The Coach House

by Florence Osmund

  “So who was that you were talking to?” she asked him.

  “Uh…Paul. His name’s Paul.”

  “Paul what?”

  Richard gave her an embittered look. “Ricca. Why?”

  “Just curious. He looks familiar, that’s all. Where does he live?”

  “I don’t know, Marie. Why all the questions?”

  “No reason.”

  The next day as Marie was getting clothes ready for the dry cleaners, she found Mr. Ricca’s business card in the pocket of Richard’s suit coat. It bore a River Forest address, and then it occurred to her where she had seen him before. It had been at the movies during the news clip. He had just been released from Leavenworth prison, and the newsreel showed him dressed to the nines coming out of the Winslow House in River Forest. She remembered thinking at the time he didn’t look like the “thug” type.

  She placed the card on Richard’s desk, then picked it up and looked at it closer. The phone number looked familiar. For a reason unknown to Marie herself, she had held onto the scrap of paper containing the phone number that Richard had dropped in their Hawaiian hotel room a year earlier. She retrieved it from the bottom of her jewelry box. The numbers matched. So even on our honeymoon, he was working…or something. She shook her head in disbelief. What was he doing with an ex-con? She wished she had paid closer attention to the reason he was in prison.

  Once again, Marie tried to put Richard’s actions out of her mind, but three weeks after the Ricca incident, as they were relaxing in their living room watching Kraft Theater on television, the phone rang. Richard jumped up to answer it.

  “You’re kidding,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone. “How?” Richard lowered his voice to a level where Marie couldn’t discern what he was saying, only a few words here and there. “…for me,” he whispered. “I can do…” “Hollywood. More…us.” “She won’t be…” His last words were unmistakable. “Fuck his stupid rules.”

  “More Fiefield project business, dear?”

  “Yeah. I’ve told them not to call me here at night. Just stupid.”

  She had intended for her question to be sarcastic, but he apparently didn’t catch on.

  * * *

  “Please come in, Marie.” Marshall Field’s Board Member Leonard Bakersfield was a tall man, even sitting down. He had that I’m-in-charge look about him, the one that made people listen and not question. He twisted a pencil in his long bony fingers as he spoke.

  “As you know, Catherine is quite ill.”

  Marie nodded. No one had to tell her that. She had been watching Catherine’s health slowly deteriorate before her eyes.

  “I met with her and her husband yesterday at their home, and we decided it was best for her to not come back to work. She needs treatments every other day now, and her doctors feel it’s time for her to be in confinement, which means living at the hospital…in the iron lung ward.”

  Marie heaved an audible sigh. “I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  “I agree. Catherine has been the cornerstone of this store for almost twenty years. We’re going to miss her.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to do in order to fill the gap, Mr. Bakersfield.”

  “That’s why I called you in here today, Marie. Catherine speaks very highly of you, and we agree you are the best person to replace her. It would mean a promotion and a generous raise.”

  Marie’s eyes grew wide. “My first reaction is to say thank you so much for having that level of confidence in me. I’ve been backing her up for the past several months, so I think I can handle just about everything she does. But I have to tell you, I would feel almost guilty taking her position.”

  “You shouldn’t. She has recommended you for it in the highest regard.”

  They talked about the specifics of the position, after which Marie accepted the offer.

  “Catherine knows we’re having this conversation. I suggest you call her and discuss it further with her. Come up with a game plan. She’s well enough to help you with that. Then let’s you and I discuss it next week. How does that sound?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He got up and extended his hand. “Congratulations. I look forward to working with you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bakersfield. Same here.”

  Marie made the emotional call to Catherine. They agreed to meet the following Thursday to discuss a transition plan.

  On her drive home that evening, Marie thought about Catherine, or anyone for that matter, having to live in an iron lung. What kind of quality of life could that be? Her thoughts drifted to how her own life was about to change, at least at work. She wondered how the store employees would feel about her taking over. She felt she had their respect, but, after all, she was younger than almost everyone else in the store’s employ.

  Richard was on the phone when Marie got home. True to form, he lowered his voice when he heard her come in.

  “Hi, sweetheart. Ready to go to dinner?”

  They drove the short distance to Eduardo’s. Marie decided to wait until they sat down to dinner to tell him about Catherine and her talk with Mr. Bakersfield.

  He parked the car a block away, and they held hands as they walked the short distance to the restaurant, laughing and talking. Then without warning, Richard let go of her hand. The smile flew off his face as he literally bolted into the street toward a moving car. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” he shouted at her as the car bucked to a stop. When the back door of the car opened, Marie saw a round-faced man sitting in the back seat with a cigar tightly held between his teeth. She stared in awe as the car sped away with Richard in it.

  She entered the restaurant shaking her head, and ten minutes later, when Richard had still not shown up, she asked the maitre d’ to seat her.

  Twenty minutes later, Richard waltzed into the restaurant like nothing had happened. When Marie questioned him about his bizarre behavior, he brushed it off. “Just someone I know and haven’t seen in a while.”

  “And so you jumped into his car and sped off?”

  “So?”

  “I think if I saw someone I knew drive by, I might wave.”

  “I’m not you.”

  She lowered her voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Richard looked down at the menu. “Pretty simple sentence.”

  Marie hated Richard’s sarcastic side. Not wanting to incite an awkward discussion in a public place and ruin a perfectly good dinner, she dropped it and changed the subject.

  “I met with Mr. Bakersfield today. Catherine’s not coming back to work. Her doctors have told her she needs to move into the iron lung ward permanently.”

  “Hmm. What did you say?”

  “I said Catherine’s doctors told her she needs to move into the iron lung ward permanently.”

  “Mmm. That’s not good.”

  “I know. I can’t even imagine how that would be. Anyway, Mr. Bakersfield offered me her job…a promotion and a nice raise.”

  “And?”

  “And I accepted it.”

  “That’s nice, sweetheart.” His voice was flat. “You didn’t want to discuss it first?” he asked, not looking up from his menu.

  Marie glared at her husband’s bowed head, ignoring the question. “Catherine is going to come in on Thursday, and we’re going to create a transition plan.”

  “Hmm,” he said, continuing to read the menu.

  “Where are you, Richard?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Richard.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a million miles away.”

  “Sorry. Just business stuff on my mind.”

  They rode home in silence. “Nightcap?” he asked when they got home.

  He poured their drinks. “Marie, how do you know Bakersfield isn’t just using you until he finds someone more capable of filling Catherine’s shoes?”

  She winced at his words. “Meaning I’m not capable?”
/>
  “Sorry. Poor choice of words. Someone more experienced.”

  Same difference. She wasn’t going to let his vindictiveness get to her. She counted to five before answering. “Because I trust him.”

  “What? You haven’t known him long enough to trust him.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, almost afraid of his response.

  “You can’t trust someone until you know them well enough to remove any suspicions.”

  “I was taught the other way around. Trust people until they give you reason not to.”

  “That’s naive and careless, Marie.” He turned on the radio.

  Anything you can do

  I can do better.

  I can do anything

  Better than you.

  No, you can’t.

  Yes, I can. No, you can’t.

  Yes, I can. No, you can’t.

  Yes, I can,

  Yes, I can!

  “I wouldn’t mind going to see this musical,” Richard offered.

  “It’s in New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “It might be hard for me to get away right now.”

  “So your new job is going to interfere with our time together.” She didn’t like his tone.

  Anything you can be

  I can be greater.

  Sooner or later,

  I’m greater than you.

  No, you’re not. Yes, I am.

  No, you’re not. Yes, I am.

  No, you’re NOT! Yes, I am.

  Yes, I am!

  “Richard, I have never complained about your work, or your secret phone calls at all hours of the day and night, or even your jumping in and out of cars in the middle of the street with no explanation.”

  “Do you have a problem with what I do? Because I know you don’t have a problem spending my money.”

  He had never commented on her spending habits before, which paled in comparison to his. She tried to remain calm. “I just said I’ve never complained, and I’m not complaining now. I’m only pointing out that it should work both ways.”

  He got up and headed toward the stairs, “Well, it doesn’t.” He left Marie to listen to the rest of the song alone.

  I can live on bread and cheese.

  And only on that?

  Yes.

  So can a rat!

  She turned off the radio and sat in the living room in silence. She had had enough of the song and him for one evening. She curled up on the sofa and read for a while before going to bed. When she did go to bed, Richard was in his office with the door closed. She paused by the door for an instant. Hearing nothing, she went to bed. Lying there, she went over the events of the weekend. The highs and lows were enough to make her head spin.

  At breakfast the next morning, Richard’s mood was indifferent, almost aloof, and definitely inconsistent with what he was about to say. “I made some calls last night, and I think I can arrange for Catherine to have an iron lung in her home at no cost to her.”

  “What? How?”

  “I talked to Andrew. He thinks he can get his hands on one. If he can, it’s hers if she wants it.”

  “That’s wonderful! It would sure beat being in a hospital ward for the rest of her life.” She walked over to where he was sitting and kissed him on his cheek. “Thank you, hon.”

  “Any time.”

  “I have to run.”

  “Hey, don’t say anything yet. To Catherine, that is. It’s not for sure. I’ll know more later today.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “Love you.”

  He shot her a dry sidelong glance. “Love you, too,” he murmured.

  Marie turned on the radio on her way to work and tried not to think too much about Richard’s inconsistent behavior. What was it that Esther had told her before they were married? “Be to his virtues very kind. Be to his faults a little blind.” Obviously there was a point where she couldn’t ignore his faults. But it happened more than once that just when she thought she had reached that point, he would do something virtuous, like arrange for an iron lung for Catherine. That mattered.

  Marie greeted Catherine with a hug. Both women teared up. “I’m so sorry, Catherine. I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Just tell me you’ll do me proud by taking over. That will make me very happy.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “I know I can, hon. Now let’s get to work.”

  The two women worked through the morning developing a transition plan, which involved replacing herself as Buyer in order for her to assume all of Catherine’s duties.

  Marie met Esther for lunch. “The rumor of the day is that Catherine is too sick to work and is going to leave the store,” Esther reported. Marie stared at her. “C’mon, you can tell me. Is it true?”

  “Esther, you’ve got to promise me you won’t say a word. If you do, so help me…”

  “I won’t. I won’t. So it’s true?”

  “Yes, but Mr. Bakersfield wants to be the one to announce it, so you can’t say anything to anyone. Rumors or no rumors. Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die. Ugh. Bad choice of words.” The blood rose up in Esther’s neck. “So will you be taking over?” Marie looked at her but didn’t respond. “I hope you do, Marie, and so does everyone else around here.” She swatted at a straggle of hair dangling in front of her eye. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “No.”

  Esther got up to leave Marie’s office. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Get outta here, Esther,” Marie teased, imitating Catherine.

  Esther laughed. “I knew it was true,” she said saluting her.

  Marie left her office and took the elevator down to the first floor to check out a display Esther said she had struggled with earlier. She was standing there looking at it when a handsome woman dressed in ritzy clothes and too much makeup and jewelry tapped her on the shoulder. She asked Marie where she could find the black and white dress that was on display. Marie knew the dress. “Let me show you.” Marie led the woman to the elevator.

  Once on the third floor, Marie led the woman to the 28 Shop, the most exclusive shop in the store, perhaps in any store. The circular central salon was decorated with pinkish-beige hand-rubbed carved oak walls surrounded by twenty-eight individual dressing rooms, each one decorated in a different motif. It catered only to the wealthy, those with “aristocratic” taste so to speak. Marie asked the receptionist to help the woman. The customer graciously thanked Marie.

  Later that afternoon, when Marie was heading home for the day, the 28 Shop receptionist caught up with her and said, “Do you know who that woman was you brought up to me today?”

  “No, I can’t say that I do.”

  “That was Lucy Guzik. She’s married to Jake Guzik. He’s the biggest mobster in town, used to be right under Capone! She bought a full-length black Persian lamb coat from me today and paid cash for it!” The woman lowered her voice to a whisper. “Then she asked me about you, that she wanted to thank you in some way.” She nervously looked around. “Well, I pretended I didn’t know your name. I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “All I did was show her where your department was. Guzik, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what nationality that is?”

  “It sounds Russian, but I’m not sure.” She lowered her voice even more. “They could be Communists.” She spat out the last word like it was poison.

  Marie proceeded to leave work and tried not to make too much of the incident, but the more she thought about it, the more she worried about why the woman would ask for her name. Thanking her the way she did had certainly been adequate. She didn’t know much about Communists, only what she had been taught in school and what she read in the occasional newspaper article. She knew the word derived from the word ‘common,’referring to property and resources being collectively owned by masses of people as opposed to individual citizens, a concept diametrically opposite of
American capitalism. Everyone shared in the benefits, and while it didn’t seem fair to some, it meant no one went without. If the Guziks were indeed Communists, she wondered how they survived in this country.

  When she stepped out of the building, a long black Cadillac pulled up and illegally parked at the curb. The tinted rear window slowly rolled down, and the face of the flashy woman who asked for directions earlier emerged. She motioned Marie to the car. “I just wanted to thank you for being so helpful to me in the store earlier this afternoon, Marie. Can we give you a lift home?”

  How does she know my name? “I’m glad I was able to help you.” Marie’s heart rate increased. “Thanks for the offer, but I have my own car.”

  “Oh, by the way, this is my husband, Jake,” Lucy said as she rolled down the window the rest of the way. Marie stooped down to look inside the car. The bulky square faced man beside Lucy gave Marie a weak slimy smile.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jake.” A chill made its way down her spine as she quickly but graciously bade the Guziks good night.

  The more she thought about it, the more troubled Marie became with the whole Guzik incident. What happened in the store seemed normal enough—a customer asked for help, and she helped her. But that should have been the end of the story. Lucy went out of her way to find out Marie’s name. That was strange enough. But then to wait for her outside of the store and introduce her to her husband seemed suspect, like there was a purpose for it. But what?

  Richard was already starting to prepare dinner when Marie arrived home. She put on an apron and jumped in to help. She told him about her meeting with Catherine.

  “How is she?”

  “She seemed like her old self at first, but after a few hours, I could tell she was having difficulty breathing, and she told me she had had a treatment yesterday afternoon.”

  “If the doctors are telling her continuous treatments, it’s bad. By the way, I can get the iron lung for her home.”