Other Women (35 page)

“God, you look awful,” said Diana as they sat down at her maple butcher block dining table.

“Your lips are blue. They match your eyes.

“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach was churning like a washing machine.

“You have to eat.”

Caroline didn’t reply.

“Look, call her up. She’ll tell you it’s okay.”

“But it isn’t okay. The things I said. I was horrible.”

“So what? We all are now and then.” Diana studied her, fork in midair.

“I’m going to bed.” Caroline got up and walked to the stairs.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want a back rub?”

“No, thanks.” Not unless you’d like to pump me full of BB’S and bury me in a snowbank, thought Caroline.

“Look, I don’t really want you to move out, Caroline,” Diana called. “I’m sorry I said that. We’ll figure this out.”

Caroline turned and looked at her. “Thanks. That helps.”

She phoned Brian and told him she couldn’t go out with him because she was sick.

“You do sound awful. But I’m a doctor. I could make a house call.”

“I’m too repulsive right now, Brian.”

“I’m used to sick people.”

“I need to be alone.” What was this? One lousy screw and now he owned her?

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He said nothing for a moment, then replied, “All right, I’ll phone you tomorrow. Feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Telling the boys she was going to the grocery store, Caroline got in her car and drove up the lakeshore, skirting town, listening to David Brinkley on the radio discussing the Chinese invasion of Vietnam. Her hands on the steering wheel trembled, and her teeth chattered. Her stomach ground like a car that wouldn’t start. Each time she tried to calm herself by picturing Hannah’s smiling face, her agitation increased. She merely felt the full enormity of her loss.

Well up the lake, she stopped at a Getty station and asked directo Hannah’s house. After several turns down icy dirt roads, she found it. Not the fantasized ranch house at all, but rather a large renovated Victorian summer house, with light streaming out a front greenhouse window onto a wall of snow piled up in the yard over winter by the south wind. Two cars sat in the driveway under a hoopless basketball goal.

Caroline parked behind a bare lilac bush and studied the patch of yellow light on the snow. Could she knock at the door and apologize? Maybe just peep through that window to be sure Hannah was in there?

But she’d leave footprints in the snow.

A shadow moved across the patch of light. Someone was walking around inside. What if Hannah looked out and saw her here, huddled in her Subaru? Lucky there were no neighbors to phone the police. What if Hannah had a dog that was barking?

Suddenly Caroline saw herself from a distance: an overwrought woman with a messy Afro and no coat, gazing at Hannah’s window with crazed longing. This was insane. Hannah had a home, a huschildren, friends, work. A full complete life that didn’t include Caroline. Caroline was nothing to her. A client who ranted at her when she should be thanking her. You’re

nothing but a suburban sellout!

Caroline cringed. Hannah wanted nothing to do with her after hours. And probably not even during hours now.

She should get out of the car, sneak over to Hannah’s Mercury, find some memento … .

With a start she realized she’d been here before-stealing yellow Kleenex from Arlene’s VW, eyes fixed on her office window, feeling

just as alone and afraid as she did now. What did this mean? Bemused, she continued to sit in the cold car, the frozen lake stretching out silent beside her.

The patch of light on the snow vanished, and another appeared upstairs. Hannah was getting into bed with her husband. When the upstairs light disappeared, Caroline drove home, imagining Hannah holding her white-haired husband in her arms as Caroline had wanted Hannah to hold her. Not

only would Hannah never hold her, she’d probably never even speak to her again.

The next morning, having lain awake all night shivering spasmodically despite her electric blanket, Caroline sat in the plaid armchair staring at her phone. At Christmas Hannah gave her her home numand said to call any time. But probably that was just for the trip to Boston. But if she called, Hannah would have to talk to her. Or maybe she’d tell her to go to hell and hang up. But Caroline was already in hell. Her flesh burned as though she were rotating on a spit.

Jackie came in, dressed in a forest-green sweat suit and cradling his gun, which he was polishing with a cloth. “Hey Mom, what’re you doing?”

“Uh, waiting for a phone call.”

“Can I please have some breakfast?”

Mechanically she cooked, then folded laundry, wondering why she was bothering. Life was pointless.

What difference did clean clothes make?

The phone rang. Caroline dashed to it. Maybe it was Hannah saying everything was okay. What if it was Hannah telling her to piss off? She sat down and studied the ringing phone. Jackie raced out and grabbed it, looking at her oddly.

“It’s for you, Mom.” He handed her the receiver. She held it at a distance, examining it as though it were pinchers used in the Spanish Inquisition. Jackie screwed up his face and tossed his dark hair out of his eyes. “So answer it, Mom.”

It was Diana, calling from upstairs to invite her out to ski. Looking out the window, Caroline discovered a brilliantly sunny day was in progress. “Uh, I can’t. Thanks very much, Diana, but I’m tied up.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine, thanks.” Then she added, “Not too great actually.”

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“You don’t sound so great. Take it from me: Call the lady. Unless you enjoy feeling bad.”

Caroline changed the sheets and dusted in a state of terror. She must have been out of her mind. She reminded herself that Hannah gave her an appointment for next week. But probably she’d use it to explain why the relationship was over. Fuck it, if it was finished, it was finished. Why wait around in agony until next week? Why couldn’t Hannah level with her?

She picked up the receiver and dialed the first half of Hannah’s number. She hung up. If she gave Hannah time to calm down, maybe she’d reconsider the need to end it. Especially if Caroline apologized at the beginning of the appointment. Maybe there was something she could take to say she was sorry. The new sunset shawl? But the bread was a flop. She wasn’t supposed to take Hannah presents.

Remembering the orange and red shawl on her loom, she went into her bedroom, sat down, and tried to work on it, thinking the hypnotic motions might calm her. But her hands and feet moved jerkily. She’d mess it up if she kept on. She jumped up and stalked into the kitchen, looking for something more mindless to do.

As Caroline cleaned the refrigerator, she decided she wanted to die. Anyone who behaved like that to someone as kind as Hannah deserved to be dead.

It’d be a relief to have it over with. She pictured the pill bottles on her closet shelf. Let the boys take their rifles and go live with their wretched father. She’d had it. This afternoon she’d write good-bye notes. Tonight after the boys were asleep she’d swallow every damn pill in the house. She lay face down on the hooked rug in the living room among hockey sticks and skates. The cabin was still. The boys had gone skiing with Diana, and Sharon was locked in the bathroom talking interminably on the phone. Amelia wandered over and purred around Caroline’s head. Caroline was unable to lift a hand to stroke her. Eventually she flicked her tail in Caroline’s face and stalked away.

The boys burst through the door. Arnold careened over to Caroline, barking and sniffing her Levi’s.

“Go away,” Caroline muttered, unable to move.

Diana stood over her wearing brown corduroy knickers, thick knee socks, and a ski sweater she’d knit, her face flushed from the cold.

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“Nothing is worth turning yourself into a nutcase over,” she said, studying Caroline motionless on the floor.

“Please

call the woman. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Maybe she’s dead,” said Caroline in a dull voice. “Maybe I upset her so much she had a heart attack.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Call her. I

bet she’s fine.”

“What’s it to you if I call her? I thought you were jealous of her. You should be glad I’ve destroyed our relationship.”

“I care about what’s best for you. It really bugs me when you get all wide-eyed about her. But I don’t want you to be without her. I just want you to have some perspective. Now, tell me her number.

I’ll dial it for you.” Diana walked over to the phone.

“I can’t face her. Not after what I said.”

“Caroline, you’re turning into a screwball,” said Diana, going up the steps to the safety of her own quarters.

If Hannah was hospitalized, Caroline realized she could take care of her-give her bed baths, feed her, see that she took her medication, fluff her pillows and water her flowers, answer her call button. This scenario appealed to her: Hannah needing

her.

She sat up. Then she crawled to the phone stand, put the phone in her lap, and dialed Hannah’s number. Her repulsive husband would answer.

She’d find out what hospital Hannah was at. She wouldn’t have to confess that she was the client who was responsible. The phone rang a couple of times. Caroline almost pushed down the button. No one there. They were all at the hospital. Or the funeral home. Her forehead broke out in sweat.

“Hello?” said Hannah in a cheerful voice.

Caroline couldn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello. It’s Caroline.”

“Oh, hi. How are you?”

“Uh, well, okay, I guess. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Drinking a martini and getting ready to cook filet of sole in white wine sauce.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to interrupt you. You said I could call, but I didn’t know if that still applied.”

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“Sure. Fine. Why wouldn’t it? What’s up?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could have an extra appointment.” With her thumb she was cracking the knuckles on the same hand time after time.

“Yes, of course you can. Only I’m pretty booked. So why don’t we go to lunch on Monday? How about picking me up at my office at noon?”

“What? Oh. Okay. Great. See you then.

Enjoy the sole.” She hung up, head falling back against the chair, armpits clammy with sweat.

Hannah wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even sick.

She was drinking gin. How was this possible? She sounded the same as always-tough and kind. Not only did she not kick Caroline out, she invited her to lunch. It felt like a last-minute pardon on the guillotine.

Caroline stood up, went to the kitchen cabinet, and filled a Burger King Star Wars glass to the rim with Gordon’s gin. She drank the whole thing in three gulps, then lay on the couch and felt numbing warmth creep up her legs as Jason in his Darth Vader outfit vaporized her with his BB gun.

When Brian phoned, she could scarcely move her lips.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Actually I’m drunk.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Only on special occasions.” She started giggling.

Silence from his end.

“I’m okay really, Brian. I’ll

see you at work.” She hung up.

Hannah gripped the seat with one hand as Caroline wove her Subaru through the traffic on the highway past the mall like a skier down a slalom course.

She wished she’d suggested meeting at the restaurant. Caroline wanted to destroy her, but surely she wouldn’t pick kamikaze tactics.

Usually a client settled for symbolic destruction. Hadn’t the tirade last week been enough?

“Did anyone ever tell you that you drive like a truck driver?” asked Hannah.

Caroline blushed. “Am I frightening you? I’m sorry.” She moved

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to the outside lane and slowed down. She’d been pleased when Hannah suggested she drive, and here she was screwing things up again.

Noting the effect of her words, Hannah realized she was being unfair. She didn’t like to hand over control of anything to anyone, so she could maintain the fiction that nothing could take her by surprise. She’d been a nervous wreck when Joanna and Simon got their permits, and sat cowering in the backseat as they drove. “Truck drivers are usually very good drivers,” she said. “I didn’t mean to criticize, just to comment.”

Caroline glanced at her. She was prepared to acknowledge that Hannah was always right. That Caroline had been insane last week. Yet it sounded as though Hannah was apologizing.

Hannah was amused observing Caroline’s confusion.

She remembered Simon and Joanna as teenagers, calling her a raving bitch, criticizing her fondness for gin, rejecting her meals with contemptthen sidling up to her later in the evening for a guilty good-night hug.

“Aren’t you cold?” asked Caroline. Hannah wore no coat, only the navy blue pants suit and blouse Caroline had first met her in.

“No. I have so many hot flashes these days I could probably heat Lake Glass single-handedly. I keep meaning to go to the doctor, but each month I decide I’m finally through menopause.”

Caroline glanced at her as they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, startled to be reminded that Hannah had her own difficulties.

Hannah had suggested Dooley’s, which had mediocre food but lots of room between tables, in case Caroline wanted to throw another scene. They sat by a window overlooking the parking lot in rattan peacock chairs, fern tendrils trailing above their heads, and discussed the current angle of the sun to the horizon, the state of the ice on the lake, the imminent return of birds from the south, and the likelihood of another late snowstorm.

Caroline marveled over Hannah’s apparent good health and good humor as they ordered sandwiches and coffee from a gum-chewing waitress who withdrew her pencil from her French twist. Had Hannah not heard or forgotten all the awful things Caroline said?

“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here today,” Caroline said as the waitress sauntered away.

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“I asked you,” said Hannah, thinking she probably had a better idea than Caroline herself. She was enjoying chatting away when Caroline expected her to be hurt, angry, or aloof. At such times you could almost see the wires in their brains flaring and crackling as they short-circuited.