Free Nothing Is Quite Forgotten in Brooklyn by Alice Mattison Page B

apartment when she moved to Florida. Nobody in my family gives up an apartment.”
    â€œCome in,” said Con, since Peggy wasn’t going away, and since she was finally talking to someone.
    Peggy came in and sat down, smoothing her pants under her hips. “Especially because I’m not married,” she continued. “They don’t think I could find an apartment on my own. For me to move, somebody has to move out of a better apartment or die, and somebody else in the family has to be ready to moveinto my place.” She had long fingers and a ring with a rectangular stone, the color of butterscotch, in the middle of her right hand.
    â€œMy mother hasn’t mentioned you,” said Con.
    â€œWe nod. Sometimes we talk. Your mother is a little uncertain, you know?”
    â€œSuspicious?”
    â€œNot quite suspicious.” She shook her hair off her shoulders as a glamorous woman might have during the forties.
    â€œI was running,” Con said again. “I can’t go outside because I don’t have keys to lock the door—the burglar took my keys. I need to change the locks but I don’t have any money.”
    â€œThey’ll bill you.”
    â€œBut I asked them—”
    â€œWell, you don’t ask them. You tell them you need your locks changed. When they’re done, you say, ‘Please bill me.’ What are they going to do? Change them back?”
    Con looked at her, walked over to the table—the phone book was on the striped tablecloth—and looked up locksmiths once more. She stepped into the kitchen, called the first one, and arranged to have the locks changed.
    â€œI’ll keep you company while you wait,” said Peggy. She wiggled her hips as if to carve a comfortable place on the sofa cushion. “I’m going crazy anyway. I took a day off from work to catch up on everything at home, and all I’m doing is waiting for my boyfriend to call. I fooled myself. I thought I truly wanted to deal with laundry, shopping, cleaning. Then I heard myself tell him I was going to do it.”
    Con excused herself, leaving Peggy in the living room. Shewashed her face and brushed her teeth. She dressed in a fresh navy blue turtleneck. When she returned, this confident guest was standing at the table, leaning on one hand and reading the newspaper story about airport security. “I saw this last week,” she said. “It’s another world.”
    â€œI thought it was kind of funny,” Con said.
    â€œIt’s not funny,” said Peggy. “I see you’re married,” she said then, returning to the sofa. “I’ve never been married.” She pointed to her bare left ring finger. Con had been wondering how old Peggy was, and Peggy said, “I’m fifty,” as if she’d heard Con’s thoughts. Then added, “He’s married. Of course.”
    â€œI’m forty-five,” said Con.
    â€œThat’s so cultural,” Peggy said.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œWhen I said ‘married—of course.’ As if you’d already know that the boyfriend of somebody like me would be married. Did you see the story about China the other day? Ever since I read that, I keep thinking about cultures.”
    Con had read a story about China in the magazine section on Sunday, but had not seen the paper since.
    â€œDeng Xiaoping, apparently, is not as popular as he used to be,” Peggy said, standing up straight and sounding particularly alert. “The story explained that ‘Xiaoping’ can mean ‘small bottle’ in Chinese. So it seems when he was popular, people would put small bottles in noticeable places to show their support. And now they smash small bottles. I can’t stop thinking about that. Imagine if people grew bushes if they supported Bush, and rooted them out if they changed their minds.”
    Con liked what Peggy was saying but she wasn’t quite listening. She