Still Waters

by Misha Crews

  Midge had been anticipating that evening ever since she’d first heard that Adam Balentine had been hired to work on the Hollin Hills project. His house had been finished less than a week ago — in fact the paint was still tacky in places from recent touch-ups. But the completed house meant that Hollin Hills was still very much a dream that was being brought to life. And after the housewarming party tonight, the mystery plaguing her would be solved, and the world would look like a different place.

  Or was that just the wine talking?

  Midge drained her glass and set it carefully on the railing. Behind her, strains of music floated out through the open windows, carrying with them the sound of laughter. Though not yet dusk, already the party was going full-force, promising to carry forward through the night.

  Midge had always considered herself a sensible girl. Her own lofty dreams were still firmly grounded in reality. The first thing she’d wanted for herself was a career that she enjoyed and that satisfied the restless artist that lurked in her soul. Second, she wanted a marriage that would provide her companionship, laughter, and good sex on a regular basis. Since she was willing to work as hard for the former as she would for the latter, she had no doubt that both would eventually be within her grasp.

  But though Midge was ready and willing for her career to take off, she wasn’t yet prepared to commit herself to a marriage, or even to a serious romantic relationship. And that was why she was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery that had surrounded Adam since the day he had walked into the office.

  If there was one thing in life that Midge understood, it was men. Most of them fell into two simple categories: Interested and Uninterested. Interested men flirted, bought you drinks, gave you the occasional friendly pat on the rear. Uninterested men had you filed in the “little sister” category, or they were homosexual or just too bored with life to care. But Adam didn’t seem to fit in either category.

  Much of the time, Adam appeared to be Interested. Oh, there had been no overt flirtation, no “casual” touching. But Midge could tell in other ways. The way he looked at her when he thought she didn’t know he was looking. The special glimmer he sometimes got in his eye when she smiled at him. During the few times that they had gone out for drinks after work, Midge always had his undivided attention. His gaze didn’t wander or attach itself to the chest of the other women who walked by. Plus, he asked her questions about herself: about her family, her parents, her dreams. Oh yes, Adam definitely had all the marks of someone very Interested.

  Except.

  Except that if that were the case, he really should have asked her out by now. On an actual date, with flowers in his hand and candles on the table. Of course, it was always possible that Adam had reservations about dating someone that he worked with. But Midge’s feminine intuition told her that something else was going on. And her instinct had been confirmed a few weeks ago, when an exquisite painting had arrived at the office for Adam.

  He had been out when the package was delivered, so Midge had signed for it in his absence. When the deliveryman was gone, she’d propped it up by her desk and stared, nearly eaten up with curiosity. She had never been the type to wait patiently to open presents; as a child, the days leading up to Christmas had been like torture for her, with all those mysterious packages under the tree. This one was no different, except that it was wrapped in plain brown paper, and from its shape, it could only be a certain number of things. Oh, and it wasn’t addressed to her, not that logic mattered in this particular situation.

  The upper corner had a return address — some place in Arlington — but no name to go with it. She’d prodded the package shamelessly and had even run her fingers over its seams, wondering if she could “accidentally” unwrap a corner and catch a glimpse of what was inside. But no such luck. She’d had to wait several hours before Adam had returned to the office. When he’d removed the packing and Midge had seen the painting for the first time, her breath had caught in her throat. It was a remarkable piece of work: cool and beautiful, evoking a strange elation whenever she looked at it.

  Adam had looked at the canvas for a long time before opening the note that had come with it. After reading the note he’d looked so sad that Midge’s first thought was that someone must have died.

  She put out a hand and touched his arm. “Is everything all right?”

  “The painting is from a friend,” he’d said. “It’s a farewell gift.”

  Ah. Midge had understood what that meant: this present was from a woman. Someone that Adam cared for. Someone he couldn’t be with. Although it cleared up some of the mystery around him, in many ways it only deepened his inscrutability. But something told Midge that the woman would be at the party tonight. After all, how could she stay away?

  From behind Midge came the sound of a door opening, and a familiar voice spoke. “Well there you are, my love,” Ray Ferguson said. “Everybody’s looking for you.”

  “Is that right?” Midge smiled despite herself. Ray was already three sheets to the wind, but that was okay. He was a good drunk: sweet and funny, never mean or maudlin. She turned and slipped an arm through his. “Well, let’s go find everybody and see what they want.”

  Outside, the light was fading, and the air was cool and sweet. In comparison, the inside of the house felt like a neon-lit steam oven. But allowing her eyes to wander over the clean lines of the rooms and furniture, Midge felt the harmony of her surroundings pervade her skin, and she quickly became comfortable.

  She sighed with pleasure. She had helped create this place, and that knowledge gave her great satisfaction. The living room was long and narrow, with a wall of glass that overlooked the deck where she’d been only a moment ago. The other side of the room had built-in shelves, which had been stocked just that day with books Adam had bought on his travels, as well as an old set of encyclopedias from 1917, which had belonged to his father. That side also opened to the slate-floored foyer, where guests were continuing to arrive. The one guest in particular that Midge was waiting to see — the woman who had sent Adam the painting — had not yet arrived.

  Midge’s arm was still looped through Ray Ferguson’s. He gave her hand a pat and smiled soddenly. “Come on, love,” he said. “I’ll fix you a drink.”

  She extracted her fingers from his grip and gave him her most patient but no-nonsense look. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee? I made a fresh pot before I went out on the patio. It’s in the kitchen.”

  Ray considered the suggestion carefully, swaying gently on his feet. “Okay,” he said at length. “Maybe it is time for a little jolt of java.”

  “Good boy.” She grasped his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the kitchen, giving him a gentle push. He wandered happily off. Midge knew she would have to go check on him in a few minutes, but in the meantime, she should probably circulate and chat up the party guests.

  She looked around, trying to decide which group to attach herself to. Let’s see, she’d already spoken with the man from the newspaper, and the mayor’s aide. Some of the other Hollin Hills residents were congregating around the bar, so maybe she should start there. Adam was standing in the corner with Mr. Davenport and one of his investors. He caught her eye and smiled. He knew was she was up to, and the twinkle in his eye told Midge that he was pleased she was here to play hostess.

  A gust of cool air blew through the long room, announcing the entrance of another guest. Midge started toward the front door automatically, with a greeting already formed on her lips. But her words died when the latest arrival walked into the living room. Because this, without a doubt, was The Woman.

  Later, Midge would ask herself how she knew that the new arrival was the woman who had given that painting to Adam. And truth be told, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that here was a person so unusual, so exotic, that she and the painting seemed to belong together.

  On the surface, the woman’s appearance was not that extraordinary. She was beautiful, yes. Short
, silky black hair was combed back from her face, with only a fringe of bangs to accentuate her remarkable eyes. Her dress was a burgundy brocade, cut close to hug her slender figure, with a shawl collar that narrowly brushed the edges of her shoulders. She wore a wrap made of black fur — mink, by Midge’s guess. But underneath that shimmering porcelain beauty was something dark, almost foreign. Midge had the sudden unpleasant feeling that if she stared at this woman long enough, another picture entirely would emerge: one of shadowy sadness and murky mysteries.

  No wonder Adam’s so caught up in her, Midge thought. What man could resist that combination of blatant loveliness and secret sorrow?

  Recovering her manners, Midge once again moved forward, her hand extended. “Hello, I’m Midge Geddes. I work with Adam. Can I take your wrap?”

  “Thank you.” The woman smiled and removed her stole. “My name is Jenna Appleton. It’s lovely to meet you at last — Adam has said some wonderful things about you.”

  Midge blushed, caught off-guard. “Well, that’s very kind of him.”

  Jenna looked around, her face quiet with awe. “This is Adam’s house?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s magnificent.”

  Midge followed her gaze, feeling fairly puffed with pride. “Yes.”

  Her eyes rested on Adam. He must have felt her attention — or was it Jenna’s presence that he sensed? — because he glanced up at that moment. When he saw that Jenna had arrived, his whole being lit up. Midge could almost see love shining out of him. And in that instant, she realized that she would have to move him from “Interested” to “Uninterested.” Because whether or not he knew it, his heart would never belong to anyone but Jenna.

  Adam detached himself from the men that he had been conversing with and came across the room to greet Jenna. Suddenly Midge felt that she couldn’t bear to be there when they spoke, that the emotion would be too much to take. Her heart ached: not for herself, but for Adam. Anyone who loved that strongly was bound to get hurt eventually, and Midge didn’t want to be around to see that happen.

  She turned to Jenna and laid an impulsive hand on her arm. “Be good to him,” she said softly. “Try not to hurt him too much.” As Adam approached, she dropped her hand and smiled. “And enjoy the party,” she added, making sure that her voice was loud enough for him to hear. Then she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Jenna stared after Midge, cheeks burning. How did she know? Midge seemed to take it for granted that Jenna would do some sort of damage to Adam. Was that true? Would she hurt him? God, that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Jenna.” Adam was at her side, reaching out to take her hands. “I’m so glad you came. You have no idea what this means to me.”

  His smile was infectious, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they only did when he was especially pleased.

  “You’ve been busy since I saw you last,” she said. “This place is amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks.” The two of them hadn’t exchanged a word since the Fourth of July, and that was five months ago. He gazed at her as if her face was an oasis and he was a man dying of thirst. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “Of course I came. I couldn’t miss this.”

  His expression altered slightly. “Where’s Frank?” he asked stiffly. “Parking the car?”

  “He’s out of town,” Jenna spoke carefully. She didn’t want to give Adam the impression that she was harboring some romantic intentions, but at the same time she was glad that Frank wasn’t with her tonight. She didn’t want to examine the reasons behind that, though. “Are Bill and Kitty still here?”

  “They left a little while ago. Kitty said she wanted to get home early so they don’t miss church tomorrow, but really I think that the jazz scared them away.”

  Adam’s eyes twinkled, and Jenna felt her lips twitch in response. As if by mutual consent they paused to listen to the delicate strains of Miles Davis’ It Never Crossed My Mind float across the room.

  “Oh dear,” Jenna said. “Do they think the beatnik culture has intruded on gentle suburbia?”

  “They could be right. Maybe I’d better hide the Kerouac.”

  She looked at him with curiosity. “And what do you know about Jack Kerouac?”

  “Well, I don’t live in a cave, you know. I read The Town and the City back in ‘51. His second book is coming out next year, I hear. Besides, Midge talks about him sometimes. Says he used to read poetry at this little bar where she and her college friends would spend time when she lived in New York.”

  “Midge seems like quite a girl,” Jenna said neutrally.

  “She’s the best.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let me show you the house.”

  It was a remarkable building. But of course, she knew that already. The rooms flowed beautifully one into the other, with two bedrooms on the main level, and two more downstairs. Adam referred to the downstairs as the “lower level,” good description, since it was anything but a dark, dank basement. There was a secondary living room down here, with another wall of windows to bring the outdoors in.

  “In most cases, the houses are built to suit the lots,” Adam said. “The windows are positioned to give the best view of the outside.”

  “Sounds kind of like some of Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs.”

  “Very much like them, yes.”

  Every room was crowded with party guests, and as the evening wore on, people continued to arrive. The music went from Miles Davis to Elvis Presley and Little Richard. The dancing started, and the drinks flowed freely. Eventually Adam was pulled back into playing host, but wherever he was, he made sure Jenna was in eyesight.

  It had been a long time since Jenna had been to a real party. She couldn’t count the dinner parties that Frank’s co-workers had hosted: those were staid gatherings with mild cocktails and civilized conversation. This was a party: hard liquor, loud music, heated debates with much emphatic waving of hands. The glowing tips of cigarettes traced neon lines through smoke-filled air. She had some dim recollection of Lucien hosting parties like this when they lived in Chicago in the early ‘30s, but it was too long ago for her to remember it well.

  The upcoming presidential election dominated the conversation. As Jenna wandered from group to group, she struggled to remember what she’d read about the candidates and the issues. Lucien never had much patience with politics, and Jenna had adopted his lackadaisical attitude. Kitty and Frank were staunch supporters of Adlai Stevenson, while Stella and Max seemed to favor Eisenhower’s re-election. Bill always said he couldn’t tell the difference between the two, and that when his turn came to vote he planned to just close his eyes and push whichever button his hand landed on first.

  “And what do you think?” one man asked Jenna, glowering heavily.

  Put on the spot, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I think I’d have more respect for both candidates if they hadn’t mutually agreed to set aside the racial issue.”

  The man stared, and Jenna felt herself blush. Why had she even tried to state an opinion? It wasn’t like she knew what she was talking about….

  “Are you saying they should have made it one of the issues of the campaign?” The man was half-shouting to be heard above the music and the conversations going on around them. “We’d have another civil war on our hands! This country is not ready to debate the racial issue!”

  Suddenly Jenna was very interested. “What’s to debate?” she asked hotly. “All Americans should have the same rights. There can’t be any debate about that.”

  The man tilted his head to the side to take a puff of his cigarette. “Separate but equal. That’s what the government says.”

  Joseph’s innocent face flashed before Jenna’s eyes, and she heard Maya’s mocking voice ask, What kind of futuristic utopia do you live in? She thought of Denny, who had wanted nothing more than to marry the girl he’d fallen in love with.

  “Separate is not equal!” Jenna�
��s own voice had risen, but it had nothing to do with the noise level around her.

  Suddenly a hand reached through the crowd and touched her arm. She turned, cheeks flushed, and looked into Midge’s calm blue eyes.

  “Having a good time?” Midge asked. But before Jenna could answer, Midge turned to the man and said, “Barry, why don’t you go crawl back into your cave? The humans are trying to have a civilized conversation out here.”

  Jenna half-expected him to explode. But instead, Barry — which was apparently the man’s name — just grinned and took another drag on his cigarette. “Oh hell, Midge, you’re ruining my fun! Can’t you see how pretty she is when she’s mad?”

  “Get lost, chum,” Midge said, not unkindly. As Barry turned and lumbered away, Midge leaned close and spoke in Jenna’s ear. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE AIR ON THE BACK DECK was cool and damp and fragrant with the smell of changing leaves. Jenna breathed deep. “What time is it?” she asked. She squinted at her watch, but it had stopped.

  “A little after one,” Midge said. “Things should be winding down pretty soon.” She took out a silver cigarette case and opened it, offering it to Jenna.

  “No thanks,” Jenna murmured.

  Midge tapped out a cigarette and lit it with a small silver lighter. “You don’t smoke?”

  “I lost my taste for it when I was pregnant, and I just never took it up again.”

  “Does it bother you?” Midge held the cigarette as if she were going to put it out on the railing of the deck, but Jenna shook her head.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Okay, then.” Midge inhaled meditatively and looked at Jenna through a haze of smoke. “So what was that in there? Are you involved in civil rights?”

  “Everybody’s involved,” Jenna said evasively. “Whether they know it or not.”

  Midge nodded. “You answered my question without really answering it. Nicely done.” She smiled and stubbed out her barely-smoked cigarette. “Look, let’s just cut through it, okay? It’s too late at night to play games.”