Nell (38 page)

“Settle down, Ilona,” she said. “Ilona,
calm down
. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“I’m pregnant,” Ilona said. “I’m pregnant. I have to get an abortion. And Frank—Frank—he’s got his answering machine on.”

“What?” Nell said. “Ilona, what are you talking about?”

For the next hour Nell talked to Ilona, finally getting a sense of the events that led
to this frantic phone call. Seven weeks ago, when Ilona and Frank had first become lovers, they had not used any birth control. Ilona had not thought they would go to bed so quickly after meeting at a party, but Frank was so insistent—so passionate, so ardent, so overcome with love and desire for her—that she had gone to bed with him. They had been at his apartment, where they had gone for a drink. She had told him that she had no means of birth control with her; she did not carry her diaphragm in her purse. And, she said, it was the worst possible day to be without contraception. She knew her cycle well. She was ovulating that day.

Frank had said not to worry, he would take care of it all. When the moment came, he would withdraw. But when they made love, he had worn no protection and he had come inside her, not once, but twice during that night. “I can’t help it,” he had pleaded. “It’s your fault,” he had said. “You are too sexy, too beautiful, too irresistible. You drive me crazy, you make me lose my mind.”

Ilona had been flattered by his passion. She had been amazed. After living for years with recessed Phillip, this kind of helpless desire came like an answer to her every prayer. Frank’s uncontrollable lust for her was real, obvious, gloriously romantic. She held him after they made love, thinking, he loves me. At last, a man who really loves me. I have driven him crazy with desire. He cannot help himself. So what if I get pregnant, she had thought—we’ll get married. We’ll have a child together. Whatever came of this joyous union when they were both overpowered by mutual desire could only be good.

Frank had showed more desire for her in one evening than Phillip had in all the years of their marriage. He had made love to her three times that night. Surely, Ilona thought, surely this was the Real Thing, this was love.

And they had had such a romantic time together. Nell had seen them, Nell was a witness, Nell knew, Ilona said. Hadn’t it been obvious to Nell how much Frank had loved her?

But now she was pregnant. Definitely. She had heard the results of the test from a doctor yesterday. “Congratulations,” the doctor had said.

Ilona had called Frank at his office. She had been upset, uncertain of his response. Would he be thrilled? Worried? Angry?

He had been stunned. “It can’t be my child,” was the first thing he said.

“Frank!” Ilona had cried, hurt. “Of course it is. Remember our first night together?”

After a brief silence, Frank had said, “Do you want me to help you arrange for the abortion?”

The
abortion, Ilona had thought. And his voice was so cold. “Frank, can’t we discuss this?” she had pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shell, but I’ve got patients to see now,” he had replied. “I’ll return your call.”

But he hadn’t. Ilona had called him again at his office, but the receptionist never put her through, only said, “I’ll have the doctor call you. The doctor’s busy now.” Ilona had called his home all day, all night. The answering machine was always on. She had left countless messages; he had never returned her calls.

Now she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t get Frank to talk to her on the phone. She didn’t know how to go about arranging an abortion by herself. The thought of killing her own child horrified her, as did the thought of bearing a child who would have no father. What could she do? She needed Nell’s help desperately.

Nell talked to Ilona soothingly. She told her she would be okay, it would all be okay. She would be coming back to Arlington in less than a week, Nell said, and then she would help Ilona through it all. She’d help her find a good abortion clinic; she’d go with her to the abortion, keep her in her house while she recovered. She would help her through it all. Ilona would not have to go through it alone. Nell talked and talked to Ilona.

When she finally hung up the phone, Nell lay on her bed, rigid, for a long time. She was late for work. But that didn’t matter. She had envied Ilona Frank’s love; now she was heartbroken for her. But she could not cry. It seemed her entire body had been turned to stone from the knowledge of how passion betrayed, how men lied, how easily and greedily women believed.

Marlow had had his faults, but mysteriousness had not been one of them. Nell had always known exactly how Marlow felt about every subject man or beast could bring up. If he erred on the side of excess, still, he always let you know where you stood with him. When Nell remembered the summer they first met—which came to her memory strangely
devoid of any emotion on her part, as if it had all happened to someone else in another time, on another planet, in a dream—when she remembered that brief wild summer during which they met and married in three months’ time, Nell thought that part of the pleasure of it all had been that Marlow had been so
certain
. He had so definitely wanted her. He had had passion enough for two. There had been no room for doubt. Who doubts a hurricane when it’s coming straight at you, sweeping you away? Nell had been carried away by her destiny … or at least by the heat and velocity of Marlow’s desire.

* * *

With Steve, with Ben, with Stellios, it had been more or less the same. If they had not courted Nell with the drama and flair that Marlow employed, at least they had made it clear to her that they wanted her. There had been no ambiguity about their intentions. And the two different times since her divorce when Nell thought she was in love with other men had also been clear. Brief, painful, but crystal clear. She had met the men, been overcome with passion, then overcome with pain as they quickly let it be known that she was to be only one of many women in their lives. Even if she had been shoved aside, scorned, at least she had known exactly where she stood. She had stopped seeing those men, because she could not tolerate loving men who did not love her, and her time of mourning had been mercifully short. In both cases it had ended up that out of sight really did prove to be out of mind.

With Andy, with goddamn Andy, it was different. He told Nell he loved her; he acted as if he loved her. But he never brought up any mention of the future. Two days before Nell and her children and Clary were going back to the mainland, Andy still had not said anything about seeing Nell again. She didn’t know how to bring up the subject herself without seeming suppliant. She was terrified that in expressing the desire to see him after this summer, she would give away her deeper hopes—that they might be on the way to being truly connected with each other.

The night before, she had called Katy Anderson in Arlington to tell her when she and the children would be arriving home. It was not imperative for Katy to know this at all; it was more that Nell felt a sudden need to get back in touch with those she cared for
who lived in Arlington. To make her old life, her Arlington life, seem real. She had been away from it for three months. She had been living a dream for three months on Nantucket, working, playing, sleeping with a man she loved. In three days she would be back in Arlington and all of
this
would be the dream.

She did not want to leave Nantucket. She did not want to leave Andy. She did not want the summer to end. She desperately did not want this summer to end. But of course it would end, and life would go on. She called Katy to remind herself that there were people in Arlington she loved, who loved her, too; she had friends.

Katy’s voice had been warm. “We can’t wait to see you, Nell,” she said. “And wait till you see me. This baby’s due any day now, you know. I look like I’ve got an entire basketball and net inside me … what’s that?”

Her voice trailed off, and Nell could tell her attention had turned away from the phone. When she came back on, she was laughing. “John said to tell you I look like I’ve got an entire
field house
inside me. Thanks a lot.” She addressed the latter remark to John, then spoke to Nell again. “Anyway, I bet you look gorgeous, all brown and healthy. How’re things going with that Andy person? Your postcards have been cryptic.”

Before Nell could answer, Katy’s attention disappeared from the phone again. “No, darling,” she was saying to John. “I can do that. Honey, don’t bother. You’ve had a long day. Sit down. That’s one thing I can still do.”

She spoke into the phone again. “Sorry, Nell. I just wanted to stop John before he stacked the dishwasher. He’s been doing
everything
for me, in addition to keeping his practice up. He’s more exhausted by my pregnancy than I am. Now, what were you saying?”

Nell tried to sound enthusiastic about Andy, but it was hard work. She had to summon up her old acting talents. Faced with the marital bliss of the Andersons, faced with Katy’s unwitting security, faced with Katy’s
life
—she had a man who was doing
everything
for her—Nell’s joy in Andy’s halfhearted love failed. As did her feeling of security about having friends back in Arlington. Katy and John loved her—but they loved each other a million times, universes, more. Nell had hung up the phone feeling more bereft than before she had called.

It was two days after Labor Day; two days before they left Nantucket. Camp was over for the children. Nell had given them money and told them to walk to town to buy doughnuts and souvenirs and to take as long as they could doing it. She had to do some laundry and housecleaning and packing; she would take them to the beach in the afternoon. The jewelry store had closed for the season, so Clary was home, too. She was also cleaning and packing, up in her bedroom and in the upstairs bathroom. Nell was working in the kitchen, tossing stuff from the refrigerator and cupboards into a giant black trash sack. She found two old plastic bags with the heel ends of bread molding inside the cupboard, Popsicles stuck to ice cube trays, cans of tuna that had been opened and half eaten and covered with tin foil and placed in the refrigerator to get shoved to the back, where the fish turned brown and dry. How had the place gotten so disgusting in just three months?

* * *

Nell and Clary had agreed that they worked better to music. They had stacked the stereo with records, alternating Clary’s favorites with Nell’s, although they both liked the same music. In fact they owned several of the same records, which made it possible for them to hear both sides of the Police album or
Flashdance
without having to flip the record over. They had turned the stereo volume as high as it would go so they could hear it all through the house as they went about their chores.

Nell was wearing jean shorts and a white T-shirt and was barefoot. She had on no makeup and her hair was tied back with a scarf. But in her mind she was in concert, onstage, wearing a minidress dripping with sequins, with spangles braided into her hair; she had a microphone in her hand and was bellowing out a song about the pain of love while thousands in the audience cheered and clapped and went mad with desire at the sight and sound of her.
That
would make her happy, Nell thought;
that
would be the right way to live a life. She shouldn’t have tried to be an actress, she should have tried to be a rock singer. God, how wonderful it must be to be a rock singer, she thought, to be able to really scream out your passion that way.

“I really want you tonight!” she yelled along with the record, and turned to drop some withered lemons into the trash. As she turned, she caught sight of something new in
the kitchen; startled, she screamed and jumped. Then realized it was Andy. She had not heard him come in because of the music.

“Andy!” she said, smiling. God, she wondered, how long had he been standing there?

“Sorry to scare you,” he said. “But the music …”

“I know,” Nell said. “Want some coffee?” She wiped her hands on her jeans.

“No thanks. But I’d like to go for a walk with you.”

“Oh, Andy,” Nell sighed. “I don’t think I can right now. I’ve got to get all this cleaned up.… ”

“Well, I don’t really want to go for a walk,” Andy said. “I mean I would like to
talk
to you. But I don’t know how we can talk with that—noise—going on.”

Nell was shaken. He wants to
talk
, she thought. Her heart pounded in her throat. Oh God, she thought, why does he want to talk when I look so especially grubby? Why couldn’t he want to talk at night, after dinner, when we’re alone and my hair’s combed and my eyelashes are curled? This is not how I’ve imagined our romantic conversation would be. Still, she did not want to lose this opportunity. He had come to
talk
. She was elated.

“Oh, Andy,” she said. “Well, umm, well. Why don’t we go sit in the front living room? We can shut the door. I don’t want to turn off the stereo because Clary’s upstairs cleaning and she likes to listen to the music; it sort of gives her energy.”

“I would think it would give her a headache more than energy,” Andy said. He followed Nell into the front parlor. “Awful stuff they’re turning out these days,” he went on. “It all sounds like a bunch of chimpanzees have been turned loose.”

“Do you really think so?” Nell said. “You don’t like rock and roll?” She shut the door behind him and crossed the room to stand by a window.

Andy leaned against the opposite wall. “Not much of it,” he said. “It’s all amplified. It requires no talent. It’s just noise and cheap sentiment. Mostly noise.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Nell said. “I think a lot of it is marvelous. The new synthesizers—some of the music is quite complex.”

“Complex!” Andy said. “Nell, listen to that music that’s playing now—if you can call it music. It’s not much more than a drumbeat. We can feel it coming through the
walls. We might as well be primitives hitting animal skins and shaking gourds. And that woman isn’t singing; she’s got no voice at all. She’s
screaming
. I’m surprised you like that music, Nell. It’s so juvenile.”