Prayers for the Dying (Pam of Babylon Book Four) (11 page)

“Oh, Linda. He’s just angry with me because he couldn’t get it up!”

Linda Potts stood at the side of the treadmill with her mouth hanging open while the gracious Pam Smith talked away. “We were trying to do it and his penis just wouldn’t cooperate. It was as limp as a pair of socks. I tried everything, trust me. But it was hopeless. Now he’s embarrassed and you can understand why. It must be so hard for a cop to go around thinking he could sleep with a high society woman like myself and then not be able to do it.” As she talked, Pam’s heart rate climbed into a dangerous zone, but she was getting into the role. Lying about Andy Andrews was as satisfying as taunting those ignorant deli clerks. She held onto Linda’s arm like a vulture. “Poor Andy. He practically stalked me less than two weeks after my poor husband died. Did he tell you that? I tried several times to get away from him, asking him to leave me alone. But he kept showing up.” Pam kept the silly smile plastered on her face. “Now you go on and let me get my workout in. Tell Andy that Pam says hi!” She let go of the woman’s arm and turned to get on the treadmill. She didn’t look back at Linda, but turned the treadmill speed up to six miles per hour and started running like the wind.

Linda Potts backed away, stunned and silent. She turned and left the gym without saying good-bye. Pam decided she’d better call her attorney when she was done at the gym and let him know what she had done. Chances were, she had broken some law. The letdown she felt after the high of stepping completely out of her comfort zone wasn’t pleasant. Maybe her old way of sticking her head in the clouds was easier after all.

Pam forced herself to finish her workout. She’d decided to bypass the store; she wasn’t in any condition to see Dave and taunting the deli clerks had lost its allure. What had she done to Andy Andrews to make him hate her so much that he would tell Linda Potts her personal business? While she drove home, Pam thought about Andy and Linda. Linda Potts was a barfly. She must have been one of the women Andy referred to when he told Pam early in their relationship that the divorcees in town were always bothering him. Pam could feel her own snobbery seeping in, remembering how, shortly after Linda’s divorce about twelve years earlier, she had asked Pam to babysit for her daughters, who were classmates of Brent’s. Then, she didn’t show up until five hours after the designated time to pick up her children. Pam didn’t mind them being at the beach at all, but Linda’s delay had caused her unnecessary worry. When Linda finally arrived, she had a friend with her and her breath was fetid with alcohol. Pam was appalled. Linda did not offer an explanation or even a thank you for taking care of the kids. The entire Linda/Andy thing would baffle Pam for the rest of the day.

She got home and decided to shovel the sidewalks in front the house before she got out of her gym clothes. A police car slowly cruised toward the house and she almost fainted, but it wasn’t Andy.

As it turned out, because Andy Andrews was still working on a case involving Pam’s brother-in-law Bill, who’d been arrested for breaking into her house and attempting to harm Nelda, knowledge of Pam’s AIDS diagnosis was privileged information and he would be reprimanded for divulging it to Linda Potts. Andy wouldn’t be confronting Pam about her lies, after all.

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12

A
shton’s resolve not to speak to Jack lasted for three hours. By the afternoon that day, he was in turmoil over having passed up a chance to spend time with Jack, sending him off without so much as a good-bye. He called Jack’s office but Jack wasn’t available. Jack had a mobile phone in his car, but he wasn’t picking up. Ashton waited until the evening and called the house, preparing to hang up if Pam answered. He and Jack had a signal: ring twice and hang up. But Ash knew that Jack might be angry enough over his behavior that he’d ignore it. The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up. Pacing around his apartment, he decided to go out and see if he could find Jack.

He got a cab and went downtown. He searched three clubs and finally found Jack, leaning against the bar talking to a beautiful blonde woman. Jack didn’t change his expression when Ashton came into his field of vision, but made his displeasure known with a movement in his jaw that was only discernible to Ashton. Walking to the back of the room, Ashton saw a group of men he knew and joined their conversation, keeping his eye on Jack. After about twenty minutes, Jack left with the woman. Ashton felt the sob rising in his throat.

“Looks like Jackie boy has a date for tonight,” a man named Paul whispered to Ashton. “Take me home with you tonight, Ash. You know we are good together.”

Ashton looked at him, at his slender body and his perfect, girlish features. He was completely different than Jack, and he was correct, they had been together before and it was good. Would spending the night with him be worth it? Using another human being? And then he closed his eyes and imagined going home, taking the subway uptown alone. He saw his dark apartment, and the big, empty bed. Another lonely day would start at dawn, probably without hearing from Jack. When he opened his eyes again, Paul was still there, smiling sweetly at Ashton, hopeful and eager.

“Okay, yes. Come home with me.” Ashton got up, throwing money down to pay for his one drink and turned to leave, the man following him out of the bar. They walked side by side in silence to the train. Ashton didn’t think of Jack once for the rest of the night.

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13

S
andra sat at the window in Tom’s apartment, looking between the buildings at lower Manhattan. Her cup of tea had grown cold. She felt empty. At one time, she could count on a chat with Pam to warm her and fill her with a feeling of peace and security. Pam had a way of making whatever it was seem not so threatening, but not this time. Sandra was afraid that if she succumbed to Tom’s insecurity and got rid of Jack’s business, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Pam’s subtle criticism of Tom opened Sandra’s eyes. As she slid off the stool to get more tea, the realization that she was moving too fast came to her. What was the hurry? If Tom didn’t like her working at Lane, he’d have to wait. It was sort of thing one shouldn’t rush into. She thought about what she had been through in just five short months: Jack’s death, finding out she was pregnant and then infected with HIV, meeting Tom when Jack’s brother was stalking her, the loss of baby Ellin, and then moving in with Tom. Maybe changing jobs would be too much.

Sandra put the tea pot on, leaning up against the counter and looking around his apartment. A decision would have to be made soon about her place; her rent was too high to justify keeping it if she wasn’t going to live there. Surprisingly, she liked it in Brooklyn. Williamsburg was a great neighborhood, less congested than the Upper West Side. She liked the grocery store and the laundry around the corner. It was closer to work, too. The empty feeling wasn’t coming from the decision to live with Tom. It was because she was still grieving.

Although Tom was a sweetheart, he’d already said something to her that made her think his tolerance for her grief was limited. They were snuggled on the couch one night watching TV and an ad came on for diapers. It wasn’t a particularly dramatic piece, although the music was slightly melancholy. Without warning, Sandra had teared up. She’d tried to reach for a tissue without him seeing the tears, but he’d caught on. “Oh no, you’re not going to cry every time a baby comes on the television, are you?” He was immediately regretful, and she could see it in his eyes, but rather than leaving it alone, he got defensive even though she said nothing to him. “I mean, I know it’s only been a few weeks, but you need to get on with it, Sandra. You can’t go on feeling sad whenever you see a diaper commercial.”

She hadn’t responded because she knew it might lead to an argument. They hadn’t had one yet, mainly because she kept her mouth shut instead of calling him on it when he made an insensitive remark. But how long could she do that?
Should
she do that? It boiled down to the old conversation she’d had with herself about Tom. He wasn’t smart enough for her; he was too conventional, too bourgeois. He’d been there for her when she lost the baby and showed so much compassion that she’d fallen into the trap of allowing him to rescue her, providing a place for her to run to when the isolation and memories of her own apartment filled her with anxiety.

The teapot started to hiss, and as she poured the boiling water over a tea bag, she realized that she still wasn’t in a position to make any decisions. She’d already made one about moving in with Tom and making another to move out wouldn’t be smart. She was with him out of fear—fear of being alone, fear that no one else would love her because she was HIV-positive—and although she thought she loved him, her hyper-critical view of him was making her doubt that, as well.
What should I do? Pam is the only one I trust enough to ask.
The ludicrousness of her predicament hit her and she laughed out loud. The only person on earth that she could think of who would give her the answers she sought was one of the weakest people she had ever met. And then she stopped.
That was awful! Pam isn’t weak!

Sandra recalled a phrase she’d heard Pam use:
We have just the lives we want
. When Sandra first heard it, she thought that was ridiculous. She didn’t purposely set out to be with a married man, one who would give her HIV, impregnate her, and then die. It was all chance. Karma. But then, as Sandra began to think about what it really meant, she began to see that there was some truth to it. She wanted an easy life without too many encumbrances, and being involved with a wealthy, married man guaranteed she’d attain some of those goals. She was self-centered and prideful. Jack fit her to a T. How did she know he would die? If she had it to do over again, she probably would have done the exact same thing. The knowledge that she would purposely set out to hurt someone as she had hurt Pam shamed her. Had she learned nothing? She took a sip of tea and heard the key in the door. Tom was home from visiting his mother. Another plus—he was good to his mom. But then, so was Jack.

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14

S
aturday morning, Bernice Smith woke up thinking clearly for the first time in ages. Getting out of bed was easier than it had been for months, and she got into the shower under her own steam. Hearing water running, her maid came up to the bedroom to investigate and was surprised to see her employer accomplishing her morning toilet much the way she used to when she was feeling better, before the shock of losing her sons, one to death and one to jail, had aged her overnight. Mildred straightened up the bed covers and went back down the stairs to the kitchen to get coffee for Bernice.

“Guess who is up on her own and taking a shower this morning?” Mildred asked the cook, Bea. “I wonder how long it will last this time?” She was referring to the periods of self-reliance, which were coming further and further apart and lasting for shorter amounts of time. When Bernice was feeling well, it was almost pleasant to be there. But when she was out of sorts, the entire household would be in an uproar. Nelda was the only person who could cajole the old lady into getting dressed or eating.

“I’m afraid she is a candidate for assisted living. It’s ridiculous to keep this big house for two little old ladies, one of whom no longer knows where she is more than half the time,” Bea said. “I’m getting tired, myself. Don’t know how much longer I want to do this. What about you?” she asked, directing her question to Mildred.

“You know I’ve had it,” she answered, fixing the coffee tray. On good mornings like this, the two ladies in residence would have coffee together in Bernice’s bedroom. Mildred placed the coffee pot Bea had prepared on the tray, along with a plate of fruit salad and toast points, like baby food. The days of lavish pastry for breakfast were long gone.

“I’m thinking we better get in touch with Miss Pam. The old lady is having a good day; this might be the time to bring up the assisted-living topic rather when she doesn’t know where the heck she is. Why wait until the spring, like she said before? Time to do it is when she is still in her right mind, so she can have some input into the decisions.” Mildred lifted the tray, groaning under its weight. “My days are definitely numbered here,” she said.

Bernice was sitting at her dressing table when Mildred returned with coffee. She was carefully applying her makeup, hands shaking.

“Good morning, Millie. Don’t quote me, but I think my days here are numbered,” she said, mirroring her maid’s thoughts. “I was standing in the shower thinking about how ridiculous it is that we are spending all this money for two old ladies to live like queens. Would you get my daughter-in-law on the phone for me? I think it’s time to do something about this old mausoleum.” She turned to look at the maid. “I mean the house, not me.” Mildred smiled at her employer, thinking,
the planets must be lined up perfectly
. Mildred brought Bernice a cup of coffee and went to the phone to dial Pam’s number. When Pam saw the mansion number on caller ID, she thought,
Oh no, what else is going to happen today?
Good news rarely came from that house anymore.

It was Mildred. “Mrs. Smith asked me to get you on the phone this morning, Miss Pam. Would you hold the line please?”

Pam heard murmuring in the background and then her mother-in-law’s voice. “Pam, I think it’s time for us to get together to plan for the sale of the mansion. I was looking around here this morning and it is either renovate soon or get out now.” Bernice paused, looking around her lovely bedroom, but seeing clearly that the priceless wallpaper was beginning to peal, and in the bathroom, the plumbing was starting to show its age. “The old place deserves to be taken care of properly and I can’t ask you to spend the money.”

“Shall I come into the city so we can talk?” Pam asked, wanting to give her mother-in-law all control. Although she hated having to drive into the city on a Saturday in the snow, she wasn’t sure how long the lucidity would last. By this afternoon, she might be a lunatic again.

“Why not come for lunch?” Bernice said.