Emily’s eyes were wild when she poured coffee into a gaily colored mug. There seemed to be a set of cups, each with a flower painted on the side. The one she was holding was a pansy pattern with beautiful shades of purple. At first she thought it was a decal. On closer examination she saw it was hand-painted. It took both hands to hold the mug, to bring it to her lips. Until she tasted the scalding coffee she wasn’t aware that she’d forgotten to add sugar and cream.
The Park Avenue Clinic was going to be an abortion clinic. Over her dead body. She had something to say about that. Ian knew she was going to object and that’s why everything was so secret. Which just went to prove this new house, last night, was nothing more than window dressing until he got down to what he was setting her up for.
Was she supposed to go to the clinics today? She couldn’t remember. Obviously it didn’t make a difference or someone would have called by now to find out where she was or at least to ask if maybe she was coming in late.
Are you thinking of a confrontation, Emily? her other self asked quietly. At Ian’s place of business? Think again, Emily. You really don’t have any say in how the businesses are run. You refused to become an officer of the corporation. You gave up those rights and Ian will throw that at you with the speed of lightning. His attorney will back it up. You are a paid employee whose salary remains in the business. You are given an allowance by your husband; he takes care of everything. He’s currently working on the list you provided, to give you everything you ever wanted in life.
The pansy cup fell from her hands and shattered on the terra-cotta floor. One down, five to go, she thought as her gaze raked the colorful cups hanging on a coffee cup tree that was too cute for words. Her arm swept out, sending the metal stand and the five cups crashing to the floor. Now she was going to have to clean it up and even from here she could see the nicks in the new floor. It was a stupid floor. Terra-cotta belonged outside, on a patio or a deck.
Maybe this was what wasn’t sitting well with her. Ian’s blind rush to start giving her things without asking her dislikes and likes. Why couldn’t she be allowed to decorate her own home? Was her taste so terrible? The house was attractively furnished, but it wasn’t her taste, and as far as she could tell, it wasn’t Ian’s taste either. It was probably some damn. twenty-five-year-old decorator Ian had flirted with.
Cry, Emily. That’s what you always do when things don’t go right. Instead of taking a stand, making your views known, you cry and give in. Like that time you ironed those forty shirts. Ian smiles at you, and you all but kiss his feet.
Emily walked into the living room. She needed to take a shower and get dressed. Then she’d go into the clinic and talk to Ian.
Her shower completed, she tried to dry herself with one of the large towels. The terry cloth refused to absorb the water because the towels were new and hadn’t been washed. She picked up her sweatshirt, turned it inside out, and dried herself.
Naked, she charged into the yellow bedroom, where she rummaged for her clothes. How should she dress to visit the Park Avenue Clinic?
The Park Avenue Clinic, two blocks down from Maple Avenue, ran the entire length and breadth of the four-story building. It was going to be huge, bigger than the other three clinics. It was a perfect location. Rent was going to be very high. She walked down the nine steps to the basement, whose windows were above ground level. The workmen didn’t pay any attention to her. She thought she recognized two of the men who worked on the Watchung Clinic. They nodded to her.
At least six thousand square feet. Really high rent. She was checking on the patient bathroom when she heard two men conversing on the other side of the wall. They were amused about something, she could hear it in their voices, but the words weren’t distinguishable. She backed out of the bathroom and meandered closer to the wall. Now she could hear perfectly.
“I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Walt. Doc Thorn told me himself just last week. This whole side of the building is for a sperm bank. It’s gonna be a whole separate operation. Ten bucks if you don’t believe me. Ask Dwight, he’s the architect.”
Emily’s eyes rolled back in her head, but she didn’t move. “Big money in sperm banks, the Doc said. They charge for the donation then they charge rent for keeping the donation. This isn’t just going to be an abortion clinic. Some other doctor is going to be doing vasectomies. Now that’s something I’d never even think of doing. What about you, Walt?”
“When I don’t want any more kids, I might think about it. You can get it reversed later on if it turns out to be something you can’t live with. My wife cut out an article for me to read. I’d consider it. One of the guys up front said the doc was thinking of converting the other clinics he has to this kind. Must be a lot of money in this. Doc Thorn wouldn’t be considering revamping his clinics if he wasn’t going to be making some mega bucks. My wife is pro-choice, what’s yours?”
“Pro-life. Guess we’re a wash if it comes to a vote.”
“Yeah, guess so. Guess the Thorns are pro-choice.”
Emily swayed dizzily before she felt well enough to leave the work area.
Sperm banks, abortion clinics. The family clinics she’d believed in, had worked in, were going to be done away with. And she’d made it possible with all her hard work.
She needed to talk to Ian and she needed to talk to him now. She was off the hook as far as invading Ian’s privacy via his desk drawers. She could now honestly say she’d overheard the men at the clinic talking.
At home she called the three clinics to see where Ian was. “Pencil me in for lunch,” she told the receptionist. “Tell Dr. Thorn it’s very important I see him. I’m making a reservation at Jacques’ for one o’clock. I’ll meet him there.”
Emily’s stomach churned as she changed her everyday attire to an outfit more conducive to a Christmassy lunch at Jacques’. She pulled on a raspberry-colored sack outfit and dressed it up with a multicolored belt that matched the costume jewelry left over from her younger days. She felt elegant in her high heels which she hadn’t worn in over a year. For the tiniest of moments she dallied with the thought of spritzing herself with the perfume Ian had given her years ago. He’d take it as a sign that she was ready to give in, as usual, to whatever he wanted. She put the bottle back on the dresser. She was never going to use this room. Never, ever. When this luncheon was all over, she might very well end up packing her bags and moving out. Sheer bravado as far as her thoughts went. In her heart and gut she knew only an act of God could separate her from Ian. He was her reason for living, her reason for being.
Emily’s spirits lifted when she walked into Jacques’ shortly before one o’clock. She took a moment to drink in the colorful poinsettias lining the foyer. The blooms were banked at the desk and up the steps and into the bar. Inside the main part of the restaurant they were featured in the boxed windows with porcelain dolls dressed in red velvet. Cheerful, colorful, a reminder that the holiday was just days away. She ordered a glass of white wine and settled down to wait for her husband. He was fifteen minutes late, a huge smile on his face when he was ushered to her booth.
“Scotch on the rocks,” he said to the waiter at his elbow.
“Emily, you never cease to amaze me. To what do I owe the pleasure? This is verrry nice,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t think you ever really invited me to lunch before. Great idea. You’re paying, of course.”
How handsome he looked in his beige cashmere jacket. His white shirt was so perfectly ironed by herself she felt a ring of heat start to form around her neck. “Of course,” she said carefully.
“Are you telling me you saved your allowance? Or are you holding out on me again?”
Emily’s heart thumped in her chest. “Pete gave me a generous Christmas going-away present. I planned to use it for Christmas.”
“And well he should. You worked your buns off for that man. He owes you. How much did he give you?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
&n
bsp; “In that case I think I’ll order lobster.” Ian flipped open the huge brown menu and pretended to scan the day’s offerings. “Did you sleep well? I slept like a baby. When the phone rang at three forty-five I just got up and showered and out I went. I felt so rested. I really like the idea of my own room, don’t you? Mine looks the way a man’s room should look and yours looks the way a woman’s room should look. I think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You have no idea, Emily, how many couples have separate rooms. I personally think it makes for a better marriage. I hope this lobster tastes as good as those hot dogs tasted last night. That was great, wasn’t it?”
“I enjoyed the hot dogs. Ian, about the separate bedrooms, I don’t like sleeping by myself. What kind of marriage is it when we sleep apart? We’re supposed to be a couple. If I’m not going to work anymore and you’re going to be gone all day and most of the evening, when will I see you? I don’t like that yellow room. I slept on the couch.” She put her hands in her lap and then between her knees to keep them from shaking. She wondered if he could tell she was trembling. Ian could sense everything.
“Emily, it’s just for sleep. We both need a restful night. Did you look at yourself in the mirror before you left the house? You look positively frazzled. That’s what sleeping on the couch will do to you. Now, look at me. I feel like the king of the mountain because for the first time in years I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. Don’t you care, even a little bit, about my well-being? I need my wits to take care of my patients. You’re being selfish again. If you’re worried we won’t have sex, you can forget that. I’ll knock on your door or you knock on mine. Or we can plan ahead and make appointments. Now, you have to admit, that’s devilish.”
Devilish. Did he think she was stupid? Obviously. “Why didn’t you talk to me about it before you did it, Ian? You always consult me. At least you used to. I don’t know us anymore, Ian.” There was a quiver in her voice Ian was going to notice. Damn.
“And spoil the surprise? I thought I was doing something nice, keeping my promise to you. Consulting you would have ruined the surprise. And, dear Emily, I am aware, even if you pretend that you aren’t, that you are a good thirty pounds overweight. That makes a difference in a bed when you flop around like you do. We need rest, Emily. Why are you being so damn hard to get along with? I thought we were here to have a nice lunch. This is just more of the same.”
“We’re drifting apart, Ian. I can see it, feel it.”
“Now you’re a seer. Come off it, Emily. It’s your own insecurities. Suddenly you have all this free time and you’re running scared. I suppose in a way that’s understandable, but for God’s sake, what more do you want from me? Women would kill for that house. Women would kill to have free days. Women would kill to have some man pay for everything so they can sit on a velvet cushion. Not you, all you want to do is bitch, whine, and then bitch some more. I think you need to grow up, Emily, and see how things are done in the real world. If you don’t like the yellow bedroom, redo it. That’s part of it too, right? You don’t like the idea that a professional decorator made over the house. If I had let you do it, we’d be living in cutesy, snuggly Early American. I hate that stuff.”
Two down, one to go. Emily took a deep breath, signaled for a second glass of wine. “I know about the Park Avenue Clinic. You should have talked to me about that, Ian, before you went ahead and set things up. I feel like you betrayed me. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that. I went there this morning to see how things were going and I heard the workmen talking. Why didn’t you talk to me, Ian?”
Ian’s eyes narrowed as he leaned across the table. “Let me see if I understand this right, Emily. You’re unhappy because I went ahead and made a decision without consulting you. You told me when it was time for you to quit working you didn’t want any part of those clinics. You goddamn signed away your rights, on advice of your own personal attorney that I and the corporate attorney insisted you hire and paid for by me. You waived your rights. I retired you quite handsomely. So, what the hell is the big bitch here?”
Emily unclenched her jaw. “The bitch is you’re turning family clinics into abortion clinics. Sperm banks! My God, Ian, here I am pleading with you for a baby and what are you going to do, you’re going to terminate pregnancies. I want a baby so bad I can…You said we would have a family. I need to get pregnant before I’m too old. You yourself said it’s not good to have a baby late in life.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Emily, but didn’t you on more than one occasion tell me and anyone else who would listen that you were in favor of a woman’s right to choose? True, you always said it wouldn’t be your own choice, for yourself, but you committed. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what choice is all about? I would never choose that for myself, but I don’t have the right to make that decision for someone else. Don’t put me on the defensive, Ian. You did something we agreed not to do early on. We said we would discuss everything, that we were a team and a team worked together. I guess what you’re saying is we aren’t a team anymore in more ways than the business. Now that you have your own bedroom, you’ve put me out. You’ve actually pensioned me off. How much do I get a month, Ian?”
“Is that what this is all about? You want a check?”
“Among other things. I’ve never taken a salary, but I’m on the books. I should get something. I want to see it in writing, Ian.”
“How much do you want, Emily?”
“Two thousand dollars a month.”
“Fine. I’ll set it up. All you had to do was say that’s what you wanted. You realize the money is going to come from the clinics, don’t you?”
“What?” Suddenly she felt stupid and wished she could hide under the table. She’d never seen such a pitying look on Ian’s face. Hold her ground now or make another stupid mistake like she’d made when she waived her rights to the family clinics. Tears of frustration burned her eyes. Three down. Suddenly all her expectations evaporated and she could feel her shoulders slump. “Why don’t we just get a divorce and be done with it?”
“Is that what you want, Emily? On what grounds?”
God, no, it wasn’t what she wanted. “Grounds?”
“Yes, grounds. Yes, if you file for a divorce, what grounds will you sue for? Are you going to say I’ve been good to you? That I’m trying to make life easier for you? Are you going to say I’m being generous and kind, I just gave you a magnificent house for a Christmas present? What are you going to charge me with? Oh, I get it, the separate bedroom thing. Well, when a judge hears that I’m on call twenty-four hours a day and need my sleep, what do you think he’s going to say? You never think, Emily. I’ll tell you what I think right now. I don’t think we need to get a divorce. Yet. I think we should live under the same roof. You lead your life and I’ll lead mine. In a year, if you want a divorce, I’ll agree.”
Emily’s head reeled. She gulped at the wine. “That means we won’t have a baby.”
“Exactly. If you think I’m going to bring a baby into this world with your attitude, you have another thought coming. You expect me to have passion for you? Forget it, Emily. You know, I have here in my pocket two airline tickets to the Cayman Islands. See,” he said, placing the tickets in the middle of the table. Another folder was added. “This is a first-class hotel, ocean view. It was another surprise. I thought we’d leave Christmas morning. I know how much you like Christmas Eve so I thought we’d celebrate then, and leave in the morning. I even hired a limo to pick us up. It was my way of making up for that other botched up trip we couldn’t make. See this,” Ian said, lifting the flap of the ticket that had her name on it, “now watch me carefully, Emily.” He ripped the ticket in two and placed it on her bread plate. “Merry Christmas, Emily.” A moment later he was gone.
The waiter appeared at her elbow. “Will Dr. Thorn be returning or did he have an emergency? Will you want to take his lunch home or shall I cancel it?”
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��Cancel it, and yes, he had an emergency.” She would have left herself, but she knew her legs wouldn’t hold her up. She opted to stay and eat the lunch she knew would stick in her throat. She’d stay till most of the patrons were gone so she wouldn’t look like the fool she knew she was.
Emily didn’t cry until she got home. When she’d finished, she walked up the long staircase to Ian’s room. His suitcase was gone and so were a lot of his clothes and toilet articles. Obviously he wasn’t coming back home till after his vacation. She pulled back the spread on the bed and buried her face in her husband’s pillow. She wished she could fall asleep and not wake up until she was old and gray, when things like this would no longer bother her.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Emily took stock of the refrigerator and pantry. She needed groceries if she was to get through the next week or until Ian returned from his vacation. She made out a list, ordering the best of everything. She called the Plainfield Market and told them to deliver everything by six o’clock and to charge it to the Terrill Road Clinic.
Emily stared for hours at the bare Christmas tree. Decorate it or not decorate it? At eight o’clock, after all the groceries were put away and she’d eaten a sandwich and showered, she dragged the tree through the living room and out to the foyer. She opened the door and gave the fir a mighty shove. It slid down the brick steps, the heavy, metal stand clunking and probably chipping the bricks. As if she cared. There were pine needles everywhere. She didn’t care about that either.
She made a fire, turned on the television set, uncorked a bottle of wine, rummaged for a pack of Ian’s cigarettes, and settled herself for the night. She drank herself into a stupor and repeated the process every day until January 2. A new year.
Dear Emily Page 7