by Betsy Burke
I called Reebee. She said, “You read my mind. I was just thinking of you and your Connie problem. I had some herbal preparations for aggravated morning sickness made up. They won’t harm the child but I should probably come so I can make sure the instructions on how to take them are understood.”
“A baby shower,” I said.
“A baby shower?” asked Reebee.
“I know. It’s a hopelessly fifties idea but I just couldn’t think of anything better so I thought I’d pretend that Connie was normal and that everything was all right. I put together a few baby things and I figured if there were other people there we could call it a party, a baby shower and she wouldn’t kick me out of the house so quickly.”
“When did she ever kick you out of the house?”
“Well, never. Actually.”
“Then she probably wants you to be there. She needs the company, whether she knows it or not. I think a shower is an excellent idea. I’m sure I can scrounge up the odd thing.”
“It’s a good excuse to stuff our faces with gooey sweet desserts.”
“A cheesecake. Some carob brownies. A carrot cake. That way we can say it’s a bit nutritional. Must think of health. When are you going to spring it on her?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Lucy, another question. Your painting? How’s it going?”
“What painting?”
“I see.”
I phoned Connie that morning. She picked up after twelve rings and was her usual sullen self. I told her I needed to see her and that I would be over on Monday night around seven, if she was home, that was.
“Where am I going in this condition? Yeah, I’ll be here,” she droned.
I was flipping through catalogues from other galleries when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up. Pressed against the window was Dirk. Six-feet-four inches of rapid-cycling manic depression with a long beard and mud-stained Chlorpromazine Cloisters pajamas. I shrieked, ran into Nadine’s empty office and locked the door. Then I called both of Sam Trelawny’s numbers. I had taken to carrying them next to my skin for just such an emergency.
I got Sam right away at the second number.
“He’s here,” I blurted.
“Wait a minute. Who’s where? Who’s speaking please?”
“Lucy. Lucy. It’s Lucy Madison. He’s here. Dirk’s here. He’s outside and about to come in. Send help. Send in the Marines. Send somebody.”
“Lucy. Calm down. You’d find the Canadian Marines a bit of a disappointment, I think. Tell me where you are.”
“Rogues’ Gallery.” I gave him the address.
“Okay, Lucy, now you hang up. I’ll call the police and the team, and then call you back. Give me the number you’re calling from.”
Five minutes later, sirens screamed up in front of the gallery. I unlocked the door and peeked out. Of course there was no chance that Dirk would still be there. But on my desk was a note scrawled on a stick’em note with one of my pens. “YOU’RE HAMBURGER,” it said.
I let the two officers in, then began to rant and rave at the ceiling and the gods in general. The two cops stared at each other hopelessly. Then I started on them, “You two. Go out there and get him. He can’t be far away. How far can he have gone in five minutes? He’s a wanted felon. He’s a fugitive. Don’t just stand there like lumps of dough.”
I was so ineffective that they couldn’t even be bothered to take offense. The two of them shrugged. The police department had spared sending me their best and brightest that morning. It took the two officers a long time to get a statement from me, the dotting of i’s and the crossing of t’s presenting all sorts of problems. When they’d gone, the phone rang.
It was Sam again. “Are you okay, Lucy? I’m really sorry to tell you this, but the team isn’t available right at this moment. They have a hostage-taking situation in the West End. Some very upset man holding his wife and kids at gunpoint. The usual scenario. Man was just fired from his job. Went off his medication a few months ago. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s useless anyway,” I said through my tears, “they’re never going to get Dirk and if they do get him, they won’t be able to keep him.”
“You’re crying,” he said.
“It’s nothing. I’m a crier.”
“That’s good. It means you let it go. You release your feelings.” His voice ran over me like a gentle hand.
“If you say so. But I wish I didn’t.”
“It must seem to you that we’re all pretty incompetent.”
“Well…”
“Well, we are. We’re letting you down. I’m the first to admit it. But Dirk really is calling for help. I know it doesn’t look that way but he’s going to come to earth and the landing will be hard… Lucy, are you there?”
Paul Bleeker had just come in. I quickly dried my eyes and tried to look collected. He sat on the edge of my desk and grinned at me.
“I’m here. Listen, Sam, I have to go.”
“Okay. Remember, Lucy, he’s wanted and we’re going to get him.”
“Sure. Bye.”
Paul took the receiver out of my hand, hung it up and said, “Lucy, I came around to your place yesterday evening but you weren’t there.”
And to think I could have spent my Saturday night with Paul instead of my family.
“I was out,” I said.
He bent over and kissed me. Then he pulled me up out of my chair, put his arm around my waist and led me to the back of the gallery, where he began to open doors.
“What are we doing?” I asked. Pre-exhibit preparations I hoped. I couldn’t wait to see how he had immortalized me.
“What do you think we’re doing?” he said.
He led me into the storage cupboard. It was filled with old crates, boxes, pedestals and room dividers. He lunged at me and I tumbled onto a heap of filthy old dustcovers and rugs.
The fact that I was wearing a skirt made him gleeful. “I just love this kind of clothing,” he said, lowering himself on top of me and not even bothering to unbutton my blouse. “So easy to ravish you.” As usual, the ravishing took approximately three minutes and I was covered from head to toe with dust when I finally stood up and brushed myself off. Once out of the storeroom and back in the gallery, he lit up his Sobranie. I tried not to let it get to me, but I have to admit, I was starting to feel a little used.
“No smoking in here, Paul.” At first I whispered it and then when he appeared not to have heard, I barked it.
“Good lord, listen to little Miss Propriety. Nadine’s never complained.”
“Well, the day that we have to call the fire department because the place has burned to the ground and the insurance won’t cover it because someone was smoking and they find that cute little gold tip, believe me, she’ll be complaining.”
Paul looked around for an ashtray, saw Jeremy’s urn and began to make a move.
“I think we’ve been through all this before, Paul. This is my grandfather and I will personally cut the marrons glacés off anybody who tries to butt their cigarette out in his remains.”
He looked slightly startled then smiled. “Yeah, all right. Try to come round to the studio when you have a moment. I wouldn’t mind doing a few last-minute adjustments. It’s not absolutely essential but it could be helpful. Do try to make it round. See you, luv,” he said, and headed for the street.
Reebee came to pick me up on Monday evening. I’d talked Sky into coming, too. The back seat of Reebee’s car was full of baby things. A high chair, a small cot, a basinette. We also had lots of food.
Connie opened the door, took one look at all of us, shook her head, turned around and went inside. She motioned with one hand for us to come in and we followed her to the smoky living room. The house looked undisturbed. Neither messed-up nor cleaned-up. As though no one had been living there.
Her face was caving in. She was so thin, a stick figure with a bulge. She scrutinized us and lit up a cigarette.
“How’s it going, Connie?” I asked.
“How do you think it’s going? Life’s a fucking bed of roses, isn’t it?”
Reebee suddenly became stern and matronly, her eyes were like twin storms. “Sky. Lucy. Go take a walk around the block. I want to be alone with this woman.”
Sky rolled her eyes and said, “Voodoo. C’mon.”
Reebee continued, “In about an hour you can bring in the things from the car, okay? Now disappear, both of you.”
“Jeez,” said Sky. “When she acts like a mother she can be such a Nazi.” This seemed to please Sky somehow.
We walked around the block slowly. It was well into April and spring was beginning to make itself felt. The early buds on the trees made a lacy backdrop and the air was a little warmer and sweet with the scent of the first daffodils and new grass. Sky raved about Max and I raved about Paul and the two of us decided we would drive to Seattle that Wednesday, my day off, and spy on Max.
An hour later, we lugged all the baby things up the front steps and into the house.
In the living room, the windows were open, Connie’s cigarette was out, and she had a mug of something in her hand. She sipped slowly. Sky and I looked at each other. Reebee was in major mother mode and started ordering us around: put these things there, those things here, unwrap the baby clothes, show Connie those little sleepers, go get a plate from the kitchen, cut the cheesecake, pour the fruit juice.
“Heil, heil, heil,” said Sky.
Connie had a strange expression on her face. Like something really brutal had been exorcised, like there was a light coming on. The poison was starting to ease out of her. She sipped and then said to Reebee, “You know, this is making me feel better already. This is the first time in months I haven’t wanted to woof all my cookies immediately. I was giving up on ever feeling normal again.”
“I know. I understand,” said Reebee.
Reebee fussed over Connie, cutting her little pieces of cake and pushing them toward her. “Here try this. See if you can keep it down. You don’t have to worry about feeling terrible. Being pregnant can be the weirdest sensation on this earth. There you are, with this stranger, this alien creature, inhabiting your body, squirming around, sitting on your ovaries till you’re screaming in pain, pushing on your windpipe and stomach and basically making your life hell…”
“Mother!” Sky stared at Reebee, appalled.
Reebee laughed. “One’s children have the most outrageous expectations. Oh, don’t get so worked up about it, Sky. You weren’t an abandoned child. All those strange non-maternal feelings sort themselves out with time. But there are moments when you don’t think it’s natural at all.”
Connie was smiling slightly. She ate as if testing each bite, as if it all might come back up in a second. It didn’t and she looked almost happy as she sat there munching. I guess it was the Banging Your Head Against the Brick Wall Syndrome. It feels so good when it stops.
On our way out, Connie stopped me at the door. Her tone was confidential. “I forgot to tell you. Your father came around here the day after Easter.”
“My father?”
“Yeah. The whole thing was really freaky. He was pissed out of his mind. He banged on my door in the middle of the night and said he wanted to see the house. He was in a pretty bad way. I let him in. I figured an old Jesus freak like him wouldn’t hurt anybody, but when I saw the way he was dressed I almost had second thoughts. He kinda stumbled from room to room touching pieces of furniture and stuff I guess he remembered from his childhood. You know Jeremy kept everything the way it was when his first woman ran off on him? You didn’t? Well, that’s why this place is filled with this fuckin’ awful furniture. I guess I’m used to it. Then he asked if he could see his old room. Had the room in the attic, right? So I let him go up. I guess he was just homesick, missing Jeremy. He passed out on the bed. Good thing he wasn’t sick ’cause I couldn’t have handled it. Would have set me off badstyle. The next day I gave him the leftovers you left. It was you, wasn’t it? Yeah. It was pretty weird ’cause Stu and I have never gotten along.”
I wanted to ask, Who have you ever gotten along with, Connie, apart from Jeremy? Though I suppose that would have been unfair. I was grateful she had put my father up for the night.
She added, grudgingly, “Uh…thanks for the…all this stuff…you know…for the…”
“Don’t worry about it. ’Night, Connie.” I walked to the car, expecting hell to freeze over any minute.
Nadine called me later that night. “Wear your oldest clothes tomorrow, Lucy. We’re taking down the temporary exhibit.”
Translation: I, Lucy Madison, lonely art drudge and white slave would be taking down and putting away the party of pee-pees while Nadine gave orders and ate bonbons to keep up her strength. I was relieved to hear it though. Sitting alone hour after hour in the gallery, I was starting to grow attached to all those willies, giving them names and personality traits and having little fantasies about them. What else could I do? Quick-Draw-McGraw Bleeker had only given me very brief glimpses of his pizzle. And for all I knew, it was as imposing as a puckered parsnip.
I dreamed the penises were all assembled in a chorus line. They’d grown legs and were adorned with colorful ribbons, fishnet stockings and high-heeled women’s shoes. The music started up and they danced and did high-kicks and romped their way through a rendition of “Hey Big Spender” in funny little squeaky voices. Just as they were getting to the climax, a tidal wave swept in and washed them away.
I was awoken by loud gurglings. I sat up in bed, heart pounding hard. More sloshing sounds followed. They were coming from the bathroom.
I staggered out of bed and down the hallway to the open bathroom door. Anna was at it again. Possessed by the cleaning demon, she was furiously attacking the toilet bowl with my long-handled back-scrubbing brush. I shuddered. She’d probably been using it like that for ages and I’d been merrily scouring my skin with it.
She hadn’t seen me. She put down the brush, picked up my loofa, liberally doused it with Mr. Clean and started in on the bathtub tiles. I didn’t let it get to me. I couldn’t afford to. They say serving time for homicide in women’s prison can be pretty tough.
And anyway, the one thing you can count on in life is change. Change had to come. It just had to.
The next day I got to the gallery early. I spent most of the day packaging up the penises and preparing them to be shipped off to their owners. In the afternoon, Nadine sent me out to La Tazza to get doughnuts, two dozen of them.
Nelly the Grape said, “You guys sure eat a lot of pastries. Gallery people must have a big sweet tooth. Artists, too. One of your artist guys keeps coming round here for chocolates. Kinda cute.” She smiled a purple lip gloss smile. Nelly had huge white teeth and a sixties back-combed flip-curl hairdo.
I carried the doughnuts back to the gallery and set them down on Nadine’s desk. Then I returned to the last of the packaging. I had only been in the storeroom for fifteen minutes, but when I came back out there were only three doughnuts left. Nadine didn’t even bother to look embarrassed. She said, “Three greasy doughnuts is far more calories than you need in one afternoon.”
Just before six o’clock, ten air-conditioning units arrived. I shivered. The gallery was already chilly without help. What medium had Paul chosen? Ice?
13
Wednesday morning, Sky pulled up in front of my place in her mother’s Valiant. On the dashboard were two double lattes and four chantilly cream-filled croissants. “Thought we needed some extra nourishment,” she said.
“I was feeling a little faint now that you mention it. You sure this old heap is roadworthy?”
“Positive. Reebee got the works done. Really. You’ll feel the difference as soon as we get going.”
The radio played golden oldies and we sang along with Elvis, Jerry Lee, The Beatles, Aretha, The Mamas and Papas and The Rolling Stones at the top of our lungs for the whole way south. It was still morning when we reached dow
ntown Seattle.
Sky parked the car and looked grim.
“What’s your plan?” I asked, half expecting her to produce a shotgun or chain saw.
Sky held up a page torn from a Seattle phone book and a street map. “Directions,” she said. “You wait here and make sure they don’t tow away the car or steal the hubcaps.” Then she got out of the car and stomped up the road. I watched her go in and out of three different stores. She was in the last one for fifteen minutes.
She came out and got back into the car. “I know where we need to go.” She’d traced a route on the map. I was supposed to be the navigator, telling her when to turn.
After an hour of driving around, we ended up in a suburb of large homes and tree-lined streets.
“That’s it there.” Sky pointed at a white two-story fake colonial house with dark green shutters.
She parked a few houses away and we donned sunglasses and baseball caps and slumped down into our seats to wait. Sky opened the glove compartment and produced a big paper bag full of gourmet jelly beans. She said, “Try the eggnog-flavored ones. They’re amazing.” Sky kept the radio on low and we sat there in a mute near-slumber, only to break our stupor to make occasional comments about the neighbors.
It was around four in the afternoon when we finally got results. A van pulled into the driveway. Sky slumped even farther into her seat. “Oh fuck. That’s Max’s van. I can’t look. Tell me what you see.”
“Well. I see Max getting out…and an adolescent boy…a boyfriend do you think?”
“Omagod. Omagod.”
I said, “No wait. There’s a young girl, too. A ménage à trois, do you think?” I confess I wasn’t too broken up by the idea of Max being a two-timing slime. I wanted Sky the way she’d been before him.
The boy and girl ran up the front steps and then the boy yelled back to Max, “Dad, I haven’t got my key.”
“Dad?” Sky nearly choked on her jelly bean. She sat bolt upright. “He called him Dad? Those? Are? His? Children?”