Mr. Sheridan blew a large puff of smoke. His big face looked more like a walrus than ever.
“He doesn’t know anything about all that.” Mrs. Sheridan was looking at her husband with something like pity.
“How much that Dipsey been coming round here?”
“If you’re finished, Emma, you may be excused.” Mrs. Sheridan smiled at Emma.
“There’s chocolate mousse,” said Emma.
“He coming round here every day?” Mr. Sheridan blew more smoke.
“Of course not,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “He’s given Willie a few lessons, that’s all. He’s just trying to help.”
“Well, tell him to stop coming round.” More smoke.
“I can’t do that. It would break Willie’s heart.”
“He’s giving the child ideas. Can’t you see that? We don’t need him round here filling the kid full of fancy thoughts.” Mr. Sheridan was puffing so hard there were clouds of smoke all over the dining room.
“Look, William. I can see your point about summer stock. I think he’s too young for that too, but I don’t see why he has to cut out dancing altogether, and I don’t agree with you about people in show business being trash. I should think you’d think about my father being in show business for forty years before you say anything like that.”
“You do, huh.” Mr. Sheridan rolled his cigar in his mouth in a way that made Emma think of gangster movies. “Well, I’ll tell you something, woman. This is my son I’m talking to. Don’t you think a man knows a little bit more about what to say to his son than you do? Seeing as how I’m a man and he’s going to be a man? I know what’s right for my son, so don’t you worry your head about this.” He got up and moved toward the living room.
“Don’t you want any dessert?”
“No. I’ll take my coffee in the living room.”
They heard the rustle of the newspaper as he unfolded it. Martha came in and put the chocolate mousse in front of Mrs. Sheridan. “Only two of us, I guess, Martha. You might take this to Willie and see if he’ll eat a little.” She handed a bowl to Martha, who took it down the hall to Willie’s room.
Emma ate silently, watching her mother out of the corner of her eye.
Mrs. Sheridan seemed nervous, fluttery, and not altogether herself. She saw Emma looking at her.
“How was school today, dear?”
“What do you feel about women’s liberation?” Emma fired at her.
Mrs. Sheridan looked amused. “As you know, I do volunteer work for the day-care center.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It was a rather general question. What is it you want to know?”
“Are you going to let Dad push you around like that, or are you going to fight?”
“Fight?” Mrs. Sheridan looked surprised.
“Fight for what you believe in.”
“And what is that?”
“You believe Willie ought to go to summer stock?”
“No. I don’t. He’s too young.”
“But you believe he ought to keep on dancing?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Sheridan sounded tentative, as though she were listening to herself. “Yes, I think . . . I don’t see anything wrong with dancing.”
“Well, he sure does.” Emma helped herself to more mousse.
“Yes, that’s true.” Mrs. Sheridan sounded far away. “Well, then. You going to fight or not?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Sheridan.
“While you’re at it, I’d like to be a lawyer and he doesn’t like that either.”
Mrs. Sheridan looked at Emma and burst out laughing. “You’ll get over that, dear.”
“Oh, swell,” said Emma.
Mrs. Sheridan kept on laughing. Emma kept on eating. She finished off her chocolate mousse. She scraped the bowl. She sat back and looked at her mother, who was now sitting quietly, with an amused expression.
“You think I’m funny?”
“What, dear?”
“Am I funny?”
Mrs. Sheridan looked at Emma. She saw a round face trying to look brave, expecting the worst and on the verge of tears. “No, dear, of course not. Where did you ever get that idea?”
“You laughed.”
“Did I, dear? Well, yes, I guess I did. It was funny.”
“What’s funny about being a lawyer?”
“It’s not that being a lawyer is funny. It’s the idea of you as a lawyer. Why in the world would you want to do that?”
“You think I’m too stupid?” Emma found she was holding her breath.
“I just can’t imagine why you’d want to do that.”
“You do think I’m stupid.”
“Of course you’re not stupid. You get straight A’s in school. It’s the life of a lawyer. I think you’re too young to realize that the life of a lawyer is very rough. If you knew more about it, I don’t think you’d choose it. I don’t think you’d be thinking about it at all.”
“What would I choose?” Emma began to feel crafty. She felt as though she had her mother on a witness stand.
“I think you’d choose marrying a man you loved, marrying a lawyer perhaps, and raising two lovely children—”
“I’d put a bullet through my head before I’d marry a lawyer.”
“—but I can’t see you doing what a lawyer has to do, hanging around a hot courthouse, interviewing a lot of criminals. Sometimes it’s even dangerous.”
“I don’t even want to get married, much less have children.”
“Of course you do. You’re only eleven. You don’t know what you want yet.”
“I know exactly what I want.” Emma was in control now. “And I know what you want. You want me to be you! You want me to be exactly like you.” She felt triumphant. The secret was out.
“Oh, no, dear. I know you’re not like me.” There was sarcasm in her mother’s voice. “I know you’ve had a totally different life.”
Emma began to feel uncomfortable, as though she were losing in some mysterious way. She turned into a prosecuting attorney. “You said, did you not, that I should marry a lawyer and have two lovely children. That’s what you said!”
“Your life is totally unlike mine. Look at the advantages you’ve had, a nice home, a private school, your mother and father with you every evening. I played backstage in a dressing room and slept in rotten hotels with cockroaches. My mother was dead, and my father half drunk all the time. I had to take care of Dipsey, raise him when I wasn’t even raised myself. Oh, no, I see your life is different!”
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