House of Rougeaux(26)

Virginia looked at the ceiling a long time.

“Okay,” she said at last. She touched her heart, and said again, “Okay.”



* * *



A year or two later Virginia began to notice pains in her knuckles. Now and then she had to put down her cooking or her sewing, or whatever she was doing, to rub on some ointment. Then she began to feel it in her knees. Lionel rang Dr. Leventhal who stopped in the next evening when he was in the neighborhood seeing another patient. The doctor lived with his family up at Oxford Circle and this was back when he still made house calls. He asked her to come into his office just as soon as she could so he could examine her more thoroughly.

Loretta insisted on going along to the appointment. She sat in the waiting area when her mother went in, flipping nervously through copies of National Geographic. The doctor had his white coat on at the office, unlike the regular suit he wore on house calls, and a red and brown checkered tie. Had Mrs. Hubbard been more tired than usual? Dr. Leventhal wanted to know. Yes, come to think of it she had. Any skin rashes? Fevers? Yes, that too. Had she perhaps noticed any hair loss? At this Virginia lost a little of her balance. The brown and red checkers of the doctor’s tie suddenly loomed forward, and it was harder to make sense of what he was saying. But she caught the word Lupus, and the recommendations for extra rest, and to take care not to get too much sun. He said it looked like a mild case, a blood test would be needed, and asked her to come back in a month. She did, and continued to see the doctor every few or several months when the symptoms flared. This was a malady without cure, and was commonly crippling and even fatal.

Blessedly, up to now, Virginia’s illness has progressed only very slowly. Her mother’s “spells” always hold a special dread for Rosalie, a little line of terror that seems to drop from the top of her head down into the pit of her stomach, every time she comes home from school and finds her mother in bed. Like after last Thanksgiving. Rosalie had found her mother in bed with a fever and dialed up Loretta, who came as soon as she was able, bringing with her a small package from the drugstore. Rosalie wanted to stay home from school the next days but her parents wouldn’t allow it, reassuring her that this was nothing serious or new, and that Aunt Violet would be coming over. Still, each time her mother falls ill, Rosalie harbors the secret fear that her mother, in her absence, will somehow slip away.



* * *



Rosalie’s junior year in high school winds up filled with parties and dances and awards for outstanding achievement. She receives a special certificate for her work on the school paper, and even wins a prize at a dance for her rendition of the Nitty Gritty. Anyone can do the twist, you know, but not everyone can pull off the Nitty Gritty. There’s a girl’s prize and a boy’s prize, and Rosalie takes home a smart, pink, faux leather handbag. The boy’s prize goes to Chester Washington, a graduating senior, who receives a shiny brown wallet on a chain. Ches dances the next song swinging his new wallet around like a cowboy, making the boys laugh and the girls swoon, just like he always does.

The last day of classes is a Wednesday and, as her mother has a doctor’s appointment the next day, Rosalie goes along. Rosalie has the new handbag with her, which is already accumulating the essentials: coin purse, compact, a little jar of Vaseline and a miniature package of Kleenex, comb, hairpins, chewing gum, nail file, nail varnish, bus schedule and transfer, subway tokens, address book, two ballpoint pens. She is just locating her nail file when she overhears Dr. Leventhal’s red-headed secretary, Miss Carey, on the phone talking about the girl who comes in to help in the office twice a week. “Had to leave without notice,” she says, “in case you know of anyone.” Miss Carey has had to come in today, instead of visiting her mother out in Cherry Hill as she usually does.

Rosalie completed her secretarial course a few weeks ago and has a perfect “To Whom it May Concern” letter of introduction on her bureau at home. The next day, without telling anybody, Rosalie takes the bus back up Broad Street to the doctor’s office. She has the letter folded in an envelope in her handbag, and has on her best skirt and jacket set. Miss Carey is there in the office as before, and looks up at her when she comes in and walks up to the front desk.

Rosalie breaks out in that prickly sweat under her brassiere that always comes over her in debate club matches, or if she needs help from a white salesclerk.

“Ma’am, I’d like to help out in the office,” she says, “just until you can find someone else.” She hands Miss Carey the letter. The chilly silence that follows is broken by the appearance of the doctor, exiting the examination room behind an elderly patient. He looks curiously at Rosalie.

“Hello Miss Hubbard,” he says. Sometimes being formal is his way of being friendly. “Your mother is alright, isn’t she?”

Rosalie says, “Yes sir,” and explains why she’s come today, that she’s done a secretarial course and has brought her letter of introduction that describes all of her skills, and her high marks besides.

Miss Carey turns her bewildered and mascaraed blue eyes on the doctor and says, “Oh I don’t think….” But he plucks the letter from her hands and looks it over.

“Well this is splendid,” he says, “this will be just fine!”

Rosalie can’t quite believe her ears and breathlessly answers “Yes sir,” again when he asks if she has time to stay for an hour or two right now.