Woman (15 page)

     "No, it's
not,"
she said. "I know the way
you kissed me."

     He stood as quickly as he
could and moved to the telephone, shaken by the weakness in his legs. "I'm
going to—" he began.

     "
No
, David," she broke in. "I
know you want me. I
know
it."

     He interrupted her. "I
am going to give you the number of the woman therapist I told you about. She
can—"

     "No, David!" she
said despairingly. "I need
your
help!"

     "I'm sorry, that's impossible,"
he told her. He grimaced in aggravation. The address book wasn't in the drawer
of the telephone table. "It must be in the bedroom," he muttered.

     "I don't
want
her!" Ganine cried out like a
frustrated child.

     "I'm sorry, I
just—" His voice died off as he moved toward the bedroom. "Stay
here," he said to her.

     "
No
! I
won't!"
she cried.

     He didn't look at her as he
walked into the bedroom.

     "David,
no!"
she almost yelled the words.

     He walked to Liz's side of
the bed and opened its table drawer. The address book wasn't in it.
"Damn,"
he muttered, starting
to circle the bed.

     He froze at the loud noises
in the living room, the sudden stopping of the radio music. "Now
what?" he said. He heard the sound of Ganine's running footsteps and
started to return to the living room. Before he could reach it, he flinched at
the crashing sound of the hall door being violently slammed. For a moment, he
felt a twinge of guilt but almost immediately, a sense of relief made him sigh.
ThankGod, she's gone, he thought.

     The radio had been thrown to
the floor and the plate of pastries and both coffee cups had been flung across
the floor staining the carpet. Jesus God, that timid little girl had quite a
temper. Timid? his mind contested. It was not a descriptive word for Ganine. He
blew out heavy breath. At least she was gone. That was a blessing.

     He began to pick up the
fallen pastries and platter, the coffee cups, one of them was cracked; one of
Liz's favorites. Well, that would have to do. Cleaning up the coffee stains was
more of a problem.

5:39  P.M.

It was almost darkas Liz unlocked the door and entered the
apartment. Switching on two lamps, she put down her purse on the sofa and
turned for the bar. She needed a drink. After today, a drink was definitely in
order, she thought. She poured herself a third of a glass of vodka and turned
toward the kitchen for some ice cubes. "Oh, to hell with it," she
muttered. Stopping, she took a long swallow of the room temperature vodka. I
need alcohol, not ice, she thought.

     She was taking a second
swallow when she noticed it. She stood motionless for several seconds, then
crossed to the kitchen and flicked up the light switch.

     For nearly thirty seconds,
she stared at the hanging plants, a blank expression on her face, unable to
comprehend what she was looking at.

     Every plant was richly green
with not a speck of brown on any leaf.

     Something about the sight
unnerved her. Putting her glass of vodka on the counter between the rooms, she
moved to one of the hanging plants and examined it closely.

     She started to reach for it,
to touch it, she realized. All she could do was stare at it in silence. I'm
gaping, she thought. The change in the plants was not pleasing, it only made
her feel uneasy. She tensed as an involuntary shudderlaced up her back.
"What the
hell?"
she murmured. This was impossible. Yet it had happened, the change was right in
front of her. Where there had been brown-edged dying plants, there were new
plants that seemed to be bursting with new-growth vitality.

     Liz jerked around, catching
her breath as the door to the master bathroom opened and footsteps moved across
the bedroom. "David?" she said.

     There was no answer. Liz
felt herself tighten. "David, is that you?" she asked.

     Ganine appeared in the
doorway.

     Wearing David's terrycloth
robe. Liz stared at her, stunned. Unable to summon anger. The sight of Ganine—
she could not avert it—frightened her. Her brain tumbled with unanswerable
questions. What was Ganine doing in the apartment? Why was she wearing David's
bathrobe? Where
was
David for
that matter?

     The huskiness of her voice
alarmed her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, immediately
thinking: Why am I even
talking
to her? Why aren't I grabbing her and throwing her out of the
apartment?

     Ganine's reply was wary,
what she said alarming Liz even further. "I'm sorry," she said.
"I didn't think you'd be back so soon." She sounded genuinely
apologetic.

     "You didn't
think—?" Liz couldn't finish the response, her voice choking off. She cleared
her throat.
"Where's my husband!"
she demanded.

     "He left a long time
ago," Ganine told her. "He was going to some conference."

     Liz shuddered.
Then why are you here!
she thought, and
she tightened.
"Why are you wearing my husband's
bathrobe?"
she demanded. Don't talk to her! her
mind stormed.

     Ganine's reply staggered
her. "I have no clothes on," she said.

     Liz found herself moving
suddenly for the bedroom.

     Ganine stepped aside, looking
frightened. Liz froze in the bedroom doorway, looking at the bed.

     The sheets were rumpled, one
of them hanging off the mattress edge. Liz felt her stomach muscles jerking in,
a feeling of nausea suddenly overwhelming her. She twisted around to look at
Ganine; she knew that she was glaring.
"How long
have you been here?"
she asked, barely able to
speak.

     "Since early
afternoon," Ganine said. The calmness of her voice made Liz shudder with
rage. Ganine's answer had been quiet and completely non-apologetic, a simple
statement of fact. "I fell asleep."

     Liz struggled for control.
"Get out of here,"
she said,
barely able to speak.

     "I can't," Ganine
replied. "I have to see your husband. He said he'd help me."

     
"Help
you?" Liz felt herself unable to react coherently. She only
knew that she wanted Ganine out of the apartment.

     "I'll leave after I see
him," Ganine said casually.

     "
No, you'll leave right now,"
Liz told
her.

     "I can't," Ganine
replied.

     
"Would
you like me to call the police?"
Liz threatened,
trembling, feeling ill.

     Ganine looked alarmed.
"The
police?"
she
said.

     Liz fought for control.
"You're intruding in my home," she said in a low, shaken voice.
"Get out or, so help me God, I'll have you
taken
out."

     Ganine only stared at her,
her expression one of disbelief.

     "You
hear
me?" Liz raged.

     "Don't do this,"
Ganine told her pleadingly. "I can't—"

     "Get out of here!"
Liz shouted at her. "God damn you!Out!"

     Ganine flinched, started to
speak, then couldn't. Liz stepped aside as Ganine moved hurriedly into the
bedroom. Liz shuddered violently as she saw Ganine throw off the bathrobe. She
was naked underneath.

     Unable to control the
shaking of her body, Liz watchedas Ganine snatched up her dress from the floor
and pulled it over her head. She stepped into her shoes. Liz shuddered again as
she saw Ganine pick up her bra and panties—they were red—and her jacket and
start back towards the living room.

     Liz turned and stalked
across the living room to throw open the hall door. If I had a gun, she thought
as Ganine hurried towards her.

     At the doorway, Ganine
stopped and tried to speak. Liz wouldn't let her.
"And
don't ever let me see you here again,"
she said,
teeth clenched, a murderous expression on her face.

     Ganine tried again to say
something but, again, Liz cut her off. "You
hear
me?!" she cried.

     Ganine's face was tight and
pale. Repressing a sob, she moved into the hall and Liz slammed the door behind
her, stood there, shaking. "Bitch," she muttered, then exploded.
"Bitch!"

     She was turning back towards
the living room when the pain flared in her head. Gasping, she clutched at her
skull with both hands. It felt as though a white-hot knife had stabbed at her
brain.

     
"Jesus
Christ,"
she muttered, her eyes gone wild with
dread. "It
is
her! It
is!"
Stumbling to a chair, she fell
down on it, whining in pain. Who
was
Ganine?
What
was
she? Liz felt weak and helpless, turning her head from side to side, a groan of
agony pulsing in her throat.

     She managed to reach the
bathroom cabinet and pull it open. Her hands were shaking so badly that her
pain pills scattered from their vial into the toilet. She managed to swallow
three of them, gulping them down without water, then, labouredly, her face
distorted by the pain, started back toward the living room.

     Afraid that she was going to
lose her balance and fall, she managed to work her way back to the living
room—she couldn't go near the bed with its obvious tangle of sheets, David's
bathrobe on top of them.

     She sank down on the sofa,
planning to lie down. She couldn't do it though. She sat there, slumped, both
hands against her head, her eyes closed.

     Once, she opened them and
found herself staring at the lush greenery of the hanging plants in the
kitchen. With a revulsed sound, she closed her eyes again. It's me, she tried
to believe. It's stress, it's fury at what that bitch has done. She couldn't
convince herself, however. Groaning softly at the aching in her head, she tried
to tell herself to relax. Relax, she thought.
Relax.