Rashid made a low, sweeping bow as Trish got up and led the parade from the private dining room out to the hall, then to the special door with a huge EXIT sign in bright red letters.
Trish turned until she was just inches from her husband’s face. She winked at him and whispered, “Don’t you dare blow this one, Malik. A lot of work and effort went into this. I hope you can accept it in the spirit in which I’m giving it to you. Now, close your eyes, take my hand, and do not open your eyes until I tell you. Promise!”
His heart beating trip-hammer fast, Malik did as he was told. Rashid opened the door. Warm evening air swirled inward. It seemed in that moment in time, everyone’s hearts stopped beating.
“Open your eyes!”
Soraya, unable to contain herself, shouted at the top of her lungs. “It’s the rattletrap!”
Malik swayed on his feet. Zack caught one arm; Rashid the other.
“Get in! Get in!” everyone shouted at once. “Turn on the engine!”
There wasn’t a dry eye among the group as Malik walked around the front of the car. He gathered his pristine white robe about him and climbed into the driver’s seat. It took him three tries before he could get his hands to stop shaking long enough to get the engine to turn over. It purred like a contented cat. His eyes were so wet, he couldn’t see out of the windshield. As she watched him, tears rolled down Trish’s cheeks.
Zack leaned closer. Trish liked the scent wafting off him. “We did good, Trish. Real good!” he whispered.
“All thanks to you,” Trish blubbered as she looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life. She’d been so busy since the Americans’ arrival, she had barely had a chance to get to know them. What she knew in that instant was that she had a friend for life in the man standing next to her. She smiled, and he smiled in return and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. Trish felt like an electric current passed through her. Zack, as well, because he stepped backward, a strange look on his face.
And then Malik was scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the passenger side of the rattletrap. It took some doing, but with everyone’s help, they managed to get the yards of material on her wedding dress secure inside the car.
“The game plan is you drive your car to the airport, we’ll bring it back, and off you go to Switzerland for your honeymoon. We’ll say good-bye now, bud. Your turn to visit the States,” Zack said, a catch in his voice.
There were manly hugs, a lot of backslapping and handshaking before Malik climbed behind the wheel again.
As he peeled away, horn blaring, there were more hoots and hollers as the tin cans and trash lids that the American contingent had tied to the back bumper clanged and clanked. The sign on the back window said JUST MARRIED.
Malik laughed so hard, he had a hard time keeping the car on the road. “Do you believe those guys? Aren’t they the greatest!”
“They are,” Trish said, nestling close to her new husband.
“I don’t know what to say other than thank you, Trish.”
“That’ll do it, husband. That’ll do it!”
Part Two
Four Years Later
Chapter 11
TRISH WOKE IN THE HUGE BED, HER ARM STRETCHING OUT, only to find an empty space. Malik was gone. He’d been gone for four days now. She lay quietly, her thoughts ricocheting every which way before they settled on one thought. Eleven months and fourteen days to give birth to a child or be banished from Malik’s life.
It wasn’t going to happen, and she knew it. Four years of trying and four years of doctors’ visits and four years of tests and more tests were all the proof she needed to know she was not going to bear a child. No matter how many times she brought up the subject to Malik, all he would say was, “Time will tell.” Well, time was certainly not on her side. Malik had done everything she asked; they had traveled far and wide to the best doctors in the world with no results.
Her eyes burned when she thought of Soraya’s three lovely cherubs running around the palace, laughing and squealing. She was such a good mother, and Rashid was a doting father. Malik loved chasing the little ones, then swooping them up and swinging them high in the air. And they loved their uncle Malik and aunt Trish, as well. Often, Soraya allowed her to bathe the children, powder them, and tell them bedtime stories. And then she would cry when she had to return to her own quarters.
More often than not, these past months, she was alone. Malik seemed forever to be going somewhere and staying days, sometimes weeks at a time. He always called or would send text messages, but they, too, sounded off somehow to Trish. Not for the first time, she wondered if her husband was having an affair and looking for her replacement. That thought alone always brought a flood of tears.
Trish squeezed her eyes shut. She hated, absolutely hated, starting her day out by crying. She’d promised herself there would be no more tears, what would be would be. Still, she didn’t understand how something so wonderful, so perfect could be destroyed by a stupid man-made rule. Produce a child, an heir, or you’re gone. With a time limit, no less. None of the high-priced doctors would say definitively it was she who had a problem; nor would they say it was Malik’s problem. Almost all of them had rendered the same opinion: “When it’s time, nature will either grace you with a child or not.” How did you fight something like that?
In the space of four years, Soraya had gotten married and given birth to three beautiful children, and she was once again pregnant, with her fourth child. It just boggled Trish’s mind.
Trish swung her legs over the side of the bed as she thought about the day she was facing. Her days were all the same lately. She went to her language class for two hours. She was now as fluent in Arabic as Malik, and he constantly praised her. He would always hug her when she recited the Koran to him. She’d done her part. After her classes, she would go into town, meet with some of the expats with whom she had become friendly. She’d check in with some of the migrant families, with baskets of food and toys for the children. And when no one was looking, she’d slip money into the hands of the wives. Then, perhaps, she would have lunch, possibly shop a little, then return to the palace, swim by herself in the pool, and wait for Malik to return. She spent the waiting time either calling her sister or her friends back in Vegas to catch up on the stateside news, even though she read Dubai’s English-language newspaper, the Khaleej Times. Her sister, Emma, was always doom and gloom, and it depressed her to talk at great length about her problems. Her friends were always upbeat, because, as Connie said, when you lived in the city that never slept, how could you not be upbeat?
Maybe what she should do was plan a trip back home. Malik constantly encouraged her to do so, but she’d never taken him up on the offer. This was her home; this was where she belonged. Although now she did have a reason to return. The friend she’d rented her town house to these past years was getting married and had moved to Seattle three days ago. She had assured Trish that she’d left the town house in impeccable condition. Connie had checked and had said that indeed, the town house was in excellent shape and asked if she wanted her to find a new renter. If she returned, she could stay in her old town house. She could see all her friends and make a trip to Princeton to see her sister.
Trish walked over to her little desk, where Malik always left notes for her. There was no note this morning. There hadn’t been notes for many days now. For weeks and months, if she wanted to be accurate.
In the bathroom, Trish stripped down and made a point not to look at her naked body. She was thin, way too thin. There were dark shadows under her eyes that no amount of makeup could cover. Her hair was lusterless, where once it had really been her shining glory. It had been so many months since Malik had run his fingers through her hair.
Something was wrong.
Eleven months and fourteen days was all she had left.
Suddenly, a bolt of anger ripped through her. Enough of this bullshit. If she was back in the States, she’d take the bull by the horns and s
wing it around and around until the bull was so dazed, it would wander back to its pen. When had she become this wuss, this person who didn’t speak her mind?
Trish took the quickest shower of her life. She washed her hair only once, added conditioner, then dressed in one of her prettiest sundresses. She piled her wet hair on top of her head, lathered her face with some sweet-smelling moisturizer, and left her apartment. Her stride was long and purposeful as she waved off her maid, who was carrying her breakfast tray.
When she reached Soraya’s apartment, she rapped once and burst through the door. Soraya, still in her nightclothes, her hair standing on end, just gaped at her sister-in-law. “What’s wrong, Trish?”
“Everything! That’s what’s wrong, and do not stand there and tell me you don’t know what it is. Rashid cannot keep a secret from you, and we both know it. I want to know what’s going on. I have eleven months and fourteen days to become pregnant, which is one of the stupidest rules I have ever heard of. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to such a barbaric rule. My only defense is I was so in love with your brother, I would have agreed to anything.
“So, my question to you right now, this minute, is, are the advisers and the council preparing my walking papers? Where is Malik? Where does he go every day? His routine has changed. He’s been gone this time now for four days, with only several texts. He’s now gone days, weeks at a time. He doesn’t call like he used to, doesn’t text like he used to, and he no longer leaves me notes. We haven’t been to the cave together in months and months. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“Trish, I don’t know. I didn’t know anything was wrong. Rashid tells me nothing about my brother. He’s away as much as Malik. All he says is, it is palace business and not my concern,” Soraya said, waving her hands about. “As you know, the little ones keep me busy, and I’m not feeling all that well with this pregnancy. I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s get some coffee and go into the garden.”
Her back ramrod stiff, Trish followed as Soraya waddled ahead of her, out of earshot of the servants.
After they were seated and a servant brought coffee for Trish and pear nectar for Soraya, it was Soraya who spoke first. “It breaks my heart to see you crying like this. Please, dry your tears, and let’s talk. What can I do? I feel terrible that I wasn’t able to be there for you. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Because . . . because it is so personal. I think Malik is looking for my successor, someone who will give him an heir so that when they shoo me off, this new person will step in. How cruel and unjust is that? I have had every medical test there is, as has Malik. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to conceive, because it isn’t for lack of trying on both our parts. Look at you. Fertile Myrtle. Married four years and you have three children and another one on the way. You and Malik had the same parents, and you’re the one with the children. The doctors said there is nothing wrong with me or Malik. If you were me, how would you feel?”
Soraya burst into tears. “I can go to the council, to the advisers, and plead your case, but it won’t do any good. Still, I will do it. My father set that rule in stone. As I told you, he never married again after my mother died. If they do indeed banish you, Malik will never take another wife, so get that idea out of your head.”
“God, what should I do, Soraya?”
Soraya rushed to Trish and took her in her arms and held her as close as her protruding stomach would allow. Trish sobbed into her shoulder.
“Where is he today? Do you know?” Trish asked through her tears.
“Malik didn’t tell you that they were going to France? Rashid left at four this morning. He was very . . . grumpy. Very out of sorts, even though he is a morning person. Usually, I am the grumpy one. We need to put our heads together. Now, dry your eyes and let us see what we can come up with. But first, allow me to shower and kiss my babies good morning. And then I am yours for whatever good I can do.”
Trish rang a little gold bell and asked Lily to fetch more coffee. “And would you mind going to my apartment and fetching my cigarettes?” Such a silly, stupid question. No servant would ever admit they minded. As silly and stupid as smoking cigarettes. She had never really smoked except under stress. The last time she’d had a cigarette was before her wedding. Sometimes, she thought, swiping at her eyes, a girl needed something to carry her through the trying times, and, for sure, this was a trying time.
Before she knew it, Trish was gulping at the freshly brewed coffee and puffing out smoke rings, one after the other, from cigarettes she didn’t even want.
Soraya stood at the entrance to the private garden, her eyes wet as she stared at her sister. She had considered Trish her sister from the day she first set foot in the palace. In her opinion, they were closer than blood siblings. Right now, her heart was breaking for her sister because she knew there was nothing she could do to ease the hurt and pain Trish was feeling.
“That bad, huh?” Soraya said, motioning to the cigarette.
“Does the smoke bother you?”
Soraya smiled. “It is going the other way on the breeze, but no, it does not bother me. I called Rashid, but my call went to voice mail. I was not nice to my husband, and my message was . . . How should I say this? . . . It was threatening. I know how to get under his skin and what nerves to pinch. So far, he has not responded, and so this may require one more phone call. I never, as in never, give Rashid two chances, so he knows I am serious. His first loyalty, I’m sad to say, is to Malik, not me. Do you have any idea how hard that is for me to swallow?”
Trish just nodded. “Where are the children?” she asked listlessly.
“At the little pool. They are like little fish,” Soraya said proudly. “Ah, here is a text from my husband. I shall read it to you, Trish.
Dear wife, ha! It is never wise to threaten one’s husband. I regret my inability to respond to you immediately. I ask your indulgence. You know I cannot discuss palace business with you. Suffice it to say I am here with Malik on personal business. I cannot discuss that with you, either. Our return is scheduled for three days from today. Tell me now if I should make other arrangements if I am not welcome. That is what your threat meant, is it not? My undying love, Rashid.
Soraya reread the text to herself again. She made a very unladylike sound in her throat, and to Trish, it sounded like she said, “Personal business, my ass.”
She fired off a text in response. That’s exactly what it meant, my husband. When it comes to us, there is nothing personal that I cannot know. I cannot bear my sister’s unhappiness, and a pox on you and on Malik for thinking such a thing. I am not a forgiving creature, as you well know. I can have your belongings transferred to the bowels of the palace within minutes.
“That was rather harsh, wasn’t it, Soraya?” Trish said, when Soraya handed her her cell phone so that Trish could read the text messages. She fired up another cigarette.
“We’ll know the answer to that when we see how long it takes him to respond.” Soraya eyed the peach nectar in the glass on the table. She alternated between pear and peach nectar all day long. “I’m sick of it!” she blurted.
The minutes ticked by. Both women tapped their manicured nails on the shiny glass-topped table. When Trish started to tap her foot on the colored flagstones, Soraya reared up and rang the bell on the table. Lily came on the run, breathless.
“Listen to me carefully, Lily. Pack up all my husband’s belongings and transfer them to the . . . whatever it is that’s under the palace floor. Set up a bed. Do not leave so much as a paper clip behind. Also, you may take all the silver-framed photos that have my husband in them. Leave none behind for me to glare at. Why are you still here? Go! Go and tend to this immediately.”
Trish opened her mouth to say something, but Soraya held up a finger to shush her. “I learned this from you, my sister. Never make idle threats, and never give ultimatums unless you are prepared to carry them out. It’s the only th
ing I can do for you, Trish. It will do Rashid good to spend some time reflecting.”
Trish tried smiling to show her appreciation, but her heart wasn’t in it. She toyed with the spoon in her cup as she stared off into the lush gardens.
“Ha!” Soraya said dramatically. “Wait till you hear this one!
So, my wife, you have ejected me from our quarters. That is so unkind of you. What will our children think? The whole palace is jabbering about it. How am I to face anyone on my return?
“You see, Trish, someone here in the palace has already notified my husband that he is to be relocated. He responded to that but not to my text. Men are such . . . What is that animal that stinks, Trish?”
“Skunks.”
“Yes, skunks. Well . . . now I am angry. Angry for myself and angry for you. It is time for you to make a trip back to your home. I will arrange everything. All you need to do is get your things together. One way or another, we will find out what is going on. I want you to trust me on this. Can you do that?”
“Of course I trust you. With my life, if need be, Soraya. Just like that, you want me to go back to the States? For how long?”
“Yes, just like that! Until I tell you to come back. Those . . . two left for France on personal business and didn’t tell either one of us, so yes, just like that.”
Soraya fired off a response to her husband’s text.
It is not everyone else you should worry about facing, my husband. You will be lucky if you are ever again allowed to gaze upon my beautiful face. No further communication from you will be accepted by me.
“Come. Let us prepare for your trip back to the States. Promise to give Ernie a kiss for me.”
In a daze, Trish agreed she’d give Ernie a kiss, then followed her sister-in-law back to her apartments, where, in the blink of an eye, she called the airport and in rapid-fire Arabic set the wheels in motion for Trish’s return to the States.
A Family Affair Page 11