Maryanne’s house was a shock. I thought of my wonderful brownstone, and wondered why did I deserve that, yet he would allow someone who he had been with for almost half his life live like a pig? The cab turned onto her street and all I could think was ‘please God, don’t let that dump be my destination.’ And of course, the cab stopped right in front of it. She had the lower floor of a dilapidated brick brownstone, a rarity on that gentrified street. The owners hadn’t repointed the brick or replaced the windows, or taken care of the granite stoop and the wrought iron, so that you took your life in your hands walking up and down the steps. There was trash all over the little front garden, the fencing long gone. I could smell ancient cooking odors when I opened the door into the hallway.
Maryanne’s door was the first one on the right. There was a staircase that led up to the second floor. So she would have the sound of walking above her, on top of everything else. The street was quiet enough; the only positive in a sea of negative. She answered the door right away. I could smell pine oil cleaner, thank God. At least she was clean. The room was narrow, but long; a kitchen table and chairs from the nineteen-forties was in the bay window. There was a bookcase on the opposite wall from the door, and I could see stacks of jigsaw puzzles and a couple of sets of old books; the complete Dickens and an even older set of Goethe. I found myself wondering who this waitress from the Bronx was.
That may have been a glimmer of what attracted Jack. Because it sure wasn’t her appearance. I had only seen her from a distance that one time, and she looked lovely then; bright red hair, willowy, but now, she was haggard and skeletal with an inch of gray roots showing, and horrid red-orange lipstick. So this was Maryanne. She seemed surprised at my appearance, too. I had on a wife-beater and my tattooed body was on display. I almost didn’t get a cab because of it. I had my hair it the usual braid down my back, although I had been considering getting it cut boy-short. I don’t like the androgynous look though. It isn’t the way I feel about myself at all. I put out my hand to shake hers.
“I’m Melissa. I have seen you once; doubt if Jack told you about that,” I said to her. She looked at me surprised again.
“I don’t remember meeting you!” She said, but she did take my hand. “I may have been having a rough day, so please forgive me.”
“No, we didn’t meet. I teach at the community college and I saw you and Jack together on the campus.” Her eyes glazed over as she was attempting to remember being on the campus.
“How long ago? I must be in a fog.” She hadn’t let go of my hand yet and the heat from her was starting to make me uncomfortable. I gently extricated myself from her grasp and walked over to the shelves, pretending to look at the puzzles.
“It must have been about two years go,” I told her. “It’s no big deal.” She seemed like it was a struggle to let it go.
“I can’t believe I forgot meeting Jack somewhere else besides Gwen’s. Katherine went to a summer program there one year, maybe three years ago. That could have been when you saw me. He would meet me from time to time for lunch when I was off during the week. I wonder why he met me there.” The poor woman was clearly confused, while I saw it with crystal clarity. Jack wanted me to see him with another woman. It was too much of a coincidence that he chose the location of the very window of my classroom to embrace her. I hoped it was so I would stop being intimate with him for my own good. I would never know. I was free to imagine whatever I wanted about any situation, so I chose to develop scenarios that were only beneficial to me.
“Have a seat,” she said, pulling out the chair closest to the door. I had a feeling it was a special chair because it had a new seat cushion on it. “This was Jack’s chair,” she answered my psychic question. “He sat here every night, well almost every night, for the past twenty years. Well almost twenty. I am confused about dates right now, please forgive me.” She turned to the stove to get a freshly made pitcher of tea. “Want some tea?” She asked. Her voice had changed, it was softer, almost disconnected. I thought I might have hurt her, which I didn’t want. The hurt was yet to come.
“Okay, no sugar please.” She opened the top door of the old refrigerator and got out a metal ice tray. I saw a similar one at a flea market downtown once. She popped the handle and the ice cubes came out easily. The glasses she pulled out of the cabinet were from the set the tea pitcher was from; covered with painted slices of oranges and lemons. “I like your tea set,” I told her, trying to bring her back to earth, to engage her. “Are you okay? I mean apart from Jack dying.” She gave me that blank stare again.
“No, actually I am not. I lost my job and am having a devil of a time trying to pull myself together. If Jack was alive, I know he would help me out.” She had said it simply, as though it were factual. I thought maybe he wouldn’t have helped her by giving her money; he would have known who to go to for unemployment, or for another job, but a hand out? No. I think it was then that I realized why he may have been so generous with me and not with Maryanne. And I only write this in the most apologetic way, not judging her at all, only as a way to explain the slanted view that was Jack’s. Because I had worked so hard putting myself through college and was working, and continued to go to school to get an Ph.D., I think he may felt I was worthy of his help, or his gifts or charity, whatever you call it. “I hardly know what to do next. I’m just paralyzed with fear,” she continued. “Jack put money in a trust for Katherine’s care after I die, but I can’t touch it.” I got confirmation then that I was correct. Jack could be a task master. He had dangled money out in front of Maryanne, teasing her, tempting her. I was not going to save this woman, but my curiosity was getting the best of me.
“Did he help you out while he was alive?” I asked. She looked thoughtful for a moment.
“He did, but I always needed to spend it for something.” I thought of that book collection. “He also gave Katherine lavish gifts. She had a wardrobe that takes up the entire extra bedroom. Would you like to see it?” I nodded yes and she led the way to the back of the house, and opened a door off a small den or office which led to a staircase. The bedrooms were on the upper floor. I was so turned around by the apartment’s configuration I felt like I needed to put breadcrumbs down so we would find our way back. Maryanne was just confused enough to scare me.
“Is this part of your apartment, too?” Thinking ‘no dumb ass, we are going into the neighbor’s house to see the clothes.’
“I have three bedrooms up here. It’s nice sleeping at the back of the house.” We got to the ‘spare’ room and she made a grand sweeping gesture opening the door. “After you,” she said. I was almost afraid to enter before her in case she was a lunatic and preparing to lock me in. What was wrong with me? Anyway, the clothes were impressive. I have seen vintage shops that had less inventory.
“Does she wear all of this stuff?” I asked, thinking, maybe a source of income. This was Manhattan, after all.
“No,” she answered, “but I could never sell any of it, if that is what you are getting at. Jack bought these things for my daughter. He had them delivered to the house so she would be surprised when she came home from school. They aren’t mine to sell.” So that was that. I wanted to speak my piece and get out of there.
“Can we go back down now? I really have to leave in a few minutes.” She waited for me to walk out and then closed the door. We went back into the kitchen. The tea had cooled off by that time. Maryanne sat down across from me. She had her hands folded in front of her on the table. I wasn’t sure how to approach this, but decided to take a cue from my sister-wife Pam and blame it on someone else. She had used the department of health, I would use her.
“Pam called me this week,” I said and then put the glass of iced tea up to my lips. It was weak and cold, refreshing. “She had news from the New York State AIDS Surveillance Task Force that blood drawn during Jack’s autopsy was positive for HIV.” There, I had said it. What she did with that information was entirely up to her. But I did want to warn her. �
�I have had the test. I am going to report to the case worker that I told you. Other than that, there is nothing more that I can do for you.” Maryanne sat there, pale white skin against her mousy faded hair, hands folded in front of her. “Tell me that you understand what I said to you, Maryanne, because I am leaving now.” So quickly that it caught me off guard and scared the hell out of me, she jumped up and with her hands in front of her face, a half-assed attempt to muffle herself, she started screaming bloody murder. She was jumping around the kitchen, screaming so I got up and was backed up against the wall in case she came at me. She began pounding the table.
“No! No! No!” She screamed. “I don’t believe it! You’re lying! Get out! Get out! Get out!” Well, to say I left quickly is an understatement. I had even checked out the windows in case I had to jump. I backed to the door and opened it without trouble and fled that stinking hallway, relieved that the noise hadn’t attracted any attention. People would think I was beating her up. Well, that certainly didn’t go the way I expected. But there was no other way to get the news to her without having an impersonal and horrific visit from the health department. It was something I could do for Jack.
I ended up having to walk for a mile to get to the One Hundred and Eighty-first Street subway entrance. Even though I was doubtful, I hoped I would get a chance to connect with Maryanne again someday, at least to meet her daughter. I wanted to tell her how much Jack loved her.
Chapter 13
Pam was having a good day. They were becoming more common; days that she almost forgot the situation she had found herself in since Jack’s death. She was sitting on the veranda with a new book, completely absorbed in it. Now that Labor Day had come and gone, the beach was empty except for a few stray sunbathers. It was certainly hot enough to be out there, but school was back in session. Summer was officially over. Nelda was settled in the mansion at the Columbus Avenue mansion, ready with a deck of cards and fifth of gin. After a week of shopping and going to the theater, she and Bernice had the weekend planned; brunch at The Village Green, gossip, and cards. Ben would spend all day driving the limousine around town.
Fortunately for Pam, the first auction of Bernice’s art and treasures was wildly successful, yielding enough money to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed for at least five years. Pam had her on a strict budget, but she was keeping the car and driver because the ladies really needed him there. Ben did a lot more than just drive; he did repairs of every kind including plumbing, electrical and some carpentry. He had his apartment above the carriage house, so there was always someone in residence to make sure the ladies were safe. Alice the cook, Mildred the maid and Candy came and went every day, but the weekends were staff free, just Ben there to do driving if absolutely necessary. A part time cook who had worked as Alice’s assistant in better days came in to prepare meals if needed. But when Nelda was there, she liked to do the cooking. And they loved going out. Bernice had a restaurant budget and she was strict about adhering to it.
Pam was amazed that after so much resistance, she had come around. Bernice was back to being the loving grandmother that her children knew. So with her mother safely ensconced in the mansion, her two children on their way back to school, Pam was free to be alone. No one was hounding her to get out, do something, live! Oh Lord if she heard her mother say that one more time, she was afraid she would have to walk into the ocean and drown herself.
“When your father died, I didn’t spend one minute moping around like you do,” she said.
“Mother, that is not exactly the way I remember it,” she replied gently. She wasn’t going to argue with her anyway. In the few months they lived together, Pam developed the skill of blocking her mother out effectively. She did it with respect though; her children would do it to her soon enough.
And Marie had shown up unexpectedly. She seemed a little frazzled, but didn’t offer any explanation outside of needing to get out of town for a few days and was it okay if she camped out there? She escaped to the beach with a cooler and a book. Pam didn’t think she would see her anytime soon.
So for the first time in a few weeks, she was alone. And she planned on enjoying it. Having the children home for Labor Day was wonderful. They were growing into such superb human beings. It made her sad to think that Jack would miss it, but the truth was, he had very little to do with their upbringing. She alone dealt with the day to day ups and downs of having two small children who grew into active, demanding teenagers. She had a huge capacity for sharing and she would do that for Jack, keep his memory alive for their children and treat it with respect. The impact of what his upbringing had on him was becoming clearer to her with each disclosure. Thankfully, the constant revelations seemed to have ended. The past few days were actually boring. Pam guessed there might be a danger in the continuous drama; a sort of sister to Munchhausen’s syndrome maybe? She read about people who thrived on this kind of life, whose identities had become addicted to the next tragedy. Having a few days without any new developments in the life and death of Jack Smith was welcome. However, it was ending. There was a knock on the door, just barely discernible on the veranda. Pam put her book down and pushed away from the table, getting up to go see who would be there. She looked out the side light and didn’t recognize the woman standing there. Unlocking the door, she said ‘hello’ and smiled. The woman stood there staring at her, mouth open, and Pam knew immediately, something in her gut said, here was another one. The woman was worn out. You could feel her discomfort, her hesitancy. She was staring at Pam, checking her out. Jack never mentioned how attractive his wife was.
“Can I help you?” Pam asked gently. She opened the door completely, thinking possibly that standing behind the door, being afraid to open it all of the way, was making the woman ill at ease. And then she did something unexpected, although for Pam it was not, the woman was taken aback by it; Pam held out her hand to the stranger.
“Come in, won’t you? I believe you might be a friend of Jack’s.” The woman could hardly believe her ears. She had come to threaten Pam, to demand she be given money, to confront her about the years that Pam chose to look the other way while she wasted her life with Jack. Now, in the presence of the real Pam, the woman lost her purpose, and began to cry. She had walked through life in a daze, suffering through one disappointment after another. She had been guilty of the same thing she accused Pam of; looking the other way. Only in her case, while her husband gambled their life away. Pam reached out to her to take her arm, and Maryanne stumbled over the threshold. Pam held her until her shaking body began to calm down. The ride to Long Island, the sleepless night, the worry about her blood test, and now the kindness of someone who should have hated her compounded by her regret that she had come to the woman’s door unannounced made Maryanne feel like a total loser. Pam was a gentlewoman, a person of dignity, and Maryanne was an adulterer who continued to make mistakes and not take responsibility for them.
“Please, please forgive me! I don’t know what I was thinking! I came to ask you for money, to harass you. That’s not me!” Pam gave her a tissue and she blew her nose. “I’m just at my wits end. I am so sorry!” Pam led Maryanne toward the veranda.
“Let’s sit out here, shall we? I don’t know why, but I get all the bad news on the veranda and it still is the best place to be in the house.” They walked through the sliders. Pam pulled out a chair for her, one facing the water. “I’ll get you something to drink, okay? Have you eaten today? She was standing next to Maryanne’s chair, bending over in a stance of compassion. It said to Maryanne, ‘I’ll take care of you. Sit here and rest awhile. Everything will be okay. It’s not as bleak as it seems.’
“No, I haven’t eaten. I don’t even know what day it is.” Pam patted her on the back.
“I’ll be right back with something. Stare out at the ocean for a moment; it has magical properties in the worst of times.” She went back into the house and Maryanne sat at Jack’s table, in his house, on his veranda, waiting for his
wife to bring her refreshments, guaranteed to make everything alright. Maryanne wondered if Pam wasn’t medicated. Pam was back in a few minutes with a tray of iced tea and cake. She had smiled to herself and thought, I’m delusional. I actually thought I was going to have a peaceful day. But there was something about that sad creature that had appeared on her doorstep that stirred compassion. She might as well get used to it, she had decided a while ago. Who knew how many women would appear for an audience? Melissa said there were ‘others’. They should have no control over how she felt about herself. It was Jack’s doing, not hers. Just as Jack had no control over her destiny. He might have given her AIDS, but there his influence stopped. She poured the tea into glasses and garnished them with lime and mint. She cut cake that her mother had made, light yellow with fluffy frosting, putting a piece on a pretty china plate and placed it front of Maryanne. She sat down across from her.
“I’m Pam. What’s your name?” Maryanne was dumbfounded. She was sure that when Pam had let her in, she knew who she was.
“Don’t you know me?” Pam shook her head ‘no.’ “I thought because of the way you greeted me that you must know about me, or know of me.” Pam shook her head again, ‘no.’
“Before I say anything more, I need to explain to you that what I do know is that my perception of Jack’s life will be different than yours. Can I say that without hurting you further?”
“I guess so,” Maryanne replied. What difference did it make?
“I believed my life to be one way, and now I’ve learned that it was another. So I know you are hurting and confused because I have been there myself. I don’t think I can be hurt anymore, but that may be tested and found to be incorrect.” Pam laughed at this idea that something worse could be exposed. “So I am assuming when you came to my door that you had been involved with my husband in some way. I would like to hear your story, if you want to tell me. Truly, it can’t be worse, or shall I say more dramatic, than several I have already heard.” Pam had a penetrating gaze at Maryanne, who was quickly losing her nerve. What could she say that would make any difference if everything Pam had just told her was true?
Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Page 9