Other People's Lives Read Free

for.
    â€œThey live in Manhattan, these people?” the director asked her.
    â€œ Dennis Tobey. ”
    They lived in Manhattan, on the West Side, not much more than a crosstown bus ride away from any analyst Louise would be referred to. She would have the advantage of living with a family, and the assurance that though her father could no longer afford Birch Hill, he would still be able to take care of her living expenses in New York.
    â€œDennis Tobey!” Mrs. Zeitlin said excitedly, rushing up to Louise as soon as the meeting was over. “I’m so glad I thought of them. It’ll be marvelous for you, Louise. Absolutely marvelous.”
    Still in the slowed dullness of her medication, Louise said, “I don’t know who that is. Who they are.”
    â€œLouise,” Mrs. Zeitlin said over-gently, taking her hand and speaking in that particular social worker’s voice, “Dennis Tobey, the dancer.” And then gripping and shaking her so it seemed to Louise that Mrs. Zeitlin had suddenly become a ridiculous carousel of her long red hair and her whirling long peasant dress, “Louise! Dennis Tobey! The dancer! Dennis Tobey.”
    Dennis Tobey, it turned out, was a dancer whom Mrs. Zeitlin had once studied with. Very early in his career he developed some kind of revolutionary and idiosyncratic combination of modern dance and ballet, and whenever he performed, there was no newspaper or magazine issue that came out without acclaiming him. He was an ordinary smalltown boy; he was a phenomenon. He worked day and night and, through singlemindedness, turned himself into a revered, living genius and a figure of glamour. People trailed after him constantly, but Dennis—pale, taut, ascetic, idiosyncratic Dennis—lived only inside his mind through his feet.
    â€œYou could always tell how far away he was,” Mrs. Zeitlin said. “And I don’t mean detached. I mean committed. Completely committed. You could see the ideas rushing through his head and his body so that he couldn’t stand still long enough to listen to you.”
    On a cultural-exchange tour with his company through the Soviet Union, Dennis met a Russian dancer—Maria. The faraway, committed Dennis fell in love, and Maria, the Soviet ballerina, defected. Later, in New York, they married; it was a very romantic story, and Dennis’ career was in no way changed. Every new dance he created was acclaimed as before. People still trailed after them constantly—pale, taut, idiosyncratic Dennis and beautiful, energetic, high-spirited Maria. Much later, even, they had a child, a son. Only recently, within the past two years, Dennis had become very sick—Hodgkin’s disease—and was frequently in the hospital. Without him, naturally, his company had fallen apart, and now that he could no longer dance and make a living, the Tobeys needed a boarder.
    â€œImagine it, Louise! You’ll be living with the Tobeys. I envy you. Really. Aren’t you excited?”
    Louise had no interest in dance, and knew nothing about dancers. She was being carried off to the Tobeys’ as other people were being carried off to state hospitals.
II
    â€œI think maybe I’ll go to Australia,” Maria was saying. “The weather is better. What do you think? Also the parking problems. Even also I think the schools.”
    â€œAustralia? You? Before you knew it, you’d be starting up with a kangaroo. Where you should go is Pago Pago. One grass skirt and you’d be in business, a water buffalo would get you around. No meters, no tickets. Maria, liebchen, I’ve just solved all your problems.”
    The kitchen faucet burst out suddenly, but over the running water Louise heard Maria say, “It’s not in my mentality, Arthur.” Arthur and Joan Tepfer, Bert and Reba Axelrod: they were Maria’s neighbors, these people, and were constantly in and out of her apartment as if it were an