NINE
The sound of his door buzzer jerked him around like an alarm clock might. Bart was just about to begin shaving. He had soaked his face in hot water and reached for the shaving cream. Normally, he wouldn’t shave until early evening or late afternoon before getting ready to go out, but he wanted to be as handsome and desirable as possible right from the start.
He had laid out his white shorts with the wide white belt, a pair of blue boat shoes and his light blue short-sleeve shirt and matching light blue boat jacket. He had his captain’s cap and his Grand Seiko watch with the sky-blue leather band. Beside it was a sky-blue topaz pinky ring that matched. It had been a while since he had taken so much time and given so much thought to what he would wear to the lake. Most of the time he threw on some old jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt. He certainly didn’t care about jewelry.
The buzzer sounded again.
‘Just a minute,’ he called. He was in his underwear and wrapped a bath towel around himself. He suspected it might be Thelma Stein, the building owner’s wife.
His apartment was the top of a red brick-faced duplex built a little over a mile east of Monticello. Most of his friends thought it looked too much like a school. The Steins lived in the bottom apartment. Philip was sixty-six and Thelma was sixty-two. They had been buying their cars from Stonefield ever since Bart’s father began the dealerships. They had two sons, both of whom had married and lived in Boston and Chicago. Mrs Stein missed her boys, who were both older than Bart, and he began to feel like a surrogate son. She was always bringing him something she had made for dinner or half a pie or cake. Recently, they had sold their dry-cleaning business and told him that they would be spending their winters in Boca Raton, Florida, but they had hired someone to look after the property.
What attracted him to the apartment was that it had its own stairway entrance. His floors were covered in thick Berber carpet so he didn’t worry about being too noisy above the Steins, not that he had done much partying since he began renting. The truth was he rarely had anyone over. As he had told Victoria, most of the male friends he had in high school had moved on, and of those who remained, only two he cared to be with were unmarried, but both had steady girlfriends now. He wasn’t comfortable socializing with them without a date for himself and he hated being fixed up.
‘I’m going to go crazy,’ his mother declared as soon as he opened the door.
He didn’t step back, but she charged in and stood at the center of the small living room. He knew that Florence Stonefield, which was often how he referred to her when talking about his mother, normally never left her house without putting herself together as perfectly as a storefront mannequin. Her teased brassy light brown hair had rebellious strands on the side and the top, and she wore no makeup, not even lipstick. She was wearing the sort of baggy jeans she would wear when she had decided it was a morning to tinker in her flower beds, and she had thrown on a light pink cotton cardigan over her white blouse. She wore a pair of tennis sneakers without socks, which was also something she never did.
Florence Stonefield still had a lot to recommend her beauty at forty-nine. The truth was she really didn’t need much makeup. She had nearly perfect facial features, with soft full lips and high cheekbones. Her green-blue eyes had an exquisite almond shape that gave her just a touch of the exotic. Unlike many women her age and even somewhat younger, she was nearly fanatical about keeping her figure. Her breasts weren’t too large or too small, and her hips absolutely refused to widen or thicken, even after childbirth.
The other quality that drew the envy of most of the women in the township, if not the entire county, was how photogenic she could be. It was impossible to take a candid shot of her and catch her looking awkward or unattractive. In all the local magazine pictures and the ads they occasionally did for the dealerships, she looked as if she had just stepped off the cover of Vogue.
Bart’s first thought was that she had discovered his father’s affair with Shirley Barbara or else he had decided to confess since Bart had brought Victoria Myers to the store and caught him. Oddly, the thing that depressed him as soon as he thought this was not that his parents might divorce and they would now be the subject of endless gossip, but that all this was happening on the morning he was preparing to take Victoria to the lake. It was going to spoil his day, upset him, and he would be unable to hide that from her. If there was one thing he was determined not to bring with him now or whenever he saw her, it was depression, negativity or unhappiness. That could easily revive her own, as it almost had the night before, and that could lead to places he did not want to go, not now, not ever.
‘What is it, Mom?’ he asked, closing the door.
She shook her head and backed up to sit on the Henredon sofa, lowering herself as slowly as she would lower herself into a hot bath. He knew what she thought of his pad. He had bought all his furniture in one afternoon and without her advice or assistance, which was something she wasn’t going to let him forget. However, in his mind the apartment was more of a stopover between his parents’ home and eventually his own house. That temporary feel reduced the importance of anything he bought, including the dining table with pearl-white veneers and its chairs upholstered in tan linen seat fabric. She thought it belonged in a summer bungalow and even went so far as to say the food served on it would taste like plastic. He wasn’t much of a cook, so he told her she had nothing to fear.
He held his breath as the seconds ticked by.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, nodding as though she was convinced those were the right words with which to begin. She looked down at the floor. ‘And I have to hear about it from Cissy Levine of all people! She’s like a bad news parasite who suckles off the tit of unhappiness. What’s that German word? It’s perfect for her? Schadenfreude,’ she said, remembering. She looked up. ‘Addie Lockheart, who’s probably read the entire fiction collection in the public library, recently explained it to me.’
She waited for his response.
‘What are you talking about, Mom?’
‘Cissy was at Dante’s last night,’ she replied, pressing her lips together as if that had explained everything and was all she was capable of saying about it.
‘So?’
‘So? She couldn’t wait to get on the phone this morning. Lucky I was already up and dressed, but I’m sure she woke your father. I ran right out and drove over here,’ she added when he didn’t speak. He remained silent, which was obviously more irritating. ‘She saw you with Victoria Myers, Bart! You took out Victoria Myers,’ she added, as if he had to be reminded.
He still didn’t answer.
He walked across the room and went into the bathroom.
‘What are you doing?’ she called after him.
‘Shaving,’ he said.
She rose and stood outside the bathroom doorway. He lathered his face.
‘Bart, you took out a girl who is quite a mess and has been for years.’
He started to shave.
‘Are you listening to me?’
He paused, took a breath and turned to her. ‘First, she is not a mess and she hasn’t been a mess for years. She just graduated Columbia University with the highest honors.’ He continued shaving.
‘I don’t care what she’s done in school, Bart. She can’t be normal.’
‘You mean as normal as your friends – like Cissy Levine, someone who lives off the misery of others, or Janice Messenger who no longer speaks to any of her children, or Donna Basel who is suing her dentist for filling the wrong tooth? It’s a wonder you don’t hold your bridge game in the mental ward.’
‘This is different from all that and you know it. You’re an eligible and highly sought-after bachelor now. Other people, whose daughters you might take out and even hope to marry, would question your judgment and certainly wonder what you were thinking, too.’
‘I was thinking that she is a bright, intelligent and very attractive young woman.’ He continued shaving.
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��Where are you going? Are you taking her out again?’
‘Matter of fact, I’m taking her to the lake today. We’re going to have a picnic on the boat.’
‘Well, you’re just as stone-headed as your father. Stonefield’s the right name,’ she said and turned away.
He finished shaving and went into his bedroom to dress. His heart was racing, his temples beginning to pound. It was a cross between anger and disappointment, but when he gave it second thought, he realized he should have anticipated this. He had to stop ignoring who his mother really was, what sort of a person she was and what her priorities were.
She was sitting out there, nervous and upset. How was she going to react to his father’s affair when that got to the ears and claws of someone like Cissy Levine? It worried him. His mother’s physical beauty had nothing to do with her personality, her inner strengths. For as long as he could remember, she was almost another child in the house. She knew very little if anything about their finances. She was only on the surface when it came to their business. She liked to think she had better taste than most when it came to home decorating, but she wouldn’t buy an ash tray without his father’s consent and approval.
He was curious, of course, about her last remark. When he was dressed, he stepped out and asked, ‘Why do you say he’s hard-headed?’
She was sitting on the sofa, looking so lost in her fears.
‘Since I was sure the call woke him, I went back to the bedroom and asked him if he knew you were taking out Victoria Myers. He said no, but he didn’t say another word. I told him he should speak to you about it and he said, “What for?”’
‘So maybe you’re making too much of it, then, Mom.’
‘I know I’m not.’
‘Are you worried more about Florence Stonefield or me?’ he asked sharply.
She tried to widen those almond-shaped eyes, but the best she could do to show outrage was pull back her lips.
‘That’s a cold thing to say, Bart. I rushed out of the house to come over here to see if you knew what you were doing. It was for you. You’re still my son even though you’ve moved into this … this place,’ she said.
‘Well, don’t worry about it. Victoria is a charming young woman. You’ll see so for yourself when I bring her around.’
‘What are you saying? Bring her around? What is your intent here? How long have you been seeing her? How long has this been on your mind?’ She fired her questions at him like an attorney cross-examining an unfriendly witness.
‘Que sera sera,’ he said. ‘Thank you for worrying so much, but don’t,’ he said, reaching for her hand to get her to stand up. He knew the calm tone in his voice was like a knife cutting into her heart, but the anger was rising faster to the surface. ‘I have to get going. I’m taking her shopping for a new bathing suit.’
‘Bathing suit,’ she said.
‘Yes. Any recommendations? I was thinking about that new place in Monticello. You know, where you bought yours last year.’
She pulled her hand away. ‘You know she has been seeing a shrink for years. Everyone knows.’
‘A psychologist. I think people refer to psychiatrists as shrinks,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t see her psychologist regularly anymore – hasn’t for some time now.’
‘How do you know so much about her, Bart? Have you been seeing her secretly while she’s been at college?’
‘Maybe I heard Cissy Levine’s report,’ he said and tried a smile.
His mother sighed. ‘Why do I bother? You have your father’s stubborn ways. You’re two peas in a pod.’
‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘We’re different.’
She didn’t pick up on it. She walked out ahead of him and then turned. ‘She’s damaged goods,’ she said.
‘Well, I’m the manager of the service department,’ he replied. ‘It’s my job to repair things.’
She threw up her hands and pounded her way down the stairs.
He closed the door and returned to the bathroom to look at himself.
I really like her, he thought. She’s become so beautiful. She’s everything I told my mother she was. Yes, he thought, raising his right hand fist to the side of his face. Yes.
Like someone being chased, he rushed out of his apartment, down the stairs and then froze when he turned to his car.
Marvin Hacker was leaning against it, his arms folded, smiling widely.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ Bart asked him as he walked toward his car.
Marvin didn’t move an inch, nor lose his wide, shit-eating grin.
‘That was your mother, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘She’s a fine-lookin’ woman, your mother. I always thought she was quite the piece of ass. She looked pissed off.’
‘What do you want, Marvin?’
‘Playin’ with fire, aren’t ya?’ he asked, straightening up.
‘What I do is none of your business.’
‘Oh, for sure it is,’ Marvin replied. He smiled again. ‘Course, I can’t blame ya. Ya missed yer chance once and want another shot at it.’
‘I think it’s best you keep your mouth shut, Marvin.’
Bart opened his door hard, pushing Marvin back a bit. Marvin seized the top of it and held him from closing it when he got in. Then he leaned in toward him.
‘Make it a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, Stonefield, and no chit-chat in the heat-of-the-moment shit. You wanna confess, go to church,’ he added. He smiled again. ‘When ya done, I’ll get my share one way or another. I’m sure you won’t mind.’
Bart pulled harder on the door and ripped it from Marvin’s grasp. He was trembling, but he kept control of himself and started the engine. He didn’t look at him until he had put the car in reverse and began backing out.
Marvin was smiling widely.
The guy’s very existence felt like a knife slicing through his heart, the heart that was pounding so hard that he could hear his blood thumping through his head.
He’s bluffing, he thought. He’s not that stupid.
He drove on, hoping the thought was comforting enough.
But he wasn’t confident. Even though they had had little contact since that night, Marvin was always there in the shadows with that damn evil smile.
Victoria had taken a two-piece and a one-piece into the dressing room, both turquoises. She favored the two-piece, but she had been wearing a two-piece that night six years ago. However, when she tried on the two-piece, the memories of those great summer tans overwhelmed her memories of Sandburg Lake and the horror that had followed. Even before it was warm enough to go swimming, she would be out behind her house, sprawled on a blanket in her two-piece, reading a book or doing her homework. Sometimes she joined Jena and Mindy and they all sunbathed in late April and May. In the Catskills, you often had to wait until late June before the swimming pools were warm enough. And forget the lakes – even in the middle of the summer, they were easily ten degrees cooler than the average pool.
The three of them would put on their sunglasses, smear on their tanning lotions and listen to rock and roll. Other girls from their class sometimes joined them. It was easier to gossip, talk about boys, plan parties and interrogate each other as to how far they were willing to go. It was as if every fantasy was possible. It was all waiting for them just around the next corner, the next corner being the next summer, the next birthday or the next house party.
It was amazing how the sight of herself wearing a bathing suit again could arouse those hitherto buried and sleeping memories. It gave her hope as well. The choruses of laughter and the playful taunts were resurrected. She was peeling away time as she would peel an orange. It was lifting up the page of a magic notebook, erasing all the words and starting over with a brand-new Once upon a time.
Bart was waiting in the store. He had driven her to Monticello where she was confident almost no one would recognize her. The store he had suggested, La Femme Supreme, was only two years old. He told her his mother had bough
t a bathing suit there last year. An elderly lady with the richest-looking white hair Victoria had ever seen (she thought it actually glowed) and her middle-aged daughter owned and operated the store. How they had originated in St Remy, France, and ended up in the Catskills was probably quite a story, Victoria thought, but at the moment she wasn’t interested in anyone else.
She hesitated, her heart racing, and nimbly stepped out. Bart was sitting in a chair and thumbing through a magazine. He looked up quickly. The look on his face brought a flush of heat into her neck. She felt as if she had stepped out naked, but his expression wasn’t licentious as much as it was the appreciation of something truly beautiful. Instinctively, she had her arms up, her hands resting over her breasts and chest. Slowly, she brought her arms down to her sides.
‘What do you think of this one?’ she asked. She could hear the small trembling in her voice.
‘Beautiful. You look great, Victoria. I love that color on you. It makes your eyes sparkle.’
‘There’s a one-piece in the same color,’ she said.
‘Why bother?’ He put the magazine down and sat back, folding his arms over his chest and nodding.
The owner and her daughter stepped up beside him.
‘Très belle,’ the elderly lady said. She turned to her daughter and added, ‘Il est un homme très chanceux.’
‘What did she say?’ Bart asked Victoria. She shook her head. It was easier to pretend she didn’t understand either.
‘My mother said you are a very lucky man,’ the daughter translated.
‘Oh. Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you leave it on and put your clothes over it,’ he told Victoria. ‘We’re going directly to the lake from here.’
She nodded and stepped back into the dressing room. For a moment she stood there. This was what she had done that night – worn her clothes over her bathing suit. Would every detail of that evening resonate like this whenever it was repeated? How long would she remain emotionally crippled? She rushed to Dr Thornton’s advice. ‘You’ve got to put those memories in a box and lock it, Victoria. I don’t want to diminish what happened to you, but it would help if you began to think of it as happening to someone else, someone you no longer are.’
The Incident Page 12