THE SUBJECT OF MALICE

by Cynthia Kuhn

  Footsteps became louder. There was a light hand on my shoulder. I spun to face Lex, who was speaking, but it seemed muffled and nonsensical—as if his words were tumbling out in slow motion.

  “Lila!” He peered into my face, his expression concerned. The world slid back into itself and his intention became crystal clear. “Let me explain.”

  “Don’t bother.” I said frostily.

  “Please, just listen.”

  I turned to go, and he grabbed my arm.

  “Take your hands off of me,” I said, through clenched teeth. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “But—”

  “Who is she?”

  He closed his eyes. “My wife.”

  The frozen sensation was melted instantly by fury. I pulled away. “Don’t you dare follow me, Lex.”

  I could hear him calling my name again but I didn’t turn around. Tears blurred my vision as I ran into the barn. The Patsy Cline song playing on the speakers almost did me in, but it was loud and provided excellent cover when I stumbled over to a dark, unoccupied corner and wept. I put my arms on the table and lowered my head, letting it out. It was the whole enchilada: waves of tears, great sweeping gulps of breath, total body shudders.

  When the storm subsided, I lifted my head. For a moment, I stared dully at the wall, wiping my eyes and sniffling. While I was trying to compose myself, I heard my cousin say my name.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Calista patted my back. “Ready for the Gala?”

  I rotated enough that she could see my face. Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Lil. What is it? Are you hurt?”

  Sniffling my way through it, I told her everything. At the end, she hugged me fiercely.

  “He has a wife? Did he ever mention that before?”

  I gave a get-serious look. “No. I wouldn’t have dated him if I’d known he was married.”

  Calista shook her head. “There has to be more to it than that. He doesn’t look like a cheater.”

  “What does a cheater look like?”

  “Good point.” She evaluated my face and tugged my arm. “Let’s get you into the ladies’ room and reapply your mascara. It’s kind of running.”

  “I don’t have any with me.”

  “I do.” She patted the large purse slung over her shoulder. “Are you kidding? I’ve got a whole cosmetics counter in here. Anything you could ever want.”

  “So that’s why you always look so perfect.”

  “Ha! Untrue. But it’s not about perfection, anyway. I just like to play around. It’s about self-expression.”

  “What does that say about me, then, since I don’t really wear makeup? Oh. It says nothing, I guess. Literally.”

  “Aw, good. You made a joke. That’s a start.” As we walked, her eyes swept over my costume. “Love the halter dress. Who are you?”

  “I’m Isabella Dare.”

  She threw her head back, laughing. “Of course you are.”

  I took in her off-the-shoulder gown and elaborate jewelry. “And you are...”

  “Mary Shelley.” She curtsied. “I even have a quill in my bag in case I want to accessorize.”

  “Or write another monster into being?”

  “Exactly. To think that she created Frankenstein out of mere ink and—” Calista stopped short and pawed through her bag until she had dug up an envelope and pen. As I’d seen her do a million times, she scribbled a phrase on the paper.

  “Poem idea?” I smiled at her.

  “Yes. A good one, thanks.” Once she had tossed the reminder back into her bag, we continued down the hallway and through a door, where we discovered a women’s lounge with mirrors lining the walls. Velvet chairs were placed at even distances in front of the mirrors, along a long marble countertop.

  “This is so fancy,” she said gleefully. “Do you remember when the big department stores used to have rooms like this? Nowadays, you don’t see them very many places. I’m feeling nostalgic.”

  “They do evoke a certain era.”

  “I’m sort of surprised to find one in a barn.” She tipped my chin up with her hand and assessed the damage.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lil, but I think we need to start over. Okay? Could you please go through there”—she pointed to a gilded swinging door—“and wash your face?”

  She dug a small zippered bag out of her capacious purse and began setting up a row of jars and potions in front of her.

  Having Calista give me directions was helping everything feel more normal. I stood up, took a deep breath, and pushed on the door. As I walked in, I caught sight of Candace and Selene, both of whom were standing in front of the sinks, facing each other and waving their arms around. As the door swung open, the tail end of a sentence hung on the air: “—I know what you did.”

  “Sorry,” I said, starting to back out. I was stunned both by the sight of them and by the words.

  They looked at each other and dropped their arms. The argument was concluded for the time being. They both pretended nothing unusual had happened.

  “Come on in,” said Selene, looking into the mirror and lightly touching her hair. “I was just leaving.”

  “Me too,” Candace proclaimed.

  They hurried out.

  I washed my face quickly and patted it dry, then returned to Calista, sharing what I’d overheard.

  “How very interesting,” she said, handing me a tiny jar of face cream. “Start with this.”

  “What do you think they were talking about?”

  “This afternoon, I heard Meredith telling Richmond and Candace that she didn’t think Selene really fainted at the panel.”

  “Back up. Where was this?”

  I gave her the replay of the whole coffee-shop conversation and by the time I finished, she looked shocked. “Richmond wants to give the award to the Raleighs? That is completely unfair.”

  “Okay, but let’s focus on the other part of that...Selene didn’t write her half of the book. That’s the thing that has me baffled. Why would she sign a contract but not write anything?”

  “Fear of failure? Inability to produce?” Calista guessed, replacing the lid to the face cream. She regarded me thoughtfully. “Which reminds me, how is your mystery going, anyway?” She was one of a handful of people who knew I’d begun a novel.

  “Wait, failure and inability remind you of my novel?”

  “No,” she laughed. “Just thinking about writing in general.”

  “I was talking about the Dare book. Which itself hasn’t been easy.”

  “Writing is never easy.”

  “There were days where I almost walked away.”

  “But you didn’t, Lil. You kept going.”

  “I kept going.”

  “Which is the secret, after all: persevere.”

  “It’s so simple and yet so difficult.”

  “Indeed. And I’m thrilled about your academic book. But,” she leaned forward and whispered, “you have to make time to honor your creative writing too. You’ve been dreaming about writing a novel ever since we were kids.”

  “You’re right. But we’re getting off track here. Can we please get back to the utter weirdness of Selene bringing a notebook to the panel that just had blank paper inside?”

  “Bizarre.” She gave me a bottle of foundation, which I refused, so she made a sound of exasperation and told me to sit still while she made me up. “Just for once. For the party. Think of it as part of your costume,” she said.

  I sighed and gave in while she went to work.

  After a few minutes of her applying various things to my face, I spoke up. “Do you think she (a) was too busy to write it, (b) found it too difficult to write once she sat down to do it, or (c) never intended to write it in the first place?”

  “Sit still,” she instructed. “Stop ticking things
off on your fingers. I can’t draw a straight line while you’re wiggling.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “But I just can’t figure it out and I’d rather focus on that problem than on my own problem, you know?”

  “I do.” She lowered the liner pen and looked directly into my eyes. “I’m so sorry about Lex. If he was cheating, he’s not worthy and you’re better off without him. If he wasn’t, he’ll make it clear to you very soon. In either case, you can’t do anything about it right now, so please have some drinks with me and try not to think about him tonight, okay?”

  I agreed. But he would be lingering in the back of my mind.

  “Anyway, Nate is probably here by now, so let’s go out there and find him.” She finished what she was doing and turned my face gently toward the mirror. “What do you think?”

  I gasped. Didn’t recognize myself. My eyes were huge, my cheekbones were sharply defined, and my lips were rosy and very full.

  “You look fabulous,” Calista said. “You’re going to be the belle of the ball.”

  “So not my goal.”

  “Still, you look amazing.”

  “Thank you for putting me together. You’re the best cousin ever.”

  “I know.”

  She guided me outside to the bar. Nate was seated at the end, staring glumly into his drink. Calista tapped him on the shoulder, and he brightened up. “I thought you two were blowing me off. Or that I was missing some incredible party happening elsewhere. I was having major fear of missing out.”

  When he spun on the barstool, he took us in from head to toe, and his jaw dropped. “Wow. I mean...yeah, wow. Gorgeous, both of you.”

  His reaction sent a little shiver through me, much as I would never admit that.

  We all explained who we were—he was going for H.P. Lovecraft in a dark suit. He’d slicked his hair back and looked unusually formal.

  Except for the dangling purple tentacles where a pocket square would go.

  “What are those?” I pointed.

  He reached inside the pocket and revealed a small rubber octopus. “They’re my monster legs.”

  “Touch of class,” I said, smiling at him.

  “Appropriately freaky,” Calista added. “Now could you please conjure us up a couple of drinks, Mr. Lovecraft?”

  He waved at the bartender, and before long we were seated at a table next to the stage, watching the hall fill with people. Half a glass of wine took the edge off more than I had expected it to. I rolled my shoulders one way and then the other.

  “Lil, do you mind if I tell Nate?” Calista asked.

  “No. As long as I don’t have to say it.”

  She whispered in his ear while I resolutely looked the other way.

  “Seriously?” I heard Nate say angrily.

  I felt a tap on my back. He was shaking his head. “What an idiot. If you need anything...like I could kick his...well, he works out a lot, doesn’t he...but I could throw a punch or something before he kicks my—”

  I laughed. “Won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

  Nate looked into my eyes and said softly, “Whatever you need.”

  I remembered that he’d just gone through a break up, so I said, “Ditto, my friend.”

  We tipped our glasses toward each other. It seemed as if we had just promised something without saying any words. I wasn’t sure what.

  Best not to overthink it. He’d offered friendly support, and I needed that right now.

  Before long, we’d been joined by Selene, Simone, and Beckett. The Raleighs were wearing white flowing gowns—very bridal—and Beckett had donned a tuxedo and top hat. All three, according to Selene, were courtesy of Henry James’s ghost story, “The Romance of Certain Old Clothes.”

  “It was one of the few stories that featured two sisters,” Selene said, smiling. “One of my favorites.”

  “One of his more Hawthornian tales,” Nate replied happily. Anything Hawthornian made him happy.

  I wondered if Simone had ever read the story, which doesn’t exactly have a happy ending for the siblings—one of whom marries the other’s husband. Was it an overt dig at her, something about getting married first? Or was it subconscious choice? It could have meant nothing at all, of course, but one of the side effects of being an English professor was a tendency to analyze everything, literature or not.

  Richmond, who said he was attempting to channel Charles Dickens, also wore a hat with his long coat, and Candace, who said she hoped her gown paid proper homage to Louisa May Alcott, followed soon after. We exchanged compliments on costumes—except for Selene, who asked if I was going for a retro streetwalker look. Simone said the cuts on my hands added an authentically gritty quality.

  The very people I’d snuck down a staircase to avoid were all gathered together here.

  Oh joy.

  Chapter 17

  Small talk took us through most of the dinner.

  “Are Meredith and Hanover coming?” I asked Richmond.

  “She may join us later. She’s not feeling very well.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “And Hanover has been working around the clock on the whole...situation,” he said, putting one finger over his lips to indicate that we were not to talk about it. “I urged him to join us, but he prefers the screen to the scene, generally speaking.”

  Beckett addressed Candace across the table, gesturing toward her dark blue gown. “Louisa May Alcott? Nineteenth-century literature isn’t my specialty, but didn’t she write Little Women?”

  She smiled. “Indeed.”

  “Well, that’s not very scary, is it?” Beckett laughed.

  “Depends on whom you ask,” Calista said under her breath. I knew she was thinking about gender roles.

  Nate, who taught early American, stirred at my elbow but didn’t say anything—though I could tell he wanted to.

  “It’s not Monster Night anymore, anyway,” Calista addressed Beckett.

  “But even if it were still Monster Night, Louisa wrote many things beyond that book,” Candace said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Including gothic stories.”

  “The Mysterious Key and What It Opened is my favorite,” Nate said.

  “I love ‘A Whisper in the Dark,’” I added.

  Candace nodded her head in our direction, acknowledging our contributions.

  “Cheers,” Beckett raised his glass, “you learn something new every day, I guess.”

  “Yes, you do,” Candace said. “You absolutely do.” She stared at Selene. I wondered if they had finished their conversation or if the tension would continue to smolder throughout dinner.

  “Agreed. I just learned, in fact,” Selene announced suddenly, “that Fairlake won’t be publishing our book.”

  More of a bonfire than a smolder, then.

  Richmond’s head snapped up and his mouth flopped a few times before he found purchase to form words. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Meredith called me.”

  No wonder Meredith had opted out of the Gala. I wouldn’t have wanted to face the Raleighs after that, either.

  Simone’s expression was wounded. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Oh Simone, don’t worry.” Her sister laughed. “That’s not true, anyway, right, Richie? We have a contract.”

  “Which you broke,” Candace said icily. “By not writing anything.”

  “We gave you a manuscript,” Selene said calmly, picking up her knife and cutting a miniscule bite of steak, which she popped into her mouth.

  “We already talked about this—” Candace began.

  “Do you really want to do this here?” Richmond inquired gently.

  Selene shrugged. “Here or anywhere. I have nothing to hide.”

  Simone was far more hesitant but seemed to realize that the cat was ou
t of the proverbial bag and was now rolling on the table. “Here is fine.”

  “The second half of your manuscript was...not submitted.” Richmond said, surely attempting not to embarrass them.

  “I told you before,” Simone insisted, “that was merely a technical mix-up.”

  Selene looked at her sister as if trying to remember her alibi. “Uh...I brought the wrong notebook.”

  Simone touched her forearm once, lightly, and addressed the publisher. “We can send you the proper file once we get home.”

  Selene laughed again. Her champagne may have been going to her head.

  “As you wish,” Richmond said, spearing a broccoli floret. He seemed willing to take whatever the Raleighs said at face value.

  I could have told him a few stories about why that wasn’t the best idea.

  Maybe I would, later.

  Candace pointed a fork at the twins. “I think what Richmond means is that if we are able at some point to read the whole thing, and if we think it works, we will issue a new contract.”

  Selene didn’t seem fazed at all by Candace’s pointed reference to her failure to provide material.

  “But we already have a contract—” Simone began again.

  They all started talking at once. My head swiveled back and forth, trying to hear what each person was saying. Finally, Richmond held one hand up and they fell silent.

  “I propose we complete this conversation after dinner.”

  Simone sat up straighter in her chair. “But we’re in agreement that Meredith was confused, then.” She threw a look at us, her Stonedale colleagues, and lifted her shoulders slightly. Clearly, she wanted us to hear that everything was fine and to perhaps join her in a this-business-is-crazy commiseration.

  Candace shook her head. “Meredith is most definitely not confused. The contract you signed before is null and void.”

  “What do you have to say about it, anyway?” Selene demanded. “You’re not our publisher.”

  Candace gave her a dirty look. “Actually, Richmond is bringing me on board as a senior editor.”

  “Wait—” Richmond held up one finger. “That has not been finalized, Candace.” He repositioned the napkin on his lap, thinking. “As I just said, we will pause on everything and continue to work together to sort this out. Yes, that’s how we’ll proceed.”