Fortune's Hand

by Belva Plain

  “Don’t, don’t,” he whispered, and kissed her mouth, her eyes, and again her lips as if the kiss could never end. He held her sorrowful face between his hands. How had this happened? He had seen himself as a man experienced in both desire and love. Now he knew he was neither.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why is this different for you?” she asked.

  He understood her meaning: What is the difference between me and the other?

  He could not answer. He might just as well try to explain the power of music. And he replied instead, “I was afraid of you. Afraid, afraid that this might happen. From the first time in that imitation Versailles.”

  “What are you going to do?” she repeated.

  “Right now? I’m going to make sure that door is locked, and take you inside.”

  She stood up and went with him into the room where he slept. He had always been meticulous, and it was neat, the white cover clean, the clothes hung in the closet.

  “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “Are you surprised?”

  “No. For some reason, I’m not.”

  He began to unfasten her jacket. She stood willing and straight, watching him. He drew it back over her shoulders, which were bare. Lace covered her breasts. He reached behind her to loosen the clasp, and the lace fell to the floor. Then the telephone rang.

  “Damn! Let it ring.”

  But stridently it persisted, scraping every nerve. He could have ripped the thing out of the wall. Instead, he picked it up and stormed, “Hello!”

  “Is that you, Robb?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m out of breath. I just came in from outside when I heard the phone.”

  “I didn’t think it was you at all. You sounded angry.”

  “Not angry. Merely rushed.”

  Ellen was beginning to straighten her clothes. With a gesture of his arm, he pleaded, Wait. Don’t go. Please.

  “I’ve been almost frantic, Robb. You haven’t phoned. I called you Tuesday afternoon, and there was no answer again yesterday. I couldn’t phone at night because I had to work late. They’ve been having some events at the library. Are you all right?”

  “Of course, of course. I’ve just been up to my ears.”

  “Job interviews?”

  “No, the regular work, plus Law Review.”

  His legs were weak. Prepared for a lengthy conversation, he sat down on the bed.

  “You seem so tired, not like yourself.”

  “Well, that happens to all of us sometimes.”

  He was trying to think of something to say, and found it. “How is your mother?”

  “All right. Fine. She was worried about you, too.”

  “Well, tell her not to worry, nothing to worry about.”

  “Robb, is there anything wrong?”

  “Of course not. What should there be?”

  “Robbie, I miss you terribly, even more now than when you first went away. Isn’t that strange? Do you feel like that, too?”

  “I don’t know.” He felt as if he had been caught with shoplifted merchandise, fleeing the shop. “It’s hard to say. I just always have.”

  Ellen was sitting in the single chair at the window. There was no expression on her face. Will this end it? he thought. At least she was still there. She could have gone out the door.

  “I want to ask you something. There was an ad in the paper about a rug sale in Clairmont, so I drove over and got a beautiful one for less than half price. I had them hold two until tomorrow because I couldn’t make up my mind whether to choose dark blue for a background or dark red. They’re both beautiful. What do you think?”

  He was seeing her on her bed with the extension phone in hand and the door closed, because Mrs. Webster was no doubt sewing in the living room on the other side of the door. He was seeing her stuffed animals propped against the pillows. He was seeing her friendly little face with its forehead in an anxious pucker over the decision.

  “I don’t mind either way. You decide, really,” he said.

  “You don’t want to tell me because you want to give the choice to me. But I want you to choose. Come on. Just say one word. Red or blue.”

  Oh God, help me. “Red.”

  “There! I knew you must have a preference. Robb, it’s the first thing we’ve bought for our house.”

  “You bought it, you mean.”

  “That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as yours or mine. It’s ours.”

  Spending her little savings. Feathering her nest. His shame made him sweat, while his pity made him sick.

  He turned toward Ellen, who was still there, still without expression on her face. What could she be feeling? Was she going to leave him with a tongue lashing or with tears?

  And all the time Lily’s voice was reporting on the affairs of Marchfield, about people he did not know, or perhaps did know. Her enthusiastic voice bubbled on. Would she never get off the phone? And he despised himself for the wish.

  All of a sudden, he could bear no more. “Lily, I’ve got to run,” he said. “We’ve a downpour, and somebody’s giving me a lift to the library.”

  “Well, just tell me quickly when I’ll see you. Shall I go up to you or do you want to come halfway and I’ll meet you?”

  “Let me call you tonight. I’ll call you later. Oh, they’re ringing my bell. ’Bye, dear.”

  He hung up.

  That cliché about silence humming, he thought, is right. It does hum. A terrible despair fogged his mind. He had a sense of unreality, as on the day when they had told him his parents were dead. Did I kill them? Could I have done that?

  Am I going to do that to Lily?

  Ellen was waiting for him. “Please, Robb, say something.”

  A few minutes ago, she had been in his arms. He had unfastened the lace that covered her breasts.…

  “We can’t lose each other,” he said.

  “You can’t have us both.”

  He held his head, with all its despair, in his hands. When she reached over to touch him, he raised it, unashamed to let her see that his eyes were wet.

  “You love her,” Ellen said.

  “No. I love you. But I care for her with all my heart.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “I can’t explain it. I’m only sure there is a difference.”

  “You’ve known her how long? Ten years? And me not much more than two months. What do we know about each other?”

  “Enough. Everything. I’m in love with you, Ellen. Look at me. Believe me.”

  She put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. Although she made no sound, he felt the tremor of her sobs.

  “There has to be a way,” he murmured.

  “Poor Lily. Even if you should stay with her, she would feel that something is wrong.”

  “Why do you say, ‘even if I stay’? Don’t you see that I can’t?”

  “But you don’t know how to leave her, either.”

  That was true. She was such a happy person, Lily. How do you open a door, walk in, and crush all that happiness?

  “What if you hadn’t met me, Robb?”

  “Then everything would have gone on as before. You don’t miss what you never had, what you never knew existed.”

  A dice throw, that’s what it all was. If they hadn’t met, he would simply marry Lily next spring and live in the moderate contentment that is the lot of the fortunate, love her, and love the children they knew would come.

  “Robb, you will have to decide. It’s up to you.”

  “I told you I have decided.”

  “About how and when to tell her, is what I meant.”

  “I’ll do it, but give me a little time.”

  “I don’t think we should see each other until you’ve done it.”

  “Not see each other? What are you saying?”

  “Well, not too often, then. I would feel—feel cheap. Do you understand?”

&nbs
p; “I suppose I do, although I don’t want to.”

  Outside the rain rushed on the glass pane and the brick walk. He hadn’t lied to Lily about that, at least. And they sat close for a long, quiet time, not stirring, too tired and troubled for anything more.

  After a while, Robb got up and brought a cloth. “Ice water,” he said. “You mustn’t let your father see you’ve been crying.” Gently, he washed Ellen’s face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1973

  After the mail had come and been read, her father said, “You must be very happy, Ellen. At your age, to have a book accepted for publication is no small thing. Not that it is at any age.” Wilson Grant was reserved. Praise was not his wont, even for the son and daughter whom he so deeply cherished. “I’m very, very proud of you. I’m going to call and tell the whole family, second cousins and all.”

  “I’m only the illustrator, Dad, and it’s only a small, unimportant publishing house. Nothing prestigious.”

  “Rubbish! It’s a splendid start.”

  Naturally she was pleased. If her emotions had not been in such turmoil, she would have been jubilant. Never had she imagined herself as part of a triangle, but now the picture was imprinted: a logo, a brand, with Robb at the peak of the triangle facing the women, one of them looking at him in anguish and at Ellen with hatred, Ellen the interloper, the destroyer, the thief.

  And inwardly she cried, protesting, I never knew she existed! I would not have looked at him a second time if I had known. Oh God, it’s so ugly and so sad. What will happen?

  One Sunday afternoon she brought Robb, who was reluctant, to meet her father. He had protested, “I don’t want to show myself in your house under false pretenses, Ellen.”

  “I haven’t said a word about you, and I won’t without your permission. You’re merely a friend.”

  In the “little” parlor the bull’s-eye mirror, for all its quaint distortion, had reminded Ellen of a Victorian tintype that might have been entitled: Young Man Asking for a Young Lady’s Hand. They were paying no attention to her, so engrossed were the two men in their conversation.

  It was a good omen. They had met immediately on common ground, where words like “justice,” “commitment,” “scrupulous” and “ethical” were in use. Amused, she had reflected that such words would hardly be part of the daily vocabulary among Wall Street moguls, or for that matter, among those who illustrate books.

  Her eyes had returned to the mirror. Although there was little physical resemblance between her father and Robb, there was a startling correspondence of manner, of voice and posture. She sought for adjectives. Old-fashioned? Elegant? At any rate, to say the least, impressive. Worthy of respect.

  And thinking so, the last qualms that lingered in her mind had departed, the last faint fear that a fleeting infatuation might have been mistaken for something durable. No, not on Robb’s side nor on her own.

  There was an ordeal ahead of him. He was not a man to lightly break the bond he had made with the other woman—he had shown that he was not. That was how she thought of her: “Other Woman.” To say, even in thought, the name “Lily” was to draw the outline of a picture, to draw a person out of anonymity and clothe her with features: eyes, hair, body, and voice. Having clothed this particular person in that way, the rest must follow: her preparations for the imminent wedding, the home, and the children they would have. Then the shock and the suffering.

  Her father had stood up and was shaking Robb’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure to talk with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some papers waiting in my study. They wait for you even on Sunday, as you’ll find out before long.”

  She recalled every detail of that meeting. “A fine young man,” Dad had remarked afterward. So now she was about to break a promise.

  “I am in love with Robb. Perhaps you’ve guessed. I love him.”

  “I wondered a little, I admit. How long have you known him?”

  “A few months.”

  “That’s not very long, is it? Not long enough to be sure, I think.”

  “I am sure, Dad. I know that I am.”

  “Yes,” her father said, giving her one of his long, appraising looks. “I do believe you are. But don’t be hasty. Don’t let things move too fast.”

  Things. Sex, he meant, although he would never say so. To her mother, Ellen had always spoken freely. But a father was different. Perhaps Mom had told him that she was still a virgin. Virgins were growing rare in the nineteen seventies. But she had wanted to wait for somebody irresistible. Now that she had found him, the pity was that they had no place for privacy. Robb’s rooms were in full view of Eddy and Walt, which meant that everyone else would know. Modern or not, you didn’t want to be the tasty new topic in your community’s mouth. If only he could solve the problem soon! Finish the chapter with the Other, and close the book.

  “He would be perfect for your office,” she said.

  Her father smiled. “Hey, not so fast.”

  “You’ve been looking for someone, and you said you liked him.”

  “It’s far too soon. You are not even engaged, and you may never be. Anyway, bring him around again. I’d like to know him better.”

  And so Robb was invited to dinner one Friday. When Ellen went to call for him and rang the bell, there were voices on the other side of the door. When he opened it, she saw a woman sitting on the sofa in back of him, and then she saw his horrified eyes.

  For God’s sake, don’t, the eyes implored.

  “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong address,” she said quickly, and withdrew.

  So that was the Other, all cozy in the corner of the sofa. She must have surprised him by appearing today. Ellen was furious, yet at the same time aware that she had no right to be. Instead of going home, she went to the movies, where, consumed with jealousy, she sat before the talking images without seeing them or hearing a word they said.

  “I had no idea,” Robb told her on the telephone that night. “When I got home from the law library, she was sitting on the step. I didn’t know what to do. You were expected here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, just what are you going to do? She can’t very well go home right now, can she? She could have let you know she was coming.”

  “Don’t be angry with her. Don’t hate her.”

  “I don’t hate her. I only hate the situation.”

  His heart was crashing against the wall of his chest. “She’s been touring the shops all day for—for things. I’m at a pay phone in the drug store. I went out for aspirin. And I have to go back. Ellen, please. Please help me, just this once.”

  He hung up and walked back to where Lily was waiting for love. And he no longer had that kind of love to give her. How was that possible? But it had happened. It had dimmed like a bulb going out, evaporated like a bowl of water in the summer sun. Now she was a friend, a cousin, even a sister, to be held dear and guarded from tears. I must, I must tell her the truth, he thought for the hundredth time, but not today. Here, away from her home, was not the place to bludgeon her with this news and let her flee back in the bus with her pain.

  “How is your headache?” Lily asked.

  “The same. By tomorrow, it’ll be gone. I get them sometimes, so I know.”

  “You didn’t used to get them. Maybe it’s your eyes, from reading so much.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He wished she wouldn’t deepen his guilt with her concern.

  “You’d better go in to bed. I’ll read a little out here and I won’t wake you when I come in.”

  The way he was feeling, sleep would be impossible. But she insisted, so he obeyed, to lie for what seemed like the entire night composing and discarding the speech, the explanation, the apology that decency demanded of him.

  In the morning he announced a conference with a professor.

  “On Saturday?” Lily’s whole body pleaded.

  “It’s often the only time,” he lied.

  Her disappointment was tangible
. He could have reached out and felt it on her skin.

  “I’ll only be an hour,” he promised, “or not much more.”

  In the library there was thick silence intermittently broken by a cough or the squeak of a chair. He wondered whether there could be any of the others working there who were tortured as he was this morning.

  Lily was still in her nightdress and robe when he returned. “I started to get dressed, but then I got to cleaning your refrigerator. Not that there was much in it,” she said, and laughed. “Anybody’d think you were on a hunger strike.” She paused. “Well, I guess I’ll get myself dressed.”

  He knew what was expected of him. It had been many weeks since they had been together in a private place. If anyone had told me, he thought, that I could be here like this and feel nothing, I would have said he was crazy.

  She was removing the robe and gown. He did not know why he suddenly thought of a little bird: perhaps it was because of her fragile shoulder blades. Without looking, he would have known how deftly she would set aside the pink silk pile of clothes and turn toward him, ready to run into his open arms.

  There was no way now to refuse. He undressed and put his arms around her. Or had he merely allowed her to direct the embrace? He was starting to feel a surge of panic. Ah, poor Lily! And poor me! They lay down. He heard her murmur, “How I love you!” And still he felt nothing, nothing but the panic and the sorrow.

  He opened his eyes. There in that corner by the chair had stood the girl with the green eyes. Oh Ellen … She had watched him first unfasten the buttons and then the lace that held her breasts; it was that one time, that one time only, begun and not completed; how long would he have to wait? Oh now, now. Ellen …

  There was no way Lily could have known and yet she knew something.

  “You’re not yourself,” she said.

  “Of course I am. What’s different about me?”

  “I can’t say exactly, but I feel something.”

  It was the third or fourth time she had made the remark that endless day. He had taken her out for lunch at one of Eddy’s favorite, too-expensive restaurants. They had window-shopped, bought a book she had been looking for, and strolled in the park. The wintry afternoon was melancholy. Dead, soggy leaves lay on the sidewalk, and the city seemed to be staying at home, out of the wet, gray mist. Melancholy overlay all the other emotions at battle within Robb.