by Aliyat Lecky
Orlando was the first to suggest cutting the evening short. He discerned in his friend what Helen had hours before—that the night was simply not going to work for Richard. However, before Richard would agree to leave quietly, he solicited from Helen one last compromise of the evening. He asked if he might escort her to meet an important constituent whose wife was a great fan of her work. She agreed on the condition that once she met the woman, they would leave.
Richard guided Helen away from the main party in to an ancillary room that was empty, save for a few chairs. Luckily, Angie was watching from nearby and came to her rescue. By the time Angie made it to the room, Richard was out of control.
“Orlando!” she yelled for her husband, not sure he would hear her. The request had been a ruse to get Helen alone. Angie entered to find Helen struggling silently to free herself from Richard’s grasp. He had his arms wrapped tightly around her trying to kiss her. Angie pulled on his hands, trying to get him to release her, while at the same time pleading with him to stop. Orlando finally got through to him and managed to get Richard to release her and settle down on the opposite side of the room.
With Helen safely encircled at her side, Angie demanded that Orlando order the limo so that they could leave immediately. Orlando and Angie exchanged a silent communication that said volumes. Both were relieved that the ridiculous display had occurred behind closed doors.
Helen was, of course, mortified. She sat, in tears, between Angie and Orlando on the ride home in the limo. Richard sat opposite them, scowling at Helen the entire ride home, taking no heed of Orlando’s sensible suggestion that he lay off the complementary alcohol. Richard ignored his prudent advice. He insisted that he was fine and that he could handle his liquor. Helen and the others knew otherwise. Richard wasn’t a drinker. As one who rarely drank to excess, when he did, he had no idea that he was drunk until he was too far gone to care enough to stop drinking.
When they arrived home, Richard said his goodnights in the driveway. Angie wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted on walking the estranged couple to the door, then once there, managed to push her way past Richard inside with the pretense of needing to come in from the cold. Orlando seemed to agree there was a need to invite themselves in.
They were both correct. Before Helen had a chance to get her coat off properly, Richard pounced. He pushed her backward on the small walnut table, which served to divide the entry and the living room. He caught her with her coat sleeves pulled midway down her arms so she was unable to brace herself for the tumble backwards or save her back from smacking against the hard table edge. Richard’s attack was so sudden, that he had taken them all by surprise. By the time Orlando was able to restrain him, Richard had done considerable damage to the living space and Helen’s back.
The third assault of the evening, Helen saw coming. She and Angie were in the kitchen, brewing a sobering pot of bitter black coffee. Orlando, who had been guarding Richard in the living room, had gone out to the chauffeur to send him on his way, when Richard began yelling for Helen to come join him. Despite already being pretty shaken, Helen tipped cautiously into the room with Angie right behind, acting as a guard. She tried to explain to Richard that she wasn’t feeling especially safe. She held her hands in front of her, marking the distance she felt he should keep as she spoke to him.
“Richard, we’re making you coffee. Then Angie and I are going up to my bedroom. You are going to have to drink the coffee, and then we’ll talk.”
He stared at her with unfocused eyes. “I love you, Helen. Tell her I love her, Angie.” What began as a nod in Helen’s direction ended up as a jerk of his neck as if he had fallen asleep, and suddenly awoke with a twitch. Richard promised he wouldn’t touch her again only moments before he reached forward, taking a small wrist with each hand. Again, Angie and Orlando came to her rescue.
By the time they liberated Helen from his grasp, Angie demanded Helen go with them to their home. She had Helen convinced to leave with them until Richard started to blubber all over his beautiful tux. That was too much for her to stand.
“He’s drunk. I can’t leave him like this, Angie. He doesn’t know what he doing” Helen said.
“To hell with that! You’ll feel differently when your back feels like shit tomorrow. Let’s go.”
“I think Angie’s right, Helen. You need to come with us tonight. In fact, you two go to our house. I’ll stay here with Rich.” He trained his despondent gaze on his friend and mentor. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay with him, Helen. I’ll take care of him.”
Helen didn’t have a chance to reply. Richard sprang at her for the fourth time that evening, this time grabbing her by the waist, nearly toppling the pair, and screaming garbled pleas into her stomach. Helen couldn’t make out what he was saying. She was certain his charge had something to do with her not loving him, and his needing her to stay. Beyond that, his words were unintelligible.
Helen tried to free herself from his grip, but a drunken, desperate man has the strength he wouldn’t otherwise imagine. With Angie and Orlando both joining in the fray, Helen was relieved of her husband’s hold, and was ushered to the door and into her car. She was too shaken to drive, so Angie maneuvered the car out of the driveway into the night, the tires screeching madly as she turned sharply around the bend, carrying her dearest friend, at an illegal speed, away from her husband.
Helen lay awake in Angie’s guest room in her evening gown as the pain began to settle into her battered back. She knew she would regret not accepting Angie’s offer of an ice pack in the morning. She gazed down at the exquisite yards of silk buttercup she wore through teary swollen eyes that were heavy like glass. She sat up and slowly slid off her silk stockings. She was wearing a delicately embroidered pair that Noami, who preferred stockings to pantyhose, had slipped on her a few evenings before, when they celebrated, privately, the coming of the New Year. Helen removed the stockings slowly, concentrating on the pleasures of the night she spent at Noami’s as she placed the pair of nude-colored shears on the night table. The dress she didn’t bother to remove. It was only a dress. If it was ruined in her sleep, she wouldn’t care. She would never wear it again. She turned in the bed to check the time—twelve-ten. The New Year had begun without notice. Helen sighed. What a fine mess. In that instant, she made her New Year’s resolution.
“I have to get my own place,” she sighed. “I must move out.”
TWENTY
AS FAR AS available penthouse spaces in the newly revitalized river district go, Helen’s was superb. Indeed, an ideal place to begin again. A month before her move-in date, the realtor, Ms. Engles, brought her to view the space in the early evening, which Angie insisted was part of a cunning strategy to sell the condominium. Helen agreed with her, given her agent’s insistence that they arrive at such a late hour for viewing the condo. The three spent much of the late afternoon in the space, appraising the details, which was the intelligent way to go, considering its asking price. Angie warned her not to rush into purchasing a new home, because she would later regret her surroundings if she made an offer before she found a home she absolutely loved. For the most part, Helen was taking her time, waiting patiently for the perfect home. Richard had been keeping his distance since the debacle of New Year’s Eve. Helen sensed it would be quite some time before Richard’s shame of his conduct would be pushed aside for his desire for her to remain in their home would manifest itself in another tirade.
On seeing the outside of the converted warehouse building, Helen didn’t have any more hope that this home was any more likely to please her than the others before. It was the sixth or seventh had lost count of the number in a string of unremarkable homes for sale in the Twin City area. However, as soon as she stepped through the door, Helen knew that this one was exceptional. A sentiment Angie echoed with her squeal of joy as she stepped over the threshold. Helen knew immediately that this space was one she would have to consider. The style suited her tastes, and it would be available for occupancy in only
two weeks.
They began their tour of the condo with the bedrooms, which deterred from Ms. Engels’s normal style of showing homes. Usually, she began with the common spaces—the living room, den, family space—and then transitioned to the private areas, ending with what she considered was the greatest marketing point of the space, at which point, she would commence to sell the home on its unique merits. All the other tours had gone that way. Conversely, with this condo, she began with what Helen considered made the penthouse condo so marketable—the private elevator and master suite. She remarked several times while on the quick ride to the top of the building how convenient it was that Helen would never have to deal with the annoyance of having to stop to let others on to slow her down. Then when they entered the large, airy space, Ms. Engles guided them straight on through the living room to the rear of the sparsely decorated home.
The master bedroom would easily satisfy Helen’s needs. The view from the east-facing room offered a divine view of the skyline of Minneapolis that she could enjoy from the private terrace overlooking most of the city. The master bath was another story altogether. The bathroom was a dream, beginning with its twelve-jet Tuscan-tiled glassed shower, to the enormous step-in sunken tub that would easily fit more than was ever necessary. A feat Angie proved true when she entered the tub, pulled Helen in next to her, and then insisted that a more-than-accommodating Ms. Engles joined them as well.
“Oh, the fun you could have in this baby, Helen.” Angie winked privately in Helen’s direction, pulling herself out of the tub. Helen ignored the wink, although the comment intrigued her. Angie was right. That tub had potential.
Ms. Engles presented the rest of the condominium, pointing out this unique element or that feature, leading them through as if a story was unfolding before them. Each room more spectacular than the previous. The last room she revealed was the kitchen. Although Helen understood the merit of a great kitchen, she was not as excited as Angie, who would rather be beaten than cook, loved the idea of a well-organized, state-of-the-art chef’s kitchen. Once they reached the kitchen, Ms. Engles surrendered her role as Angie took over and began to extol the numerous virtues the luxurious chef’s kitchen had to offer, which quite frankly shocked Helen, as the most she had seen Angie sweat in the kitchen was opening a carryout box. Once Angie completed her sell, Ms. Engles led them again out to the living room.
The evening was settling in upon them. Shadows were just beginning to peek out from behind whatever was available, giving the room a romantic feel. The idea of owning this particular condo was starting to become an attractive prospect for Helen, yet she had her reservations. The home was noteworthy, but there wasn’t anything that seemed special to her. She would be giving up a home she had shared for more than twenty-five years. A house, along with her children and Richard that she had nurtured into a home. Their many memories in that house made it a home that she would never simply be able to replace merely with four walls and a chef’s kitchen. There would have to be more than that to attract her to this condo.
Helen went back to the bedroom for one last look at the Minneapolis skyline at dusk. The view was beautiful. She entered the evening air of the patio, imagined herself there on the terrace enjoying the sunset. Then it occurred to her that the balcony was facing east. She would never be able to enjoy fully the sunset, which she had been able to do from her present home. That was the reason she and Richard had settled on the home so many years ago—the view from the backyard at dusk. They enjoyed many there. Helen rushed back to the living room past Angie, straight to the large window facing west.
She thought it odd that a space so impeccably conceived would offer such an inadequate window from a living room facing west. Of course, the transom was a very nice size. It offered a lovely view of the darkening sky, but was simply inadequate, given the rest of the amenities of the home.
Ms. Engles, who must have anticipated and timed this moment, walked over to the wall where she opened a panel previously concealed in the wall. The realtor pushed a button, and then stepped back away from the window. The wall was not a wall at all, but two series of panels framing the picture window that tucked in on themselves. Helen couldn’t believe how ingenious someone had been with this idea. Not everyone would be comfortable enough to live behind a wall of glass twenty-four hours a day. She certainly wouldn’t want to. For those times, she simply needed to close the panel, decreasing the transparent window space to one-fourth the size, allowing the homeowner to enjoy, in all honesty, an adequate view.
Clearly, Ms. Engles had delayed showing this particular architectural feature until the proper moment—sunset. The entire view from the penthouse was filled with a gorgeous sight. “Stunning. Simply breathtaking.” Helen felt as though she could step out into the sunset. She turned to face Angie who had come to her side. She looked behind her to Ms. Engles, who was standing there, planning what she could do with the commission. “Angie?” Helen pulled her best friend closer to her as she enjoyed the singular feature that turned the condo into a home. She needed her support with this decision. Angie smiled and nodded slowly her approval. Without speaking, Angie turned, her gaze drawn once again to the amazing panoramic view of the encroaching night.
Once she found her new home, Helen was excited at the prospect of being on her own. She knew it would be difficult at first—at the very least, different. She was used to sharing a home with her family, then alone with Richard, even if she had been avoiding him as of late. She would still miss him. He was a significant presence in her life. Now she would have to get on with the job of living alone, finding herself, whatever that meant, and certainly creating a residence that she alone would call home. Helen began this process with an interior decorator that Angie recommended. She herself had decorated the family house, for the most part. It had taken her years to fully complete the task, with a new update to a room every year or so over the years. This job of making the entire condo perfect in a matter of weeks was much larger than she could handle.
Angie was by her side all the way through the process of acquiring and decorating the condo. Angie was with Helen when she was given the keys and embarked on her first uninterrupted elevator ride to the top floor as owner. That first evening, they dined by candle light on brie, water crackers, and champagne that Angie had hidden inside her newly acquired large, white Hermes Birkin, toasting the night to life and friendship. Once Angie was safely tucked in the cab, blowing kisses in every direction as her champagne-fuzzed mind saw fit, Helen said her goodnights to her pal, thanking her for the company and supportive friendship.
The following day, David and a few of his buddies joined her to help haul in her belongings. She gave David a tour of her new home. He was greatly impressed, but to Helen’s delight, seemed mostly interested in discovering which of the three bedrooms would serve as his crash space. She offered him the one farthest from the master suite, at which point, David made a comment to which she was not quite sure how to respond.
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to cramp your style. We’ll have to work out some kind of signal. If you’ve got your girl over, hang tinsel in the elevator or something.” He added without any sign that he was remotely uncomfortable speaking to his mother this way. “Otherwise, I might intrude.” David rejoined his friends and continued their work of unloading boxes and carrying them to their appointed room, leaving Helen blushing over a platter of hoagies in the kitchen.
The only others she had over so far were Mom, who wanted to get a feel for the place, Orlando, who had come over with Angie to bring her a case of her favorite wine to store in the wine cooler as a housewarming gift, and Noami. Aside from David, whose visit was occupied mostly with moving her in, Noami’s stay was the longest. Even though Helen and Noami considered themselves only friends, Noami requested a viewing of the new home.
During her visit, Noami commented in various ways a few times that Helen was establishing a space all her own, commencing a new stage, and she wanted to be a part
of that phase from the onset. The visit was bittersweet. Helen had unconsciously included Noami in every aspect of the design, selecting items and furniture that would meld their likes and dislikes. While many of the furniture items, including the large, custom master bed were yet to be delivered, it somehow felt right to have her there in the space she was building for herself. Still, Helen surprised herself by not inviting Noami to stay, despite the long stirring kiss at the elevator door.
Now, with every room fully furnished and decorated to her specifications, Helen was ready unpack her personal belongings to begin the next chapter of her life and embrace her new existence and all it had to offer. She had finally recognized the mistake she had made in altering the course of her life so many years before, and was now ready to put her life back on track. Her decision had not been about Noami at all. Yet she hoped that Noami would spend more time with her there.
She stood amongst the boxes of her personal effects in her bedroom, not knowing where to begin. Helen began to work on the nearest box. She worked her way through lunch, halting only to make a cold-cut sandwich. She didn’t cease her work again until her bedroom was completely settled.
Late into the evening, Helen walked into the dark living room, thinking she would order dinner for one. She paused to look at the open view down toward the river. Even from her height, she was able to discern that there was very little activity on the thawing Mississippi. The still night reflected a tranquil calm that infused her. She stood in front of the glass window, staring through her faint reflection and beyond into the night. Helen was home alone. The sole occupant of her residence for the first time in her life. She gazed down at the last remaining box she had yet to open, labeled “memories.”