Wild Things (12 page)

Meg and my mother were gathering a steady flow of congratulations on David's winsome manners and Meg's return to Chicago. I looked my fill at the brilliant hues in the stained glass, then decided I'd wait in the foyer for a while. Meg and Mom were talking a language I didn't understand, and I was better off on the edge.

I looked over the bulletin board to pass the time. I wanted a television and a bicycle, and there was a chance someone would be selling one or the other. While I searched, a young man in a clerical collar came into the church by the street door, tacked a paper to the board, and went out the street door again, rather than back toward the sacristy. Not a St. Anthony's priest, obviously, since he was wearing jeans. All of this was odd enough to make me curious about what he posted.

It was a vivid pink flyer that read, "DIGNITY is about being cherished by our church as much as we cherish it. Gay men, lesbians, bisexuals and transsexuals, or any other person who needs support are welcome at our weekly meetings." An address and a twenty-four-hour hotline number were at the bottom.

In a daze, I read the flyer again. How could this group exist? Did they ignore the passages of the Bible that plainly condemned homosexuality? A support group could not rewrite the Bible.

I took the flyer off the board, knowing it would be removed as soon as one of the priests saw it. There had been something automatic about the way the priest had put it up, as if he did it every week. If so, it was removed every week because I'd never seen it before,

"Faith, what are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to face my father. He was too close for me to hide the flyer. It only took him a moment to recognize it. "By all means, take that trash down and throw it away. Those people — we have to check the board vigilantly." The street door opened and several parishioners came in. "Put it in your pocket out of sight, for heaven's sake."

I did as I was told, folding the flyer into a small wedge and slipping it into the pocket of my sweater. Even when I was settled and clearing my mind to take Communion, which I felt I sorely needed, the flyer burned a hole in my pocket. I fancied I smelled sulfur.

* * * * *

With Eric still away, I found myself feeling rather low over the next several weeks. I began spending more time in my apartment making notes on my books and not going into my office every single day. I took pleasure in grocery shopping and making my apartment into a home, but I felt unsettled and out
of sorts. James gave me a particularly vicious tongue-lashing for being what he called an indolent sloth.

Not having seen Sydney, I was able more and more successfully to forget how she had made me feel. And I did miss Eric. We'd gotten quite comfortable with each other.

He called me toward the end of his business trip just to say hello and explain that he had to stay in Hong Kong another week.

"Let's plan to do something fun on Halloween, though. I'll be back in plenty of time."

"I'd love to. I have a hankering to dress up like Eleanor just to get the feel of it," I admitted. "Something like what Katharine Hepburn wore in
The Lion in Winter"

"I'll be Peter O'Toole, then."

"You have to yell a lot," I said. "Henry liked to address people at the top of his lungs." I pictured Eric in chain mail and a leather jerkin. He would look the part, except that he didn't have a chance of duplicating the swagger and sweat O'Toole had put into his portrayal of Henry.

"It's a date. Who knows where we'll go, but it sounds like fun."

We chattered for a while about football, a passion of his I was beginning to share, then he said he had a few more calls to make and then he had a meeting with his clients and their general contractor.

About five minutes later the phone rang again.

"Faith, this is Sydney. I'm on pain of death from Eric to make sure you're doing fine in your new apartment."

Her voice, light and friendly, shook me in an in
stant back to that moment at the pool table and her arms around me. It was as if I hadn't spent the last month putting her out of my mind.

"I'm doing fine, really. I was just talking to him."

"He said he thought you sounded a little lonely and insisted I take you to dinner in his stead."

Irony is only funny when it happens to other people. I opened my mouth to say she really didn't have to worry and heard myself say instead, "That sounds wonderful. I'm getting tired of my limited cooking repertoire. I'm not in your league at all."

"I'm hardly cordon bleu. Can you make it this Friday night?"

"Yes, that would be great. Shall I meet you somewhere?"

"At the City Club. It's on the thirteenth floor of the Wrigley Building. Let's say seven-thirty. Don't worry if I'm late. They'll seat you and ply you with delicious little things to eat until I get there. Though I'll try not to be late," she added. "It's just that things come up."

"I understand. And I'm glad you called. It is nice to have something to look forward to."

She hung up with a cheery good-bye, and the phone rang again almost immediately.

"Faith, it's Caroline Van Allen. I hope I'm not calling too late."

"Not at all," I managed. Why on earth would Eric's mother be calling?

"I was just talking to Eric. He told me you and he had a desire to do fancy dress for Halloween."

"We decided it would be fun," I said, wondering where this was leading.

"I'm having a fundraiser at the house on Hallow
een — so nice that it's a Saturday this year. I'd love to have you and Eric join us. Fundraisers can be tedious sometimes, and family makes it more fun. In fact, I was hoping to persuade you to come up for the weekend with Eric, He speaks of you often, and I'd like to meet you. My husband is a great admirer of your books, by the way."

I felt a little overwhelmed, by her friendliness and my total lack of preparedness for the step of meeting Eric's parents. "That sounds like more fun than I deserve, so I'll say yes. If it's okay with Eric," I added anxiously.

She laughed pleasantly. "It's fine with him. He was quite excited at the prospect. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to get Syd up here as well. He said you got on famously."

"We did," I admitted. Irony really is only funny when it happens to other people. How was I going to be able to face this? "In fact, we're having dinner on Friday."

"Lovely," she said. "And I'm delighted you'll join us at Lakeview for Halloween weekend. It should be fun. Other than the party, we'll be pretty casual. Eric wouldn't think to tell you."

"Thank you," I said. What on earth was
pretty casual
for the Van Allens? Eric's idea of casual wear was a sweater that cost my monthly rent. Don't panic, I told myself. It was too late to worry about not being rich.

"We'll see you then, dear. I'm so looking forward to it."

I stared at the phone after she hung up, numbed by the enormity of my predicament. Caroline had been truly friendly. But meeting Eric's parents, some
thing that would have delighted me two months ago, was now vastly complicated because Sydney would be there.

I told myself sternly that if I couldn't manage a weekend, there was no way I could manage a lifetime. It would be the final test. I had suppressed these feelings before and would do so again. I would start by having dinner with Sydney on Friday. Everything would be fine.

Even as I convinced myself of this, my gaze went to two pieces of paper on my desk. The name and number Nara had written down for me. And the Dignity flyer. Abruptly I got up and put them in the drawer. But I didn't throw them away.

* * * * *

"John, I'm sorry, but I'm late for a dinner engagement. I just can't!" Sydney hadn't meant to be so forceful, and John looked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

"You've been different lately, Syd." John didn't believe in beating around the bush.

She stood up and started packing her briefcase.
"1
know. I'm keyed up about this nomination. I'm starting to remember why I decided not to run for alderwoman again. It's sta-ress-full."

"That's not all," John said. "There's something else. You don't have to tell me, but I wanted you to know it shows."

Sydney bit her lower lip. "Thanks. Don't worry, the Ice Queen is still here."

"She doesn't have to come back—"

"Oh yes she does," Sydney said, quickly. "My life
was a whole lot simpler before... well, it's just easier if I stay focused. I had to call my sponsor last week, and it unnerved me." She clicked her briefcase closed.

John put his hand on her shoulder as he stood up. "Ill try to lay off for a while, then."

"You're a slavedriver, John. Keep it that way."

"I forgot you had limits."

Sydney hurried to her office door saying, "It's forgetting the limits that gets me into trouble. Lock up, okay?"

"You got it."

She waited impatiently for the elevator. She wasn't actually late for dinner with Faith, but she wanted to go home and change. The mustard from the polish dog Cheryl had brought her for lunch adorned the lapel of her light gray suit.

Fortunately, the cab was quick and she had enough time to worry about the right thing to wear. Sweater and slacks seemed too casual for dinner. Another suit seemed too impersonal. She finally settled on black wool slacks with an emerald, high-necked raw-silk blouse and a black vest tied tightly in the back.

There. She was done. She looked at herself in the mirror and knew she had dressed for a date. Her trembling hands gave her away. But if she couldn't get through dinner, how could she get through a weekend without betraying how she felt about Faith? What if Eric married Faith? What then?

* * * * *

Even though Sydney had braced herself, she wasn't prepared for the obvious welcome in Faith's
eyes. She also wasn t prepared for the simple black dress with a tight-fitting bodice that Faith was wearing. Sydney had the urge to shake her — didn't she have a clue about how lovely she was? An expressive face, and skin that old friends of Sydney's spent a fortune trying to buy. Didn't Faith realize she was driving Sydney to distraction?

"I just got here," Faith said. "You aren't late at all."

"No, but if my aide had his way, I'd still be chained to my desk."

"You can blame it all on Eric."

Yes, Sydney thought. This was all Eric's fault. For introducing her to Faith and for insisting that they have dinner while he was out of town. Eric and Faith were just too naive, she thought peevishly. Did they think she was made of stone?

Faith ordered an iced tea, and the waiter turned to Sydney.

"Two fingers of Glen," she said, and then literally gaped at what she had said. "No, Stanley, don't bring me that. Iced tea." Stanley smiled understanding and melted as smoothly away from the table as he had arrived. "Jesus," Sydney said. "I haven't slipped in a long time."

"What on earth is Glen?" Faith rested her chin on her hand with a gentle smile that did nothing to settle Sydney's badly jangled nerves.

"Glenfiddich. The smoothest, easiest, single malt scotch whiskey on the face of the planet. Five generations of the William Grant family have been making it with love in Banffshire, Scotland, since eighteen
eighty-seven. When waiters hover I reflexively want to order it. I did, thousands — I do mean thousands of times. But it's been a while since I actually ordered it."

"Too much stress, maybe."

"Stress?" Sydney tried to relax and match Faith's cool and calm manner. "I don't know what I have to be stressed about."

"A law practice, lots of pro bono work with a lot of people counting on you to help them, and a potential political campaign."

Alarmed, Sydney said, "How did you know about that? It's not a sure thing yet."

"A campaign? One of the professors I work with thinks you should be a state senator. I was actually teasing. I wanted to see if it was something you'd thought about." Faith was utterly without guile, and Sydney relaxed.

"I've thought about it. Other people have thought about it. But that's all."

"I'd vote for you," Faith said.

"Thanks," Sydney managed. The waiter delivered their iced teas and a tray of imported cheeses and crackers. "I would need all the support I can get."

"Would you like to order now, ladies?"

Faith looked puzzled and glanced surreptitiously around her.

Sydney smiled reassuringly. "No menus needed. Order anything you like. They'll have it. I'm having my favorite." She looked up at the waiter. "Filet mignon, medium rare, with the green peppercorn and mushroom glaze."

"The chef was just taking brioches stuffed with crab and lobster in a wine cream out of the oven. Would you like one to start?"

"If you don't, I will," Faith said. "It sounds divine."

"Let's split one," Sydney said. "Because I want potatoes mashed with garlic. And a double serving of broccoli for penance."

The waiter smiled and turned to Faith. "What may I get you?"