The Last Original Wife

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  My cell phone rang. It was Charlotte.

  “Did Mom turn up?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’ll call soon.”

  “Did you check with the hospitals and the police?”

  “No, no, honey. Don’t worry yourself. If she doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll check with them in the morning. I’m sure she’s fine. Probably blowing off steam at the movies.”

  “Steam? Did y’all fight?”

  “No, no. Just the usual silliness between married couples. Nothing to be worried about.”

  “Okay. Did you call Danette?”

  “Yeah, she said she hasn’t seen her, but for all I know she’s sitting there with her drinking white wine spritzers.”

  “Well, okay then. If you’re not worried, I’m not going to worry either. I called her cell and she didn’t pick up.”

  “Me too. That’s why I think she’s at the movies. Go on to bed, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s Monday. Big week ahead.”

  “Okay, Daddy. Love you.”

  Soon I was watching the third episode of Law and Order in a row and my eyes started getting heavy.

  The sun woke me up. My back was killing me and my head hurt. No wonder! I slept in a chair! Now whose fault was that? Thanks, Leslie. Whenever I fell asleep in the chair, I could always depend on her to wake me up. But she wasn’t there so I got a backache out of the deal.

  I went right to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Then I threw a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and cracked an egg into the frying pan and turned on the gas. I went outside to get the paper and when I got back, breakfast was ready. Well, the egg was all stuck to the pan for some reason—I probably should’ve put some butter in there or something—and the toast was cold, but the coffee was strong and I didn’t really care about the rest of it. I just ate the toast and a banana and downed a lot of coffee and thought to myself that I had done pretty well. I threw the dishes in the sink and went to take a shower.

  So I was standing there under the hot water in my altogether and it occurred to me that there was no one to do those dishes or to make the bed except me. Crap. Les knew I hated coming home to a house that wasn’t spotless. What was the name of that housekeeper she used sometimes? I made a bet with myself that it was on that list where I found Danette’s number. I’d just call her and ask her to clean up and maybe leave me something for dinner. Maybe a roasted chicken. Great God! It was already seven thirty. I had to get to the office. I had a calendar packed with back-to-back meetings all day! Classic Monday. Les might think it was okay to shirk her duties and go run all over hither and yon, but I had a business to run.

  As I rode the elevator up to the executive floor where my office was, I thought about Les’s cream puff brother. I’d bet the ranch she’s there or that he knows where she is. They were thick as thieves, those two. Now here’s a good one to show you she’s no saint either. Les knows that I can’t stand to be in the same room with that brother of hers and she still goes to visit him and asks me if he can come here. She knows how I feel about homosexuals, and still she tries to force this totally unwanted family relationship on me. This has been going on for thirty years. You’d think she’d get the message, right? But she asks if he can come for Christmas and I say absolutely not and she gets mad and I’m the bad guy. Go figure.

  “Morning, Gina,” I said to my secretary as I went through the door.

  “Morning, Wes. Coffee?”

  “Nah, I’ll get it myself. Hold my calls for a little while, okay?”

  “Sure! How was your weekend?”

  “Uneventful,” I lied. “Played some awesome golf though. You?”

  “Saw a new movie. Nothing special.”

  She was probably lying too. But what were we supposed to say? Oh, my wife left me. And she’d say, Oh, I got my heart broken by my twentieth boyfriend. No way. That’s why I liked Gina. She kept her personal business to herself.

  “Oh! Danette Stovall called. Should I get her on the line for you?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll call her later. Thanks.”

  I went into my office and closed the door behind me.

  I was going to suck it up and call Harlan. He needed to know that his sister was missing, and if she is there, I needed to know that too. Surely he would tell me if he knew. I looked his number up in my files, took a deep breath, and dialed it.

  Just when I thought my call was going to go to voice mail, he answered.

  “Harlan? It’s Wes.”

  “Yes, I saw that on my caller ID. How are you, Wes?”

  “Well, I’ve been better. Listen, Harlan, steel yourself, man, I’ve got some very disturbing news to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “Les is missing. You haven’t heard from her, have you?”

  “Yes. She’s right here. She’s fine.”

  “Well, can you put her on the phone?”

  “I’ll ask her if she’d like to speak to you. Hold on.” I knew he covered the phone with his hand, because I could hear muffled conversation in the background. Then he came back on the line. “Wes? Leslie is very upset right now and feels like it might be better if y’all spoke another time.”

  “What? Did she say that? You listen to me, you little weasel, you put my wife on the phone with me this very instant! Do you hear me?”

  “Or what? There’s no reason to resort to vulgarity and threats, Wesley. Sticks and stones, you know. Hold on.”

  There was another muffled pause, and then I heard Les say, “I said I don’t want to talk to you now, Wesley.” And then she hung up.

  She disconnected the call! Was she insane? I am her husband of almost thirty years and she hangs up on me? Just what the hell was going on here? What did I do? Did I walk out on her? No! I was the abandoned one and this is how she treats me? I sat there looking at the phone, feeling my blood pressure rise until my ears were pounding.

  My phone rang again and it was my secretary.

  “Your daughter’s on line two.”

  “Thanks,” I said and pressed the flashing light. “Charlotte?”

  “Yep. Did you find Mom?”

  “Yeah, it seems that your mother decided to take a little trip to visit your uncle and decided not to tell anyone.”

  “Wow. That’s not like her at all. Did you talk to her?”

  “Nooooo. It seems she doesn’t want to talk to me right now.”

  There was silence from my daughter’s end of the phone. Then she spoke.

  “Dad? Did you two have a fight?”

  “We don’t fight, Charlotte. But sometimes we don’t agree on everything.”

  “Yeah, that’s sort of how it is with me and Mom too.” There was a pause and then she said, “Do you want me to call her and talk to her?”

  “Right now? I don’t really care. I’m plenty pissed, if you must know.”

  “Oh, great. Maybe you should go to Charleston and see what’s going on, Dad. Don’t you want to know?”

  “Are you kidding? Right now I’m thinking about cutting off all her credit cards and closing her bank accounts. And you think I should go see what’s wrong with her?”

  “Oh! Dad! That’s terrible! Look, we both know that ever since the Edinburgh fiasco she ain’t been the same.”

  “Like that was my fault? I waited all my life to play St. Andrews and she almost ruined the whole thing!”

  “Yeah, well, I think Mom has a different point of view on that one.”

  “It seems like all of a sudden she’s got an opinion about everything! Since when did I ask for all these opinions?”

  “Daddy. You know I love you, right?”

  “Of course. You’re my daughter.” What kind of a question was that?

  “Look, sometimes? Well, you can be a little rough, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. In this particular instance, your mother is dead wrong. Just because we disagree about a couple of things doesn’t give her the right to spend money to waltz herself down to Charleston without telling anybody w
here she’s going. It’s not nice. She could’ve been dead in a ditch for all I know.”

  “Yeah, and you, Harold, and Cornelia would already be back at the hotel.”

  “What’s that got to do with this?” Oh, she was a smarty-pants today, this one.

  “Nothing, Daddy, just that you aren’t exactly Mr. Sensitive all the time.”

  “Maybe. But being all gooey inside didn’t get me where I am today either. I’ve worked hard all my life to give your mother and me and you kids everything I never had. This is how she thanks me? With this kind of disrespect?”

  “All I’m saying, Daddy, is that she must’ve felt pushed pretty far for her to break out and do something like this.”

  “Pushed? Your mother? You gotta be kidding me! You can’t push that woman one inch!”

  “Really? Okay, you’re a cupcake and I’m the Queen of England. I love you, Daddy, but sometimes . . . ?”

  “Sometimes what?”

  “Sometimes you just don’t get it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Les Steps Out

  The morning after his party, as he promised he would, Harlan tried to make sense of Wes’s bank statement. A lot of low whistles and Holy Mothers came out of his mouth as he read and reread what was in front of him. Finally, he turned on his computer and went to the bank’s website and this was all before we even had breakfast. I rewarmed his coffee several times and asked him if there was anything I could get for him and he shook his head, shooing me away.

  “Give me ten more minutes,” he said three times. “What’s Wes’s birthday?”

  “Why?”

  “I need a password.”

  “March sixteenth.”

  Click! Click! Click! Click!

  “And his social security number?”

  I recited it to him.

  Click! Click! Click! Click!

  “That was too easy. I’m in! Wish me luck!”

  “Happy hacking!” I said.

  I busied myself with the Post and Courier, browsing my horoscope, the obituaries, and the arts section. I opened the French doors to the garden and stepped outside, thinking I’d work the crossword puzzle in the fresh air. The old Kennedy rocker looked like the perfect place to ponder the name of the northernmost tributary of the Ohio River—six letters—so I rocked back and forth on the uneven ancient bricks, clacking in a broken rhythm. The tiny Carolina wrens were chirping their morning song and I was completely charmed by them as they darted in and around the branches of Harlan’s beautiful pink crape myrtles. But I was not fooled into believing that this slice of paradise would last for very long. The weather was getting warmer by the moment and soon Charleston’s sweltering summer would be here. I hated to think about it. Finally, after the paper was read, I went back inside and exhausted every morning talk show. At last Harlan appeared at the kitchen table, collapsed in a chair, folded his hands in front of himself, and smiled as though he had discovered the true meaning of life.

  “More coffee?” I asked.

  “No, I think it might just be time for a little something stronger. Is there any champagne left over from last night?”

  “Really? I can look.”

  “No. I’m kidding. I’m already caffeinated up to my ears. You’d better put that paper down for a moment.”

  “Oh, God, Harlan. Is Wes going to jail?”

  “No. He might go to hell but he’s not going to jail.”

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “The deal is that it all looks perfectly legitimate to me, but here’s what baffles me. This statement is in your name too. Didn’t you realize that?”

  “What? How could that be? I mean, am I liable too?”

  “You need to get all that criminal stuff out of your pretty head right this minute. It’s very frustrating to me. You do not comprehend what this means.”

  “Give me that,” I said and took the papers from him. “Okay, it’s legitimate, you say?”

  “Yes, I found a website that says one share of Coca-Cola stock bought in 1920 would be worth almost five million dollars today.”

  “No kidding? Wow. Five million dollars? That’s ridiculous!”

  “Isn’t it? Now, he inherited that, so there might be some legal quibble about whether half should be yours or not.”

  “But half of the rest of it is actually mine? For sure? Definitely?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m no lawyer but I can tell you, should you decide to make a new life for yourself without Wes, you are worth either eleven million dollars or eight and one-half million dollars. And then there’s the value of your home and its contents and whatever else he might have stashed in the Cayman Islands that you’d have to discover, of course.”

  “Holy smoke, Harlan. Either way, it’s a darn fortune.”

  “And either way, cupcake, it’s a fortune that you had no idea even existed.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty screwed up, isn’t it?”

  “Screwed up in a very major way, if you ask me and you did. You, my dear, are a very wealthy woman.”

  I started getting angry. “A wealthy woman who has never owned a new car. Who cleans her own house. Who rarely buys anything at regular price. Even chicken. I mean, I’ve been clipping coupons for ages. Well, now I get them on the Internet.”

  “It makes me like him even less,” Harlan said. “If that’s humanly possible. Not that there’s anything wrong with getting a bargain.”

  “Agreed. Harlan, can you help me think of any reason in the world he’s been keeping our bank statements behind a locked cabinet door?”

  “Well, in my experience, when people lock things up, it’s because they don’t want anyone to see them.”

  “Of course. That’s the logical answer. It’s so strange.”

  “And because they have control issues. I think it’s always been important to Wes to believe he’s in charge of the world. You know, the Atlanta Mastah of the Universe? To me? It’s tiresome, really, because if you decided to pull the plug on him, it wouldn’t take the worst lawyer in Atlanta five seconds to figure out you are entitled to half. Almost thirty years of marriage? Two children? No, baby, you’re entitled to half of everything.”

  “Jeezaree.”

  “And right about now? He’s got that fact in his very odd meerschaum pipe, the one that’s an old dude’s head, and he’s smoking it. Does he really still smoke that thing?”

  “Not really. Harlan, my head is just spinning.”

  “I’ll bet. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking that for the last three decades I’ve scrimped and saved for everything I wanted outside the puny household allowance he gives me. And about how demoralizing it was to ask him to give me a little more now and then. I mean, if I needed an extra two hundred dollars, he’d practically have a breakdown.”

  “Sugar, I mean this in the most respectful way, you could’ve gone to work. Even Momma went out and got a job.”

  “Oh, please! Doing the most inappropriate thing she could find. She embarrassed me all my life.”

  “You should really let that go, Les. Sure, it was embarrassing sometimes, but she had chutzpah!”

  “Well, you know perfectly well Wesley wouldn’t allow me to work! He wouldn’t even hear of it! My chutzpah would make him look bad, like he wasn’t man enough to support his wife and family. You know he was always very old school. I had to stay home with the children—which didn’t go so well now that I look at them. I really was a terrible failure at motherhood.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “The truth cannot be denied. I wasn’t cut out for motherhood. And by the time they were in college, I was already in my forties! Who hires a woman in her forties who didn’t even finish undergraduate school? If Wes ever heard about Momma and Willie, he’d flat lie down and die.”

  “Maybe you should tell him. Then the entire enchilada would be yours.”

  “Harlan? You are a devil! But how we kept all that from him and his Bible-beating parents is still a mi
racle. I thought then that it was probably because they lived in rural Pennsylvania and didn’t ever travel.”

  “Maybe that’s true, but it’s also true that sometimes perfectly reasonable parents just give birth to knuckleheads. Look, I’d be the last person on this planet to criticize you or your choices. That said, I have to say that I think living with Wes must be the most frustrating and unsatisfying arrangement I can imagine. I’d kill myself.”

  “Unsatisfying? Whoo-hoo! That’s a good one! Who thinks about that?”

  “Wait a minute. Are you going to tell me you don’t think you’re entitled to some kind of satisfaction in your marriage? Emotional or otherwise?”

  “Harlan, maybe it’s just that I know there is no water in that well. So why bother? I could pump Wes for satisfaction until I’m blue in the face, but you can’t make someone into something they’re not. So I take my satisfaction where I can find it.”

  “Like where?”

  “Well, there’s my granddaughter . . .”

  “Oh, please. She’s barely out of diapers.” I scowled at him and he said, “Look, I know you adore Holly. I adore the pictures of her and just the sound of her voice . . . well, it sounds like music, doesn’t it? Maybe someday I’ll get to meet her. But, shugah, I want more for my sister than that. Momma would too! And you haven’t been happy for so long. You don’t even know it! I can’t bear it.”

  “Oh, Harlan. You and I know each other too well, and it’s pretty obvious that you’re running a campaign for me to dump Wesley.”

  “Not really. I just want you to be happy.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. Look, I meant it when I said I don’t want to spend every weekend for the rest of my life with a bunch of home-wrecking whores disguised as nice young women who make me feel like an old frump. I want to have fun and be happy!”

  “Well, thank goodness for that!”

  “And what happened in Edinburgh was terrible, but it wasn’t really grounds for a divorce, either. I guess I have a lot of thinking to do. It’s not like Wesley has given me a concrete reason to divorce him.”