The Other Woman

by Joy Fielding

  ''Are you all right?" Jill asked, instantly putting her arms around the girl.

  "I don't know what I am," the girl answered, immediately bursting into tears. Jill led her quickly inside the house and closed the door. The hallway looked exactly as it had a scant few months ago. Had she been expecting blood-splattered walls? The name of the victim scribbled and obscene graffiti in his own blood?

  ''Are your brothers here?" Jill asked.

  "Brian's lying down," the girl said softly. "Michael went back to his church."

  "And your mother?" Jill wondered if Lisa had sensed her reluctance in asking the last question.

  "She's in her room. Can we talk for a minute?" Lisa asked.

  "Sure," Jill answered. "That's why I'm here."

  The girl allowed Jill to lead her into the large living room. As it was with the hallway, the room was unchanged. It still spoke of warmth and permanence, even love.

  They walked together like Siamese twins joined at the hip, sharing a common leg, until they reached the sofa. Slowly, carefully, they lowered themselves down, sitting side by side, arms entwined.

  "They say everybody in L.A. is crazy," Lisa began without introduction, sniffing away a tear. "You know, they say that when God created the world, he tilted it onto its side, and all the nuts fell into Los Angeles." She tried to laugh but couldn't. "And it's true, you know. They are nuts. There isn't a sane one in the whole bunch. You can't believe anyone—they lie as easily as they tell the truth. And all they talk about is money and success. Nobody ever reads or talks about anything that's going on in the world. They all drive expensive foreign cars and have houses with swimming pools, but nobody is really happy because they're never really sure after a while what lie they've told to whom. They don't even know what a lie is anymore and what isn't. It's like they're living in the middle of a big Hollywood soundstage and they're afraid that, come nighttime, someone's gonna come along and fold it all up.

  Nobody knows there what's real and what make-believe is." She paused, as if trying to give her thoughts some coherence. "I used to come home to get a sense of balance. Back here, in this house, with my mother and father, I knew there was some sanity left in this world. My parents understood who they were; they accepted each other and the rest of us for ourselves. They never tried to turn us into something different." She shook her head, her mind racing back and forth between her two worlds. "Not like in Hollywood. Everyone's always trying to make you over into somebody else. And everyone's a star, even the ones who've been parking cars for twenty years or waiting on tables. You ask them what they are, they never say I'm a waitress or a parking lot attendant— they're all actors and actresses. They were all up for the lead in In Cold Blood.

  Do you know how many years ago that was? They were looking for unknowns, they must have auditioned every guy between the ages of sixteen and fifty— but that doesn't make any difference. They were still up for the lead, and one day they're gonna be stars. And it happens, you know, it happens just often enough to make everybody else hang on." She wiped at her eyes with both hands. Jill let her continue uninterrupted. "I've been there close to four years now, trying to make it as a singer. My father didn't want me to go. Not that he didn't trust my talent. He just knew that everybody there was crazy." She laughed a touch too loudly. "I'm one of them. One of the crazies who's busy waiting on tables and waiting for my big break. I've been there almost four years now.

  Did I tell you that already?

  And my parents have been extremely supportive of me even though they didn't want me to go. Well, actually, my mother went along with my father when we were all together, but when we were by ourselves, just the two of us, she'd say, “Go, Lisa. Try for it. You'll never know unless you try,” and I guess that gave me the encouragement I needed because my dad was really against it. But after I made up my mind and went down there, he started sending me money every month, and my mom writes me a couple of times a week. We're very close. We always have been. She tells me everything. She was afraid that things wouldn't work out for me, I think, when I left: I could see it in her eyes. She looked kind of scared.

  I guess she was afraid she'd be lonely and she knew how much she'd miss me once I was gone, and she knew how crazy they all are there. But she was never one of those mothers who say, 'Stay home and meet a nice guy. What do you want to go running off to Hollywood for? Find yourself a nice lawyer like I did and settle down!' None of that sort of stuff. She thought I had lots of time for all that. I guess eventually she wanted me to meet someone like my father. Someone kind and good and dependable, who made a lot of money and always looked after his family. You don't meet that kind of guy in L.A. They're too busy looking in the mirror." The girl took a deep intake of air. "They were really happy, you know. They were married for twenty-seven years and, do you know something, I never heard them fight. They never even argued. Mom was so supportive of Dad. If we kids ever did anything or said anything to upset him. Mom would get really mad. She said he worked too hard all day to come home and let us upset him. She really protected him. She loved him so much. He was so funny, you know. Funny and warm. All my dates liked him. That's unusual. Guys are usually uncomfortable around fathers. But my dad never made anyone uncomfortable. Everybody liked him—loved him! Especially my mother." A loud sob escaped her lips. "This is killing her—you know that? She misses him so much. She walks around here like she's in a daze except that her eyes are going like crazy. Like she's talking to herself without using words. We try to talk to her but we don't know what to say! We can't reach her—" She was crying almost uncontrollably now. "Talk about crazy," she whispered. "The police found the murder weapon, you know. Yesterday. One of Dad's hammers. It was stuffed into the central vacuuming system. Still covered with blood."

  Jill felt her arms tighten around the girl. Lisa cried quietly for several more minutes before straightening up again and wiping her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Don't be."

  "I feel like such a big baby."

  "You're not," Jill assured her. "Your whole life has been turned upside down. You're bound to feel you've lost your balance."

  "She seems much more settled today somehow” Lisa continued, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of Jill. "She wouldn't go to the funeral yesterday. She was very adamant. We had hoped that the funeral might finalize things for her. That seeing Dad's coffin being lowered into the ground might—wake her up, I guess, get her to talk about what happened. Tell us who did this awful thing. But she wouldn't go. She just sat on the bed and shook her head."

  "The shock, Lisa, of what she went through, what she saw, the beating—"

  “I know all that." Lisa stopped pacing. ''It just doesn't make it any easier”

  "She doesn't talk at all?"

  Lisa stared directly into Jill's eyes. "She talks," she said softly. "About the weather, how nice it is to have Brian and me home. She asks questions, lots of questions about what we're doing. She listens. She's a great listener. She even gives advice. She listened to Michael for hours about his faith. But she doesn't say a word about my father. And when you mention anything about him, her eyes get that glazed expression and her face goes blank and that's the end of it."

  Jill thought for several seconds, though there was no language to her thoughts, nothing to give them any cohesiveness. "I guess that's the only way she can cope right now."

  "Don Eliot said that she spoke to you at the hospital, and we were hoping that maybe seeing you might, I don't know—"

  "I'll do whatever I can," Jill offered.

  Lisa returned to the sofa, and sat down beside Jill, allowing Jill's arms to surround her, resting her head on the other woman's shoulder. Neither woman heard the entrance of the third who stood watching them in silence from the doorway.

  "Hello, Jill," Beth's voice called softly, pleasantly.

  Jill looked quickly in Beth's direction. The woman she saw was casually dressed in beige slacks and a light cotton shirt. She
wore no makeup to hide her many bruises and her sun-streaked hair was short and swept away from her face. The wounds themselves had healed somewhat, their colors slightly muted, less angry, faded by time. Her right wrist was bandaged. As Beth came toward her, Jill detected a slight limp. Beneath the casual clothes, Beth held her body stiffly.

  The two women embraced. When they pulled apart, Beth was smiling warmly, “I'm so glad to see you," she said. "You look terrific”

  'I look terrible," Jill said automatically. 'My hair frizzes up like steel wool in this humidity”

  "And mine goes straight as a string," Beth laughed. "Bet you always wanted straight hair," she said conspiratorially. Jill nodded. "Sure," Beth agreed. "And I always wanted lots of curls. That's always the way it is. Let's sit down."

  Lisa got quickly out of the way, moving to a chair across the room and letting her mother and Jill occupy the sofa.

  "Hi, sweetheart," Beth said, acknowledging her daughter as they crossed paths.

  "How do you feel?" Lisa asked.

  "I'm fine," Beth said, strongly. "You're the one who doesn't look so hot. Why don't you go upstairs and lie down for a while like your brother?" Jill saw the hesitation in Lisa's eyes. "Go on," her mother urged. "Jill will take good care of me."

  "Go ahead." Jill said. "It'll give your mother and me a chance to talk." That's what you want, isn't it? Her eyes asked the younger woman, who seemed to suddenly comprehend. Lisa stood up.

  "Can I make you some tea or anything?" she offered.

  "Not for me," Beth said with a laugh. "They keep filling me up with tea. I've never peed so much in my life."

  Jill laughed. "Not for me either," she said, feeling somewhat confused, a trifle disoriented. Far from being quiet and withdrawn, Beth Weatherby was relaxed and gregarious, as animated as Jill had seen her in a long time. It was as though she had totally blocked out any knowledge of her husband's death.

  "How's David?" Beth asked after Lisa had left the room and her footsteps could be heard ascending the staircase.

  "He's fine. Very busy."

  "I'm sure," Beth said cryptically. 'The office must be in a terrible state."

  Beth's remark caught Jill by surprise. So, Beth did know; she was aware.

  It was as if Beth could read her thoughts. "I don't want you to think I'm crazy, Jill," she began. "I know how upset everyone is around here. I know I'm the cause. But I'm just not ready to talk about it yet. Can you understand?" Jill couldn't but nodded anyway. "I know what happened that night. I know that Al is dead. And there's a lot that I have to say. But not yet. I have to understand it all first before I can talk about it." She paused. "I'm sorry. I know I'm probably being infuriatingly vague about this whole thing, but I'm just not ready yet to talk about what happened. Please bear with me." Again, Jill nodded. "You talk," Beth continued. "Tell me about how you always wanted straight hair, you silly lady. You're so gorgeous just the way you are.

  Jill laughed out loud. "I thought you didn't want me to think you were crazy," she said, not sure if it was the proper thing to have said. The smile on Beth's face assured her that it was.

  "Why do you always put yourself down?" Beth asked.

  "I don't think I do," Jill answered. "I'm just realistic."

  "What's your idea of a beautiful woman? Go on, I'm curious. Who do you think is gorgeous?"

  Jill thought for several seconds. "Candice Bergen," she said finally. "Farrah Fawcett." She paused. "Nicole Clark," she added haltingly.

  Beth's eyes registered each new name. "Candice Bergen, yes, lovely face, but the body is kind of ordinary; Farrah Fawcett has a lot of hair and thin lips but I guess she's pretty enough; Nicole Clark—yes, I'd have to say that Nicole is a beautiful girl." She chuckled. "But, who knows, Nicole Clark probably spends as many wasted hours in front of her mirror as the rest of us, wishing her hair was this way, not that, or that her nose were longer or thinner, or that her thighs weren't quite so rounded."

  "You saw her thighs," Jill commented. "Did they look too round to you?"

  "No," Beth confessed. "They looked perfect to me." She looked around the room at nothing in particular. "Well, maybe Nicole is one of those rare people who is happy with the way she looks. Maybe everything is exactly the way she wants it." Beth turned to Jill. "She looks like the type of person who gets exactly what she wants, doesn't she?"

  Jill held her breath. "She wants David."

  "What?"

  "I said she wants David."

  "What do you mean, she wants him?"

  "Exactly what you think."

  "Oh, Jill," Beth said, laughing. "What makes you think that?"

  "She told me."

  "What?!"

  "She told me that she wants him, that she intends to marry him, and please don't tell me she must have been joking—she wasn't. She isn't."

  Beth digested the information. "So, that's what was going on at our exercise class that afternoon—"

  "It's been going on all summer. Since the firm picnic. A real war of nerves. Only I'm afraid her nerves are stronger than mine."

  "Does David know?"

  Jill nodded. "He knows. I had to tell him."

  "Why, for heaven's sake?"

  Jill shrugged. "It just happened. If I hadn't, she'd have made sure he found out. Somehow. She always seems to have an alternative course of action ready."

  "And? What was David's reaction?"

  Again, Jill shrugged. "I don't know. At first I thought he was partly annoyed, partly flattered. Now, I think he's mostly flattered. If he’s annoyed with anyone, it's with me. And I don't know what to do about it." Jill stood up, and began pacing in the same way Lisa had done. ''I've never felt so manipulated in my whole life. I feel like a rat in a maze. Only every path I take is the wrong one. And I'm completely powerless. I don't know. Maybe I should have let David say something to her in the beginning. He offered to." She turned to Beth. "Except that I know what she would have said if he'd confronted her. She'd have gone all soft and cried, told him how embarrassed and sorry she was, how she was all alone in Chicago, how much she'd admired him, how he was everything she'd ever wanted, the same speech she gave me when / confronted her. And David would have stood there looking at this poor, sensitive, terribly vulnerable girl who is not only unquestionably beautiful but who also obviously adores him, and I'd still be standing here not knowing what to do. If I make an issue, I look like a jealous, suspicious wife. If I ignore it and hope that she goes away, she'll take two giants steps forward. Either way, the result will be the same."

  "Maybe not," Beth said. "You're forgetting David in all this. He does have something to say about the outcome."

  Jill stood very still and stared down at Beth Weatherby. "I never forget David," she said, fighting back tears. "Why do you think I'm so worried?" She lowered herself down beside Beth and sat helplessly for several minutes feeling the tears as they ran down her cheeks.

  "Oh, Jill—" Beth began, taking Jill's hands in her own.

  "I know the kind of man he is, Beth. I was there once myself, remember. He loves women. Lots of women. I knew that when I married him. Hell, I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him. A man who looks like David just has to snap his fingers and half a dozen women come running. I've seen it. We'll be at a party and he's immediately the center of attention. The women are all over him. They stare at him from across the room. Even can read the smoke signals loud and clear. Do you know that sometimes it's like I'm not even there? They ignore me. It's like I don't exist. And if they do acknowledge my presence it's almost worse, because then they get this shocked expression on their faces, like, my God, what is this gorgeous hunk doing with a woman as plain as she is —”

  "Jill—”

  “No, all right, I’m not plain. I’m not ugly, not even unattractive. I am an attractive woman, a little different, unusual maybe. Certainly nothing that warrants putting a papa” bag over my head. But I am definitely not beautiful. I wouldn't appear on anybody's ten-best list, and I know it. And Davi
d isn't blind. He knows it. And so here I am, this fairly average-looking female married to a very non-average-looking male, and sometimes I feel so— inadequate, I guess is the best way to describe it. I know that all these women are out there eyeing my husband, wanting him, wanting to make love to him, knowing that he knows it too, and I keep wondering, what is this man doing with me? How long can I keep him? How long before he starts getting restless again? And some nights when we get into bed, I'm just so goddamn grateful that he's there beside me. I feel so lucky— "^

  "David's the lucky one, Jill."

  Jill smiled, wiping away the tears. "You sound like my mother.” Beth laughed quietly. “I'm lucky, too," Jill said.

  “Yes, you are,'' Beth agreed "David is a very charming man. I've always liked him."

  “Everybody likes him. That's my problem."

  "Everybody isn't his wife," Beth reminded her. "You are."

  Jill nodded. There's a big difference between being a man's wife and being his mistress," she began, 'and I feel somewhat qualified to speak on the subject, having been both." She looked away, as if searching for just the right words. "The other woman sees only the virtues. She sees the romantic hideaways and the expensive little dinners for two, and she's so thrilled if he can ever stay the whole night that she doesn't even notice that he snores or his feet smell or he takes up the whole bed. Everything about him is exciting—even his faults—because she's never sure when— or if—she's going to be able to see him again. It's all very— dramatic. Very high tragedy." She paused. "When you're the wife, it's more like a comedy, a very black one." She laughed at her own choice of similes. "Suddenly you're aware of all the unpleasant odors and habits and, well, like that chain letter you gave me at the picnic—God, I broke the chain, do you think this is all a direct result?"