, he thought, give it to him; don’t take any crap from him; that’s the only way you’ll ever handle him.
“If they’re commies, get rid of them. Send them back to Russia where they belong,” said Harry.
Florence came flying out to the kitchen. She stopped at the doorway and looked around with big eyes. “I see the boys are gathering in the kitchen already.”
“We’re talking,” said Harry.
“The ladies are calling for you, Daddy.”
“Crap,” said Harry, annoyed at the interruption. But Florence wouldn’t let the discussion go on. She said to Ralph, “Would you mix another batch of drinks?” Then she steered her father to the door. He went reluctantly. Before he started inside, he turned to Ralph and said, “I got to talk to you, boy.” Then Florence, more or less tugging him, took him inside.
Ralph, standing by the sideboard, had worry lines on his forehead, in addition to the bump. “I guess I said the wrong thing to your father.”
“I should have warned you,” said Jim. “Senator McCarthy’s big around here.”
“Your father is sore, I think.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Jim. “It’s better not to take any guff off him.”
Chapter 13
Ralph went to the living room; Jim couldn’t face the prospect for the moment; he stayed in the kitchen. After a few minutes, Florence came out. “”How’s Arthur?” she asked. “Did you check?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“I hope he stays that way.”
“He won’t be over,” said Jim, confidently. “I hid all his shoes in the basement.”
“Good,” she said, after pausing and looking at him for a moment. Then she started making a batch of Manhattans.
“This is awful,” Jim said, holding up Ralph’s Manhattan.
Her eyes grew wide. “Don’t say anything.”
Ralph came into the kitchen. She put down the measuring glass, and said to him immediately, “Here, hon, you do it.”
“Trying to steal my job.”
She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Never.”
He beamed. Jim was fascinated, watching them. Ralph was rather simple. He had just one thought: Florence. But Florence, like a general, balanced fifteen items in her mind at once: Arthur, the guests, the turkey, Ralph, the drinks, her father, Jim, Cricket and Harold, and so on.
Ralph measured vermouth into the drink mix, while Florence looked at the turkey in the oven. “You may know how to cook a turkey,” Ralph said, “but it takes a man to make a drink.”
She turned and smiled at him.
Aunt Nora came out, also to check the turkey. “You’re a lovely young man,” she said to Ralph, “and you have a lovely family.”
With that, Jim went out to the backyard. He sat on the chaise lounge and stretched one leg out, and let the other hang down. I wonder how long, he thought, it took Aunt Nora to master the art of giving a compliment so that it sounded like an insult.
He looked up at the blue sky between the green leaves. He listened to a bird sing. The lawn was cool and green. So nice. Better than cantankerous fathers, and silly aunts, and scheming sisters, and drunken uncles, and slaphappy fiancés, and fluttering ladies, and perverse cousins.
A screen door cracked shut in the next yard. Jill was hurrying over. She still had on the Sunday white dress, but she sat down on the grass anyway. “How’s it going?” she asked, breathlessly.
“It’s so bad I had to take time out.”
“What a sociable thing you are.”
“It really is a pain. Florence is putting on a performance. I can’t take all three acts at once.”
Jill didn’t answer. He was glad she didn’t agree. He just wanted someone to listen.
“The best will be the dinner. Uncle Arthur is upstairs over there getting piss-eyed—” It had slipped out. He wouldn’t want to offend her. But she wasn’t offended. So he let it go. “I had to hide his shoes to keep him away.”
“Then there’s Ralph. I can’t figure him out for beans. Florence says jump and all he wants to know is ‘How high?’”
“That’s old,” said Jill.
“Well.”
“You’re too harsh,” she said. “He’s in love with her. The essence of love is wanting to consent. Someday you’ll realize it too. If you ever fall in love.”
“I don’t even see how Florence has any sex appeal.”
“That’s because she’s your sister.”
“I’m a man.”
“You’re accustomed to her. Oh, stop being so mean, Jim.”
“She never stops scheming.”
Jill got up. “I like Florence, and you’re not fair. I’m sorry I came over.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t like myself.”
She sat down again. “What are they doing?”
“Getting drunk.”
She
