From Here to There

by Rain Trueax

Her mother stopped, then quickened her pace to slide into the room the club had set aside for changing before Helene closed the door. Wordlessly, she helped Helene out of the wedding gown and put it onto a hanger as Helene took the plastic sleeve off her suit. She'd chosen the off-white, linen suit because she'd felt she could use it for future occasions. She wondered as she slid the skirt down over her hips if she would ever be able to stand seeing it again.

  Dressed in the suit with a bright designer print silk blouse, Helene studied her reflection in the mirror. "I'm going to take down my hair," she said finally, reaching up to remove pins.

  "But it looks so beautiful up," her mother protested as the elaborate concoction began to fall onto Helene's shoulders. "How will Francois feel when he sees you've destroyed his creation."

  "This hair isn't me," Helene said simply as the last pin was removed. She found her purse and brushed out the long auburn hair, allowing it to wave around her shoulders.

  Her mother studied her for a moment and then said, "Actually, perhaps you were right. Your hair looks very nice like that, very virginal." She grimaced a little. "You will enjoy your honeymoon. I wouldn't think it necessary to tell you anything at this late date about sex or what to expect in bed with Phillip. Probably you know more than I do." She pinched her lips together and reached out to smooth Helene's hair.

  "I'm sure everything will be fine," Helene said, ignoring her mother's innuendo or perhaps probe for information.

  "I love you, my dear," her mother said, patting Helene's shoulder.

  Tears again, Helene thought with frustration, wondering if she'd make it through this day without breaking down completely. She reached out and hugged her mother, something she'd done only rarely. For a moment her mother stiffened, then threw her arms around her.

  "My baby," her mother murmured, tears running down her cheeks when they broke apart. "Only you aren't my baby anymore. You're all grown up, aren't you?"

  "I don't know," Helene admitted honestly, "but if I'm not, I'm going to be."

  "That was a strange thing to say." Her mother glanced into the mirror at her own reflection. She dabbed at her eyes, then picked up a small purse from the dresser to refresh her coral lipstick, patting her bleached blond hair with a nervous hand.

  "Everything has been strange today," Helene said, watching her mother, wishing she had the words to explain what she was feeling, but even if she had, this wasn't the time.

  "It's because it's your wedding day. It always seems a little odd. I remember how it was with your father and me." She stopped, then added in a fierce tone. "But it will work for you and Phillip. I know it will."

  Helene smiled tremulously, again on the verge of tears. "It can't always work out, mother," she said finally. "I mean, look at all the divorces."

  Her mother's chin trembled. "Don't talk about divorces on the day you're married. It might bring you bad luck," she warned, then smiled tremulously.

  "Oh, I doubt that," Helene said, her smile a little bitter. "I don't think anything could do that today."

  Chapter Two

  Safely in the limousine, the ordeal of congratulations and pretense finally behind him, Phillip leaned forward to direct the chauffeur to take Helene and him to his penthouse. Swallowing his anger, he sat back in the seat, prepared to listen to her angry objections. Surprisingly, she said nothing, staring out the window, her beautiful face, not surprisingly, a mystery to him. He stared out his own window, trying to understand, as he always did when he faced failure, where he'd made his mistake.

  How could he have been so wrong about this? She had seemed to offer everything he needed in a wife--beauty, style, ambition and a grace that had been sadly missing from his own life. Helene was all of that. What he hadn't counted on was adding in rejection, disgrace and humiliation which was what her leaving him immediately after the wedding ceremony was bound to bring.

  He ruminated on what lay ahead--embarrassing questions about why his wife had left so quickly, perhaps a probe into his personal background, a probe he could ill afford. For the first time he wondered if that background was why Helene had decided she couldn't stand the thought of being his wife. Had she found out things he'd thought buried so well no one could uncover them?

  Only by asking could he know, and in case that wasn't the reason, he couldn't bring himself to take the risk. Instead he said, "I thought my apartment would be most private."

  She nodded. "I'm sure you're right. With my place sublet, I can't imagine discussing this in front of my parents."

  Phillip frowned, staring again out the window. "I don't understand," he said quietly, his voice resigned, "what happened?"

  He watched her seem to struggle for words but if she had an answer, it didn’t come as the limousine pulled to the front of the building and stopped.

  “We’re here,” the driver said leaning back to look at them, amusement in his voice.

  "Yeah," Phillip said, pulling several large bills from his pocket. "Wait here for the lady." He didn't bother looking for the smirk he knew would be on the driver's face. Stepping from the limousine without allowing the man enough time to get out and open the door, Phillip reached back his hand, almost by rote, to assist Helene.

  They walked into the building, smiling faintly at the doorman, then remaining silent as they rode the elevator to the top floor.

  Helene had only rarely visited Phillip's penthouse apartment. He had planned for them to live in the new home he'd purchased and had redecorated in Harvard Square, convenient to both their offices. He had no intention of facing that home this evening, maybe never now.

  When he opened the door, he stepped back to usher her inside. Since he'd given his cook and maid two weeks off, supposedly the length of their European honeymoon, the apartment would be deserted. A good thing under the circumstances.

  Phillip took off his jacket and threw it over a chair. "Want a drink?" he asked as he headed for the liquor cabinet.

  "I need a clear head," she demurred then watched silently as he poured himself a double shot of Jack Daniels whiskey.

  He turned back, taking off his tie and unfastening the top studs on his shirt. "All right," he said, his voice rough with suppressed anger and frustration, "what's the real reason you want out?"

  The moment of truth. The look on her face though told him she wasn’t ready for that. She looked defensive. Well she should. Was that fear on her face? Surely she didn’t think he would hurt her no matter what she had done. As he moved toward her, she stepped back, her leg coming into contact with a large white chair which she sank into and looked back at him, her eyes wide.

  "You're not afraid of me, are you Helene?" he asked, more certain than ever that she'd guessed his secret. It would explain everything.

  "No, not really. Maybe a little, I don't blame you for being angry."

  "I'm angry all right, but confused too. If you'll recall, just last night we went through a rehearsal and a dinner. You said nothing, seemed to smile and... Well, I didn't have a clue this was coming."

  She sighed, pressing her lips tightly together. "I'm very good at hiding my feelings. One gets that way with the world in which we move."

  "One does, does one?" he asked mockingly. "What world is that, Helene?"

  "You know... our world. People put on masks, pretend they like things they don't. Pretend they're friends when they're not. Do things they don't want to do. I just got so accustomed to doing it, I forgot there were feelings beneath the mask."

  "Hell!" He shook his head, walking to the huge plate glass window with a snort of derision. "Why did you ever say you'd marry me in the first place?"

  "I thought it would be all right. Everyone else said... and I thought... Oh, what's the use of arguing about all this? I thought I could go through with it, but I was wrong."

  "You're not making much sense," Phillip grunted, letting out an exasperated sigh of disgust.

  "I'm trying to explain," she retorted testily. "This isn't easy for me either. I should have said
no. I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t say something sooner. Nor even more why I didn’t know what I was feeling. Just when I saw Uncle Amos, I knew this was all wrong. I wanted what he had with Aunt Rochelle. We were never going to have that. We’d end up with a marriage like my parents. By then, it was too late to back out of the wedding. So I thought it would be less embarrassing if I went through with the ceremony and then got a quiet annulment."

  He snorted derisively. "There's no such thing as a quiet annulment." Turning to face her, his handsome face taut, his blue eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You know what people will think?”

  “What?”

  “That I am a failure in bed.”

  “Well they might assume it was me. Do we really care? The thing is we don’t have a choice.”

  “We?”

  “All right, me. You aren’t the right man for me and I'm not what you want in a wife."

  "You're in love with someone else?"

  "No, not at all... or maybe I am, but it isn't a person."

  He shook his head with complete frustration, chugged his whiskey, and refilled the glass. "You are confusing the hell out of me, Helene."

  "Just..." She changed the subject. “I never saw you drink before, not hard liquor.”

  “That’s an issue?”

  “Of course not. “I... well.” She grasped the arms of the chair for support. "I always had this dream, the kind of man I knew I'd someday want to marry."

  "And you've only now discovering I don't fit that dream?"

  “You aren’t making this easy.”

  “And I should?”

  She went back to his question. "You're a very handsome man, Phillip. You're successful and dynamic and... but no, you don't fit my dream."

  "Just for the sake of curiosity, what is this dream man like."

  "He is uh competent. He can ride a horse all day, come in to the house, kiss me, go back out and repair a broken water faucet or chop wood or rope a steer or..."

  "Wait a minute," he interrupted her with a short laugh. "Are you saying you want the Marlboro man, and I don't fit the advertisement?"

  "Don't ridicule me, Phillip." She stood up and began pacing. "It's not a dream man. I mean, he's not perfect; it's just he's physical. He knows how to do things. He... he's..."

  "I get it. A real man," Phillip finished sarcastically, raising his brows. He was beginning to feel the effects of the whiskey, and it dulled a little the pain of her words but made it at the same time more difficult to follow her line of reasoning, that is, if she had a line of reasoning, something he was beginning to doubt.

  "I know there are all kinds of real men," Helene tried again, "but I want a man... like the ones in Montana, the ones who go out and meet nature on its own, who..."

  "Ah a fantasy. Those who live a modern Louis L'Amour lifestyle," he finished with an angry laugh as he dropped onto the sofa, laying one arm along its back. He recognized the look on her face as surprise for the name he had used. “Yes, I know the author and the books he wrote.” He looked darkly into his glass at the amber liquid. "I can't believe this. Everywhere in the world women are saying they want men who will understand them, men with culture, men who are sensitive, and you're telling me you want a caveman?" He swirled the liquid.

  "You are ridiculing what I'm saying," she accused. "Maybe I deserve that, but I'm trying to explain why this is all wrong for me, and you're laughing at me."

  “One thing I definitely am not doing is laughing.”

  “Ridiculing, making fun of me.”

  “It's either that or slug you, baby," he said. "I'll be honest, I've considered both."

  "You wouldn't hit a woman," she said the uneasy look back on her face. Evidently, he decided wryly, she wasn't completely certain of that.

  He looked up at her. She was so beautiful, so desirable in her uncertainty and now anger. Auburn hair hung down over her shoulders, golden eyes stared back at him, darkened with a touch of fear. He looked away, not wanting to consider what he'd lost by being the wrong man.

  "No, I wouldn't," he agreed finally, "but I'll tell you this. You've come as close to driving me to it as any woman ever will."

  "I'm sorry, Phillip, but I can't make any of this up to you. I wish I could, but I can't live the life you'd have every right to expect of your wife. I should have realized it sooner, but I didn't, so what can I do now? Will multiple mea culpas satisfy you?"

  "Don't be ridiculous." He sipped his whiskey and broodingly watched her. "There's nothing anybody can do now--except face the music. I'm going to look like an idiot no matter what story goes around, and you can bet the stories on this one will be juicy. It's not hard to imagine the speculations people will be making."

  "I'm sorry," she repeated, going over to the window and staring out at the lights of Boston as the city slowly awoke to the nightlife. "I should have realized all this sooner, but all I can say now is I'm sorry."

  He rose smoothly from the sofa. "Isn't there any way we can at least try to work this out?" he asked, coming to stand beside her, not touching.

  "It wouldn't be fair."

  "To whom? You or me?" He felt angry again. He moved away from her and put the sofa between them.

  "I can't be the wife you want, and you can't be the husband I need." Nervously she ran her fingers along the smooth, metallic chrome window sill. "I think a quick annulment and putting this behind us is the only answer. I've admitted I've been a fool. I will tell people whatever you want, explain it was my fault, which it is; but I know I can't make amends to you."

  He wanted to yell at her, curse her out in words she'd probably never heard, but none of that would change anything. He'd long ago learned to walk away from the battles he couldn't win, saving his energy for those he could.

  "All right," he said finally with a sigh of resignation. "I'll leave you to explain it. I think I'll go away for awhile."

  "To Europe?" she asked, with an almost wistful tone to her voice.

  "No," he said quickly, his voice sharp. "I'll go someplace but not there."

  She pursed her lips, apparently trying to think of something more to say, something that would soothe the hurt she'd caused. Before she could find the words, he'd crossed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. For a moment, he felt her fighting him, pushing against his shirt. Her strength was nothing compared to his. He bent his head angrily claiming her lips for one last kiss, his tongue surging into her now open mouth. For a moment it seemed the kiss was real, but he knew that was as big a farce as the wedding. He released her and pushed her from him.

  "The limousine is waiting," he said tersely as he turned to stare out the window.

  "I really am sorry," she whispered. He could hear the tears in her voice before she ran out the door and out of his life.

  #

  In the limousine, Helene dried her eyes, only to have more tears fill them. Phillip had surprised her, both with his anger and fierceness, then the fire of his kisses. The last kiss had made her so aware of the hard muscles in his body, the steel beneath the silk shirt. She knew it was true then that she'd never known him at all. For the first time she wondered what forces had shaped him.

  The chauffeur smiled at her in the mirror. "Where to Miss... or I guess it's Mrs. now, isn't it? Although these days everybody's a Ms, I figure to be safe."

  She tried to smile back as she considered her options. She had to face her parents sometime, but how would they feel if she turned up on what was supposed to be her wedding night? Still there was no way to delay the inevitable. Her apartment was sublet. She could take a hotel, but that seemed foolish, and she wasn't at all certain this late on a Saturday in August she could find a room anywhere in the vicinity of Boston.

  "Back to Concord," she said with resignation. Better now than later. Better never than later, but she didn't have that option.

  As the car drew nearer to Concord and her family home, she considered how she would tell her parents. There had to be a better way than how
she'd sprung it on Phillip. No, there probably wasn’t. There was no politically correct way to say you'd left your husband before the honeymoon had begun.

  The chauffeur opened the door, his eyes agleam with curiosity. Absently Helene thrust some bills into his hand, even though she knew he'd already been well paid by Phillip. "Thank you," she said, keeping her voice carefully modulated with the tone taught at Porters Boarding School. She smiled as she thought they'd missed one class-- the socially correct manner in which to explain leaving your husband before he became a husband.

  She slid in the front door, ignoring the expression of dismay on the face of Reagan, her parents' butler. She could hear angry voices in the dining room as she made her way down the hall. She wondered sarcastically what her parents found to argue about after the perfect wedding.

  As she entered the room almost silently, at first they didn't see her. "I've given you the best years of my life, Robert," she heard her mother saying. "How dare you do this to me now, on this day of all days!"

  "You've never given anything without getting full measure in return, Florence," her father retorted. "I've given you all the luxuries you could have asked for. I will continue to be sure you are well taken care of; but now it's time for me to find some personal happiness, and I--" He stopped when he saw Helene in the doorway.

  Helene smiled faintly. "Hello."

  "What on earth are you doing back here tonight?" her father asked.

  Her mother raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Did you forget something? Where is Phillip?" she asked, frowning.

  When Helene didn't answer immediately. Her father ran his fingers through his hair and laughed uneasily. "Not good form to leave your groom on your honeymoon," he said with a humorous twist. "Or is he with you?"

  "No, I'm alone."

  The door leading to the kitchen opened. Uncle Amos used his back to lever it open, in his hands was a large plate with a stack of sandwiches. When he saw Helene, his face reflected surprise for only a moment. "Brought us something to eat. Figured we all needed a little something to relax."