Expensive People by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online Page A

was wrecked by the great journey and that she, Natashya, only child, was born in squalor and had tasted it. So, she threatened Father, she could leave him and return to it at any time.
    And Father's people? You could almost guess. They were wealthy. Yes, you could guess that from Father's fluctuation between superb and bestial manners, his inches of exposed hairy skin when he crossed his legs, the way he sampled and rejected chocolate candies, roasted peanuts, hors d'oeuvres both hot and cold, spoke of friends with an anxious condescension (“He's only a doctor, but…” “He's only with KRH, but…”), the way he bossed us even when we weren't listening, the way he tipped waiters and waitresses, doormen and doorwomen, countermen, counterwomen, bellboys, bellmen, everyone in uniform, with a happy, hopeful smile, like a dog anxious to be petted. Ah, Father! As I write this he is still alive and he will certainly lead a long, successful life. Good! Wonderful! And he loved me, yes. He loved Nada and me, and that was what did us all in, his extravagant, stupid love for Nada.
    But I was speaking of his family. Philadelphians. His father had been killed at the age of fifty-two while flying a light plane, drunk, reportedly buzzing a friend's pasture of riding horses. The plane crashed at the climax of a daring swoop and the horses fled in all directions, shuddering with terror. I can imagine those horses, their foaming mouths and heaving sides, but I can't imagine the burning plane and the man locked inside it. My mind flinches at such an idea. But that was my grandfather and that was it. My grandmother was a gentle, deaf lady who never seemed to know who I was. One Christmas we flew to Chestnut Hill and were just in time for a dinner party. I had to endure a long, long meal, and at the end Grandmother begged Father to take her out ice skating, it was such a nice night. Father laughed and blustered and joked with her, making excuses while everyone smiled helpfully, and the old woman finally declared to the table, “He always was such a pansy, this Edmund.” And who had been most shocked of all?— after me, of course, since I'd never thought of Father as a flower of any kind—Nada, naturally.
    Father had two brothers and, like him, they had left Philadelphia and rarely returned. I had an uncle in Italy, whose business was connectedwith a medical supply company and was always on the verge of being raided by the police; and another uncle who, just like Father, was always being promoted and shoulder-tapped by other corporations, transferred and stolen and relocated back and forth across the country as if he were a precious jewel. The two brothers rarely met, though once they bumped into each other in a men's lounge at Midway Airport. One was on his way to a board meeting in Boston, another on his way to Los Angeles. I forget which was which. And I think they met one other time, when Father was searching for Nada and turned up at various relatives' homes, unwelcome and always drunk, demanding information; but maybe the brother hadn't been home when Father arrived.
    Father hadn't graduated from college but had skipped out after his sophomore year (never to open another book unless it was a paperback left on an airline seat) and joined the Army, did well, was discharged and taken into a small Rhode Island concern that manufactured plastic Christmas tree ornaments, and did so well with sales that he was snapped up by a business that dealt with blotters, paper tubes, and corrugated cardboard. His star rose so rapidly that he hopped about from bolts manufacturers to underwear manufacturers to a brief spell with a top-security concern that made, overtly, children's toy bombers; from there to vice-presidencies in seat-belt companies, wastebasket companies, certain curtain companies, certain steel companies, and so on to the present. It exhausts me to think of all this. I never had a job in my life and never will, unless you want to call