by Laurel Doud
The showdown reels forward in her mind.
She just appears in his office. Out of the blue. She's dumped him some time ago, but he's never gotten over her. She's his drug, his addiction, his magnificent obsession. He'd do almost anything to get her back, and for some reason she needs him now. She teases him, staying just out of reach, but still tantalizingly close. He aches to touch her skin. It calls to him. His fingers twitch. He feels an erection beginning. He knows that will only give her more power, but he is standing and to sit down would unbalance him even more. She grins when she notices the bulge in his pants. He smells her. He can hardly breathe. She's so thin, he could crush her. But he knows better. She can be as impenetrable as Kevlar. He needs her cooperation. He can hardly understand what she is saying. Something about a drug bust and an alibi. She needs him to say that she was here. As a patient. That she was with him in a special follow-up session. All evening long. She needs him to be her alibi. He agrees. He would agree to anything. She comes up to him and rubs herself against him. He tries to inhale her through his mouth. He can't help it. It's been too long. He slamdances his erection against her and comes. She holds him as he spasms but lets go as soon as he stops. She backs out of the office, the ultimatum hanging between them like a noose — or I will tell your wife, the psychiatric board, all my mother's friends who see you too, how you raped me. How you fed me drugs and then raped me. How you continued my treatment just to keep me accessible. I can damage you. As he looks down at the spreading stain of spent semen on his tan slacks, he realizes just how damaged he is.
Act 4, Scene 4
The fates are against me. They tossed a coin — heads, I'm poor; tails, I'm rich. So what do they do? They tossed a coin with two heads.
— JOHN GARFIELD, Four Daughters (1938)
Katharine stood with True in the restaurant lobby and watched her husband approach them. She wished she could turn to True and say, “He looks weird, doesn't he? He looks really weird. He looks very weird. Really. I think he's retaining water.” But she couldn't. He looked good. He looked really good. As Mr. Mulwray had told her, Philip and Diana had been down in San Diego playing golf. Golf? Philip never liked golf. He was tanned and looked relaxed. The Ashley hair was brighter on his head than she had seen it in years. Even his hair is happy?
She had dressed for dinner with the utmost care but realized it was all for naught. Thisby usually handled casual well, but Katharine couldn't cover up the fact that she had been sleepless for days — and worn through.
Diana looked dressed to kill. She wore white, which showed off her slim body, her blond hair, and her tanned skin. She had too much makeup on in Katharine's opinion, her teeth were too big — and her breasts don't look like they're all that big a deal — but she was definitely a looker.
Philip shook Katharine's damp hand. “I see the family resemblance. Quince looks like you. Actually, True says I might have met you once before. If I did, I'm sure you've changed since then.”
At our last meeting, I died. It alters the appearance.
True had arrived at the restaurant by himself. Hank was not feeling well, and Emily had stayed home to nurse him. Did Hank not believe me? Did he think I was going to tell his family that he lusted in his heart? Lusted after … me? I don't understand. A secret admirer. I never saw it. Never felt it. I mean, I loved him as a brother, but why would he be in love with me? When he had Emily. The person my own daughter would rather talk to than me.
The four of them sat down at their table, and the men launched immediately into the glories of golf. Philip was in a good mood, talkative, jovial, like he used to be when Katharine first met him.
Strangers in good company.
Katharine sat there, stubbornly quiet, and watched Diana through slitted eyes. Katharine was conscious, as never before, of the shared space within her. It was almost as if she could tap directly into Thisby. And Thisby knew me. She knew me. They both decided that the worst punishment would be to make Diana talk. She might be a terror in the corporate world, but it was obvious to them that she was feeling uncomfortable in her new role as wife and stepmother. And Katharine knew things about Philip that no one but an intimate would know. She could make it very uncomfortable for all of them.
Does Philip still leave his used dental floss by the bathroom sink as if there might be a dental floss drive some day?
Is he still so ticklish under his right testicle that when you touch even near the spot, he is torn between agony and ecstasy?
“So, do you like golf so much too?” Thisby's voice boomed in her ears.
Wow, way to go for the jugular.
Diana laughed a little deprecatingly. “No. It's all right, but I'd rather play tennis. So we split the days, tennis one day, golf the next. Phil's not a bad tennis player for not playing a lot.”
Phil? He lets you call him “Phil”?
The waiter came by and took their order. Philip selected a bottle of Chianti for them, and Katharine let the waiter fill the four glasses at the table. The blood-colored liquid held shadows that flickered darkly against the glass. The phoofums in her mouth exploded into cotton balls, and suddenly she thought the inside of her mouth would crack like overdone skin. She took a swig of water.
Katharine felt perverse. Mad and perverse. There was a stirring in her center that started to take on bulk and shape. “I understand you two haven't been married long.” She directed this toward Philip.
“Two and a half months. It's just flown by.” He glanced quickly at Diana and then turned to Katharine. “You probably know that my wife died over a year ago.” He paused. “I didn't think I could fall in love again so quickly.” He reached for Diana's hand and covered it with his.
Katharine looked at their hands as if they were mating toads.
“We got quite a bit of grief from friends and family, including him” — Philip pointed to True — “for not waiting longer.”
Katharine couldn't help but lean closer to True.
“But … I hope Katharine understands.”
Katharine felt a hysterical chuckle tickle her throat. You talkin' to me?
“Didn't Aunt Katharine always say that if she died first, she wanted you to remarry?” True asked and then saw Katharine looking at him dumbstruck. He blushed and turned to Diana. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.”
“No, it's okay. You weren't being rude at all,” Diana said quickly. She glanced back and forth from True to Philip. “I wish he would talk more about her. He never talks about her, her death, what she thought. I'd like to know things like this.”
“I talk about her,” Philip protested rather weakly.
“No, you don't. You barely mention her in passing. Sometimes I want to bring her up, but since you don't, I don't feel right about it.”
“I don't bring her up because you don't.”
“But I don't …”
The newlyweds smiled and made up in a microsecond.
“Okay” — Philip pretended to hunker down as if to do business — “I've been instructed by my wife to talk. So what do you want to know?”
It was almost too good to be true. Katharine could see Diana forming a question. No, this is going to be my quiz show. “Her death was sudden?” The corners of her mouth felt as if they were about to split. She fingered the stem of her wineglass.
“Completely unexpected. I thought it was stress. She hadn't been getting along with the kids for a while, and I thought it was that. And then there was her job. We weren't getting along real well for that matter either. We would have gotten through it, though. Marriages go through stages like that.” He looked solemnly at Diana, as if to impart some well-earned knowledge.
“Mom said Aunt Katharine hadn't been feeling well for a long time,” True remarked.
“Well, yes, but she had been to the doctors, and they said she was fine. I'm afraid I kind of brushed it off. I don't know. I don't think she knew what was happening either.” He tapped the handle of his fork and the tines bounced off the tabl
e. He quickly put his hands back in his lap. “I'm wondering if she didn't just give up. Maybe she had just had enough. She had a long haul with her parents. They were sick for so long, and she was an only child. They relied on her a lot.”
I took it. I always did.
“She took care of them. Always did, I think. Even when she was a child. Always responsible. Always there. I think that's what attracted me to her. I was a bit of a fuckup, pardon my French, before I met her, and she was always so steady, so strong, so solid. Someone you wanted to attach yourself to.”
Jesus, I sound like some sort of fucking, pardon my French, rock.
“But I don't think she had much fun in life. She never could understand why someone would do something for no good reason, let alone for a bad one. But to her credit, she never expected our kids to be like her, and thank God, she wasn't like her parents.”
They weren't so bad.
“But Katharine just didn't understand the kids.”
Oh, and you did?
“At least as teenagers. I think they would have gotten along well as adults.”
But I never got the chance.
“But they never got the chance.” Philip focused back on the faces around the table. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dominate the conversation. Even if I was instructed to.” He cast a glance at Diana, who was looking at him without expression but then smiled encouragingly.
Katharine felt like a real junkie now, having been deprived of a drug just long enough to be mad enough to kill for a fix. She was going to murder him if he didn't talk, even if she hated what he said. She was going to stand up and drive her fist under his solar plexus. Talk, you polygamous bastard, or I'm going to push my fist right up to your heart and rip it out from under your ribs and shove it still beating into your face. Then I'm going to eat it in the marketplace with fava beans and this nice Chianti.
“No, really, I'm interested.” She almost laughed at her ridiculously pedestrian-sounding tone of voice. “And you? How did you handle her death?”
“Oh, me? I fell apart. Simple as that. It was incredible the little things she did that I didn't even know about. The whole house fell apart too. I remember one day” — he moved his silverware — “standing outside in front of the garbage bin, holding a milk carton in my hand. We're on this so-called voluntary recycling program. You know, where supposedly the only things left to go in our garbage can are used lightbulbs and toothpaste tubes. Now was this” — Philip mimed the carton in his hand — “supposed to go in the mixed paper or the catch-all recycling bin?” He looked up. “Katharine took care of all that stuff. What did I care? So I'm standing there with this miserable carton in my hand, feeling totally stupid and useless, and I'm crying. How am I supposed to figure out life when I can't even figure out the damned recycling bins. I'll tell you that was a low point in my life.”
Katharine watched as Diana took her other hand and covered his hand that was covering hers. She wanted to slap her own hand on top of both of theirs. I win.
“So what was it?” True asked.
Philip looked up, puzzled. “What was what?”
“The milk carton. What was it? Mixed paper or catch-all?”
Philip stared at him. Diana looked horrified. Katharine started to choke, the laughter a lodged pit in her throat. True looked innocently about him.
Philip began to chuckle. “Catch-all. But I didn't know I was supposed to rinse it out first. They get a little rancid after a while if you don't.”
I hope you got fined.
Diana relaxed.
“It was Ben who saved me and, ultimately, saved us,” Philip continued, after a moment.
Shit, now how do you shut the fucker up?
“Ben was a rock.”
Another one? A chip off his ol' mother?
“You haven't met him yet.”
Not this one.
“Marion says he's changed quite a bit,” True offered. “I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, coming from a little sister.”
“No, it's good, it's good. From my point of view, it's good. From our point of view,” he amended, leaning slightly to include Diana. “Ben was into stuff he shouldn't have been into and not going to school. But he's getting back on track.” Diana watched Philip with fierce maternal protection. “He's still a teenager, of course. He knows everything, and he's absolutely right. All the time.” He paused again, and no one said anything. “In fact, it was Ben who talked us into getting married.”
O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother!
Philip nodded to her as if he had heard. “He told us, Why wait? We knew we were going to get married sooner or later, so why not sooner? We took a lot of grief for that. If I hadn't had Ben's backing — and Marion's, for the most part — I would have never done it.” He turned to Diana, who nodded. “I think Marion is still taking it kinda hard. She and Diana get along pretty well, considering, but she misses her mom.”
The membranes in Katherine's mouth felt like they had been squeegeed. They won't care if I drink. They won't even think it's strange. They'll think it's strange if I don't drink. True doesn't know all of it. Goodfellow wouldn't have told him everything. That's family business.
Philip looked at her squarely. “I really appreciate you taking an interest in Marion. I can see how much happier she is after being down here just a couple of weeks. I'm not sure about the hair, though.” He laughed. “But even I remember how important it is to go back to school after the summer looking totally different.”
They had dyed Marion's hair the same color as Katharine's, laughing and giggling and getting dye all over the bathroom, the towels, their clothes. When Marion came out of the bathroom, after having rinsed and dried her hair, Katharine was quite shocked. The darker color made Marion look older and more sophisticated, something Katharine couldn't quite figure out whether or not she liked. But she loved the fact that she and Marion now shared a physical attribute.
“But hair grows out,” Philip said. “I try and be open.”
Well, aren't you Mr. Wonderful.
“Katharine went crazy one day when Ben dyed his hair. Something she regretted, I think.”
Katharine had held her breath the day before, wondering whether Marion would bring up the fiasco with Ben dyeing his hair. But she didn't, and Katharine was eternally thankful. She didn't want Quince to hear that story. She didn't want Quince to think badly of Marion's mother.
“Marion can't say enough nice things about you and your sister.”
“She's a great kid,” Katharine managed to say, when what she really wanted to do was pick up the glass of wine and … and … throw it in his face.
Diana looked at her, chagrined. “I'm jealous, though.” She paused. “I'm still feeling my way around Marion, and I'm having a hard time deciding whether I should be a mother or a friend to her, or whether she'll allow me to be either. We do like clothes. One of the things we have in common.”
“Except that one time,” Philip prompted.
“Oh, that.” Diana now looked embarrassed. Everyone waited, and she reluctantly continued. “I told her she could wear anything of mine she wanted to. She said the same. So once I went into her closet when she wasn't home and found an outfit I really liked. A simple A-line skirt and short jacket. It was a little snug on me, but not too bad, so I wore it. I thought Marion was going to either faint or kill me when she saw me. You see, the outfit had been one of her mother's. Marion liked it and had kept it for herself. I will never forget the look she gave me. Of course, I had no idea, but …”
That outfit was snug on her?
“But Diana and Ben get along famously,” Philip said. “Don't you?”
“Yes, but with Ben, it's different.” Diana turned to Katharine, as if only another female would understand. “He doesn't need me to be a mother right now. Maybe later, but not now. I can get away with being a pal. We've got too many years left with Marion, I think, for me to be a pal. But I'm jealous anyway. I'm jealous that you can be her
friend. She obviously needs one.”
The waiter came by and notified them that dinner would be just a few more minutes. Diana stood up and announced that she was going to the bathroom. Katharine realized that Diana was one of those women who liked a mass exodus to the powder room, but Katharine pointedly ignored her, and Diana left slowly.
“Sometimes,” Philip said, drifting along, “I hear Katharine's phrases coming out of the kids' mouths. It's the strangest thing. Maybe they were saying them before, but now that Katharine is dead, it's very startling. I don't say anything to them about it, because I don't want to make them self-conscious. Plus I like to hear them. It keeps her alive.
“That doesn't mean I don't love Diana,” Philip continued after a pause, looking guiltily around to make sure Diana hadn't returned. “I do. Passionately. It's wonderful. I feel like a teenager again. Katharine was a little solitary for me, now that I look back on it. I didn't know then how much I like being needed by my partner. Katharine never asked for help. Ever. She was so used to doing things for herself, she seemed to even resent my asking. So I stopped.”
I did need help, even though I always did everything by myself. I just had trouble asking for it. Then I'd get mad at you for not realizing that I needed you to just do whatever it was I wanted or needed you to do … though I probably would have resented that too. …
She picked up the glass of wine, and the white noise in her head muffled the conversation between True and Philip. Her eye caught several dark presences at separate tables. She looked to her right, and a shadowy shape raised a glass and took a healthy sip. “Good wine is a good familiar creature,” she heard it whisper.
She gripped the bowl of the glass tightly. I want this. I want this so badly, my blood simply sings with it.
Another voice, so familiar, yet never so clear, came up from the depths of this body. It implored her, Don't. It's not what you want.
But it is. It is.
Diana returned, dinner came, and the conversation eased into small talk. Katharine didn't say much. She didn't care. She felt uprooted. She realized then that she had hoped, more than just a little bit, that at the moment she and Philip met again, he would look into her eyes and would see Katharine shining through. In a moment of passion, the room would fade away and they would be the only ones in existence, locked into each other's heart and soul. Theirs would be a true romance, an undying love that withstood time, death, reincarnation. Mate for life; mate for eternity.