The Misfortunes of Others

by Gloria Dank

  “I should get back. I shouldn’t stay here. Maya needs me. Thanks anyway.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Weezy, and stood at the door watching with her arms folded as he got in his car and, gunning it, drove away.

  Maya enveloped him in a hug as he came in the door.

  “I’m sorry, Snooks,” she said in a muffled voice into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s up to you and Weezy what you want to do.”

  “You were right, too, Maya. I couldn’t stay there, it was so uncomfortable to be fighting about it in front of her. I have to get things sorted out about this.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  He took her by the shoulders and tilted her chin up. “I don’t blame you for how you feel. I’d feel the same way, I guess. How’s the baby? We shouldn’t be fighting in front of the baby.”

  “Will you still stay here and cook for us?”

  “Of course.”

  They hugged each other again.

  “How touching,” said a voice from the top of the stairs. Bernard descended, his face like thunder. “You mean you’re back already? How long did you stay away after upsetting Maya so much? Twenty minutes?”

  “I just said I was sorry.”

  “Don’t nag at him, Bernard, it wasn’t his fault.”

  “I don’t care whose fault it was, I don’t want him upsetting you. I don’t want anything upsetting you right now. I went upstairs and found her crying in your room,” he said to Snooky.

  “I really am sorry.”

  Bernard came up and put his face very close to Snooky’s. “I don’t care if you are her brother, any more fights and you’re out of here.”

  Snooky winced slightly. “I understand.”

  Maya was patting her husband’s arm in a vain attempt to get his attention. “Stop it, Bernard. You don’t have to act so protective of me, for God’s sake. He didn’t mean anything. He was right and I was wrong.”

  “I won’t have her upset,” said Bernard, breathing heavily into Snooky’s face.

  “I understand. Did you by any chance have liver and onions for dinner?”

  “I won’t have anyone fighting with her.”

  “Bernard, you and I fight all the time,” Maya said crossly.

  “That’s different.”

  “It is? Why?”

  They went off into the other room, still arguing heatedly, while Snooky took the opportunity to vanish upstairs.

  After this, things settled bumpily back into their usual routine, with Snooky running the house and Maya and Bernard busy at their jobs. Nothing more about Weezy was said. She came over frequently, to sit at their kitchen table and complain about her art students; but she did not ask Snooky over to her house again. Occasionally he would look up to find her gazing at him, her green eyes narrow and inquiring, like a cat’s. She would give Maya the same curious look; but she never asked about it again. She came and drank their excellent coffee and complained freely about her students.

  “It’s driving me crazy, it really is,” she said one day. “I’m going to have to check myself into a spa for a rest cure soon.”

  “What’s going on now?” said Maya. “I thought Alice promised to be good.”

  “Oh, she did, she did, but she still has her charming little ways of letting people know what she thinks of them. She doesn’t actually say anything, but she gives people looks, and sets up her easel noisily at the back of the room, and so on. The other day she accused Nikki and Jennifer—she wasn’t sure which, she said—of using one of her brushes when she wasn’t there. As if her brush had some magic quality, you know. As if they could paint better with it because it was hers. Really, the sheer, hideous egotism of it, it’s enough to make one despair of the entire human race. I told you I hate artists.”

  “That’s awful,” Snooky said. “More coffee?”

  “Thanks.”

  “No wonder you need a spa vacation.”

  “I do, I need to get away. Mud baths and facials and steam rooms and someone serving me three meals a day, that’s what I need. Not all this aggravation from a roomful of overaged children. I don’t include Mrs. Castor in that, Mrs. Castor is a living doll.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Maya. “Any more weird things happening? Phone calls or flowers or—you know—anything?”

  “No, no, thank God. Not a peep. I don’t want you worrying yourself, Maya.”

  “I’m not, I’m not. By the way, do you think I’m beginning to show?”

  Weezy regarded her friend’s angular frame dubiously. “I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe a little.”

  “I wish I would show, it doesn’t seem real otherwise.”

  “At least your appetite has returned.”

  “With a vengeance,” said Snooky. “I shudder to think what’s going to happen as this goes on. She’s already eating enough for two full-sized adults.”

  “It’s good for her to eat. Remember how worried we all were when she wouldn’t eat anything the first trimester.”

  “You don’t have to worry anymore,” said Maya with a groan. “My doctor told me I’d better slow down, or I’ll have put on sixty pounds by the time the baby comes. I’m serious.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about what you eat,” said Snooky. “It’s ridiculous. Eat whatever you want.”

  “That’s not what the doctor says.”

  “You’re so skinny, you need to catch up a bit,” said Weezy. “Here, have another one of these low-sodium pretzels. They’re not bad.”

  “I found them at the health food store,” said Snooky. “I do a lot of shopping there now that Maya is pregnant. I only want the best for my nephew or niece.”

  “That’s nice,” said Weezy, crinkling her nose at him. Snooky felt his heart turn over. He smiled back at her. Maya rested her chin on her hand and looked back and forth between them with an expression of resignation and dread on her face.

  Bernard, unexpectedly, stuck up for Snooky.

  “Weezy could do worse,” he told his wife as they were getting ready for bed that night.

  Maya lowered her toothbrush and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Pardon me?”

  “I’ve been thinking it over. Weezy could do a whole hell of a lot worse.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Bernard shook his head.

  “But I hate this.”

  “I know. I know. I hate it too. I hate watching him prey on your friend, and I hate having him moon around here like a lovesick antelope. But it might not be so terrible. I just wish he’d move in with her and get it over with.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “At least then he’d be out of here.”

  “But I don’t want him to be out of here.” Maya gripped the sink with both hands, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I don’t want him out of here. I like having him here. And I like having Weezy as my friend. It seems now that they both like each other more than they like me.”

  “Oh.” Bernard gave her a gentle hug. “Come on.”

  “I know.”

  “Hormones.”

  “Yes.” Maya accepted the Kleenex and made a loud honking sound into it. “Thanks.”

  “Snooky’s nothing but trouble. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know,” Bernard said, getting into bed. “But I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Well, that’ll be a first,” said Maya, her good humor restored.

  Snooky was chopping vegetables in the kitchen when Bernard came downstairs the next afternoon.

  “Hi, Bernard. Have a seat. Emerged from your lair, have you? We don’t usually see much of you before dinner is served.”

  Bernard grunted and sat down.

  “I told Maya we shouldn’t even call you for dinner, we should just open the study door and fling in some raw meat, but she didn’t agree with me.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  “Hand me that cleaver, would you? Thanks.
What is it?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Well, here I am. Let’s talk. Hand me that green pepper, will you? Thanks. Go ahead.”

  Bernard opened his mouth, but what he was about to say was lost forever. The phone shrilled.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Snooky. He picked it up. “Hello?”

  Bernard could hear a woman’s voice sobbing on the other end. Snooky’s cheerful expression dissolved.

  “Weezy? What’s wrong?”

  He listened for a moment, then said, “Coming right over,” and slammed the phone down. He turned to Bernard.

  “Someone broke into Weezy’s studio. All her paintings have been slashed.” The two of them stared at each other for a moment. Then Snooky stirred himself into action.

  “I have to go.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. Stay with Maya.”

  “Maya’s at the library,” Bernard said irritably. “She’ll be there all day. I’m coming with you.”

  “All right.”

  Weezy met them at the door, her eyes wild, her face streaked with tears. She flung herself into Snooky’s arms.

  “Oh, God,” she said, and broke down again.

  Bernard pushed past them, feeling awkward and out of place. He lumbered down the hallway into her studio. He looked around grimly. Paints and brushes were scattered everywhere. Canvases were lying on the floor, their surfaces ripped open and gaping. Easels had been knocked over. It looked like an unimaginable force of destruction had hit the room. Even the plants had been thrown violently on the floor. They lay among the torn canvases, clay pots broken, soil mingling with paint.

  Bernard was leaning over one of the paintings when Snooky and Weezy came into the room.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he heard Snooky murmur.

  “They got everything,” said Weezy. “Everything.”

  “Take her into the living room and pour her a drink,” Bernard said sharply, straightening up. “Have you called the police?” he asked her.

  “Yes, right after I called you.”

  “Good.”

  Snooky led her away. Bernard walked gingerly around, trying not to disturb anything. He examined another canvas, then walked over to a pile stacked in one corner. A short while later he went into the living room.

  “I’m sorry, Weezy, but I wonder if you’d come back in there with me for a minute? Something I want you to look at.”

  Weezy was sitting curled up on the sofa with Snooky next to her. “Okay.”

  “Did you get her something to drink?” Bernard asked.

  “I don’t want anything,” Weezy said shortly. She followed him into the studio.

  “These paintings over here, in the corner. Whose are they?”

  She glanced at them, chewing her lip. “They’re Alice’s.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re the only ones left untouched.”

  “Oh,” said Weezy. Her eyes met Bernard’s. “But they were off by themselves in this corner here. Whoever it was might just not have seen them.”

  “Who do you think did this, Weezy?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have the faintest idea.”

  “One of your students?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was anything else in the house messed up or taken?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  “So they just came in here,” mused Bernard. “How did they get in?”

  Weezy flushed guiltily. “Well … the front door was open.”

  “What?”

  “This is Ridgewood. I never lock my door. It was such a luxury after New York, not to have to worry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You can imagine. I locked my door for a while after those flowers came, but then … well, then I forgot.”

  “Yes, we never lock our door either,” Bernard said reluctantly. “Where were you?”

  “Out shopping for dinner.”

  He nodded. “Are any of your knives missing?”

  “My knives?”

  “I can’t find a knife in here that seems sharp enough to have done this. I wondered if one of your kitchen knives might have been used.”

  “I don’t know. Let me go check.”

  She was back in a few minutes. “Not that I can tell, Bernard. I have a drawer full of knives, it’s hard to remember how many there are supposed to be.” She leaned over one of the slashed canvases and examined it closely. “This wouldn’t necessarily have to be that sharp a knife. Canvas isn’t that hard to cut.”

  “Okay. Listen, I’m going to call a security alarm company for you. I want to see an alarm installed in here as soon as possible.”

  “I should have done it right after the flowers came.” She looked at Snooky. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I feel terrible about it now.”

  “And I think you should come stay at our house for a while,” said Bernard.

  “Oh, thank you, but Snooky’s already offered to stay here with me.”

  Bernard’s gaze flickered over his brother-in-law. “Yes, well,” he said dryly, “I’m sure that would be very nice, but I know Maya, and she’s going to want to make sure you’re safe. Come stay with us.”

  Weezy looked around her studio, at the ruined canvases and the toppled easels, at the plants lying broken on the floor. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice. “I think I will.”

  “Trust your brother to try to use this whole thing in the service of his libido,” Bernard told Maya later.

  “I’m sure that’s not what he meant.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Maya was fiddling with a pencil. “This whole thing with Weezy is so … so unreal. I can’t believe it happened. I’m glad she’s coming to stay with us. I’ve been nervous for months about her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the police find anything?”

  “Just one of my footprints.”

  “What?”

  “There was some dust in the corner, and they managed to find one of my footprints there. Everyone was all excited until I matched my shoe to it.”

  “They didn’t just haul you away to the local jail?”

  “No, Weezy stuck up for me. She didn’t think I had done it.”

  “Well, you see,” said Maya. “So friendship counts for something after all.”

  Weezy was quiet at dinner that night. Maya watched her anxiously. Snooky danced attendance, running back and forth from the kitchen to serve her every whim.

  “I feel like a princess,” Weezy said at last, smiling.

  “We’re all royalty here,” said Snooky. “Bernard, for instance, eats like a king.”

  Bernard was eating as quickly as he could, forking huge mouthfuls in, his mind elsewhere.

  “I feel bad leaving my house all by itself,” Weezy said.

  “Don’t worry. I set up a timer for the lights. Nobody will know you’re not home,” said Snooky.

  “They will, though. Can’t they just tell? Doesn’t an empty house look different?”

  “No.”

  “This was a delicious dinner, Snooky.”

  “Nothing but the best for you.”

  Later that evening, when Maya showed her up to her room, Weezy put her bag down and gave her a quick hug.

  “Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “This is a lovely room.”

  Maya had shown her to a tiny room under the eaves on the second floor, down the hall from Maya and Bernard’s room and the nursery. It had pink and white floral wallpaper and a thick cream-colored rug on the floor.

  “Why didn’t you use this for the baby?” asked Weezy, surveying the walls. “It could have saved Bernard a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  “Too far away from our room.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  “Weeze … are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “Ho
w are you … how are you feeling?”

  Weezy sat down on the bed. “You want to know the stupidest thing? I keep thinking about that gallery owner, and how I jinxed everything by not going out to dinner with him. Maybe if I had done that, it all would have worked out all right.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I know it’s ridiculous. I just feel like I must have done something wrong, to have this happen to me. I mean, it’ll be a year before I can put a show together again. Or longer. Everything I had was in my studio.”

  “I know.” Maya sat down and put an arm around her.

  “It’s not fair, My. Everything I had.” Weezy’s voice choked.

  “I know.”

  “Not fair.” Weezy leaned her frizzy head against her friend’s smooth one. “Not fair.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Maya hugged her gently. “I know. I know, sweetie. It’s awful.”

  They sat together while Weezy cried. Then she straightened up and dragged a hand across her face.

  “Okay,” she said, sniffling. Maya gave her a Kleenex. “Thanks.”

  “Anything I can do? Get you some hot chocolate, or something?”

  “No. You shouldn’t have to take care of me while you’re pregnant. You’re gestating, after all.”

  “A full-time job,” said Maya, and they laughed together.

  Half an hour later Snooky came upstairs, holding a heavy ceramic mug in his hand, and knocked on Weezy’s door.

  “Come in.”

  “I brought you some hot chocolate.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  She was sitting in a white wicker seat in front of the vanity in the corner, brushing her hair. She was wearing a long nightgown of thick white cotton which rustled when she moved.

  Snooky leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Do women really brush their hair at night? That Victorian thing? Silver hairbrushes with your initials on it and so on?”

  “I don’t know about most women. I have to tame my hair every night, otherwise it grows onto the bedposts while I’m sleeping and I can’t get it untangled in the morning.”

  “Like ivy.”

  “Exactly. Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

  “That’s okay. How are you doing?”

  Weezy laughed softly. “Everyone in this family is so solicitous, I don’t know how to handle it. Everyone except Bernard, thank God. He hasn’t asked me once how I’m feeling.”