by Joy Fielding
"You go," Jill told her. "I’ll wait for Laurie."
"You don't mind waiting alone?" Beth asked her.
"How long can it take to wash seventy-five pounds?"
"Anorexia nervosa," Ricki intoned ominously. "Goodbye, Jill." She extended her hand. "It's been lots of fun. Hope to see you here again."
"Next Wednesday," Jill told her.
"I'll be here," answered the round little woman, bidding a similar farewell to Beth.
"She must be dynamite in bed," Jill whispered under her breath, thinking that it usually took more than a sense of humor to attract three husbands, not to mention thirty million dollars and a twelve-inch cock. She thought immediately of Elaine. What was she doing with a man like Ron Santini? More to the point, what was he doing with a woman like Elaine?
“Jill? Hello, Jill, are you there?" Beth was asking.
“0h, sorry, Beth. I guess I wasn't. You're leaving."
"Yeah, I really should. You'll be at Don Eliot's on Saturday night?" “
Jill looked pleasantly surprised. ''Yes. You too?"
Beth nodded. ''We'll be there."
"Oh, good. See you then." Beth turned and headed toward the door. "And one," Jill called after her, her voice a dead ringer for Rita Carrington's. "And two. And one—"
Chapter 8
Don Eliot's home was big and old and in as much a state of shambles as one might expect from a place that housed two adults, five children under the age of ten, and three cats. There were also the required number of gerbils and goldfish although they were too prone to unfortunate accidents and flushings to be ever seriously included in the family census. In short, the house looked exactly like the kind of house one would expect Don Eliot to live in—it rambled; it was messy; it was vaguely intimidating; it was very comfortable. Jill tried to reconcile the two final descriptions. How could a house that was intimidating be comfortable? She wondered, yet concluded that those were exactly the right words to use. Don Eliot was exactly the same way.
His wife was only comfortable. There were no airs, no pretenses about her. She was, plainly and simply, a woman with five children and no live-in help. A cleaning lady came twice a week, but both she and her husband had been unhappy with the notion of strangers sharing their house. And so, Adeline Eliot had done it all herself. ("What I really hate," she had confided to Jill, “is these single women who meet you at parties and ask you what you do, and when you tell them you're a mother, they stare and say, 'Yes, but what do you do?'')
“I hope you don't mind, the children are all up” Adeline greeted them at the door. “They wanted to meet you before they went to bed”
"Sounds great” David said enthusiastically, kissing Adeline on the side of the cheek. "Where are they?"
"Upstairs, for the moment—count your blessings," Don Eliot's wife responded, her warm smile etching deep creases at the sides of her mouth. The combination of the lines and the many streaks of gray running through her otherwise dark hair, which she wore pulled back severely into a bun, contributed to the image of a much older woman, although Jill placed her age at somewhere between Beth Weatherby's and her own. "I can't remember whether or not you've been here before," she said to Jill.
"No, I haven't," Jill replied, realizing Elaine obviously had been. "It's lovely."
"Well, it's a mess," Adeline laughed. "But then it always is. I've given up trying to do anything about it. Maybe when all the children are gone—" She ushered them into the large living room where Don Eliot was standing behind a makeshift bar serving drinks. Al and Beth Weatherby, their hands interlocked, sat as close as newlyweds on the tattered print sofa. Everybody rose immediately to say hello.
"Who starred with Richard Burton in The Spy Who Came In from the Cold?” Al asked instantly, releasing his wife's hands to take hold of Jill's, and kissing her on both cheeks.
"Claire Bloom," Jill said, returning his kisses.
"Too easy," Al muttered. "I knew it was too easy. Wait, I have another one. Who was the male lead in them?”
"In what?" asked Don Eliot.
"Them” Jill repeated. ”It was a horror movie. One of the first about the possible results of nuclear testing, and one of my favorites."
"Naturally," Al sighed, playfully. He looked at Jill. "So, who was the male lead?"
Jill smiled. "Was it James Arness?" she asked.
"It was," Al sighed. "One of these days, I'm going to stump you."
"Many have tried," David laughed, squeezing Jill's arm and going over to Don Eliot.
"We intend to try harder—later on," Don Eliot stated with a mischievous twinkle. "What'll it be?" he asked, indicating the drinks.
"Scotch and water," David said.
"White wine?" Jill asked,
"You got it," Don answered.
"It's quiet," David remarked, looking around.
"That's because we have all the kids locked up in a soundproof vault until everybody arrives." There were a few chuckles. "Seriously, they must be watching television. We told them if they kept relatively silent until we finished welcoming everyone, they could come in and do their little Von Trapp number."
"Who else is coming?" Beth asked.
Jill suddenly sneezed.
"Catching cold?" Eliot asked. Jill shook her head.
"Cats bothering you?" David asked, taking his drink from Don's hand,
"I guess so," Jill said, sneezing again. "I have a slight allergy to cats," she explained. Slight? She questioned herself. She'd be lucky if her eyes didn't swell up and close over by the time the evening was finished. If she was really lucky, she might even be able to breathe by the following morning. She pictured the long night ahead.
"I should have told you about the cats," Adeline whispered. "A lot of people have allergies to cats these days. I could take them outside, if you'd like."
"No, it's the hair," Jill explained, seeing one cat curled up on the sofa and another in a chair by the windowsill. The third was undoubtedly warming her seat in the dining room. "It gets in everything."
"Especially in this house," Don Eliot said, handing Jill her drink. 'There you go, Jilly. That'll make you feel better."
“I’ll be fine," Jill said, sipping the clear white liquid. “It's probably just the initial contact." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
Don Eliot looked around the room. "Anybody else?"
Beth shook her head. "I'll have a refill," Al Weatherby said. "You didn't answer my wife's question. Who else is coming?"
"Oh," Don Eliot said, returning to the table where the liquor was all set up, "I invited Nicki Clark." Jill sneezed violently. "You all right?" Don asked her. Jill buried her face in the Kleenex which Beth thrust suddenly under her nose. "She's been helping me the last few weeks with a case I've been working on. I thought it would be nice to include her. She lives alone, you know. Her father lives in New Hampshire with his wife, who apparently is only a few years older than Nicki. Her mother died of cancer some years back. Kind of sad. She's a real nice kid, but I don't think she has a whole lot of friends."
I wonder why, Jill thought, glancing over at David. He was looking at her as if to explain he was as surprised as she was.
"I'm sure she's given up on the whole thing," he said a few minutes later, walking over to Jill and whispering from behind his drink.
"Oh?" Jill questioned, trying hard not to sneeze again.
"I haven't seen her all week. I think she's been avoiding me. Probably embarrassed."
"Maybe," Jill said. "Don't worry about it. I'm not."
David smiled. "Good girl."
"So, is Nicki coming alone?" Al Weatherby asked in a temporary lull in the conversation.
"No. She phoned Adeline and asked if she could bring a date."
Jill watched David's face. He smiled at her, as if to say, there, you see? Well, maybe he was right. Maybe the game was over. She sneezed again, her eyes beginning to itch.
The doorbell rang again and suddenly everything began happenin
g at once. The third cat appeared and began running through everybody's legs; the five Eliot children exploded into the room, chasing the cats, grabbing at the fresh vegetables and dip Adeline had prepared (God only knew when), playing hide-and-seek behind the liquor table and screaming loudly at no one in particular. ''Home sweet home," Don Eliot mused, reentering the room with Nicole Clark and a young man who looked enough like her to be her brother. "Nicki," Don said, his right arm sweeping across the room as if to bring everyone closer together, “I think you've probably met everyone—at least, the gentlemen. Do you know Al's wife, Beth?"
“I think we've said hello," Beth said graciously. "At the picnic."
"Oh, yes," Nicole said in her deep voice. "Of course."
"And David's wife, Jill?" Don continued.
"We've met," Jill said.
"Nice to see you again," Nicole said, as if she meant it.
"And, of course, my wife you met at the door," Don concluded. Nicole nodded. "And this is Nicki's friend, Chris Bates, right?"
"Very good," the young man smiled, confidently.
"Chris is one of the new lawyers at Benson, McAllister.”
Everyone agreed it was nice to meet him. Jill sneezed.
"Do you have a cold?" Chris asked over the general shrieking of the children.
"A slight allergy," Jill said quietly.
"To cats or children?" Nicole asked. Everybody laughed, including David.
"Cats," Jill answered.
"I always thought allergies were psychosomatic," Nicole said cheerfully, before turning her attention back to her date.
"Okay, kids, line up," Don Eliot ordered the children.
It took several minutes but then there they all stood, arranged according to height, before their captive audience. “We'll do this as fast as we can," Don said, starting at the tallest head. "Jamie, Kathy, Rodney, Jeremy, Robin," he said, tapping each head in turn. "Are you going to sing or dance or what?" he asked.
"Or what!" the oldest, Jamie, yelled out, and everyone went wild.
It took almost ten minutes before calm was restored and the children were herded upstairs. "We have a surprise for you," Don said, leading his guests toward the dining room. "It's a game we made up in honor of Jilly. She's our movie buff, I’ll explain it at the table."
"Oh, good," said Nicole Clark, looking directly at Jill. "I love games."
The guests sat at the long, heavy oak table and eyed each other warily over their steaming bowls of mock turtle soup. "This is delicious," Jill said, breaking the silence. Was everyone as nervous as she was? And why was she so nervous? It was just a game, a harmless little parlor game. It didn't matter who won or lost. Jill looked across the table at her husband, who was sandwiched between Beth Weatherby on one side and Nicole Clark on the other. What was making her more nervous—the silly game or her husband's proximity to the woman everyone at the table, except herself, casually, even affectionately, referred to as Nicki? Jill looked over at Nicole's perfect profile. The girl was quietly engaged in a conversation with her host, and except for a smile in David's direction when he'd passed her the bread basket, she had largely ignored the fact that he was seated beside her. Jill tried to reach her husband's feet with her own but the distance between them was too wide. Instead, she collided with one of the table legs. She winced, realizing with some relief that her nose felt less stuffy in this room. We never allow the cats in the dining room, Adeline had told her as they'd crossed the wide center hall.
"Jill?"
Jill's eyes suddenly focused on her husband's. He had been saying something to her. She hadn't heard a word.
"I'm sorry," Jill apologized, realizing everyone was watching her.
"Trying to figure out how to get your line in?" Don Eliot asked gleefully.
"I guess I was," Jill lied, thinking quickly of the game they were supposed to be playing and the line she had been assigned to deliver. "Adeline asked if you'd like the recipe,” David told her, in a suitably subtle admonishment.
"For the soup," Adeline added.
"I'd love it," Jill said enthusiastically. "If it's not too hard—"
"Hard? Are you kidding? Do I have time to make hard?”
"I don't know how you have time to do anything," Beth said, echoing Jill's feelings.
"It's all a fake," Adeline continued proudly. "You just mix Campbell's tomato soup with Campbell's green pea soup, add a little milk and a lot of sherry, and presto, mock turtle soup."
"I'll have to try it," Jill promised.
"I'm hopeless in the kitchen," Nicole Clark interjected. "When I get home, I'm usually so tired, I just call in for a pizza or something."
"She calls in for pizza, and look at her," Beth said innocently. "Jill and I would have to go to exercise class every day for a month before just calling in for a pizza!"
Nicole Clark smiled sweetly at Jill. "Oh," she said, "I think you're exaggerating."
"Has your wife been complaining all week too, David?" Al Weatherby asked. "This hurts, that hurts. Don't touch me here. Don't touch me there.” He laughed.
"I've heard the odd complaint," David confessed.
"They go to one exercise class," Al continued. "You'd think they'd been to the wars."
“What exercise class do you go to?” Nicole asked.
"Rita Carrington's," Beth explained. "Over on Warden Street. We joined last week. A humbling experience, wouldn't you agree, Jill?"
Jill nodded, trying to smile.
“I've never been to an exercise class," Nicole said. "I guess I should, though, before my body starts to fall apart.”
Jill finished off the last of her mock turtle soup quickly before the urge to hurl it across the table completely overwhelmed her.
"Exercise takes a lot of self-discipline," Chris Bates began. "A lot of self-control. I'm not big on control."
Jill's eyes shot directly to his. ''Ordinary People “she spat out suddenly. "The psychiatrist, Berger, I think."
"Right you are!" Don Eliot applauded. Everyone else looked vaguely startled.
Chris Bates lowered his head and laughed. "I rushed things," he said. "I shouldn't have been in such a hurry to get the line out."
"It was the perfect time," Adeline said, disagreeing. "But you're up against the master."
"One for Jilly," Don Eliot said and everyone smiled.
The next course was less successful than the first, the salad too wet and lifeless, the roast beef too tough, and the potatoes too bland. For a few minutes, Jill felt as if she were back at her parents' home. It was the kind of meal she had grown up on. She was starting to relax more with the game, however, having decided she couldn't be any clumsier than anyone else. The game consisted of simply being able to identify lines from famous movies. Each person at the table (with the exception of Don and his wife, who had devised the game and therefore knew all the answers) had been assigned a line of dialogue, and it was everyone's responsibility to inject this line into the conversation without detection. It was up to everyone else to do the detecting.
So far, Jill was batting two out of three, having successfully identified Chris's earlier attempt from Ordinary People and Beth's subsequent exclamation of "Oh, we're fertile, all right," which Jill recognized instantly as a line from Rosemary's Baby. Nicole Clark had guessed the third, Al Weatherby's vain attempt to disguise Faye Dunaway's line from Bonnie and Clyde “We rob banks") in the middle of a long anecdote which Jill had been waiting for him to complete before unmasking him. Nicole, however, chose not to wait. She jumped right in.
The dessert was a soufflé which had fallen somewhere between its removal from the oven and its presentation at the table. It was served without apology and tasted as good as Jill imagined it would have anyway. She finished it all and asked for seconds, realizing that the rest of them had to get their lines in before coffee was concluded.
''How's the Rickerd divorce coming?" Al Weatherby asked David.
“Messy. The stuff of front pages."
'I just
want to know who's going to get that gorgeous house," Beth said.
"I've seen it," Nicole Clark stated quickly. “I was at a party there a few years ago. It's just beautiful. All wood paneling, lots of lovely ceilings, some of them twelve feet high. You don't see that anymore."
"Especially not in an apartment," David agreed.
"That's for sure," Chris Bates said, and there followed a long discussion on the housing situation in Chicago.
"How's your sister?" Beth asked David as coffee was being served.
"She's fine," he said, then hesitated. "Well, actually, she's been a little bit depressed lately." Jill tried to figure out what he was talking about. She hadn't heard anything about Renee's being depressed. "A friend of hers committed suicide." He looked directly at Jill. "Julie Hubbard," he said. Jill gasped.
"My God," she said. "When?"
"A few days ago. The family covered it up. I don't know." He paused dramatically, shaking his head. "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?"
"Love Story!" Nicole Clark shrieked. "The opening line from Love Story!"
"You got me," David confessed, laughing.
"Well done, Nicki," Don Eliot bellowed. "Very good. You're tied up with Jilly now. Two each." He turned toward Jill. "Jill, are you all right?"
Jill felt the color gradually returning to her face. "Julie Hubbard," she repeated slowly, "she's—"
"Alive and well and still living in the West End," David said, his eyes sparkling. "Fooled you. Fooled the champ!"
"Yes, you did," she admitted. "Not exactly fair though. You really had me going. I went to school with the girl," Jill explained to the others.
"I thought she was only twenty-five," Nicole smiled.
Jill looked over at Nicole. "I guess I was too stunned to consider logistics," she said, thinking of how convincing a liar her husband could be.
"Well, you didn't fool Nicole," Al Weatherby chuckled, reaching across the table and patting Nicole's hand. "Good for you," he said.
That left only Nicole and herself, Jill realized. How appropriate. They would face each other like the gunfighters in High Noon, shooting their lines, like bullets, straight at each other's hearts. Jill looked around the table, feeling suddenly that it was very important she win this showdown, feeling the symbolism inherent in the situation was too heavy not to be weighed in her favor. She had to win. She had to prove to Nicole that she was still on top of things, even if it wasn't exactly clear what those things were. Neither she nor Nicole had delivered her line. Time was running out. Still, she couldn't rush. What she said had to sound endemic to the conversation. If only someone would provide her with a proper cue.