The Carousel

by Belva Plain

  She walked back thinking, as long as he didn’t know the truth, as long as he was never hurt, was it so bad of her, after all? Poor guy. He tried so hard to please. There was so much kindness in him. It made you want to be good to him. She would never hurt him, never take his happiness away. It would be, as they said, like taking candy from a baby. No. She would satisfy him in every way. She would pay her bill fairly.

  The visit today had gone very well. They were nice women, not snobs at all. A lot of women in their place would be. Damn right they would be. Women were cats, especially if you were better-looking than they were. But these two were not cats.

  It took some acting, though, to be natural in front of Ian’s wife. Now came that nasty feeling again. Funny, it had never bothered her before to think about her. But seeing the woman was another matter. Still, things like this happened every day. You read about it in the advice columns all the time: The wife goes to the office party and shakes hands with the polite secretary, while the husband looks on.…

  But what a wonderful thing it would be to have this house and Ian, too! There was a simmering in Roxanne’s chest, as if her blood were heating up when she thought of what could have been—if only he had been willing. What was wrong with the man? They were mad about each other, couldn’t stay away from each other. Her blood began to boil.… She had to calm herself.

  “Calm down, Roxanne,” she said. “Put on a pair of shorts and go lie in the hammock with a magazine.”

  It was growing cooler now. A wind was making a delightful, sleepy sound above her head. Slowly, she began to feel the loveliness of this green peace. Slowly, it was bringing ease to the tumult within her. After all, you couldn’t have everything, could you? So she would close her eyes for a while, then get up and make a chocolate cake, a surprise for Clive’s dessert. It was a pleasure to see how he enjoyed desserts.

  “Well, well, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up, you bitch.”

  Ian, wearing a business suit, had set his attaché case on the ground and folded his arms across his chest. He glowered. For a second when he moved, she thought he was going to strike her.

  “Don’t look so scared, I’m not going to kill you, although you deserve it. But you’re not worth my spending a lifetime in prison,” he said.

  Her heart was hammering and pains like pinpricks darted all through her body from arms to legs.

  “Well, have you got anything to say for yourself?”

  She had to wet her lips, her mouth was so dry, before she was able to reply. “I could ask you the same.”

  “Go ahead and ask it. This is what I have to say for myself: I never lied to you. I never tricked you. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.”

  He was so strong, standing there as if he owned the earth. Like a prince, a lord, with his mouth set hard and his eyes flashing, he defied her. As he always had.

  And suddenly, with the pain still pricking, she was emboldened. “I never tricked you. I told you on that last night that if you weren’t willing to marry me, you could go to hell. Plain and simple, Ian.”

  “And then you did this. You tricked poor Clive. A bastard’s trick.”

  “Don’t you call me a bastard.” She got up from the hammock and stood tall. “I haven’t tricked him any more than you’ve tricked Happy.”

  “There’s no comparison, you fool, you sneak thief,” Ian shouted.

  “I think there is. And anyway, shut up. Clive may be coming home any minute.”

  “What difference does that make? I have a right to visit my sister-in-law at her new home,” he sneered.

  “I wondered how long it was going to take for you to get up enough courage to pay a visit. It was beginning to look mighty queer.”

  “I was afraid you’d have a heart attack when you saw me.”

  “You’re the one who seemed more apt to have one the day we went to your father’s house.”

  “That wasn’t my heart. It was an attack of nausea. I wanted to vomit. I did vomit. That any woman could be so foul as to pull a dirty stunt on a poor, unsuspecting jerk like my brother—”

  “ ‘Jerk’? You used to tell me he was a genius.”

  “In mathematics. You know damn well what I mean.”

  “Well, I don’t call him a jerk. The only word you used exactly right just now is ‘unsuspecting.’ ”

  “You mean he has no idea we ever even met before?”

  “What are you, a retard? Of course that’s what I mean.”

  “And what’s more he never will know?”

  “Of course that’s what I mean.”

  “Don’t be too sure of it. Maybe he ought to know.”

  Roxanne waggled her finger, the left-hand finger that wore the diamond. “Uh-uh. Never. You don’t want Happy to find out, so you’ll never, never open your mouth. I have no fear of that.”

  When Ian was silent, she poked his chest gently with her finger, this time the forefinger, and gave him a smile. “Come on, let’s get along. Here we are, nice and cozy, and your brother’s happy as a clam.”

  “Make that a lark. It sounds better.”

  “You see he’s a new person, don’t you? He’s getting something out of life.”

  “And of course you aren’t getting anything, are you?” said Ian, looking toward the glassed-in garden room and the little goldfish pool under the willows.

  “Oh, I’m getting plenty. I don’t deny that’s what it’s about. But I’ve made a bargain, and I’ll stick with it. He treats me like a queen. And I don’t mean only because he buys things like this house. There’s a lot more to it than that. He respects me. That’s why I’m really fond of him. He trusts me, and I’ll never let him down. I swear I won’t.”

  For a few silent minutes they stood facing each other, facing in each an unbelievable new reality. Ian looked Roxanne up and down from head to foot and back. Unflinching, she looked straight into his eyes.

  “By God!” he exclaimed. “Maybe I do believe you. Maybe miracles do happen.”

  “You can believe me.”

  “He never asks any questions?”

  “What kind does he have any reason to ask?”

  “Well, about your mink, for instance.”

  “He hasn’t seen it. This is August. Anyway, I gave it to my stepmother. It earned respect. My relatives won’t dare drop in here or bother us. They’ll wait till they’re invited. They know there’ll be more goodies now and then if they behave.”

  “You think of everything.”

  “I want to make a nice life here. The neighbors are very friendly. I was surprised how friendly the women were to me the minute we moved in.”

  “The Grey name helps a bit, don’t forget.”

  “I don’t ever forget that, Ian.”

  “I guess not. Clive spent a bundle here, I didn’t know he had it in him.” And picking up the attaché case, he sighed. “Well, I guess I might as well be getting along home. There’s plenty more I could say, but there’s not much point in hashing things over. Nothing would come of it. Not that there’s much good to come of this mess, anyway.”

  “Okay. I have to get working on the dinner, anyhow.”

  “So you’re an expert in the kitchen, too?”

  “What do you mean ‘too’?”

  “You know damn well what I mean. You’ve hit me where it hurts, Roxy. I can’t imagine you and Clive—”

  “Cut it out,” she said smoothly. “I don’t want to hear that. Yes, I’m a good cook. I had to be if I wanted anything but take-out food at home.”

  “So, what are you having tonight?”

  She knew that he was lingering, finding it hard to pull himself away. And it hurt her because she was feeling the same.

  Yet, mingling with the ache, there was a sweet thrill of mean revenge as she said calmly, “We’re having boeuf à la mode with horseradish sauce.”

  “Gee, you even pronounced it right. Gee!”

  “And chocolate cake,” she added, ignoring the sarcasm. “It’s your wife’s recipe. She
said it’s your favorite.”

  Ian looked her up and down again. “You are the goddamned limit! Who could ever dream up a human being like you! So you’re chummy with my wife, are you?”

  “I like your wife. Sally and she have been very nice. Sometimes, though, it does make me feel awful when I look at her and think of what I did.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do. And then sometimes, I don’t.”

  “I’m not going to see you anymore,” he said. “Ever. You understand that, I hope.”

  “But you’ll have to, won’t you? I’m in the family.”

  “No. The men see each other every day at the office, and the women can do what they want. We don’t need to meet at night. It comes down to only three times a year, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Father’s birthday. I guess we can manage those.”

  “I’m sure we can.”

  “So long, Roxanne.”

  “So long.”

  For a minute or two, she watched his car go down the driveway and pass out of sight. Then she turned around and went into the house to bake the chocolate cake.

  He asked himself how he would describe his feelings if he had to. They were a sickening meld of outrage, quiet disgust, and sadness. To think of that sweet flesh, pink as a melon or a peach, to think of all that vitality in Clive Grey’s meager arms. It was a physical agony. And with his right fist, Ian pounded the dashboard.

  It was wrong, though, to rage at Clive, who was as much a victim as he was. Rage at the victimizer instead, the infuriating victimizer in her white shorts and halter, now safely ensconced in her nest of luxuries.

  I like your wife. The gall, the unbelievable gall! Clive said they met at the riding academy. She knew where to find him, all right. Damn her, she must have memorized every casual remark I ever made. She has all the qualities of a great CEO, the spunk, the ingenuity, the determined drive. And what a lover, besides. And what an actress. She has Clive enchanted. He’s actually been born again, the dour little man who used to hunch over his desk, who now struts, whistling, down the corridor. In the men’s room, they tell jokes about him, the kind of jokes you hear at bachelor parties the night before the wedding.

  Yes, she would pull it off, he thought. As she said, she’d made her bargain. She’d slip right into the family and the life, and nobody would be any the wiser. Except himself. And he would keep a thousand miles away from her. She was poison. The most delicious poison … And again, he struck the dashboard.

  He had almost reached the crossroad leading to his own house, when he had a vision of Happy. He seemed to see her face on the other side of the windshield, hovering there ahead of him with the most lovely expression, that small smile about her eyes that was so familiar. And he thought of her being “nice” to Roxanne, all innocently being “nice,” all ignorant of her own humiliation before the other woman.

  And yet, was it not he rather than Happy who had been humiliated?

  Sweating now, he removed his jacket and turned the car around, heading back to the suburban shopping center, where he remembered there was a flower shop. There he ordered two dozen roses.

  “Those?” he questioned. “Those little pink ones?”

  “Apricot,” the old man said. “Old-fashioned, very fragrant.”

  “Or maybe those flashy red ones would be better?”

  “That depends on the woman. There’s the red type, the flashy red, and we all know her. The apricot is for the sweet woman, the one that lasts.”

  “Since you’re a philosopher,” Ian said, “tell me. What about some of each?”

  The man laughed. He was a very, very old man. “It never works that way. We all know that, too.”

  At home Happy would be at her desk, preparing for the opening of school in September. Her eyes would light when he brought the roses.

  “Ian, how beautiful!” she would cry, and then, “Is it some special day that I’ve forgotten?”

  Yes. Special in its own way.

  “I’ll take the apricot,” Ian said. “The sweet one that lasts.”

  Chapter Eleven

  September 1990

  In the first weeks of September, through the woods that climbed the hills behind the house, a splash of emerald still lingered here and there among the dusty reddish browns and golden maples. The mild air was filled with the smoky, subtle aroma of fall.

  Sally, letting the book drop shut, gazed out of the window toward the yard, where Nanny was entertaining the children. She was leaning down to hold Susannah’s hand; now merely a few days past her ninth month, this tiny person was taking her first steps. When she looked up at Nanny, there was astonishment on her face: Look what I can do!

  Sally had to smile, for most babies begin to walk at twelve months or even later. Then, as quickly as it had come, the smile shrank on her lips. Tina also had started at nine months. Now whenever there was cause for some new pleasure in this second baby, her chortling laugh, or the growing thickness of her dark hair, it was only to be reminded that Tina had done, or been, the same.

  At that moment, Tina, no doubt to Nanny’s great relief, was occupied in the sandbox. Thank heaven for Nanny, Sally thought. Tina herself was almost a full-time job these days, leaving not nearly enough time for enjoyment of Susannah. But Tina needed her so badly.

  Now that the school year had begun, every morning was a battle that the mother sometimes won and the daughter sometimes won. The kindergarten teacher was a young man, one of the new breed of teachers. He was by all reports a talented young man, with a genuine feel for little children’s needs. And yet, Tina feared him. There was no reasoning with her.

  Dr. Vanderwater, having been informed of this, had been working on the problem. Abruptly then, a week ago, Tina announced that she would not go again to “play” with Dr. Vanderwater. So where does that leave us? Sally asked herself. You can’t very well pick up a child and carry her, kicking and screaming, to where she doesn’t want to go.

  The only thing Tina really wanted to do was to ride her pony, Rosalie. However, she would go only if Sally would rent a horse and ride with her. Uncle Clive was no longer an acceptable companion.

  “I won’t. I won’t go with him. I don’t like him,” she said with, as usual, a stamping of her feet.

  There was no need to argue the point even if anyone had wanted to argue it, for Clive had been taken to the hospital three days before with a severe case of pneumonia.

  “Don’t coax or try to reason,” advised Dr. Vanderwater. “Stay loose. Let things take their course. If she doesn’t want to see me now, let her be. She’ll decide to come back. She’ll see me as her friend as long as you don’t press the point.”

  It was plausible advice from an expert. Then why was she so doubtful? The morning’s ride, followed by the usual household errands and the unfortunately usual lunchtime tensions, had tired her out, and she wasn’t one to tire easily, she who thought nothing of a ten-mile hike. But Saturdays and Sundays were the very devil lately. And retrieving the book, which had slid to the floor, Sally tried once more to read. The book only slid to the floor again while she sat gazing at, although not seeing, the glaze of foliage on the hills.

  “You look as if you’d lost your last friend,” Dan said as he came in.

  She thought she detected a touch of scorn in his voice. When she turned to him, she saw that it had indeed been there.

  “Not my last friend, but I have lost something.”

  He gave a long, purposely exasperated sigh. “Not again, Sally. Or should I say, still? You’d think somebody had died in the house. Buck up, will you?”

  Resentful of this rough intrusion, she mocked, “ ‘Buck up.’ If there’s any more stupid expression! What do you think I’m doing? You at least can get away from this trouble for a few hours every day, while I’m here trying to, trying to—” She groped for words. How to express what she was trying to do?

  “I suppose there’s no trouble at the office. I suppose all I do is sit there, answer teleph
one calls, write charming letters and sign them, then wait for the checks to roll in. Nothing to it at all.”

  “You know I didn’t mean that. All the same, anything you may have to cope with is nothing”—and with thumb and forefinger she made an “O”—“nothing compared with this heartache. Tina’s getting worse, don’t you see that?”

  “No, I don’t. As a matter of fact, she seems a little better.”

  “You don’t believe that, Dan. It’s only your congenital optimism that’s talking.”

  “Oh, you object to optimism?”

  “Yes, when it’s just a way of shielding yourself from facts you can plainly see and don’t want to see. It’s the one trait in you that I frankly can’t stand.”

  “The trouble with you is you want what you want right now. You want it yesterday. With all your education, you ought to know better. You surprise me, Sally.”

  “With all that education, my friend, I do know better. What I know is that your nice Dr. Vanderwater is too casual about what’s happening to Tina.”

  “Too casual? Are you a judge? What medical school did you graduate from?”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic, Dan.” She stood up. “Listen. I want to go back to Dr. Lisle. I’ve this minute made up my mind.”

  “Then you’re out of your mind. What did we accomplish with her? Nothing. Worse than nothing.”

  “We didn’t give her a chance.”

  “Listen to me. The only thing that woman was able to come up with was some sensational horror based on an airy theory. Good God, we’ve been all over this a hundred times, and I’m sick of it. I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

  “You’re pretty dictatorial this morning, aren’t your?”

  “No, I’m commonsensical, and I’m the child’s father.”

  “I’m her mother. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Really? I thought Mrs. Monks down the road was her mother.”

  “Don’t be funny. We’ve got to do something with this child, don’t you care?”