THE GOD'S WIFE

by LYNN VOEDISCH

  “Yes,’ Sharif said, his eyes merry. “You see, I’m from the Middle East. It’s very hard to emigrate from my part of the world to the United States these days.”

  Although jittery inside, Rebecca folded her hands and forced herself to be calm, indicating he should continue. The starry night sky, the soft lake winds, the romantic setting were lost on her as she fixed on Sharif ’s tale. It was too bizarre. She needed to concentrate.

  “I met Lenore when she was vacationing in Egypt — some tour of ancient sites. I was the Egyptologist who accompanied her group to Giza to see the pyramids and the Sphinx.”

  “And you fell in love?”

  Now it was Sharif ’s turn to laugh, albeit without mirth.

  “Goodness, no. We worked out a deal in which she’d marry me to give me access to your country.”

  “And what did she get in return?”

  Sharif readjusted the rudder before answering. “She’s getting it now.”

  Rebecca’s mind raced over the possibilities, but she ended up with only one thought: he promised her a big dance role.

  “How could you do that?” she said. “What did you know about dance? What did you know about her abilities? For heaven’s sake, Sharif, you had no idea that she wasn’t just some bumbling student. She’s awful. Even Randy doesn’t think she’s very good.”

  “True,” he said, staring off into the distance, dreamy-eyed. “But you don’t know my family. The Cadmus clan is powerful in many parts of the world. We know dancers and conductors just as we know shipping magnates and arms dealers. I was pretty sure I could help her.”

  At that, Rebecca’s eyes opened wide. So Jonas’ snooping had been on the money.

  “Arms?”

  “Well, we don’t deal much with that now. It’s too risky a business these days. But we have contacts everywhere and many favors to call in.”

  “You sound like the Mafia.”

  Sharif pursed his lips in a vestige of a smile. Without warning, he yelled “Coming about” and flung the boom across the side of the boat. Rebecca ducked her head just in time and went to sit on the opposite side of the craft. She had a lot to learn about sailboat maneuvers, but one thing she noticed was that the wind was dying down and Sharif now tacked farther out on the water. She realized, with a dizzy feeling, that they were miles from shore and could be stuck if the wind failed utterly. Then she’d be at Sharif ’s mercy, with no one but herself to blame.

  Sharif pounced on her next question before she had a chance to ask it.

  “You want to know why, if I know so many people, I needed Lenore’s help to come over here.”

  Rebecca nodded, too full of thoughts and hampered by fear to enunciate anything at all. She watched the shore grow fainter and the city lights begin to dim in light fog that began to move in.

  “My family isn’t completely influential. U.S. Immigration is a tough nut to crack. Even now, the INS agents pay visits to make sure Lenore and I live together. It’s really rather difficult to convince them that we are a love match.” He smirked.

  “Live together!” Rebecca said with her mouth half-full of wine. She coughed as a trickle went down her throat the wrong way. When the spell passed, Sharif was looking at her with curiosity.

  “Yes. We do. She’s in one room. I’m in another at the far end of the hall. We pretend my room is a guest room when the INS people show up. But it’s all strictly a business arrangement.”

  “Why did you have to go to such lengths?” Rebecca’s mind whirled at the thought of anyone enduring life with Lenore. But to live with Sharif .. .now that would be different. A cosmopolitan, wealthy, sexy, man ... She stopped her subconscious mind before it led her off into deeper water than Lake Michigan held.

  “Let’s say there are things I need to accomplish in the United States.” Then he clammed up. Rebecca could see this was one secret he meant to keep.

  In time, his story began to spell itself out. She had to guess whether it had any veracity. Sharif had arrived in the U.S. with Lenore, who had an inkling that “Aïda” was under discussion by Randy and the board of directors. What better show for an Egyptologist (or phony Egyptologist) to get involved with than that? She told Sharif she wanted the lead, but Randy gave it to Rebecca. This explained Lenore’s extreme antipathy toward her. Rebecca let out a loud “hmmph,” showing Sharif it took more to impress her than this story, but Sharif continued.

  Sharif jumped on Lenore’s problem in an instant, he said. By glomming onto Rebecca and crashing the fund-raiser and dinner, he became indispensable to the company. From there, it became an easy task to make Randy change his mind and declare Lenore the understudy. Sharif convinced the uneasy Randy it was unnecessary that Lenore would ever be needed to dance the lead. The company director finally relented.

  Sharif said he would allow Rebecca to make a name for herself when the show debuted in Chicago. He even agreed she needed New York exposure. But after that, on those trips to London, Paris and other European capitals, Rebecca must bow out, giving Lenore her shot at stardom. Then, the contract fulfilled, Sharif would quietly divorce the little punk and continue his life.

  Rebecca listened to this tale of manipulation, not comprehending that Sharif could be serious. He must be mad. None of this can work. She said little as he talked, looking up at the little flag over the mast, noticing the wind stopped blowing. They passed a buoy that rocked on the slight waves, but its bell wasn’t ringing. No craft of any kind had come near them for twenty minutes or so. Terrified inside, trapped out on the lake with no one within shouting distance, she clung to her anger — or was it fear? She narrowed her eyes and fastened Sharif with the most forceful look she could muster.

  “What makes you think you can get away with it? Why in the world would I suddenly give up and surrender my role to a woman who can barely do a pirouette? She’d make Riverfront the laughingstock of Europe. Just think of how Emmylou Sailor would react. Mashing her work like that. You’d have a scandal on your hands.”

  “Oh, you’ll bend,” he said, reeling in the useless jib. “I’m sure of that. And Sailor,” he snapped his fingers. “We’ll buy her off.” He half-closed his lids, as if he were enjoying something rare. He grasped one of her hands. “You see, you can have it all if you come with me, back to Alexandria. When my work here is done, I can make you a world star — anywhere you want. What’s Chicago to you? Bid Randy goodbye and make your own mark. You’re a rare beauty, and I’m lucky to have discovered you.”

  Rebecca snatched back her hand and turned her head, trying to pretend she couldn’t hear this insane plea. She finally spoke with closed eyes because it pained her too much to hear such horrid words issuing from Sharif ’s sensuous lips. She could feel her attraction to him dying fast.

  “Why, Sharif ? Why do you think I’d ever do that? How about Jonas? How about my family and friends?” She felt a tremble come over her body and loneliness worked its way into the depth of her being.

  Sharif didn’t answer. He stared out toward Michigan, invisible across the vastness of the lake. Somewhere, a large boat bound for Navy Pier sounded a lonely horn. They weren’t moving at all. Rebecca clutched her side of the sailboat. When she got up the nerve to look over at Sharif, he was busy starting the engine. “Oh, you’ll come around,” he answered. “Just like you came to sail with me.”

  A brittle feeling of hatred was beginning to work its way through her body, eventually rendering her shoulders and neck rock hard. She wanted to spit out her words but held herself back through an agonizing act of will.

  “Why? What’s your reason for messing with my life?”

  He continued to fiddle with the engine and didn’t glance her way.

  “Because I can, Rebecca. Because I can.”

  With that, the engine roared to life. Neither one spoke as the crippled boat made its halting way back to the harbor. Sharif ’s terrible last words repeated in Rebecca’s mind, terrifying her. She looked at the dark water and wondered whether to jump in just t
o escape this mad man.

  When Sharif handed her back onto the dock, she headed off toward the city streets at a brisk pace without looking back. He didn’t try to call after her. She walked and half-ran to a cab that was parked at the Montrose Harbor entrance. Seeing it empty, she hopped inside.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked, adjusting the news radio show so he could hear her. Where indeed? Jonas’ place? Home? A quiet ride along the lakefront?

  “The Riverfront Dance Company. six-fourteen Kinzie St.,” she said. Randy. He had to hear the story. He had to believe her.

  She looked back and realized Sharif ’s boat was impossible to pick out in the fog. It was as if it had never been there at all.

  #

  “Do you honestly think this is all about you?”

  Randy folded and unfolded his hands, the only sure sign of his irritation. He’d been working since early in the morning on “Aïda,” and now, way past dinnertime, he had given Rebecca a hearing. His bloodshot eyes spoke of a frustrating day. His linen suit rumpled like a flour sack. Rebecca felt an urge to flee, as if she had made some horrible mistake in coming to his office. However, she knew she had to warn Randy about Sharif. It wasn’t just about her own stardom; it concerned the entire company.

  “Look, I didn’t tell you all this just to ruin your day or prop up my ego. This man is a danger to the production, and you have to realize that. He’s not even a real Egyptologist. Jonas found that out.”

  Randy stood up and paced behind his desk. His cell phone bleated, but he ignored it. He stopped to say something several times then shut his mouth and continued pacing. Rebecca squirmed in her seat.

  He stopped and bored into her eyes with an unflinching gaze.

  “There’s a lot more to this than you know,” he said, clenching his jaw after he spoke. “The part about Lenore — you must have all thought I was mad to take away the understudy role from Raven.” He looked down at his desk. “It’s a lot more complicated than it seems. There’s money involved.”

  “Money?” Rebecca tried to fit this into Sharif ’s story and realized someone must be lying. “He said it was just part of the promise he made to Lenore in exchange for a green card.”

  “Lenore,” Randy said the hated name and threw up his hands. “You think she makes the decisions around here? No. I do.” He stared at Rebecca without compromise. All she could do was nod in accord.

  “He offered the board a sizable sum. Sizable. All we had to do was give Lenore the understudy role and the money was ours. You know what we bought with that little bonus? The scenery. The airfare to Europe. It even defrayed our huge costume budget.” Randy was on a roll now and talking nonstop. “He saved us, Rebecca, because those donors weren’t ponying up the way we expected them to. And all this time, I thought you were the angel who reeled him in for us. Now you’re telling me he has to go, because he’s going to ruin your career.”

  His voice became shrill, and she knew it was starting to carry throughout the theater. Well, who could be listening?

  “I’ll be damned if we are ruined financially because of your hurt feelings,” he continued, ranting now, face red.

  She held her hand up in a gesture of peace.

  “I’m talking about the company, Randy. What happens when he pulls me out as he plans, and the London critics get a load of Lenore as the lead? They’ll laugh us back across the Atlantic.”

  “Well, it won’t come to that, will it?” His eyes pierced her now. “You will not be giving up.”

  Rebecca shivered from the air conditioning. If it was only as easy as Randy suggested.

  “Sharif says he will make sure I step down, but I have no idea how he intends to do that.”

  Randy wheeled around and leaned across his desk, facing Rebecca closer than he ever had in the past.

  “Then don’t do it. Just say no. That’s an order. I simply will not have some kind of mystical pseudo-Egyptologist’s mumbo jumbo turn you into a zombie before we open in London. Have you got it?”

  He hurt her clear to the bone. Randy appeared ready to toss away any vestige of friendship over the issue of money. Where had this strutting martinet come from?

  “Yes, I’ve got it. In other words, it’s my problem.” She picked up her things and moved for the door.

  “Two days from the opening, and I have to deal with this shit,” Randy muttered. He waved her off without looking her in the eye. “Just do your job.”

  #

  The flowers flew from the wings, the front row of the audience, even from the catwalk high above the theater. Rebecca bowed and bowed, yet the audience kept calling her back for a standing ovation. When she finally broke from the stage, weeping with joy and relief, she ran straight into Jonas, who covered her with kisses. Allison and Greta appeared behind him and threw hugs around their friend.

  When she caught her breath, Rebecca remarked that all they had to do now is to wait for the reviews.

  “No worry there, honey,” a voice from the left said. Randy, completely transformed from their last interchange, stood grinning. He had poured himself into a tailored tuxedo with a shirt so starched it looked as if it had a life of its own. “Ray Brown of the Tribune ran beaming when he rushed off to make his deadline. The other critics could hardly restrain themselves from applauding.”

  “Even sour old Melinda Hawkins?” Rebecca said, thinking of the alternative newspaper critic who disagreed with the daily newspapers on every production.

  “She didn’t look disgusted,” Randy said with a laugh. “It must be the first time in decades.”

  “Someone pulled that rod out of her butt,” a stagehand said. Randy continued roaring with glee.

  Backstage, a party erupted with champagne flowing from bottles held by lighting technicians and prop managers. Someone wanted to lift Rebecca in the air and give her a taste of the mosh pit experience, but she pleaded that they spare her costume.

  “Randy says it cost a fortune,’ she explained, giving him a hard glance. He looked away.

  Raven appeared from the other side of the theater and threw her arms around the leading lady.

  “We were marvelous foes,” she said.

  “The prince didn’t stand a chance against women like us,” Rebecca crowed. Everyone joined in the laughter.

  Something in the corner of her eye made Rebecca do a double take. Out there in the audience was a man who hadn’t left his place. He was all alone in a long-abandoned sea of seats.

  “Who is that?” she asked Raven, indicating the man in a center middle row. They peered but couldn’t make out his features at that distance.

  Then he smiled, and Rebecca felt as if a cold pail of water emptied over her head. Sharif sat staring at her, nodding and biding his time. He once again acted as the puppet master, waiting for the moment he would pull the strings on the entire production.

  She turned away, but her moment of glory had just slipped away. How long before Sharif took all this joy from her? Amid the raucous celebration, she begged Jonas to take her home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As the weather turned breezy, sending Neferet’s window hangings into a swirling frenzy, a servant announced a visitor.

  “It’s the Grand Vizier, my lady.”

  Neferet told her to show the official into her living area. The tall, elegant man stood at her father’s right-hand side as an advisor, but never had much interest in any of the Pharaoh’s offspring or the operations of the temple. She wondered what brought him to such foreign territory.

  The drapery over the front door swung open, and the Vizier, who sported a long, ruby red cloak as the mark of his office, strode into Neferet’s room.

  “My lady, God’s Wife,” he said, bowing and stretching out his arms.

  “Vizier, I am pleased to see you,” Neferet said, although she didn’t feel that way at all. His appearance could only mean someone was reeling her into some power play at the palace.

  “I am not here on an official visit,” he said, shifti
ng from foot to foot while inspecting the furniture in her ornate room. “I have come as a friend of your father’s to explain some unusual happenings at court.”

  Neferet suspected chicanery in this sudden show of familiarity. Her father trusted him, but how loyal would he be to her? However, she offered him a chair and called for the servants to bring him wine and refreshments. She pulled up an ebony seat beside him and sat down.

  “There are rumblings at court,” the Vizier began, fussing with his numerous rings. “The rumor mill is always working, but this time, it’s particularly busy.”

  She inclined her head, indicating he should continue.

  “Well, the gossip involves you,” he said, a dark storm gathering on his face. “And Kamose.”

  Neferet frowned and decided to feign ignorance. “What can they be saying about the prince and me? We have always had a warm relationship.”

  “That’s the thing. Some see it as too close and are complaining to Pharaoh that Kamose intends to use you to vault over Zayem into direct succession to the throne.”

  “He’s already in direct succession. He is the Pharaoh’s first-born son.”

  “That’s not how the Great Wife sees it. She feels her son has as much a claim as Kamose.”

  Neferet waved her hand and laughed with scorn. “My mother can think what she wants, but the rules of succession don’t back her up.”

  “Well, they may, and they may not,” the Vizier said, stroking his long chin. “It’s a curious thing, the issue of succession. Dynasties have risen and fallen due to the lack of a clear-cut royal prince. What we do know is that your ladyship is the only one with fully royal blood, both the Pharaoh’s and the Great Wife’s. That, along with your position as God’s Wife, makes you the key to the kingdom.”

  “So I’ve heard. They’re making bets on who will win my hand.”

  “There are more than bets being planned. I fear you may be a pawn in a much larger game of power.” He drank some wine and leaned over to her, close to her ear. “Did you know the Hyksos are making trouble on our borders? They see our little succession problem as an opportunity to find us off guard. Fortunately, our spies got wind of the plot early.”