Rebekah wrote out a script to treat Ruby’s candida while Biz’s head quietly spun off its axis. Her eyes watered and stomach seized as the full force of what she’d heard tightened its grip on her brain and her gut. Her shame was replaced by the rage of disquieting incredulity. How could everyone? How could Charlie?! Then Rebekah asked Ruby to wait outside, so she stuck out her palm at her mom. Biz handed over the Britney article, and her daughter left, leaving the two adults alone.
Rebekah reported, “She’s doing fine,” but Biz gave no reaction. She was staring. Rebekah tried again. “Irish guy, eh?”
Biz shook it off. “Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “They lure you in with their pointy green shoes…”
“Run away.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured.
“Ruby seems fine. You’re doing a good job.”
“Am I?” mumbled Biz. Her eyes darted, looking for something to cling to. She wanted Rebekah to hug her but didn’t dare reach out.
Rebekah said, “You can have the room for as long as you want.” At the door she stopped. “You okay?”
Biz squeaked, “No,” then decided to take a chance. She was exhausted from keeping the secret that had been chipping away for twelve years. Biz thought she was strong, but who was she kidding—she was fraying at the goddamn edges. And now that Charlie was … and E.J … and what was that about Aunt Cat? She no longer felt fortified by her privilege. Her fragile ground was undeniably giving way.
Biz took a deep breath. “Ruby might be, is probably Charlie’s daughter. No one knows, including Ruby. And even I’m not one hundred percent. How would I go about…?”
Rebekah didn’t flinch. She spoke professionally—and mercifully—without judgment. “A simple paternity test, cheek scrape or hair follicle. Takes a few months to get the results. We have genetic advisers on staff, or I can do it.”
“You can?” Biz whispered. A seismic whoosh swept over her, and she started to cry—great heaving, silent sobs, her face raining tears. Bound by the Hippocratic Oath, Rebekah could be trusted implicitly to hold this info tight and share its weight so Biz didn’t have to balance it on her psyche alone. Her secret had been tyrannical, its toll devious and incremental. She saw the breadth of this now as she held her head in her shaking hands.
Rebekah maintained a professional air but exuded empathy as she spoke. “You know, Biz, first cousins have children together all over the world in many, many cultures. In certain countries twenty to sixty percent of all marriages are between close relatives. It’s unreasonably cautioned against in this country because of genetic misunderstanding, but those risks are seven percent at the very most. And we have prenatal tests now. It’s not nearly as serious as people think it is. It’s just our lingering puritanical dogma out to do more shaming.”
“Really?” Biz hiccupped between attempts at steady breaths.
“Both Einstein and Darwin married their first cousin. Darwin had ten kids—all of them healthy. How’s Ruby’s health? Her mental acuity?”
“She’s amazing. I mean, besides being eleven, and sometimes awful, she’s wonderful. Healthy and … perfect.” Biz started to gasp again. She was overwhelmingly grateful and relieved.
“Then you’re in the majority. You should also know it’s legal in half the states in the U.S., including New Jersey. We do genetic counseling for this kind of thing all the time. Nowadays, our governing bodies instruct medical personnel not to shame newly arrived immigrants with cultural norms outside our own seeking treatment. Seen through a larger lens, there’s nothing wrong culturally, scientifically, or legally with this choice. The reaction of your family and community is the only hurdle. It may be viewed as unorthodox, yes, but many paths we choose are. It’s what you make of it and decide to stand behind. For you and your daughter and her father.”
“You won’t tell anyone the results, will you?”
“I can’t and I wouldn’t,” Rebekah said with genuine affection. Biz wiped off the tiny creek of snot running alongside the corner of her mouth, then inadvertently smoothed it into her hair while tucking it behind her ear. She peeled herself off the Naugahyde seat, leaving Brad Pitt’s understanding and supportive face beside her on the chair. “Thank you,” she said. The words were not enough.
Ruby was called back into the room. She was tall for her age and striking. “Come here, sweetie,” Biz said, “Your hair is in your beautiful face.” She reached out and fingered through Ruby’s lush brown locks.
Ruby recoiled. “Stop it. What are you doing? Have you been crying? Are you drunk?”
“Ruby!” said Biz. Rebekah was taken aback.
Ruby said, “What? That’s one of the ways I know you’re drunk. What’s the big deal?” Then she looked at Rebekah. “You’re her friend. I thought everyone knew that.”
“Young lady, turn and look at me,” said Biz sternly. Ruby only half faced her mother. “Being eleven does not give you license to be impudent.”
“Foshizzle, Mom. Sorry, whatever,” said Ruby, and shuffled out of the room.
Biz looked to deflect. Was it guilt or embarrassment? Probably both. “Preteens. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t shoot ’em.” She mustered a thin grin.
Rebekah told Biz to open her mouth. Biz did and Rebekah sniffed. With detached coldness, she said, “I’m having the front desk call you a cab.”
“I’m fine,” said Biz.
“You’re lucky I don’t call Child Services. I would if I didn’t know you.”
Biz half muttered, half sang the hit single, “If, you, don’t, know, me, by nowww—”
“Knock it off. I’m really pissed at you.”
Biz looked down at her hand and a single strand of her daughter’s hair was there, caught in her ring. Her eyes locked with Rebekah’s as she gingerly handed it over. Rebekah took it and said, “I do not like being taken advantage of, and Thorndens be damned, you are not impervious to the law. Go home and go to bed. I’m really pissed off.” And with that Dr. Rebekah Gustafson-Rosenfeld walked out of the room, closing the door a little harder than she would have only a minute before.
A block away, Biz asked the taxi driver to pull over and handed Ruby a ten. “I have to run a quick errand, sweetie, I’ll meet you at home,” she said, and hopped out of the running taxi. Ruby said, “Whatever,” and returned to her phone. Biz walked back a block to her car. It was starting to rain and she had no umbrella, but she needed to talk to Charlie. He would typically be at the theater now.
He found her in the main lobby soaked through to the bone, eyes ablaze, hair dripping onto the rug. Forgoing niceties, Biz said, “Can we use your office?” Charlie knew his employees would have seen her arrive. He was also aware Biz was transmitting at an uneven frequency and wanted to talk to her out of sight, but … He rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t think—”
“For talking, Charlie. If I don’t talk to you my head will literally explode, sticky brain matter all over your nice, new carpet, people stepping in it to buy popcorn—”
“Fine. I need to talk to you, too.”
“Fine.”
Charlie’s office was a hodgepodge of movie equipment and memorabilia. Posters of She’s Gotta Have It, Repo Man, Diva, and The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai were fastened to the walls with brass thumbtacks. Shelves were piled haphazardly with old metal film reels, Super 8 and 16 mm projectors, and a Bolex. On a large aluminum desk sat a framed movie still from the infamous scare scene in Jaws, and a candid shot of John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands laughing, plus a posed photo of Charlie’s family. Two beanbag chairs flanked an aging velvet couch, but Biz chose not to sit. She felt nauseous and wondered if she was becoming ill, or if it was a reaction to her life imploding around her. She stood near the wastepaper basket in case she had to vomit. Better safe, she thought, than sorry.
“I have five things and I need to go first,” Biz opened. She’d planned her speech in the car.
“Five things, that’s an entire hand’s worth. I’ve got work to—”
>
“This is important. Okay, we know that Nana Miggs is sleeping with Weird Hippie Gordon. And possibly started sleeping with him while Grandpa Dun was alive, but that seemed to be their arrangement, so what are ya gonna do. Moving on.”
“What does this have to do with—”
“Just hear me out. We are agreed so far, yes?”
“Yes.”
Biz counted the second finger on her hand. She was fired up. This might take a while, Charlie thought. Biz carried on while he sat. “Okay, what was the next one? Oh, yeah. Has your mom ever slept with Principal Romanelli?”
“I beg your pardon?” Charlie found the notion ludicrous. “Mom is sleeping with Ned.”
“I know, I mean before she met him.”
“Fuck, no.”
“Okay. Don’t get testy. That’s two down.”
“Where are you hearing—”
“Ruby.”
“Oh my God. Do you think Gigi thinks—”
“Who knows. But he’s the principal, and kids love to mess with—”
“But why Mom? That is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard. Mom is fifty-seven.”
“Not now, when she was younger. And so? I’m going to be fifty-seven one day.”
Charlie said, “I didn’t mean that.”
“Hang on, there’s more.” Biz tried to remember; she wished she’d written them down. Third finger. “Is Rah gay?”
Charlie said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Ruby started speaking in tongues this morning. I think she’s still pissed about walking in on me and Finn at the bakery.”
“Jesus, get it together!” Charlie raised his voice, then reined it in. After all these years the notion of Biz being held by another man still stung. He’d grown comfortable with the idea she’d stay single forever—possibly waiting for him, though he would admit that to no one. He took a deep breath.
Biz objected. “Me get it together?! First of all, Ruby wasn’t supposed to be finished with rehearsal for another three hours. And second of all, fuck you, married guy. You get to have sex whenever the hell you want and I never do anymore! With your wife and, apparently, Tindy Weldon. Oh, excuse me, Ah-man-da Bendridge.” She thrust a fourth finger at him.
Charlie cocked his head and furrowed his brow like a confused dog. “Where did—”
Biz kept at him. “People always ask that as if it matters. It doesn’t. It’s her long legs, right? And probably a boob job by now. And she works out, I bet. Where did you bump into her, the gym? Was she wearing a little spandex thing with a matching whatever? I can’t believe you’re sleeping with her, of all people. It’s so fucking cliché. You get it together.”
“I’m not sleeping with Tindy. Christ, who started this rumor? You’re the second—I want to fucking kill them.”
Biz looked at Charlie. “Are you being honest with me?”
“I swear. Georgia said the same thing.”
“Are you sleeping with Georgia?!”
“What the hell?” Charlie freaked.
“Did you ever sleep with Georgia?!” Biz was off task but had wanted to ask him for at least fifteen years. It was a small relief to finally say it out loud, but now she dreaded the answer.
“No. Godammit. You were the only—” Here, Charlie cut himself off. He melted from righteous indignation into melancholy, his voice becoming small, pleading like a child offering the only thing he has access to, the truth. “It was only ever you. I know I married Piper, but … honestly, there’s no one like you.” He said it with heavy resignation, as if finally giving up a race he’d been running his whole life.
Biz melted. “Do you really believe that?” Her eyes locked onto his.
“Sometimes. Yes. Do you?”
“When I let myself think it. Yes.” Biz wanted to go to him. She wanted so badly to envelop him in her arms and kiss him. She could summon his taste, the smell of his skin. Her voice, too, was wavering. She took a small step forward, then stopped herself. Bad idea. Do the right thing for once. Charlie shifted to behind a tall wing chair. He wanted a physical barrier between them, so he gripped it and held on as if to a buoy below darkening skies. He’d made questionable choices his whole life: not fighting for Biz; marrying Piper; and not demanding a paternity test for Ruby. He honestly thought doing the right thing was the same as doing what was right. Now he wasn’t so sure. He tried to convince himself he had no other options at the time—though that was a lie. We always have options. They could have fled to California or Canada, but once Piper became pregnant … If only he were a different man born into a different family. Or if he were simply … a man.
Biz said, “I’ve got one more.” She was holding her pinky between her thumb and forefinger.
Charlie cut in. “Wait. I’ve been meaning to apologize again for—”
Biz waved him off. “You already have. It’s in the past.”
Charlie looked toward Biz without meeting her eye. “I know, but I still feel … I didn’t realize it at the time, but I pushed you down, I held you … You must have been terrified.”
“I was. That’s why I hit you so hard.”
“I’m glad you did. I deserved it.”
“Hell, yes, you did.”
“I almost … um … raped you. I see that now. It was attempted rape, an assault, and I’m deeply sorry—”
“I know. I was there. I get it. You’re forgiven.”
“Why? I mean, are you sure?”
“I said forgiven. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Okay, that’s fair. Do you think it did … um … irreparable harm?”
“Do you mean am I still single because I have intimacy issues stemming from … Did it fuck me up permanently? I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think so, but it could be part of it.”
“I am and will always be deeply sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”
“You can stop bringing it up. I’ve let it go. Or I’m trying to, but you keep talking about it. Honestly, the rest is between you and you. You’ve got to forgive yourself.”
Charlie looked up and saw the same luminous beauty in Biz he’d always seen. Before he could stop himself, he uttered the only phrase he’d never second-guessed. “I love you.”
This wrecked Biz. Her head buzzed and her eyes ignited from within. “I know you do, my friend,” she said. “I love you, too. So much.” She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She felt her body awaken and her urges swell. She didn’t trust herself alone with Charlie, so refocused the course of the conversation. Now more than ever, she wanted to tell him about Piper. She would fight for a second chance with him.
Charlie was rattled. Whatever he wanted with Biz couldn’t happen tonight or ever. He wouldn’t. He was a principled man, dammit. He’d made mistakes, poor choices. But he was committed to his family. He’d change the subject and shut it down. Charlie said, “You asked if I knew if Rah was gay. All I can say is who knows and who cares.”
“You don’t care if your sister is happy?”
“Of course I do. But it doesn’t matter if she’s gay.”
“Don’t you want to support her if she wants to come out?”
“I can support her by not making a big deal over it or treating her any differently than I would any other smug, pain-in-the-ass sister.”
“Okay. So what do we do?”
“Nothing. We let her live her life. It’s 2002. If she’s gay, she’s gay. If she wants to tell us she will.”
“That’s enlightened of you.”
“Piper and the kids and I love Will and Grace.”
And just like that, the image of the four of them snuggled on a couch together—under a throw blanket, the little ones in pajamas—slapped her in the face. It was his marriage, his family, and his life. I have no business …
“Okay, then.” Biz paused and tucked the E.J.-and-Piper pinky away. “That’s all of them,” she said convincingly, or so she thought.
“I thought you said there were five things.”
“Wait.” Charlie looked down. He mumbled, “Have you heard anything about Piper having an affair?” It hadn’t been easy to say out loud. He was hoping for a perfunctory answer.
Biz said, “No, not a thing,” a little too quickly. She could not be the one he heard it from, she decided; in fact, she was the worst person he could hear it from. She muttered, “Why, what have you heard? Not that it matters. Do you think she is? I mean, I don’t, but it’s your…”
Charlie rubbed his thumbs against his temples. “Georgia said something about Piper and me having an arrangement. I can’t even begin…”
Biz knew that if anyone was going to tell him it should be Piper. “Why don’t you talk to Piper about it?”
Charlie said, “Because I think it’s true.”
Biz froze. She said nothing.
He continued, “I’ve always had this tiny suspicion she feels the way I do—that we’re going through the motions. That maybe we’re passionate people who never had passion for each other. We just … we made sense together at the time and still do, I guess. But we never … I’ve always wondered, that’s all.”
“Who would she be having an affair with?” This was insidious of her to ask, Biz was well aware. Back away, she thought. Tread lightly.
“That’s the part I can’t figure out. There aren’t many single guys in town.”
“No joke.” Biz rolled her eyes.
“So he must be married. But I can’t imagine who—”
“Wait, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Talk to Piper. Do it and tell me what she says and we’ll take it from there. There’s no point … there’s just no point in—”
Twisted Family Values Page 24