Farewell, Dorothy Parker (7 page)

And so, when she finally approached him about splitting up, she knew there would be no tears, no arguments, no ugly scenes. Indeed, he merely nodded and said that yes, it was probably for the best. That night he packed a suitcase and left. When she got home from work the next day, more of his things were gone. Two weeks later he took an apartment and sent Violet an e-mail listing the furniture, electronics, and other household items he thought he deserved. Violet wanted to be fair, but it seemed like he was trying to get his hands on everything that was new and expensive. She forwarded the e-mail to her sister, who replied, “Hire a lawyer
today
. Then change the locks and tell Andrew to fuck off.”

And that’s what she did, except for the part about telling Andrew to fuck off. On her lawyer’s advice, she ignored the e-mail, and held on to everything in the apartment until they met with a mediator.

Looking back, it seemed like she had been so strong then. But in truth, she was still depressed from the loss of the baby, and Andrew’s presence had only added to her misery. Besides, she felt like she was doing Andrew a favor. Clearly, he wanted out.

Thirteen months later—just when Violet was starting to feel like she might actually be able to get on with her life—she heard from a mutual friend that Andrew was engaged to a striking veterinarian named Deanna…and expecting a child. Violet tried to tell herself
that she didn’t care, that it had nothing to do with her, but the idea that he rushed headlong into the very life he had rejected with Violet felt like an assault. It was simply too much to bear. After spending a week in tears, she told her friends she was done with men. Done. They simply weren’t worth the pain.

Then she met Carl.

At the time, he seemed like the antidote to Andrew—the kind of guy who would never hurt her. And now here she was, gearing up to hurt
him.

Violet’s heart felt heavy with guilt. She should have known from the start that this relationship wouldn’t last. But was it all her fault? Surely it was opportunistic of Carl to try move the relationship to the next level when he knew she was in too fragile an emotional state to make any decisions about her life.

“Goddamn it,” Violet said out loud. Guilt, she knew, was the worst reason to stay in a relationship. She went into the study and opened the guest book. Then she stood back as Dorothy Parker materialized in the wingback chair.

“Well, hello,” Mrs. Parker said, as she smoothed her hair. “That was an abrupt dismissal.”

“You’re sober,” Violet said.

“Fresh as a newly slaughtered lamb. Did I miss anything good?

“I’m so sorry,” Violet said. “I had to act fast. My niece is here, and I can’t let her see you. The kid’s been through hell, and I’m trying to protect her as much as I can under the circumstances. This might be…traumatic. And also…” Violet pushed at her cuticles. How could she possibly tell her hero that she wanted her to behave herself? Who was she to admonish the great Dorothy Parker?

“Yes?”

“It’s just…the drinking, the mess—”

“You think I’ve behaved badly.”

“Um…”

Mrs. Parker waved off Violet’s concerns. “Fine. I’ll try to be as proper as a virgin when the child’s around. You know what a virgin is, don’t you? It’s a mythical creature created in Hollywood and played by actresses who sleep with the casting director. But if you don’t trust me, just shut the book and I’ll be gone.”

Violet took the chair opposite her guest. “Actually,” she said, “I need your help. I’m sorry to do this, but I don’t have much time. I need to call Carl and tell him he can’t move in tomorrow. If you could just…just tell me what to say if I freeze. Would you do that?”

“Sounds like more fun than I’ve had since Calvin Coolidge was president. I could even make the call, if you wish.”

“No, no,” Violet said, holding up the phone in her hand. “I need to do this myself. But just so you know, I’ll have to shut the book abruptly if I hear Delaney coming.”

Violet dialed Carl’s number and was relieved when his answering machine picked up. It might be tacky to dump someone via voice mail, but she was desperate. Besides, she had tried to do it right, but he wouldn’t listen. Now he would have to. Violet put her hand over the receiver and told Mrs. Parker she would be leaving a message.

“It’s Violet,” she began.

“You can’t move in tomorrow,” Mrs. Parker said.

“You can’t move in tomorrow,” Violet repeated.

“I never want to see you again,” Mrs. Parker said.

Violet shook her head. “It’s over between us.”

There was a click, and Violet heard Carl’s voice. “What’s the matter?” he said. “I’m in the middle of packing.”

“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I’m sorry to do this, but I don’t want you moving in. Period. I’m breaking up with you. It’s over between us.”

There. She said it, and it couldn’t be clearer. Dorothy Parker had given her the strength she needed.

“Why are you doing this?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“No apologizing,” said Mrs. Parker, who had surmised that Carl picked up. “Just tell him you loathe him. Tell him he’s a lousy lay.”

“Us,” Violet said. “
We’re
wrong. I’m…I’m not in love with you.”

“Violet, honey—”

“No,” she said. “No more discussions. It’s over.” Violet sat up a little taller. Her hands were trembling, but she was proud of herself. She was doing it. She was standing up to Carl.

“But I rented the truck. I bought twenty cartons.”

“I’m sorry,” Violet said. “I’ll reimburse you.”

Mrs. Parker rose. “Don’t you dare!”

“What’s that?” Carl said. “Is someone there?”

“It’s the radio,” Violet said. “NPR.”

“Listen,” Carl said, “I’m going to finish packing a couple more boxes, and then I’ll drive over there so we can talk about this in person.”

“No, don’t come over.”

“If he does, you’ll call the police,” Mrs. Parker said.

Violet stood and started to pace. “Please, Carl. Don’t come here.”

Mrs. Parker took a step toward her. “Don’t plead with him. Just tell him if he shows up here the police will be waiting with handcuffs.”

“I already told my parents I’m moving out,” he said.

“They’ll understand,” Violet said.

“C’mon, baby. This is such an important step for me. For us, I mean.”

“You were right the first time,” she said.

He lowered his register to what he clearly thought was a sexy baritone. “I love you,” he said. “You’ve been under so much stress. I know this is a big change, and it probably brings up a lot of stuff about losing your sister. But I’m here for you.”

“Don’t bring Ivy into this,” Violet said.

“I know you miss her,” he said. “I know it’s hard.”

Goddamn him. Of course she missed her. Of course it was hard. After her parents passed, Ivy was all she had. Losing her was so incomprehensible that when Violet first moved into the house, she could feel Ivy’s presence in every room. And lately, well, she still felt Ivy’s presence, but she could sometimes go hours at a time without thinking about her.

Now Carl had to go and bring her up, and the knot of pain in her belly was unfurling and spreading through her. She didn’t even have to close her eyes to see Ivy’s smile. Ivy was everywhere. Everywhere but nowhere.

It was so goddamned unfair.

“You’re crying,” Carl said.

Violet sniffed. Of course she was crying.

“It’s hard,” she choked out.

“I know it is, baby. I’m on my way. You need a hug.”

Violet lost her bearings. She sank back into the chair, weeping. Almost immediately she felt a strange tingling in her feet that quickly turned to burning. She looked up expecting to see Dorothy Parker, but she was gone. And yet Violet could sense her very close. In fact, oh, dear God, she was entering her! Violet was seized with the same soul-sick nausea she had felt in the Algonquin, only this time it moved from her toes upward. She curled into a ball and moaned.

“You sound terrible,” Carl said.

Within seconds, the nausea compressed itself into a tiny physical presence, like a marble lodged behind her navel. Violet uncurled and opened her eyes. Everything in the dimly lit room seemed to have sharper corners and higher contrast, like the world had switched to high-def. She craved a cigarette. She felt…alive.

“Are you still there?” Carl asked.

“I am,” she said. “And if you set foot within fifty yards of this place I will have you shot and stuffed.”

“That’s not funny,” he said.

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

“I’m coming over.”

“You most certainly are not,” she said.

“You need me.”

“Like I need arsenic.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said.

“I’m locking the door.”

“I have a key.”

“I changed the lock.”

“I’ll use the window if I have to.”

She crossed her legs, examined her nails. “That’s breaking and entering.”

“You need a
hug.
”

Violet suppressed a yawn. “That’s assault.”

“What’s the matter, baby? I thought you loved me.”

“Not only do I not love you,” she said, “but I loathe the sound of your voice, abhor your appearance, and am not entirely thrilled with your sexual performance. Furthermore, your artwork is uninspired, and you have bad breath. Have I made myself clear?”

“I guess so.”

“You
guess
so?” Violet could hear the strength in her own voice. She was powerful, intimidating. She was Meryl Streep in
The Devil Wears Prada.
She was Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction.
She was Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford. Or Joan Crawford as herself.

Hell, she was the Terminator.

“I mean…yes,” Carl stammered.

“That’s better. Now lose my number, forget my address, and run along like a good little boy. We will not speak again. Good-bye, Carl.”

Violet hung up the phone and rose, feeling tall and tough. She knew she should close Dorothy Parker back into the book, but she wanted to
enjoy the exhilaration of power for just a few more moments. Then she heard a tiny voice behind her.

“Aunt V?”

Violet turned and saw her niece at the door, a confused look in her eyes.

“How long have you been standing there?” Violet asked.

Delaney leaned over to unclip Woollcott’s leash. Though Violet yearned to ride the crest of this heady feeling awhile longer, she knew she was treading dangerous waters, and she couldn’t risk frightening her fragile niece. So while the girl was distracted, she quickly shut the Algonquin guest book, which was accompanied by a jolt that made her gasp—it felt as if the marble in her belly flew up her gullet and out her mouth. Immediately, the room got duller and she felt depleted.

“Was that really Carl?” Delaney asked, as she scratched Woollcott behind the ears.

“Yes.”

Delaney lifted her head, smiling. “Wow.”

“ ‘Wow’?”

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Aunt V!”

Violet had to sit down. This wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. She was sure the Jekyll-and-Hyde transformation would terrify her niece, but it hadn’t.

The kid was proud of her.

Chapter 8

“Do you have your sheet music?” Violet asked, as she loaded the breakfast plates into the dishwasher. The girl was sitting on the floor, playing with Woollcott. The neon fish was a hit.

“It’s in my binder,” Delaney said, as she pulled the plastic toy from the dog’s mouth. She tossed it to the corner of the kitchen, and he dashed for it.

It was Sunday morning, and they were getting ready to leave for Delaney’s lesson. Earlier, the girl had told her aunt she was working on a piece she would play at the upcoming recital but wouldn’t say which song it was. She wanted it to be a surprise.

Violet glanced over her shoulder and saw Delaney’s binder on the kitchen table. She went back to doing the dishes. “Why were your lessons switched to Sundays?”

“Good boy,” Delaney said to Woollcott. “I don’t know. I think His Royal Orangeness was busy on Thursday nights or something. But all he ever does is stay in the basement on his computer. And Lady Munchausen doesn’t drive if it’s dark out. Or raining. Or if there’s a cloud anywhere in the Western Hemisphere.”

Violet smiled. Delaney reminded her so much of herself as a kid. Or, rather, the kid she would have been if she wasn’t afraid to open her mouth.

The doorbell rang, and Violet stopped what she was doing. Who
could be dropping by on a Sunday morning? Please, God, she thought, don’t let it be Carl.

Delaney was watching her, so she tried to appear nonchalant as she shook the water off a plate and slipped it into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a towel.

“I’ll get it,” Delaney said.

“Let me,” Violet said.

The girl smiled, excited. “You think it’s Vincent van Loser?” she said, following her aunt to the door. “I’d love to see you give it to him again!”

Violet took a deep breath.
I thought I made myself perfectly clear,
she rehearsed in her head. She wasn’t going to let him in, and she wasn’t going to back down. She swung open the door.

“Malcolm!” she said, letting out a long breath. “This is a—”