to improve himself. He got into the railroad, she said, on the ground floor, sold the farm to do it; that was how the family made its money. “They were all crooks, of course,” Aunt Lou said, sipping at her drink, “but nobody called it that.”
It turned out Aunt Lou had been married at nineteen, to a man eight years her senior, of good social standing and approved by the family. Unfortunately he was a compulsive gambler. “In one pocket and out the other,” she wheezed, “but what did I know? I was madly in love with him, dear, he was tall, dark and handsome.” I began to see why she liked the kind of movies she did: they were a lot like her own life. “I tried, dear, I really did, but it was no use. He would be gone for days on end, and it wasn’t as though I knew anything about running a house or managing money. I’d never shopped for food in my life; all I knew was you picked up the phone and someone brought it to your house in a box. The first week I was married I ordered a pound of everything: one pound of flour, one pound of salt, one pound of pepper, one pound of sugar. I thought that was what you were supposed to do. The pepper lasted years.” Aunt Lou’s laugh sounded like an enraged walrus. She liked telling jokes onherself, but sometimes it made her choke. “Then he’d come back and if he’d lost he’d tell me how much he loved me, if he’d won he’d complain about being tied down. It was very sad, really. One day he just never came back. Maybe they shot him for not paying. I wonder if he’s still alive; if he is, I suppose I’m still married to him.”
I found out even later that Aunt Lou had a boyfriend of sorts. His name was Robert, he was an accountant, he had a wife and children, and he came to her apartment on Sunday evenings for dinner. “Don’t tell your mother, dear,” Aunt Lou said. “I’m not sure she’d understand.”
“Wouldn’t you like to marry him?” I asked her when she told me about him.
“Once bitten, twice shy,” said Aunt Lou. “Besides, I never got a divorce, what was the point? I just took back my own name, that way I don’t have to answer so many questions. Take my advice and don’t get married until you’re at least twenty-five.”
She assumed there would be suitors clamoring at my heels; she didn’t even acknowledge the possibility that no one would ask me. My mother’s version was that nobody who looked like me could ever accomplish anything, but Aunt Lou was all for dismissing handicaps or treating them as obstacles to be overcome. Crippled opera singers could do it if they would only try. Gross as I was, something might be expected of me after all. I wasn’t sure I was up to it.
After her bad experience with the gambler Aunt Lou had gone out and gotten herself a job. “I couldn’t type, dear,” she said, “I couldn’t do anything, the way I was brought up; but it was the Depression, you know. The family didn’t have money any more. So I had to, didn’t I? I worked my way up.”
When I was younger my father and mother were vague about Aunt Lou’s job, and so was she. All they would say was that she worked in an office for a company and she was head of a department. I found out what she actually did when I was thirteen.
“I like being fat,” I told him, and burst into tears. He sat looking at me with the tips of his fingers together, smiling benevolently but with a trace of disgust as I gasped and puffed.
“Don’t you want to get married?” he asked when I had subsided. This started me off afresh, but the next time I saw Aunt Lou I asked her, “Didn’t you want to get married?”
She gave one of her raucous laughs. She was sitting in her overstuffed easy chair, drinking a martini. “Oh, I was married, dear,” she said. “Didn’t I ever tell you?”
I’d always assumed Aunt Lou was an old maid because her last name was the same as my father’s, Delacourt, pronounced
Delacore
. “French nobility, no doubt,” said Aunt
It turned out Aunt Lou had been married at nineteen, to a man eight years her senior, of good social standing and approved by the family. Unfortunately he was a compulsive gambler. “In one pocket and out the other,” she wheezed, “but what did I know? I was madly in love with him, dear, he was tall, dark and handsome.” I began to see why she liked the kind of movies she did: they were a lot like her own life. “I tried, dear, I really did, but it was no use. He would be gone for days on end, and it wasn’t as though I knew anything about running a house or managing money. I’d never shopped for food in my life; all I knew was you picked up the phone and someone brought it to your house in a box. The first week I was married I ordered a pound of everything: one pound of flour, one pound of salt, one pound of pepper, one pound of sugar. I thought that was what you were supposed to do. The pepper lasted years.” Aunt Lou’s laugh sounded like an enraged walrus. She liked telling jokes onherself, but sometimes it made her choke. “Then he’d come back and if he’d lost he’d tell me how much he loved me, if he’d won he’d complain about being tied down. It was very sad, really. One day he just never came back. Maybe they shot him for not paying. I wonder if he’s still alive; if he is, I suppose I’m still married to him.”
I found out even later that Aunt Lou had a boyfriend of sorts. His name was Robert, he was an accountant, he had a wife and children, and he came to her apartment on Sunday evenings for dinner. “Don’t tell your mother, dear,” Aunt Lou said. “I’m not sure she’d understand.”
“Wouldn’t you like to marry him?” I asked her when she told me about him.
“Once bitten, twice shy,” said Aunt Lou. “Besides, I never got a divorce, what was the point? I just took back my own name, that way I don’t have to answer so many questions. Take my advice and don’t get married until you’re at least twenty-five.”
She assumed there would be suitors clamoring at my heels; she didn’t even acknowledge the possibility that no one would ask me. My mother’s version was that nobody who looked like me could ever accomplish anything, but Aunt Lou was all for dismissing handicaps or treating them as obstacles to be overcome. Crippled opera singers could do it if they would only try. Gross as I was, something might be expected of me after all. I wasn’t sure I was up to it.
After her bad experience with the gambler Aunt Lou had gone out and gotten herself a job. “I couldn’t type, dear,” she said, “I couldn’t do anything, the way I was brought up; but it was the Depression, you know. The family didn’t have money any more. So I had to, didn’t I? I worked my way up.”
When I was younger my father and mother were vague about Aunt Lou’s job, and so was she. All they would say was that she worked in an office for a company and she was head of a department. I found out what she actually did when I was thirteen.
“I like being fat,” I told him, and burst into tears. He sat looking at me with the tips of his fingers together, smiling benevolently but with a trace of disgust as I gasped and puffed.
“Don’t you want to get married?” he asked when I had subsided. This started me off afresh, but the next time I saw Aunt Lou I asked her, “Didn’t you want to get married?”
She gave one of her raucous laughs. She was sitting in her overstuffed easy chair, drinking a martini. “Oh, I was married, dear,” she said. “Didn’t I ever tell you?”
I’d always assumed Aunt Lou was an old maid because her last name was the same as my father’s, Delacourt, pronounced
Delacore
. “French nobility, no doubt,” said Aunt
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