She quickly changed tone. “Gregory, enough about me. What happened at the doctor's?”
“Oh, we just discussed the results of the blood tests.”
“And everything's O.K.?”
“Oh sure,” and he added bitingly, “What we expected. We'll talk when you get home. By the way, when are you coming?”
“Well with what's happened, it may be the day after tomorrow. But I’ll try to make it late tomorrow night. You do understand, darling.”
He felt like telling her to go to hell. “Oh fine.” Then forcing a pleasant voice, yet with the meaning quite clear, “Andrea's taking great care of everything as usual. Bye now. Got some work to review.” He barely gave her time to say, “Bye, darling.”
She ignored his anger, and turned cheerfully, expectantly, to Étienne.
He pulled her to the sofa, and she lay slowly back, unhooking her bra and letting him remove her panties. He played his hands about her body, kissed, bit, sucked where he knew it gave enjoyment: her neck, ears, breasts and nipples, between her thighs. Several times that night and the following afternoon they made love until she left him, each of them weary from the enjoyment and exertion. She must catch the last bus home with her new dresses and still feeling his hands over her body, his mouth, his slipping in and out and the ultimate sensation of her tightening around his throbbing release inside, while hearing her sounds of fulfillment.
~
She changed quickly into a sheer nightgown, crept into the bed, made certain Gregory was asleep, and reluctantly placed her arm about him, rubbing his chest lightly and his nipples. He stirred. She felt her husband move closer to her as she thought of the pleasure of Étienne, her new position, and the money they could accumulate. She closed her eyes and fell quickly asleep. Deep sleep. Ignorance. Neither she nor her companion from wartime were aware a new person had been employed for provenance of art or that soon a friend of Mary would also become a member. Nor did Deirdre know that later she would take the office of Treasurer.
As the year passed, the country began to wonder about women who wanted their freedom. There had been a story of a woman who left her children and husband to return to college and fulfill her dream of professional work. A sociologist claimed the problems with the United States’ social problems all went back to 1960 and the changes among women, civil rights, the assassinations, women using contraceptives, achieving higher positions in the professions, and in government. They were destroying the home. Woodstock, 1969, that repellant gathering of peace and love and sex. Deirdre hated it all, except when it came to her own sexual freedom. She didn’t have to worry about birth control, for she had had her tubes tied after Kaitlin’s birth. It never occurred to her, however, that perhaps Étienne, having sex with other women, which he did, may have contacted a disease he could pass to her as a bonus. Her only thought with him or any other man she should choose was that she could do what she wanted and when. Yes, she was, in her mind, the new woman who had been there years ahead of the likes of Gloria Steinem. Her exception was like many or some of the other liberated females, that she would keep her family.
The following morning, she, being the empathetic wifely companion, delayed Greg to ask questions about his illness and how he felt. He coughed some at breakfast, did not have his usual appetite, but knew this was part of what his life, perhaps for many years, would be. Deirdre showed a face of worry. “Are you all right?”
“It’s just the way it is. This will probably get worse, though, and I’ll need your help.”
“But I’m not a nurse.”
“Oh, it doesn’t require a nurse, at least not now.”
“What do you mean ‘at least not now’?”
“Well, with this illness it could go on for some years. So don’t worry about it.” He wondered whether or how much she would worry.
I’ll especially worry if it interferes with my travels. But if necessary, I can get Pamela home to look after him and have her go to school nearby.
“I'll be here when you come home. Just take it easy at work. All right. Bye, dear,” she tenderly told him, kissing him on his mouth, hugging him tightly.
Suddenly, without reason, he returned as he opened the door, reached for her, hugged and softly kissed her, running his hand along her cheek. “Sometimes,” he thought, “I do wish it was as before, when there was, or seemed to be, deep, honest feeling.” Sadly, he went to the car, started driving off, looking back to the house, the front door closed.
He did at times think back to that day in 1973, and the feeling of sadness when he saw the front door closed, wishing she had at least lovingly watched after him through an open door until the car disappeared. As he drove he also wondered whether he had been such a fool as to forsake Brigit for an image that floated to him as though that then unknown seductive woman’s feet never touched the ground, wearing that gown which showed her bosom and her bare lovely shoulders so well. As she drifted toward him, he thought of his face mirrored in those bright, smiling brown eyes.
Now, here, here he was in 1977, still able to work but feeling at times so rotten. It was post Watergate. If the country could recover from that, then, hell, he could get along. Melinda was about to start her medical internship, and Pam was in her senior year and home on vacation. “Now that was something.”
That year Deirdre wanted Pamela to come home to finish college when Gregory began to feel more weary. His physician had him go to the hospital, because his cough was suddenly worse and he had a fever. It was summer, and the girls were home. While he was undergoing tests and treatment, Deirdre decided she'd talk to Pamela about college.
“Pam, love, I think you should forget Wellesley because of dad. He's going to need help. And you know sometimes I'll have to be away.”
“Well, why can't you give up your trips? You know how much it means to me.” Naturally, Pamela also wanted her freedom. “No. I'm going back to Wellesley. Dad wants me to. You're always away. For what? For that museum you got some politician to get money for?”
Unknowingly, Pamela had thrown a dart.
~
Barry had had his way with Deirdre on an afternoon that she did meet him. He had made sure the funds went through committee and that it went to her to be funneled to the museum, at least so he thought and everyone else.
“O. K. Deirdre, pay up.” Those words angrily burned her, making her feel like a prostitute. She regained her composure, made him wait, then seriously but with a teasing look, opening and closing her eyes and then focusing straight at him, she asked, “You do have a condom, Barry?” Annoyed, he told her he did. Teasing further, delaying, to arouse him, “You must keep a huge supply. Cautious man, Barry, but you're the one I'm worried about, what gals you've been with. You know. Girl's got to be careful.” He, restraining himself from answering, forced a smile, took her hand. “So soft.”
“For playing, Barry.”
He took her to a room off his office. They moved from floor to a sofa that he quickly opened to a bed as she delayed, telling him, “Slow down, Barry. It’s more enjoyable.” Eventually she listened to Barry in ecstasy, grimaced, though she had some enjoyment.
Her attention quickly shifted back to Pamela. Now her anger flared, remembering . . . .
~
“Don’t you EVER talk to me like that, you selfish imp.” Deirdre stepped toward her, her hand raised to slap her face, stopped. “Don’t you EVER, or you'll never forget it. I won't have it, you hear?”
Pamela stepped back, her eyes widened, her mouth contorted. Whether she was to scream or cry, was hard to tell. She ran from the kitchen, but before losing sight of her mother, she shouted, “You're not a mother. Mothers love their children.” She hesitated. “You're the selfish, self-centered one. You don't care what happens to any of us. You and your precious antiques. I hate you,” and she ran toward her room crying.
“You, little bitch. Tell me I don’t love you. I gave birth to you, raised you. Gave you everything. You will apologize.” At that, Deirdr
e ran after her, grabbed Pamela's blouse collar, turned her, and slapped her hard, Pamela’s face reddening. Deirdre momentarily worried about a bruise. “Now get out of my sight until you apologize.”
Pamela lay on her bed, loudly crying, sobbing, simultaneously beating her pillow and raising her legs and then banging them down on the bed. “I won’t let her say those things to me, treat me like a slave. She’s always done everything she wanted. Why do I have to suffer? I’m going to see dad. Damn her,” she shouted, hoping her mother would hear.
Later Pamela, calming some, purposely took Deirdre’s car, who, when she heard the motor, promised herself Pamela would feel the punishment. After coming home, Pamela went to her father’s room. He was half asleep but looked up in happy surprise, the smile fading, seeing her drawn face
“Pam.” A pause, “Pam, what’s wrong?” He coughed a bit.
“Oh, dad, I have to talk to you. I was going to wait and come with Melinda, but she’s shopping. I didn’t want to bother you. Are you all right?”
“I’m O.K., considering.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, dear. Now tell me what’s wrong. I can see it in your face.”
“It’s mom,” and her tears started again
“Come here. Sit.” He moved over, put his arm about her. “Come on. Tell me. You obviously had a fight.”
“I said terrible things. Well, it was her fault. She doesn’t want me to go back to Wellesley but to stay here. It’s not fair.” She hesitated. “She wants me to go to school near here so I can be with you and take care of you.”
“To . . . .” he stopped. “I don’t need you to take care of me. If the time comes and I need help, I’ll get the nurse to stay here. You’re going back to Wellesley. I won’t have it any other way. It’s what you want and what you’ll have.”
She smiled, wiping at her eyes. “Why are you so good and she’s so mean?”
“Pam, you have to have patience with your mother. She’s busy and smart. Well you know.” He hid his anger.
“You’ll have a fight with her.”
“That’s not your worry. I’ll talk to her. You’re going to Wellesley.”
“Oh, daddy, I love you,” and she hugged him. “I’m causing you another argument though.”
“That’s my problem. Not yours. Now calm down. Tell you what. Why don’t you tell the nurse or Andrea I’d like to have a cup of tea, and, if you want, you have a cup with me. Now go ahead.”
When she was gone, he felt the sadness return.
Sickness and sadness, a marvelous combination.
There isn’t any love between us now. Everything is habit, Deirdre occasionally allowing me to fuck her while she just lies there, hardly a breath, a sigh, oh occasionally a moan, faking an orgasm. Once in a while she’ll drive and we’ll go to the cove to watch the ocean. Yet. There’s hardly ever any conversation. I put up with it. Then there’s the music. If I want to listen, I have to go in the music room, even had to tell Mary that one day when she was home and we listened to Die Fledermaus aria, Heimat, Brigit’s favorite, and I shut the door, kept the hi-fi low. Well, once in a while we do see a play. There’s nothing very admirable about that. No. I’ve had it. She’s damn well not going to ruin my daughter’s life.
Before Pamela returned, Gregory called to Deirdre. Without waiting, he yelled up to her, “Pamela’s going back to Wellesley. And you damn well keep out of it.” He started coughing. Deirdre had come downstairs by now, and he could hear her breathing hard. He thought, How ironic, both of us breathless.
“Listen to yourself. Don’t you yell at me. Don’t yell. It’s bad for you. Now settle down. I only thought . . . .”
“Well, forget thinking. If I need care, we’ll get it.” Suddenly Brigit was in his mind again, but he knew she was an impossibility.
“Do you know how fresh she was, what she said to me? I won’t have it, Greg. I won’t. I won’t have a fresh child in my house. The things she accused me of. I won’t have it,” her voice rising.
“She told me she was fresh and that she misbehaved, but you upset her. She’s not my nurse, isn’t going to be. She’s going to have her schooling, becoming a young woman and the joy that comes with it, dating, studying.”
“But it makes no difference she upset me?”
“Certainly it does, but she’s a right to her life. Remember that, Deirdre. C’mon, let’s not have another fight. I can’t put up with it right now.”
“I am certainly aware you can’t. That’s why you may need her nearby.”
“NO. You won’t do that to her. You WON’T.” He slammed his hand on a the bed table, trembling. Just then, too, Pamela came in. She had heard part of the argument. “Thanks, dad,” looking to her mother and then to her father, “but you shouldn’t get so upset. I’m sorry I did this to you.”
At that, Deirdre rushed from the room, banging the door.
Good, sweet, loveable wife, get the hell out of here.
He looked at Pamela who’s face was red, her eyes again tearing. “You didn’t do anything except be my loving daughter. Remember that.”
“Boy,” a quiver in her voice but forcing a smile, “Melinda and I’ll both get it tonight. Poor Melinda. She won’t know what hit her.”
That night at home was terrible for the two. Deirdre criticized everything they did. They kept kicking gently or hitting one another to keep quiet and let their mother rant. After Andrea served dinner, they both went to watch TV.
“Pam. Let’s go see grandma and grandpa. And Aunt Mary’s there. You know, I never give it much thought, she being lesbian. She has a right to her life. Why did I bring that up? Oh, because look at dad and mom. I’m sure Aunt Mary and Evelyn argue. But I doubt it’s that bitter. Well how would we know? Anyhow, let’s go see them.”
Melinda, whom Deirdre began to respect more now that she was a M.D. and, in fact, with whom she didn’t dare interfere, told their mother where they were going.
The following day, Pamela kept away from her mother. Being warm, she went to her favorite place to read, the gardens so well kept both by her mother and a gardener.
“Pamela,” Deirdre called. “Where is she?” She saw her in the garden, reading.
“Pamela. Can you put down a book for a minute? All you do at home is read or go to your room and write those stories of yours, unless you have one of the boys from around town running after you for a date. Want to be a writer,” this last mocking. “I need to talk to you.”
“Mom, I’ll just finish this page.”
“Well, finish it.” Deirdre closed the back door and waited in the kitchen.
Rather than wait, Pamela closed the book and went inside.
“That was fast.”
“I’m a fast reader,” she answered sarcastically.
“I don’t like your tone of voice.”
“Mom, when are you going to decide that Melinda and I are women? C’mon. Admit it. We have the same bodies like yours, all filled out.”
“Don’t say another word.” She actually smiled. “I don’t want to know.”
“What? Whether we’ve done it.”
“Stop. Now.” She imagined them in bed, their lost virginity.
“Mom. I’m still a virgin. You can still love me. In your way, whatever that is. Anyhow, would it make any difference as long as we don’t get pregnant? I know about birth control, whenever it comes to that. So don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you and dad. Nor Melinda either. She’s a doctor. Hey, mom, maybe she screws every night.”
That remark unknowingly pierced Deirdre, embarrassing and angering her. “Shut up, you bitch. I don’t want to hear anymore. Stop.”
Pamela smiled. “C’mon. I’m teasing you, mom.”
“Then don’t tease. Don’t you ever.” She calmed some. “Look, I called you in, because I’ve talked to your father. We’ve agreed that you’ll finish at Wellesley. Perhaps, though, and we haven’t talked about this, you’d put off your Master’s for a while. If it were
necessary, we’ll get a permanent nurse. Hopefully, that won’t happen. It’s just that I worry about him and my traveling.”
Oh, God. You and you’re traveling again. When will you stop and realize you’re a wife whose husband may need you?
There were times when Melinda, after she started her internship, had some hours off to be home when Pamela and she talked about their mother’s travels and wondered what she did, where she and that man found everything, more and more about the appearance in the house of rare pieces and, did she sleep with him? Then they’d look at each other. In the silence their faces changed to concern. “I’d be so furious with her,” Melinda told her. “But we’ll never know. Dad wouldn’t. You know, Pam, if Brigit . . . . Oh, forget it.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t care if he did it with Brigit, because we love her. It’s all so mixed up. Aunt Mary is such good friends with Brigit, and she seems to hate mom. Something happened between them, but Aunt Mary never talks about it.”
“It’s something I can’t help thinking about.”
“Me too, but what good does it do?” She was looking at the floor, somewhat unhappily.
“What’s wrong?”
“Being home and seeing and hearing everything. At least you’re away from it most of the time. We need a good shopping trip. How about the next time you’re off, if you can get that much, we meet in Portland? I want some new dresses and some blouses, a pair of slacks. What about you?” She paused. “I go to your room sometimes and look in your closet, and I feel empty as if you had taken everything with you to the hospital.”
“Don’t do that to yourself, Pam. Listen, if you want to get away to school, go in the fall or even this summer. Dad doesn’t need you to pamper him. He’s tough, and don’t forget that. It means a lot.”
“It’s not that so much, although I want to write and learn more at school. It’s depressing sometimes living with her. She hugs me, kisses me, well you know. But, shit, she thinks I’m a kid. She keeps talking to me about sex, and I thought one night she was going to throw me on the bed, lift my legs and examine me. I sound crazy.”
Our Seas of Fear and Love Page 30