At Last

by Aliyat Lecky

  Helen paged through the countless numbers of sketches Noami had drawn over the period of the few weeks she followed her. Most of them were innocuous. An ear drawn several times across a pad page. Helen in conversation. Helen deep in thought. A pair of hands in various expressive poses. And one, which could very well have been her favorite, of Helen caught in a fit of laughter with her head thrown back in mid-laugh. Others, however, seemed a bit too intimate, as if Noami had been present, and placed to paper, a very private moment. A sketch of Helen distracted in what happened to be the health club locker room, standing behind an opened locker door, the top of her bra and cleavage exposed. She and an unidentified male, which must have been Richard, pressed together in a seductive slow dance. Another version of her face featured over most of the page leaning on Richard’s headless shoulder. The expression captured on her face introspective.

  She remembered that night. Helen’s thoughts had been elsewhere that evening. She and Richard were supposed to have been spending a romantic evening together. She had been out of sorts, and they ended up arguing because she couldn’t figure out what was wrong, and Richard didn’t know how to respond to her mood. Noami had followed them out that night and had captured on her pad what Helen herself could not communicate. Helen turned the paper over. “Regret,” was scrawled in pencil on the backside of the sheet.

  Helen looked over her shoulder. Noami, who seemed to pay no attention to what Helen was doing, completely missed her contribution to Helen’s self-reproach. Another sketch that left Helen feeling slightly intruded upon showed her standing, leaning against a wall or opened doorway, covered in only a low-hung cloth of some sort, with the greater part of her breasts exposed, as though she were spilling out at the top. It was much like her portrait. Helen turned the sheet over. It was labeled “Pose VI.” She paged though the rest of the stack quickly, curious to discover poses I to V. Unable to find them, she turned to Noami with “Pose VI” in hand.

  “I don’t remember wearing this out in public.” She held up the sketch in question.

  Noami smirked a little, but she was all business. “For that one, I had to use a bit of imagination. I liked the way it turned out. It’s the model for the final painting. Can you see that?”

  “Was this your idea?”

  “My idea?” A smile spread diagonally across Noami’s face as she motioned for Helen to draw closer. When Helen was slow to move, Noami took hold of her hand gently and guided her to a seat. “It’s you.”

  “It is me. Yes, it’s me, but you’d almost have to be living with me in order to know me so intimately.”

  “Or perhaps you are much easier to read than you think.” Noami said this with such earnestness that Helen believed her.

  “Well, yes, possibly.” Here, she paused. “After seeing Richard’s reaction, I find it hard to believe he asked for, or expected, something so provocative.”

  “He didn’t.” She did not miss a beat, guiding Helen to her seat. “He left it up to me.”

  “Then why?” A look of utter confusion darkened Helen’s face.

  Noami pursed her lips. Helen could tell she was considering her response.

  “Did he ask for ‘sexy’?” There. Having finally asked the question, Helen felt much better.

  “Why would he need to ask for sexy? He has sexy. I only painted what I saw. Look at the painting.” She turned the painting on the easel. “Helen, it’s you. Now, would you mind unbuttoning your top, slip off your bra straps, and tuck your shirt in your bra?”

  Helen’s shock was much too sudden to try to conceal.

  “Or if you prefer I can get you a tank sleeve to wear.”

  ***

  AFTER A FEW hours of working in near silence, Noami appeared from behind the painting. “Alright, you deserve a break. Can I get you a drink?” She collected her brushes from the easel, wiping them on a rag before dropping them into a jar of turpentine.

  “That would be great.”

  The two women spent the rest of the early evening trading stories. Noami was interested in what it was like to grow up with Jack Dahl as a father. Helen shared the best of her memories. She had no reason to do otherwise. After all, Noami was a fan of her father’s. Besides which, as she sifted through her collection of memories, she found that enough happiness resided there that she could easily share with the inquisitive artist.

  Helen’s own interests lay mainly in the goings-on at Sappho’s Repose.

  “Mom. Who was she, and why did the customers seem to treat her with, was it reverence? Magda, the server. What was her story?” Helen did not share with Noami the look she gave her, or attempt to extrapolate on its meaning, but she did ask Noami to tell her story. Helen learned that Magda was one of the co-owners of Sappho’s Repose the coffee house, as well as Bath’s Wife the nightclub, located in the adjacent building.

  “I hadn’t noticed a night club next to the café.”

  “Yes, it’s there. Magda owns it with Veda. Veda is her ex. Mom is Veda’s mother, but we all call her Mom. Now, Veda’s with Donna. LaDonna.” She waved away Helen’s question before she could voice it. “Don’t try to keep track. I swear to you, it’s a little too ‘L-Word.’ Suffice it to say, Magda and Veda’s breakup was pretty bad. Magda actually broke it off. Veda was devastated. That was until Lady Donna entered the scene to console her.” She shook her head slightly, which showed her disapproval at the match. “Some of us tried to warn Veda before Magda left her, but she didn’t listen. Donna’s been waiting in the wings for a while.”

  “You don’t like this LaDonna?”

  “No, she’s okay. In fact, she’s really nice. She’s sweet. It’s just…Magda and Veda were really good together. Anyway, once Magda found out about LaDonna and Veda, she realized she’d made a mistake. Too late.”

  “How sad.”

  Noami shrugged. “I guess, but what was really sad was that the two were thinking of liquidating their assets and moving on, however, Veda’s mom stepped in to help them see that their businesses were more than just a coffee house and a bar. The lesbian community depends on Sappho’s Repose and Bath’s Wife as places where we can go and have fun and relax without fear of repercussions. Not only that, both businesses are excellent moneymakers. So, they settled it somehow. Magda runs the coffee house. Veda runs the bar. Mom bartends at Bath’s Wife most weekends. She sorta serves as a surrogate mother to a lot of us, in fact, to many of the customers who spend any amount of time in Bath’s Wife.”

  Helen merely nodded, not wanting to end the flow of information.

  “Mom used to work in the bakery. A few of the pastries and other stuff they bake at Sappho’s are Mom’s recipes. As far as the way people somewhat tiptoe around her, well, she’s a real bitch before she’s had her coffee. They were probably giving her a wide berth because was acting old and cranky.” Noami brought over two glasses and chilled Semillon.

  Helen accepted a glass. She had been sitting in the hot window, and welcomed a cool drink. “Noami, are Mom and Magda close? I’m asking because they seemed to have their heads together about something serious, and…”

  “Not close like that.” Noami accurately read Helen’s expression. “Mom’s straight. She’s a breeder.”

  “Breeder?” Helen’s mouth opened to make a comment, but incredulous shock kept her from verbalizing her disbelief of the terminology being used to describe heterosexuals.

  Noami laughed, despite herself. “You hets may have cornered the market in offensive name calling, but we are clever as well.” She continued to enjoy to the look on Helen’s face.

  Helen simply could not have imagined that a word could be used so appallingly. “But…breeders?”

  ***

  AS HELEN MERGED on the freeway, she felt her spirits rise. She and Noami had spent most of the day in reciprocated enchantment. Helen had thought sitting for the portrait would be tedious, but the time elapsed so quickly that evening was upon them before they went back to the work at hand. The artist and the subject clic
ked at once. Perhaps Noami’s interest in Helen’s father’s work was the catalyst. Helen represented a tangible connection to her idol, Jack Dahl. Conceivably, Noami supplied quick gossip to satisfy Helen’s curiosity in the goings-on at Sappho’s Repose, and was the shared topic that caused them to connect so well. Whatever the cause, they seemed to be in accord despite nearly a decade of difference in their ages. Helen had found Noami’s company to be more than adequate. Noami was creative, intelligent, stunningly beautiful, and sublime.

  The time she spent at Noami’s studio seemed to have pushed away the dark cloud that had hung low over her for weeks. She stayed much longer than she had expected. When Noami offered an early supper of Carlsberg, Roma tomatoes, and sweet basil Panini’s, she could not refuse. Helen ticked off a mental list in her head of all the additions she would have to make to the next day’s to-do list, which included extra time exercising to compensate for the high calorie intake for the day, not to mention all the alcohol she had consumed. Helen determined that she would complete the growing list, which also included restoring her home to its normal state after her, no, Richard’s, party. She would have to in order to clear the deck so that she could concentrate completely on the final edits on her novel before the deadline. She was so close to being finished. As she drove south on 35W, she refocused her attention on the one task she felt that could not be put off until the next morning.

  Sydney and her family were just finishing dinner when Helen pulled into the driveway of their multilevel Ranch-style home. Helen had arrived unexpectedly, so she was not surprised by the less-than-enthusiastic greeting she received from her son-in-law. However, the cold greeting from her daughter did bother her more than she thought it ought to have. The granddaughters, upon seeing their grandmother, afforded her enough hugs and kisses to make up for their parents’ slight. Erica and Sammi’s greeting was so warm and full of love and genuine welcome, that she was even able to disregard her son-in-law, Sidney’s sudden departure and refusal of dessert, offering only the lame excuse that he had a trying day at work, and needed to turn in early.

  “Mom, it’s nearly eight p.m.” Sydney’s tone alluded to the fact that her mother should know better than to come over that late, because Sidney did not like to receive visitors or phone calls, unless they were related to business, after eight. This, of course, really meant he preferred to have his wife entirely to himself, cut off from the world and her family, after he returned home in the evening from work. The look of concern on her daughter’s face as she glanced furtively over her shoulder at her husband’s departing back, gave Helen the courage to plunge forward with the reason she had gone there at all so late in the evening.

  “Sydney, we need to talk.”

  “Dad called wanting to know where you were. Does he know where you are? You didn’t tell him that we didn’t meet for lunch?” Her question was voiced in a husky whisper, which contained the warning that they may not use their regular voices, as Sidney had retired, and it being so close to eight o’clock, all voices had to be trained at level three or less. Erica and Sammi understood immediately. They began to whisper goodnights to their grandmother, and left the two women still standing in the entry to begin their quiet bedtime routine.

  Helen watched her granddaughters with great remorse. She shook her head slowly. It was as though she were watching a machine grind quickly into action. Sidney’s will, or fancy, the mechanism which ground the gears forward. Helen swallowed hard the guilt that had forced its way up her throat. She had done this to her daughter. She had raised her to believe in an ideal which she created for herself as a response to her own parents’ non-parenting style, and had not given her daughter the filter with which to sift through the impractical.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in, or are we simply going to stand here quietly at the door?”

  “Mom.”

  Helen could see a sensitive approach was warranted. “Fine, Sydney, I’d like to speak to you about…No. I am not going to stand here whispering like it’s grade school nap time.” With a mother’s care, she gently pushed down both her daughter’s hands, the left which was held up in warning, the right index finger rose to her mouth to signal a quieter tone, and placed them back at her sides where they belonged. “Let’s go to the living room.” She motioned to the room most opposite the back bedroom, where she imagined Sidney had his ears trained at the door, listening for any excuse to complain about the post curfew noise.

  Once seated, Helen began immediately. “Sydney, I’d like to get a few things off my mind, and then I’ll leave. I want you to know that I realize that I made some mistakes with you. I modeled an outlook on life that is incongruous with what is realistic.”

  Sydney looked at her mother, not sure what to make of her beginning.

  Helen pressed on. “To be honest, I thought that my life was great. I imagined I was the luckiest woman in the world. Now, I see that I was wrong to value this American dream that I created in my head so many years ago. You see, Sydney, what I am trying to say is that I realize what I need out of life now is so very different than I thought I might need when I was your age, having you and David.”

  Sydney was finally catching on, though Helen had not made it easy to follow.

  “Mom, I believe I understand what you are saying. I am perfectly happy with my life.”

  “Yes, you are, but will you be later?”

  “Aren’t you happy? Is that what this is about?”

  Helen sighed. Sydney, ever her daddy’s girl, was growing defensive, as if Helen’s anguish had to be a direct response to Richard’s existence

  “Yes, I suppose I am happy.” She faltered.

  “Mom, you have a good life.”

  “I want a great life.” Helen’s response was instinctual. She had not thought to respond so honestly. “Sydney, this is not about me. I want you to understand that you have to consider where you will be in twenty years from now, and if your actions today will contribute to your future happiness.”

  “This is about Dad, isn’t it?”

  “No, Sydney. I am trying to tell you, you have to take back some of the control of your life.”

  “Is this about the fact that I missed our date today?”

  “No, Sydney, I am talking about you, okay?”

  Sydney cut Helen off. “Are you and Dad okay? Are you having trouble? Because if you are, you need to talk to him, not me. In fact, he called here trying to locate you.”

  Helen ignored the question. “Sydney, just listen for a moment.”

  “No, did you hear me? Dad is worried sick about you. He’s calling all over creation looking for you. In addition, you sit here preaching midlife crisis platitudes at me. What is going on, Mom?”

  Helen could see that Sydney was not open enough to consider even the implications of her warning. “Fine, Sydney, clearly you aren’t ready to listen.”

  “Mom, Dad is at home trying to understand what is going on. I suggest you speak to him.”

  ***

  “HELEN, I’VE BEEN calling all over town looking for you. You aren’t answering your cell phone.”

  Not at all to Helen’s surprise, Richard met her at the door when she returned home. The expression on his face read worry, but Helen knew him too well to be fooled by his pretense.

  “Honey, where have you been? Why were you out so late?”

  Helen chose to remain uncommunicatively flat. She was aware that Richard’s anxiety was caused by something other than fear for her safety. He was beginning to sense her distance, and was not feeling confident about his ability to assess her frame of mind. He was aware that something was wrong, but he had no idea what it was.

  Helen was sure, however, that his concern as he considered the issue between them had more to do with him than her. Richard would claim blame for his wife’s moodiness because he took ownership for her happiness in a way that made him culpable for any unhappiness she experienced. However, if Helen could not name the issue that contributed to her despon
dency, how could he?

  “Richard, really.” Helen did nothing to hide her exasperation, not after her conversation with Sydney about her husband’s control. “Do you really expect me to call and check in every hour?” She pushed past him into her home. She was suddenly feeling quite tired by the events of the day. Her plan was to take a long soak and slide into bed. Richard’s care was ruining her plan.

  He caught her by the arm. “I just spoke with Sidney.”

  “Yes, I know. I just left her.”

  “I just spoke to Sidney. Our son-in-law.”

  Helen turned where she stood, midstride, halting her ascent to a hot tub. “He’s your son-in-law today? I have had enough of King Sidney tonight.”

  “What are you going on about?”

  “And if you spoke to Sidney, then why are you at the door like an anxious nurse maid if you knew exactly where I was?” She knew she had stumped him. He stood at the foot of the stairs collecting his thoughts. Helen estimated she only had a few seconds, five at most, before he would recover enough to start at her again. “Richard, not tonight. I’m tired. I’ve been sitting for Noami for hours. I’ve just had it out with Sydney, and I cannot have more pressure from you.” With that, she was up the stairs, through the bedroom door, starting the bath, and began to disrobe. She underestimated her husband.

  Richard entered the room wearing a different tactic. He sat on the edge of the tub and began to administer to her hot water. First, he poured in her favorite bath foam. She turned her back to him as she undressed in silence. She would have to change her tactics as well. Her ultimate goal being avoidance.