by Saks, Tessa
“Are you threatening me?” he yelled as he grabbed her other arm. His grip tightened around her arms, hurting her as the plate smashed to the floor.
“Jonathan, no! Let go of me!” Ellen tried to wrestle out of his hold. His grip tightened. “You’re hurting me—”
“You better not be threatening me or doing something to fix things behind my back.” He shook her with a forceful rage.
“Dad! Stop! Let go of her.”
Jonathan turned to see Brianna. The color in his face faded to chalk. He released his grip.
“Dad, what’s wrong with you?” Brianna cried.
“Give it up, Ellen. You can’t win,” he said before he turned and walked away.
Brianna put her arm around her mother and gave her a comforting hug, as the door to Jonathan’s den slammed with a loud bang. Ellen stroked her daughter’s face, wiping the tears. It was curious that it took an act of violence to bring out a loving display from her daughter. No matter, she thought. I’m just glad to have some love from her—however it arrived.
***
Ellen stood in the middle of Ferragamo on Fifth Avenue, staring at the shoes on display. She turned toward Patty, who had slipped her foot into a red snakeskin slingback.
“Patty, I’m desperate. I don’t know what to do; it seems the more I try, the further away he seems. I have only to think of poor Betty, how she now lives. I will not let that happen—not to me. I will not fall into an abyss of despair and pity, reduced to a common life, and all the while, watching some other woman step into my position, the position I earned. The position I helped create and sacrificed for—no, over my dead body.” As Ellen spoke these words, she wondered how far she would go to ensure her position. “I can’t tell if any of this is working.”
“I thought Dr. Morris was fixing everything. Didn’t he tell you not to worry?”
“Yes, but after the big blowout over the private investigator last week, I feel like Jonathan’s pulled away from me again.”
“What incident?”
Ellen relayed the details of the scene with Brianna and Jonathan’s anger.
“Well, he’s damn lucky you are looking out for him—for both of you. She might be a criminal, a call girl, or a lunatic. What’s wrong with him? Doesn’t he use that brain of his?”
“I honestly wish I knew. One minute I think everything is back to normal—in fact, I was convinced of it—and then in the next, I doubt he’s even trying. It swings from one extreme to the other and I am in the middle trying to guess where I stand. I can’t live with this uncertainty. I need to know he’s forgotten her, that she’s completely out of the picture and everything is right again. I don’t know what to do.”
Patty stood, placing her hand on Ellen’s arm. “Darling, that’s what friends are for.”
“But what can you do?”
“I can fix things,” Patty said with a wink as she rested her chin on her hand.
“Fix things?” Ellen looked at her friend, hoping she had a miracle to share.
“Yes, remember at the Valentine’s gala? I told you about what the other women in your situation have done?”
“What did they do that I haven’t done? I’ve tried everything.”
Patty set the shoe back on the shelf and faced Ellen. “Get sick.”
“But I’m not—not yet, anyway. If he leaves me … oh, if he leaves … I would fall apart, and then I’d really be sick. Right now, it’s just nerves, but I have anxiety pills for that.”
“It has to be worse than that, my dear. Far, far worse,” Patty said, tapping the shelf in front of her for emphasis.
“Like what?”
“Like cancer,” Patty whispered as she leaned closer. “Nothing works like the death threat of cancer.” She paused for effect and slowly uttered, “Nothing.”
“But honestly, Patty, no one could ever actually get cancer just to—”
“Yes. And yes they do.” Patty nodded, her eyes squinting to emphasize the significance of her knowledge.
“But they couldn’t really—”
“Well, not really. But they make it look very real, real enough to fool everyone. Chemo, hair loss, you name it. There are drugs to make you appear horribly sick, lose weight, hair fall out, throw up—you know—the whole shebang.”
Ellen frowned, unable to comprehend anyone bothering with such horror or being that pathetic to try something so ridiculous. “That’s absurd. And it seems … well … it sounds sordid.”
“Sordid? Sordid is that he’s leaving you.” Patty grabbed a pair of strappy heels and shook them at Ellen. “That, my dear is sordid.”
“Yes, but to go through all that illness, I can’t imagine.”
“Look, either you pretend to get sick, or shall I say, appear to be sick, or he leaves and hurts you so bad that you actually are sick, only it’s too late because he’s already gone.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
“Then you are in no better position than before, a little skinnier perhaps and with a collection of great wigs.”
“Patty!” Ellen scolded.
“Come on, I’m kidding.” Patty smiled. “But it isn’t a simple thing. It looks and feels like the real thing, like you really have cancer. At first, the doctor starts by giving you the symptoms, then he increases your pills to make you look progressively sicker, thinner, and weaker … and then after the official cancer diagnosis, he starts the treatments.”
“I don’t understand how anyone could stoop to that level—how could they?”
“If they’re desperate enough and if it’s important enough. How desperate are you?” Patty raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, the shoe still in her hands.
“Well, apparently not quite that desperate. I was thinking more along the lines of changing my counselor.” Ellen touched a fur-trimmed boot, stroking the soft mink.
“But it works; it works miraculously. Don’t fault it for getting results.” Patty looked both directions before leaning closer and whispering, “It worked for Melissa … and Wendy.”
“No. They didn’t. They couldn’t—”
“Yes, but they did … they really did.” Patty tapped gently on Ellen’s arm with the stiletto heel. “Don’t breathe a word of this. Their doctor is a specialist in Boston. He makes a mint from these women.”
“How much?” Ellen asked. “I’m just curious.”
“It costs a bloody fortune.” Patty leaned in. “He is risking his medical career, after all—”
“Then why would he do it?”
“Money … revenge … who knows? Who cares?” Patty laughed. “At least he does it.”
“But how can he do all the fake treatments? It can’t be legal.”
“Legal? Of course it’s legal. It’s a diagnosis, his professional diagnosis. He does keep a very selective client list and won’t just do this for anyone. It’s not that different from when doctors lie and give women C-sections because these women don’t want to stretch their vagina all to hell giving birth. Doctors fabricate all the time, it’s normal.”
“I’m sorry, Patty, I just can’t imagine going to that length, all that pain and disorder, especially if it wasn’t enough, if it still didn’t work.”
“Yes, but what if it did?” Patty raised her eyebrows again and nodded with a slight wink.
“But … maybe I could just—”
“Maybe you could just what? Create a miracle? Come on, you said yourself the situation is getting desperate.” Patty leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.
“Maybe I could just get a little sick.”
“Honey, listen,” Patty shook her head, “a little sick is not going to cut it.”
“Okay, what about a breakdown? I could do that—”
“A breakdown? A mental breakdown? Perfect! That’s exactly what he’d love,” Patty threw her arms in the air. “To put you away in the nut house and throw away the key.” Patty laughed, and sat in the upholstered chair beside her. “And she would also tha
nk you. You’d be doing them both the biggest favor. No way. Don’t even think about it.”
“Come on,” Ellen smiled, “it could work. If I just—”
“No!” Patty stood and put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Darling, that would never work, he’d see you as a burden—no sympathy. Mental illness only makes them look better—unless of course, we’re talking suicide.” Patty pointed her finger at Ellen, staring as she sat down again. “Attempted suicide is always a good one.”
“A good one?” Ellen shook her head in disbelief and sat on the chair beside Patty.
Patty nodded her head, with assurance.
“Patty! You must be joking. I couldn’t imagine—ever!”
“Yes, but it is good.” Patty faced Ellen and grabbed her hands. “Think about it. There is no way a man can walk away from his wife when she tries to commit suicide. He looks like a total ass. We could arrange that—”
“How, dare I ask?” Ellen pulled her hands free, covering her mouth with her hand and closing her eyes. I can’t really be asking, I would never be that desperate—would I?
“A different prescription. A pill that makes you appear to be dying—slow heart rate, weak pulse, vomiting like crazy, fetal position. It is a bit risky.”
“I’ll say.” Ellen shook her head. She began to question whether Patty was sane herself.
“No. It’s only risky if you actually take too much … or try it too many times … it doesn’t really kill you—if you take it right.”
“I can’t imagine. No. No, I could never do that. It’s against my values.”
“With your values, darling, you’ll end up alone.” Patty smiled and reached for Ellen’s hand. She tapped it lightly. “You may have to rethink those values of yours.”
“I just can’t—honestly Patty.” Ellen pulled her hand away, her face tightening with revulsion. “It’s such a pathetic way to get him to stay,” Ellen said, looking away. “I’m not that desperate.”
“But it works.” Patty leaned back in her chair. “You can’t knock it for working.”
“So it works, does it?” Ellen asked, her tone flat, to express disinterest and sarcasm.
“Every time.”
“Every time? I can’t imagine … for the life of me, I can’t imagine resorting to all that.” Ellen shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. “Why can’t he just love me? Why can’t he just forget about her? Isn’t there a potion to make him love me?”
“Forget it, he’s bewitched and she’s evil.” Patty picked up a black satin pump beside her.
“Yes,” Ellen agreed, “she is evil.”
“You can eliminate the problem, you know.” Patty winked. “I know people …”
Ellen stared at Patty for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “Patty! What you are thinking … why … it’s beyond unthinkable.”
“Not really. Accidents happen all the time.” Patty ground the shoe into the side of the chair. “Seriously, they do … it can be arranged, for the right money.”
“You’re joking! Please tell me you’re joking.” Ellen covered her ears with her hands. “I won’t hear of it.”
“Okay,” Patty laughed and slapped Ellen’s arm. “I sure had you going, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting back in relief. “You sure did.” Ellen’s thoughts clouded with evil images. But I have imagined it, she thought, with remorse. To my shame, I have imagined it many times.
“But it can be done, accidentally, of course.” Patty winked again, a broad smile stretched across her face. “That’s what friends are for.”
CHAPTER 11
Sam stared at the clock—ten p.m. and her mother would still be awake—high, no doubt—but awake. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hey,” the familiar scratchy voice answered.
“Hi Mom, it’s Sammy.”
“What’s doing, you in trouble?” Her voice trailed as if she was walking away from the phone.
“No, Mom,” Sam said.
“Need money?” Her voice was loud again. “Cause I got none. Bob left me again and I got his debts as well my own.”
Why was she with a loser like Bob anyway? Why did her Mom always pick such complete duds, as if she were a special loser magnet, incapable of any other options? Sam sighed. “No Mom, I’m okay.”
“Can you spare a little cash then?”
“How much this time?” Sam already regretted calling.
“Couple of hundred—or whatever you got. Maybe that rich man of yours could—”
“Sure. Listen, has anyone asked about me?”
“No, but Benny’s back in jail, stole another car. Your no-good brother just can’t stop himself—that kid’s caused me more grief—just seems to fall into trouble, so easy like.” Sam could hear her Mom’s frustrated sigh. “Course, his friends set him up just like before—boy’s too damn gullible. I’ve told him a million times, can’t trust no one.”
No, of course not, always his friends’ fault, never his own. Sam stared at the ceiling. Why couldn’t she have a normal family? She always braced herself for the onslaught of problems, but no amount of bracing seemed to offset the crap they got into. It was torture to phone home.
Her mom blabbered on for endless minutes about everyone. “… and your cousin, remember Tim? He—” Another drag from a cigarette. “He up and OD’d last month.”
“Timmy died?” Sam felt a stab of pain in her chest. She actually liked Timmy. In spite of his problems, he was a good person, and if he just could’ve left town and got a real job, met a good girl, would probably be married and happy instead of …
“Yeah, pretty sad—tried so damn hard to get clean. We thought he had ‘er licked, but Valerie left him for that low-life Mel, and that was the end of that.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Sam said with honest remorse. She hesitated for a moment, bracing herself for more news and afraid to ask. “And how about you, Mom? Are you clean?”
“Me? Hell no, you know damn well I can’t stop now—would be worse if I stopped. Doc says, ‘Yup, after all these years, you’re a walking miracle.’” The line went silent except for a wheezy and slow exhale. “But they found a lump.”
“A lump? My God, Mom! Where?”
“My lung.”
“What are they doing about it? You have to quit now.”
“Nothin’ … waiting. See if it grows. Hell, my emphysema’s so bad, probably kill me first,” she laughed, her raspy voice hee-hawing.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good.” Sam knew better, arguing was pointless when all her Mom really wanted was sympathy—heaps of sympathy. “You need to take better care—”
“I don’t. God, my bones ache now—and this poor circulation bullshit—but that’s what I get for horsing around all these years.” Her mother let out another cackle before being overtaken by a coughing spell. “Hey, don’t you forget about the money, all right? I need some more tests.”
“I won’t. I’ll send it tomorrow.” Sam looked around the room at her stack of overdue bills, wondering where the money would come from. Maybe Johnny could help this time.
“Luv yuh,” her mother coughed again. “Come round for a visit one weekend, huh?”
“Sure, take care, Mom.”
Sam hung up. A numb sensation swept through her body as she replayed the miserable conversation in her head. It amazed her how far apart she and her family were. She had worked hard to get far away and forget where she came from. She tried to be different from her family. Better. Smarter. More successful. Now Jonathan’s wife was snooping around reminding her, bringing all this out into the light.
Damn! She was so caught up in her mother’s problems she forgot to find out if the private eye guy had come around. She wouldn’t call back; not for a long time. It was hard enough to phone, let alone get over the drained feeling after every call. There was never good news—one tragedy followed another, one saga after another, one scandal tumbled o
ver another. It seemed nothing good ever came out of her family—except her.
She was going to be the one to change all of that. She was going to become rich and successful, a woman of power and wealth, a woman who could help dig all of them out of their misery. She was the answer they needed. Sam lay in bed and wished for something to happen. She didn’t care what. She wanted this investigation to go away and not ruin everything. She had invested way too much time in Jonathan to let it all unravel now.
***
Ellen tossed in bed, unable to sleep. Jonathan still wasn’t home. She glanced toward her bedside clock … four a.m. Ellen kicked the covers off the bed and sat up. Was he back with Samantha? She wondered if this would be the night … the night when he finally never returns home, when he slips out of her life and into Samantha’s life forever. When she wakes up alone. Completely and officially alone.
Ellen thought about what Patty had discussed a few weeks ago, about her crazy idea. Could it be that hard? Could swallowing a strange powder that fakes an illness or suicide be any worse than this feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into an empty darkness? Deeper into despair. But what if it did work? What if he stayed and realized how foolish he had been? What if he remembered what their love was really like? Ellen took comfort in thinking about how wonderful it would be to have him say, “I love you so much” and mean it. To have him hold her in his arms and say, “I could never live without you.”
Ellen wrestled with the guilt she experienced at even thinking of doing such a thing. Patty had convinced her it was a smart backup plan, just in case. She felt guilty about booking the appointment and meeting the doctor who administers the so-called fake illness and suicide.
The appointment with the doctor seemed harmless enough; in fact, it all seemed perfectly normal, except for the discussion of side effects. Ellen couldn’t imagine bothering to do it after hearing all the horrible things the pills would do to her body. At first, she was glad she met the doctor, to find out for herself what it was all about, and get the details of his methods. And, she had to admit, after speaking with the doctor, she was tempted to try one of the methods—after all, it worked every time. And Ellen wanted nothing more than to ensure the safety and security of her marriage. How hard could it really be? How much worse could it be than anything she had already been through?