by Aliyat Lecky
“Fine. Then let’s talk about what’s really going on.” He stayed any potential excuses with a pointed question. “Where are you? You have been so distant lately. Something is wrong, and you know it, but you refuse to acknowledge that. How can we talk about what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Wrong. A simple word that turned Helen’s world on edge. Wrong. That was what Angie had said the night she returned home from the first leg of her book tour. Wrong. Sydney also accused her of being wrong. Helen had a sudden urge to run away from all that was wrong. All that was wrong seemed to permeate the atmosphere, replacing even the air, which filled her lungs. She breathed deeply, inhaling wrong, choking on large quantities, and trying hard to swallow wrong whole. Helen was experiencing a panic attack. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was all right, that there was nothing wrong, and that she could breathe easily without the weight of wrongness pressing her lungs into her back.
“Are you listening to me?” Richard stood before her, his face inches from hers. He had come up again so suddenly, she missed the movement. “Of course not.” He shook her shoulders gently for emphasis.
Helen swayed easily. She had no command of her body. Her mind was disconnected from her person in a Cartesian separation. Her mind had disengaged from her physical person as she dedicated all her mental faculty into righting herself. A difficult task for the breathless.
Richard dropped his hands in exasperation. “When you’re ready to talk, you let me know,” he said as he charged toward the bureau. There, he refastened his watch and jammed his wallet in his back pocket. “I’m going to get something to eat.” He paused momentarily at the bedroom door.
Helen knew he wanted nothing more than for her to stop him from leaving in such an agitated state. She wanted to herself. She made every effort to do so. She called to him, “Richard!” as he stepped over the threshold. “Richard!” She called to him yet again seconds before the front door slammed tight.
Richard could not hear her. When she spoke, she couldn’t hear her own voice. There was no air to receive her words and no waves to carry her call. Only wrong. Regret cannot travel in a vacuum. Neither can sound.
By the time Helen found that she could breathe without considerable pressure on her chest, Richard was long gone. She tried reaching him on his cell phone. It rang several times before she was shuffled to voice mail. She disconnected the call before the beep. She didn’t want to leave a message. What could she possibly say to him? “I’m sorry” just didn’t seem adequate. No, she would allow him time on his own. He deserved an explanation. Since she didn’t have one for him, she would give him space. He needed time on his own to think.
So did she.
Helen considered going down to her office to work on her novel. Writing always helped her feel more like herself. It served just as much as therapy as it served as a source of income and creative expression. However, once she sat down at her desk, she realized it would be no use. Maybe something to eat? She was suddenly hungry. She looked at the clock on her desk and wondered where the time had gone. Four o’clock? Had Richard been gone that long?
Four o’clock meant she would miss her appointment with Noami. For about ten seconds, she was happy she missed the appointment. Her bout with Richard had tired her out. She couldn’t imagine leaving the quiet of her home. She was in no mood to be with anyone other than herself. She would call Noami to reschedule their appointment. That was settled.
Helen started, quite suddenly realizing that wasn’t what she needed to do. Instead, she would call Noami from the car to apologize for her tardiness and tell her that she was on her way.
Helen left a note in case her husband returned home first. She figured she would at least let him know where she was going. She owed him that much. Truth be told, she owed him much more. Yet, how could she give him a truth when she had yet to work out what the truth was? When Helen turned the key in the ignition, she was thinking about her argument with Richard. She had left him a note, but felt as if she should contact him, make sure he was okay. Helen began to think she needed to connect with him before he had too much time to sulk.
“Angie. Hey, it’s Helen.”
“I know. What’s going on?”
Helen heard the tension in her voice. “Have you heard from Richard?” She knew Angie had.
“Yes, he called a while ago. Orlando went to meet him. I don’t know where. Helen, what’s wrong?”
Wrong. There it was again. “Nothing’s wrong.” She expelled the heavy air from her filling lungs. “I need to make another call.”
“Helen.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t ask me where they’ve gone.”
“You said you didn’t know. Are you going to tell me?”
“Are you going to go after him?”
“After him? Do I need to go after him?” Helen was aware of the accusation in her friend’s question. “Where are they meeting, Angie?”
“Oceanaire.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you later.”
“Are you going over there? He’s fine. Orlando’s with him.”
“’kay.”
“Helen, Richard told Orlando that he feels like you are keeping something from him.”
“I know, Angie.”
“Helen.”
“Yes?”
“Call me when you need to.”
Helen paused. “Angie…”
“Huh?”
Helen lost her nerve to confess to her dearest friend. “Nothing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Call me.”
SEVEN
ALL OF MINNEAPOLIS seemed to be downtown. Helen had to park nearly two blocks away from Noami’s loft. She wasn’t the only one who chose to park on the street and take advantage of the free meters. The bustling throngs on the crowded sidewalk reflected as much. As a matter of custom, the traffic walking up and down Hennepin divided itself neatly by means of direction. A bird’s eye view of the busy area would have given the impression of gray-scale salmon migration. The individuals moving along the boulevard appeared to be wriggling fish, anxious to reach their spawning place.
Helen, along with most of the people she associated with, elected to spend most of her weekend and free evenings in less congested parts of the Twin Cities, and was unfamiliar with the nighttime customs of Minneapolis. Instead of crossing the boulevard and moving upstream with the rest headed in her direction, she struggled against the tide and rhythm of the stream as she swam in opposition of the surge of eager downtowners.
Helen, finally struggling free of the flow, emerged a few steps from her destination far later than she was supposed to arrive. As she reached the bottom of the stairs to Noami’s studio, she realized that, as a result of her conversation with Angie, she had forgotten to call to inform Noami she was running late. Noami had no way of knowing she was on her way. She hoped Noami might still be available. Just as she was about to ascend the stairs, Helen’s attention was drawn to a change in the shadows above her. A younger woman descending the stairs pushed brusquely passed. Helen grabbed hold of the rail, feeling as though she was the victim of a hit and run. When Helen reached the top, she didn’t bother knocking. Before she reached the landing, she noticed a note on the door.
H. Dahl, I waited as long as I could before I had to leave for my next appointment. Please call in order to reschedule final viewing. I will be available by phone after 7:00 p.m. Noami.
Helen grabbed the note. She read it twice more before reaching the sidewalk once again. She wasn’t surprised that Noami was gone. She was a busy artist after all. At least she was if the amount of work scattered around her loft was any real indication. Still, Helen could not help but feel disappointed because she would not be able to see her portrait. She regretted more missing Noami herself. She had been looking forward to the dual opportunity since they made the appointment.
Helen hit speed dial number twelve at precisely eight-fifteen p.m. She didn’t want to appear too eager. Sh
e waited patiently for an answer.
“Hello, Noami here.” Helen listened carefully, trying to make out any identifiable sounds in the raucous clamor as Noami yelled over the noisy environment. It sounded as if Noami were standing in the middle of a party. “Are you there?”
“Yes, yes. Here. Hello. This is Helen. I’d like to—”
“Wait, please, I can’t hear you. Give me a sec.”
Helen couldn’t quite make out everything that was being said. She charged ahead. “Really, I am sorry I missed our appointment. I’d like to reschedule as soon as possible.”
“That’s better. My apologies. I couldn’t hear very well. I can hear you now.”
“Oh,” Helen began again. “It’s me, Helen Dahl. I was just apologizing for missing our appointment. I was running terribly late. I did get your note, thank you.”
“No problem. I’ve got my calendar with me. Let me grab it.”
Helen listened as Noami reentered the noisy din. She could hear music and laughter. She wondered where Noami was, and how she was spending her evening. What did she do during the time she did not paint? How did she unwind after a trying day? What did she do to decompress when she experienced stress, as Helen had earlier that day with Richard, then with Angie? Helen sighed heavily the very second Noami put the phone to her ear.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so long. When I went back in, and a friend stopped me to ask a quick question.”
“Oh no. I wasn’t…that wasn’t about you taking too long. It’s just been one of those days. You know, not much goes right, and it seems as though you just don’t seem to be able to deliver.” Helen ran her fingers through her hair. There was a short pause. Helen wondered if she had been too forthcoming with her answer.
“Hell, well, why don’t you come down here? Sounds like you could use a drink. We’re having a blow out here at the club. All are welcome.”
“I couldn’t. I probably should be getting home, anyway.”
“Are you sure? There’s plenty to do here, and it sounds like you could use a break. In addition, we could compare calendars. It would be easier with them in front of us.”
“I don’t know.” Helen was not trying to be coy. She was certain the “here” Noami mentioned was Bath’s Wife, the lesbian club next door to the coffee house. Noami had mentioned the club as a favorite evening hangout. Helen wasn’t sure how she would feel hanging out at a gay bar, but the prospect of spending more time with Noami appealed to her. On the other hand, Richard would be home by now. He had never stayed away from home past eight unless they were out together.
“No, I really need to get back home. But thank you for—”
“Come on.” Noami interrupted her again. “I won’t let you stand alone in the corner by yourself. I’ll take good care of you, Helen. It’ll be fun. You’ll enjoy yourself. I promise.” Noami’s low, soft voice purred through the receiver. Helen thought she sounded a bit like she had already begun the celebration. Noami continued, “Besides which, it sounds like you could use a little libation and relaxation to ease away your cares.” There was something in Noami’s tenor that worked as a lure bobbing flirtatiously just out of reach. Helen did love the way Noami pronounced her name. The rhythm was a little off, the final “n” barely audible.
“You’re right. That does sound tempting.” Helen could come up with no excuse not to join Noami. Besides, Helen thought, listening to the background noise, even though Noami had stepped away from the crowd, does sound like fun. “I’ll think about. Thanks anyway.”
“Thanks anyway? Sounds like you’ve decided against it. I hope not. Try it, you might like it.” With that, she ended the phone call.
Helen was left standing with the phone in her hand, confused by the innuendo. Had she imagined that there was more to the invitation than was meant? Try it. You’ll like it. It? What was it? Like what? Helen’s imaginative mind swirled with possibilities. Could she join Noami at the club? Not think about the stressors for a while? No book, no responsibilities, and no worrying about what she had done to Richard.
“Richard.” She spoke his name softly, yet audible to herself. She needed to check on Richard. They had not spoken for hours. When he left he was so angry, but she wasn’t sure she knew where to find him. Helen called Angie. She would know where to find Orlando. Orlando would know where to find Richard.
“Angie.”
“Hey. Where are you? I called earlier to see if you wanted to have dinner.”
“Sorry.” Helen was tired of apologizing. She had been acting contrite for weeks now, yet she had no idea what she was doing to warrant so many apologies. “I didn’t hear my phone ring. Did you want to meet me for dinner?”
“I did. I’ve already eaten. Orlando brought me take-out. Seafood. There’s some left, of course. He always buys like there are five of us.” She laughed aloud at her own joke.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry. Let me speak to Richard, please.” The mere mention of her husband’s name stirred butterflies in her stomach. They fluttered about roughly against her insides, desperately trying to escape.
“He’s not here.”
Helen was mildly shocked though not completely, if she really thought about it. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know where, exactly. He and Orlando mentioned something about a poker game.” The as-a-matter-of-fact tone in her friend’s voice calmed her a bit. Angie spoke devoid of concern or warning, unlike earlier. That meant that possibly Richard had gotten over his anger. “Come over, Helen. We can hang out until the boys get back.”
Helen felt inspired. “Let’s. Only you come out to play.” Helen’s entire body tingled with excitement. The prospect of exploring Bath’s Wife became a reality so suddenly that Helen barely had time to acknowledge her growing excitement regarding the possibility of spending time with Noami. At least with Angie by her side, she might be more comfortable at the club. Angie was always more adventurous than Helen. In fact, if Helen had a nickel for every time she played Ethel to Angie’s Lucy, she would be rich.
Helen was not at all surprised when Angie jumped at the opportunity to go to the lesbian club. Angie had suggested before, more than once, that it would be fun to troll the few gay bars in downtown Minneapolis, but only on Hennepin where the place was sure to be safe. Gay 90s or Bath’s Wife. None of the other less prominent side street bars was to be considered. That would be a little too off-Broadway.
By the time Helen and Angie reached the club, there was absolutely no street parking to be found. They were forced to park in the college parking lot four blocks away. The short trek to Bath’s Wife was made interesting, due to their interaction with the loitering groups of Saturday night partiers blissfully celebrating nothing in particular. All around them, people partied in the streets to their own beats. Each collection of folk enjoyed their private fête. Both women soon became caught up in the mood of the well-lit boulevard. The night was a party. Everyone on the street seemed to have a celebration in mind or a drink in hand. All around them, music blared from storefronts and forced its way loudly out of side alleys. Eclectic tunes converged from many angles, scoring the rhythm of the night. As they paced toward their destination, Helen and Angie’s steps fell into the beat. On the streets, people swayed to various motions, each finding their own time to the same amalgamation of syncopated beats, and unaware of little else but their own state of mind under a dark sky. The stars having been glared away by the bright, colorful lights along the busy stretch of Hennepin Avenue.
Bath’s Wife was not at all what Helen had expected. She had seen the place before, at least on the outside, but had paid very little attention to the establishment. The outside front was quite deceiving. Standing outside the club, she was reminded of the large display window at one of the higher-end department stores in the mall. Someone had put in an enormous amount of energy and creativity to dress up the public side of the outward-facing window so that it appeared trendy as well as inviting. However, as soon as Helen stepped across
the threshold, the doors swished behind her tightly sealing out the discordant street sounds. Now separated from anything familiar, she knew that she was in for an experience quite different than was advertised by the public window display.
The space was filled with noise. People talking to be heard over other voices competed with dance music coming from large speakers on the back of the well-lit dance floor. The dance floor was well populated with bodies moving to the beat of a late 80s pop song, I Am What I Am. Around it, the silhouettes of other patrons clustered at tables scattered between the entrance and a bar filling most of the space on the opposite wall.
Once her eyes adjusted to the club lights, they were immediately drawn to a familiar shape standing on the edge of the dance floor. Noami was moving slightly to the rhythm of the pulsing music amid a group of women who all appeared to be greatly enjoying the conversation and colorful drinks which they consumed heartily. Helen watched their animated banter for a moment before venturing into the bar. The diffused light of the bar only enhanced Noami’s attractiveness. She looked beautiful standing there laughing with her head leaned forward as she strained to hear against the loud music.
Helen attempted to disguise the thrill that ran through her body upon seeing Noami by lowering her face and turning away from the glare of the blue light that spilled out from the metal theater cans above them. She grabbed Angie’s hand and pulled her over to a vacant table near the dance floor. Helen chose the seat facing the dance floor. She didn’t want to make it too obvious to her best friend that the reason for the sudden interest in the lesbian club was standing before them. Although Angie would eventually work out the surreptitious reason, she had no desire for her to discover that the sole purpose for their being there was so she could spend time with Noami. Not just yet. Though she did intend to consort with her.