to tell them what their father was doing, but simply to hear their voices, to receive whatever affection they had to offer her, to be reminded that their lives had been set in motion and would continue. Billy was the one she most wanted to talk to but Billy was off somewhere, traveling, following a mysterious itinerary, having refused all courtesies beyond the promise to drop a postcard in the mail every few weeks. In a year she'd gotten three cards, one from San Francisco, one from Gallup, New Mexico, and one from British Columbia. She tried Susan in Connecticut but she got no answer, and as the phone rang she could see the empty rooms of her daughter's house, the prim Early American antiques and the sedate, formal wallpaper. She felt a loneliness more piercing than any she could remember. Finally she dialed Zoe's number. Zoe lived less than a mile from where Mary lay on her rented bed, but she seemed, somehow, the most remote of the children; the one she was calling from across the greatest distance.
The phone rang three times before someone picked it up and said, “Hello?” It was a woman's voice, husky and dark.
“Oh, sorry,” Mary said. “I've got the wrong number.”
“No, no, this is Zoe Stassos's number, she just stepped out for a minute. I'm the maid.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Little joke. I'm a friend of Zoe's, she'll be back in about two shakes. Can I give her a message?”
“Well. This is her mother.”
“Oh. Mrs. Stassos. I've heard so much about you.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm. I'm a friend of Zoe's, I've actually been dying to meet you. My name's Cassandra.”
“Oh, yes,” Mary said. “Zoe's mentioned your name.”
Zoe had not, in fact, as far as Mary could recall, said anything about anyone named Cassandra. Still, one offered these little gestures. The woman sounded older than Zoe, which seemed strange, but she had a warm, refined voice. Better than that homely, gallumphing child Tramcas, and the other oddities Zoe had brought home over the years.
“Shall I have her telephone when she gets in?” Cassandra asked.
“No, that's all right. Just tell her I called to say hello.”
“Certainly.”
“I hope she's managing in the heat,” Mary said. “I hope you both are.”
She knew it was time to get off the phone but she wasn't eager to return to the silence of the hotel room, the uncertainty of this hour and the next. She'd talk for a minute or two, just ordinary idle things with a pleasant stranger.
“Oh, I don't mind the heat,” Cassandra said. “I learned the secret years ago. You have to give yourself over to it. When it gets like this I put on not one lick of makeup, and I don't care who I scare on the street.”
Finally, Mary thought, here was someone who spoke in a language she could understand. Here was someone who didn't scoff at nylons or makeup, who didn't insist on going around bare-legged, wild-haired, dressed in scraps strangers had thrown away.
“I only wear silk and linen in the summer,” Mary said.
“Perfect,” the woman answered.
“And can I tell you a little secret of mine?”
“Please do.”
“I put my bra and panties in the freezer overnight.”
“Oh, I'm going to try that.”
“It's wonderful,” Mary said. “And if you get enough sun on your legs you can sneak by without nylons.”
“I love the sun. But you know, I freckle terribly.”
“You want to watch that if you're fair.”
“I'm the exact color of an egg.” Cassandra sighed. “Scandinavian stock, all my forebears just huddled around the banks of the fjords and kept marrying the palest girl in the village.”
“Oh, but very white skin can be lovely. What kind of lipstick do you use, do you tend toward frosted pinks?”
“You know, if I get too frosty and pink I can look like somebody who just washed up on the beach after a couple of weeks. I know this may shock you, but I've started dabbling in red. I mean red red. Scarlet.”
“Really?” Mary said.
“You couldn't wear it just anywhere. But you know, here in New York I sometimes find it's best to shock them before they can shock you.”
“I suppose. Hey, I shouldn't be taking up your time like this.”
“Not at all. I've enjoyed this little talk immensely.”
“Me too. I'm sure I'll be speaking to you again.”
“I hope so. I'll tell Zoe you called. Bye bye.”
“Bye.”
Mary hung up the phone and lay down on the bed again. As she expected, the silence and uncertainty were waiting for her. But she felt, in