The Coach House (6 page)
He took a slow sip of wine, and then another. “Probably not.”
“Richard, we all have things in our past we don’t like. That’s what makes us grow.”
“Can we just drop this?” he bellowed. He jumped out of bed and sat in the lounge chair near the window. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Before a bewildered Marie could say anything, he continued with his rant. “You’re damn right that’s how we grow! You want to know why I hate going there? Because the whole time I was growing up, I was told by my illustrious father that if it wasn’t for me, he could have made something of himself.”
“Richard, why would he…”
“He had no intention of marrying my mother, but she got pregnant… with me. Ruined everything for him and he never let me forget it. You know what that bastard used to call me? His mistake. His fucking mistake.”
“Richard…”
“Do you have any idea what that does to you, growing up being told I was just a mistake? And to hear him talk about it, he was a hero. He rescued my mother from a shamed life—pregnant and not married. How gallant of him, especially since he was the one who knocked her up.” Richard turned to face Marie. “Now ask me again why I don’t like going there.”
She had never seen a face look so pained. She rose from the bed, walked over to her soon-to-be husband, and put her arms around him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I wish you didn’t hate him so.”
“I don’t.” He hugged her and whispered, “I have no feelings at all for the man.”
They stayed in the hug a long time before they slipped back into bed and eventually fell asleep.
Several days after Marie returned to work after being out with the cold, Catherine didn’t show up and didn’t call in. Marie called her home and got no answer. She tried again that evening and reached her husband. “I took her to the emergency room this morning. We just got home,” he said with a sigh.
“Is she alright?”
“She is now. She can’t go a whole week between treatments anymore. She said she’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Mr. Olsen. Please give her my best.”
Catherine came into Marie’s office the next morning with dark circles under her eyes.
“Catherine, are you okay?”
She nodded through a pained look. “My polio has worsened, and they are telling me I need two treatments a week now instead of one. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Bakersfield, and we’ve agreed that I’ll take Wednesdays off and come in on Sundays if needed. Are you okay with that?”
So now it was confirmed that Catherine had polio. Marie suspected that was her illness but prayed it was something less threatening. “Of course, Catherine, but only if you promise me you won’t come in on Sundays. I’ll do whatever it is you need so you can avoid that. You need some time for yourself, after all.”
“I don’t want to overburden you.”
“You won’t. Esther is coming along so well, I can delegate more to her and free myself up. Don’t worry about the work, Catherine. Let me do that.”
“Thank you, Marie. I knew I could count on you.”
And so Marie’s position grew. In a few weeks, Marie was versed well enough in Catherine’s duties to reasonably cover for her. It was a long list of things to learn—book signings, art exhibits, cooking classes, staff interpreters for their foreign customers, personal shoppers, and children’s parties in addition to managing a large staff. She was also responsible for the Pace insertion in all the major newspapers, a publication that kept women aware of the latest fashions. Marie quickly discovered that Catherine was involved in nearly everything that went on in the store.
* * *
Following Marie’s first week of having to cover for Catherine, Richard presented her with two tickets to a Dodgers/Cubs game. She wasn’t that into baseball and didn’t feel like going. She suggested he take someone else.
“But sweetheart, I’d much rather be there with you,” he appealed. He put his arms around her waist and ran his fingers up and down her spine. “It wouldn’t be the same going with someone else.” He could pretty much cajole her into anything.
In the third inning, they noticed some of the players swatting at something around their heads. Then the fans started wildly swinging their hands around their faces as well. By the fifth inning, gnats, pesky black ones, millions of them, were attacking everyone. The game was called at the top of the fifth inning. Dodgers 2; Cubs 0.
On the way home they talked about the first Cubs game they had seen together a year earlier. It was Game 4 of the World Series and Marie’s first baseball game ever, the Cubs versus the Detroit Tigers.
“Remember the goat?” he asked her.
“I remember asking you if that was the team’s mascot?” she mused. “But then it became obvious it wasn’t when it sat in one of the box seats in front of us. I’m still not sure I understand what that was all about, though.”
“The man with the goat owned a tavern near the stadium, and he decided to bring it to the game. You saw the sign on the goat. Right?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember what it said.”
“It said, ‘We got Detroit’s goat.’He paraded it around the field as a joke I guess, until they were ushered off the field. Then they sat in those two box seats, but when it started to rain, the other fans complained about the smell, and they were asked to leave. So the owner of the goat got mad at being rejected and supposedly placed a curse on the Cubs that they would never win another pennant or play in a World Series at Wrigley Field again.”
“Do you think they’re really cursed?”
“Time will tell, dear. Time will tell.”
When they got home from the Dodgers game, Richard cooked his favorite baked chicken dish for dinner. For dessert they had peach slices drenched in port wine. “Do you remember where we first had peaches like this?” he asked her.
“I sure do. Corrie’s. Our second date.” Her mind drifted back to that afternoon. He had arrived at her apartment with a single yellow chrysanthemum in his hand, the first of many he would steal from someone else’s yard and present to her. They saw
Arsenic and Old Lace
and ate seafood at Corrie’s that evening.
“You know what my favorite line in the movie was?” he had asked her. “It was when Cary Grant said, ‘Insanity runs in my family…it practically gallops.’I LOVE that line.”
Marie grinned as she recalled the date.
“And do you remember who suggested Corrie’s?” he teased.
She smiled an embarrassing smile. “I did.” She had suggested Corrie’s but had never been there before. When she saw her menu didn’t have any prices on it, she knew it was going to be expensive. It was also at that dinner when Marie got a glimpse of Richard’s work ethic. She had asked him about his sales territory.
“Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Indiana, and Michigan,” he told her.
“Not Illinois?”
“No, the owner’s son gets Illinois,” he said with a mocking smile. “And it just
kills
me. The kid barely has a heartbeat, and he’s got the best state in the Midwest.” Marie watched his face constrict. “So many missed opportunities. Well, there wouldn’t be any missed opportunities if
I
had this state. But…there’s not much I can do about Daddy’s boy,” he whined.
“So why do you live in Illinois?”
“Because some day I
will
have it, and it’s centrally located in my territory. You want to do as little traveling and as much selling as possible. The more sales, the more commissions.”
“So you don’t get paid unless you sell something? You don’t get any salary?”
“If I were to take a base salary, like most of the other salesmen, I would get a lower commission. I prefer no base salary and the highest commission possible.”
“You must be good.”
“I’m number one in the company, but I hate to brag.”
“I’m impressed! What’s your edge?”
“My edge?”
“Why are you number one?”
He paused before meeting her gaze. “Because I minimize the risk and maximize the rewards.”
“That’s it?”
He thought for a few more seconds. “I never show my hand.”
“Really?”
“And I never stop at the first ‘no.’”
“So that’s what it takes?” She wondered if that was his philosophy in his personal life as well. “How come your peers haven’t figured that out?”
“When it comes to sales, I have no peers, darlin’,” he said with confidence.
That night they had walked hand in hand the five blocks back to her apartment, the sun way past setting, watching their shadows on the sidewalk grow large and then shrink to nothing as the light from the street lamps showered their bodies. The evening air was cool and still, with only a breath of wind. Halfway there, he tightened his grip and said, “C’mon, let’s go!” He pulled her across the street to a small park. “When is the last time you swang on a swing?”
“Is swang a word?” she asked, laughing.
“I don’t know. You’re the college graduate. You tell me. C’mon. Let’s go!”
He eased her onto the swing, and as he did he kissed her on the cheek. Then he walked behind her and gave her a gentle push. He got on the swing beside her, and as she swung forward, he swung back. “Having fun?” he asked, giving her a flirtatious wink.
Marie nodded absently, remembering what it was like to be a child again, and then laughed into the wind.
“Let’s pretend we’re on a spaceship and going to the moon!” he shouted.
“That’s so childish.”
“Well, we
are
on swings. I bet I can beat you there!” He pumped his legs harder and swung higher.
As she followed his lead, the cool air embracing her face as she swung forward, she felt like a giggly-faced school girl.
“I’m going higher than you, but then you’re just a girl!”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “You’re going to pay for that remark!”
“Boys do everything better than girls!”
“Now you’re in big trouble, mister.”
“When’s the last time you played in a sandbox?” he asked as his swing slowed down.
“I’ve never played in a sandbox.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Too dirty.”
“You missed out. Did you ever have a special place as a kid? A place where you could have secret thoughts and no one would know you were there?”
She smiled. “My mother’s closet. I’d go in there with a flashlight and usually a pencil and paper. Then I’d shut the door and hide behind her dresses, way back in the corner where she couldn’t see me even if she opened the door. I used to love the smell of her clothes.”
“Why the paper and pencil?”
“I had to write my secret thoughts. Thinking them wasn’t enough.”
“Tell me one.”
“I used to think what it would be like to have brothers and sisters. I remember making a list of the pros and cons. The pros won by a landslide.”
His smile was faint.
“So where was your secret place?” she asked.
“In the attic of the shed behind our house. I would sneak up there when I thought no one was looking. Each time I went up there, I would bring something else up. A book. An empty tin of crackers. An old screwdriver. Anything I could get away with. Then I’d lie on the makeshift bed and pretend I didn’t live in that small ramshackle of a house out in front. I used to spend a lot of time there,” he admitted.
“What did you think about when you were up there?”
“My father.” There was a catch in his voice.
“What about your father?”
“It’s not important now.”
Marie tried not to read too much thought into his story. They slowed down to a gentle stop, and he helped her off the swing. When her feet hit the ground, they were standing face to face, not more than six inches apart. With his arms still around her, he leaned in and kissed her, so lightly she wondered if he had even kissed her at all. She wanted to kiss him back but didn’t. Holding her hands in his, he pulled back slightly and looked at her for several seconds, the corners of his mouth turning up slowly. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
