Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way (23 page)

Thanksgiving Day

As if on cue, Zelda Cameron knocked on Donna’s front door. Sam let her in. “So, sorry to hear about the vandalism.” Zelda looked around the living room at the obvious displays of wanton destruction. No one seemed ready to converse with her. “Who would want to do something like this? Were your paintings ruined?”

“No.” Donna knew the subject of David’s failed research needed to be shelved until Zelda was no longer within ear shot.

Zelda seemed honestly shocked. Harry pushed back his thinning hair and accepted another cup of coffee from Sam. Zelda sat down on the arm of one of the ruined couches. She faced the crowded dining room table. “When I first heard about the crime, I thought Halloween pranksters might be blamed.” No one commented. She continued to the tough crowd, “Maybe you should get away, Donna. Come to New York with your work. We’ve missed the parade crowds. What if this onslaught continues? At least your paintings would be safe in New York.”

“The trouble might follow you to
New York,” Harry said, handing Donna a piece of pumpkin pie.

“I think you should go,” Sally said. “If you take Sam with you.”

Sam and Donna shared a long obvious moment. Zelda chose to dismiss the mute love scene. Harry was too involved in passing around slices of pie to notice. John shrugged his shoulders. However, Sally seemed to agree no harm would come to Donna as long as Sam was at her side. “Make sure no one informs Norman,” Sally said to Zelda.

“Why is that?” Zelda asked, sounding too innocent.

“Think about it,” Sally said, clearly angry at her for pretending to be ignorant about Norman hatred for Donna.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Last Monday in November

Zelda’s New York Apartment

Zelda’s part-interest in the New York gallery included the fixed-rent apartment on the building’s top floor. After spending their entire afternoon explaining Donna’s paintings to Zelda’s patrons, Sam, Donna and Zelda retired to the elevator for access to the living quarters. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sweeping northern view of Central Park. A vase of out-of-season peonies filled the open room with their heavy scent. “Isn’t this lovely?” Zelda asked the couple.

Donna nodded. Sam slid around the wood floor in his stocking feet, as if his childhood had suddenly returned. “You can hear the traffic.” Sam knocked into the leather couch and somersaulted onto the pillows. “Not very homey, though.”

“Maybe if you stopped thinking of the place as your personal gym.” Zelda tried to hide her outrage.

“I wouldn’t want to raise children here,” Donna said.

“Raise children?” Zelda’s out of control tone continued to rise in pitch and volume. “What about painting here? This is prime north light.” Zelda waved her arms around, encompassing the vast expanse of rooms. “You couldn’t find a better studio.”

“I’m pregnant,” Donna said simply.

“Move rather fast don’t you?” Zelda turned on Sam.

“Not mine.” Sam held his hands up to the studio’s black ceiling as if Zelda’s irate tongue was a lethal weapon.

“David’s?” Zelda asked, but meant the word as a statement. She sat down on the black leather love seat and punched one of the yellow throw pillows.

“
Ann Arbor is a more family-friendly place to live,” Donna said. “You could still show my paintings.”

“
New York thrives on personalities. People will tell their friends they met you, a famous artist with her paintings in a prestigious gallery. They’ll want to brag about their ability to introduce people to you. No one can relate to you if you are way back in Ann Arbor.” The phone rang and Zelda jumped as if her world suddenly ended. “Excuse me,” she said, taking the wireless phone into a bedroom and closing the door.

Donna and Sam made use of the time to kiss and hold onto each other, as if their known worlds ended, too. “I’m glad you don’t want to live here,” Sam said, not letting go of their embrace.

“Break it up.” Zelda shouted when she returned. “Sorry. I received bad news and I need to leave.”

“What is it, Zelda?” Donna tried to caress the older woman.

“Nothing, nothing.” Zelda broke down. “No matter what I do. It’s never good enough.”

Donna held her as Zelda cried broken-heartedly. Donna tried to comfort her, “I love the way you hung the paintings, Zelda. Your customers seemed impressed. Sam and I were intimidated by them. They oozed money and culture. Why are you so upset?”

“Who is judging your actions?” Sam quietly asked, “St. Claire?”

Zelda nodded, then denied her action. “No, no.” She brushed Donna away from her. “I’ll be all right.” Zelda stood up and marched around the couch. “So much has been happening. My life is out of control.”

“Mrs. Nelson says that all the time.” Sam said.

“Sally Nelson?” Zelda stopped with her back to the wall of windows. The couple’s obvious affection for each other filled the room with slivers of cutting reality. St. Clair never held her the way these two clung to each other.

“Yes,” Sam said. “I’m sure Sally wouldn’t mind my telling you. She’s an alcoholic.”

“You’re not supposed to tell people, Sam,” Donna said. “That’s why it’s called Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“Mrs. Nelson tells everyone.” Sam defended himself.

“Yes, but she can,” Donna said. “You’re not supposed to.”

“I’ll explain to her,” Sam said. “Zelda, most of us feel as if we don’t have control of everything in our lives.”

“How about nothing in your life.” Zelda leaned against an exposed black beam. She began to weep quietly.

Donna brought her a glass of water from the refrigerator’s door. “Tell us what’s happening. Come and sit down. Maybe we can help.”

“No,” Zelda sobbed. She let Donna guide her to the leather love seat. “No one can help me.” She seemed convinced.

Sam sat next to Zelda. “Do you want us to pray for you?”

“Oh, sure,” Zelda laughed, nearly hysterically. “That will work.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Second
Saturday in December

Back in
Ann Arbor, Donna continued her life, painting, exhibiting, selling enough pieces to warrant buying more oils and canvas. The City Club provided an outlet when her house, in the midst of massive renovations, seemed to swallow up awareness of who she was. Isolation did not add to her strength of character. Instead, self-pity crept into the hours spent alone.

At first, her women friends were adamant she continue her life, calling regularly for dinner invitations. Unescorted at dinner, or with Sam, Donna tried to stay in the conversation, meaning she spoke more than was necessary. She knew no one expected her to fill in for David, but she tried to provide information about the art world. Eventually the invitations from women friends were changed to luncheons, when Sam was working. Then mostly men began to call, asking how she was ‘doing’ with David gone from her life.

When the husbands of friends called, Donna would ask about their wives. She implied she would be sure to thank her friend for having her husband call to console her, which stopped most of the nonsense. The real surprise came from the number of single professors from the university who called to invite her out. She knew them all too well to be interested in being seen with them. Marrying a clone of David’s was not appealing. Sam Tedler, however, was the perfect houseguest. He cooked, served her coffee in the morning, in bed, and never failed to satisfy her every wish. She knew she should make an honest man of him and marry him, but her responsibility to David’s child kept her decision at bay until it was almost too late.

Sam and Donna were wallpapering the baby’s room. Sam was on the stepladder and Donna directed traffic. “Is that straight at the top?”

“You to tell me,” Sam said.

“You don’t have to bark at me.”

Sam slid the soft trowel against the glued paper, smoothing out bubbles as he climbed down the ladder and wiped away a last bit of wetness near the floorboard. “Bark at you?” He wrapped his arms around Donna’s thickening figure. “I love you. Is everything all right?”

Donna kissed him before struggling to get free. “Hormones, I guess.”

“Why don’t you go up and paint. I can finish this.”

“Without me?”

“With you in a happier state.” Sam laughed. “In your studio creating another masterpiece for Zelda.”

“You don’t like her, do you?”

“We are not having a fight.” Sam returned to wetting down another roll of wallpaper, where flop-eared bunnies romped.

“Love you,” Donna said sheepishly. She entered the studio without a plan. A white canvas waited patiently. Then an idea hit. She pulled out her ‘Family of Man’ collection of black-and-white photographs. One of them showed a young
Pakistani lad in a tee shirt large enough for a short dress. He was positioned on one knee, looking at a coin he found on a stone patio, his left hand extended behind for balance. His natural grace resembled a ballet pose. Donna sketched the boy quickly and began to paint his limbs and the cobblestones with the same hues of red, pink, and flesh tones. She made the coin a piece of gold and labeled the painting, in her head, ‘The Lost Soul.’ But the painting wasn’t perfect. The tones blended into each other. Even though she tried to lighten the boy’s extended arm, the limb seemed to disappear in the matching tones of the stones beneath him. Donna promised to fix the painting and went off to see how Sam was progressing.

The baby’s room was finished and Sam was nowhere in sight.

Then she smelled the garlic and onions frying in the kitchen. Supper would be another feast. “Sam,” Donna cooed as she slid her arms around his waist in the kitchen. “Do you get enough attention from me?”

Sam put a lid on the frying pan in front of him. “Why? Are you feeling ignored?”

“I asked you first. I get so involved in painting; I hope you don’t feel shut out -- like I did when David’s research was filling his mind.”

“You are first in my thoughts.”

Donna smiled. “I’ll set the table.”

“You are an absent-minded professor.” Sam laughed. “Didn’t you notice the table? It’s already set up with your new china.”

Donna kissed the side of Sam’s face and returned to the living room. Mentioning David made her remember his words, “Confusion seeks Truth.” Why did David want to summon up a personal God, one who was on speaking terms with him? Donna turned on the stereo hoping to add classical music to the banquet. Instead, the loud, jarring sounds of Pink Floyd blared out of David’s disc player.

“Whoa.” Sam dashed into the living room to turn down the noise. “Is that your husband’s favorite music?”

“No,” Donna shuddered, “It’s Norman’s.”

The doorbell rang. Without thinking, Donna opened the door.
Norman was standing on her threshold. “I wanted to see if it was true,” Norman said.

Donna stepped back, one hand on her offending stomach. Sam arrived big and imposing as he moved between Donna and Norman. “I don’t believe you are welcome here.”

“I know,” Norman said. “I’ve seen all I need to see.” He gave Donna an evil look and walked down the sidewalk.

Sam shut the door and reached for Donna, who was sliding to the floor. “We’ll take out a protective order. He won’t be allowed within two miles of you.”

“Better call the ambulance, Sam.” Donna felt unusually calm as the pain tore at something insider her. “I think I’m miscarrying.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

University Hospital

Sally and John joined Sam in the waiting room. “We just finished the nursery.” Sam wrung his hands looking from John to Sally, who still held hands. They were together. He would always live alone. His future with Donna was doomed.

Sally pushed him down into a hard chair. “Was Donna overdoing anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam ran his hands through his blond hair. He hadn’t protected the woman he loved. She would never trust him now. “
Norman came over.”

“You didn’t let him in, did you?” John asked.

“No.” Sam tried to regain some composure. Think like a police detective. “We need to pick Norman up for questioning. He left a disc of Pink Floyd in David’s stereo, probably when he vandalized Donna’s house.”

“Sally, stay here with Sam,” John said. “I’ll make the report.”

Sally took Sam’s hand. “I’m glad you wanted to father Donna’s baby.”

“I asked her to marry
me. Do think I went against the Lord’s will, staying by her side? I thought I was protecting her. Is that why she lost the baby?”

A young female doctor walked toward them. “You’re able to visit your wife now.”Sam did not correct her. “Fine. May I bring my aunt in, also?”

“Of course,” the young doctor said, pointing to the room she had just exited. “We’ll keep her for a few days for observation.”

“Aunt?” Sally asked, as she pulled Sam down the hall.

Sam surprised himself by grinning. “Well, friend of my mother’s seemed a bit complicated.”

Once inside the room, Sam couldn’t move. Donna stretched out her hand in his direction. Her beautiful eyes welcomed him. She didn’t hate him. Sally took a towel from the room’s bathroom and wrapped up Donna’s wet hair. “My goddess returned to me.” Sam kissed Donna’s forehead. “I’m so sorry.”