‘Lucky you,’ Jena said when Dave left them.
‘He’s all right,’ Victoria said. Jena’s opinions of boys often amused her.
Why was it, she wondered, that girls who had trouble attracting any boy’s interest were the most critical of them? It reminded her of one of her father’s favorite films, Marty, in which these male losers were always denigrating the women who were available. Jena would instantly change her opinion of Dave Stein if he had asked her out, she thought. It was on the tip of her tongue to say so, but she resisted. She resisted anything and everything that would in any way diminish the light of hope and happiness piercing her dark world. Concentrating on college helped her ignore all that she was missing at the moment. Better days were ahead. What she didn’t anticipate was the weight of what she would still carry with her when she left.
Paranoia was a stubborn companion. It refused to leave her side or stop talking. It was especially loud during those first years. Every time a male student approached her, even stopped merely to talk about the class that they were sharing, she would feel herself tighten and step back. No matter how well she tried to disguise it, she was sure that anyone who took a really intense look at her would see that she was someone who was wounded deeply in her sex. It was only a matter of time – minutes actually – before one of them would ask, ‘Did something terrible once happen to you or something?’
What would she do? Say no and rush off? She certainly couldn’t say yes.
Like someone watching a close friend or relative in a coma, she waited for some sign of an awakening. Weren’t there people who suffered the loss of a limb, facial scars, even blindness who had recuperated enough to live normal lives? They could fall in love and have someone fall in love with them, couldn’t they? Dr Thornton often had made such analogies, always qualifying that she appreciated how deeply Victoria’s wound was. ‘However, you can’t give up the hope that you will get past it,’ she told her. ‘I promise. It will happen.’
What else was she supposed to say? You’ll never be the same? You’ll never have a normal relationship?
A few times when she had come home and gone out with Jena, she had a good enough time to think perhaps it would happen. She felt some subtle changes coming over her. For one thing, she was taking more time and more interest in her appearance. She was shopping for more attractive clothes, clothes that complimented her figure. During her senior year in college, she could sense that more men were attracted to her. It was this that gave her the courage to return home after graduation and challenge herself. There was the thought that if she could succeed here, she could succeed anywhere. When she analyzed herself, she concluded that was probably the main reason she had put off a decision about graduate school.
Her mother wasn’t happy about it. ‘In my experience, young people who put off their future end up having none. Education is not so very unlike training for a sport, Victoria. You’ve got momentum now. You start to get rusty when you just loiter.’
‘I’m not loitering. I’m stepping back and being more thoughtful – something you’re always preaching. Haven’t you told me time and time again that impulsive behavior is responsible for most failure?’
Her mother nearly smiled. She actually appreciated the way Victoria could toss her own words back at her now.
‘Well, what about teaching?’ Victoria’s expression prompted an immediate addendum. ‘Not here, necessarily,’ she added quickly. ‘Perhaps even some college or community college. I have some good contacts. You could begin as an adjunct instructor. There are all sorts of possibilities if you wanted to go that route.’
Teaching? Standing up in front of an audience of girls and boys who were my age when all this happened? It was difficult enough to stand in front of a college class and make a report. And what would happen if someone in her class learned about her past? She could easily imagine an innocent ten-year-old girl approaching her after the bell to end class rang and asking, ‘Is it true you were raped, Miss Myers?’
Who was being more unrealistic now? Victoria wondered. She didn’t even respond.
The conversation had put her into a funk. Rather than remain in her room and sulk about it, though, she took walks along the road heading in the opposite direction to the village. One afternoon, she reached the bungalow colony and watched the invaders, as her father jokingly referred to them, going about their daily summer lives. They looked happy, like people who had gotten a reprieve. The women were laughing together, and the children looked excited about swimming or playing the games organized by the young camp counselor. She almost felt like crossing over, stepping into their world and asking, Can I put my real life on hold like you’re doing, too?
She was staring so hard that she didn’t hear someone come up behind her until a voice said, ‘Hello, there.’
She spun around to face a lady whose body looked aged beyond her years because she had somehow clung to a child’s brightness. Her features were diminutive and she had eyes the color of blue hummingbird eggs. She wore a flowery dress and thick-heeled black shoes with stockings nearly up to her knees. Her still thick perhaps premature snow-white hair was tied in a bun, but not severely.
Victoria’s gaze went to her right arm, which, like her left, had a puffy forearm. Under her arm, she held a small pot filled with blueberries. Just visible because of the way her arm was turned were the tattooed numbers that Victoria knew too well meant this lady had survived a Nazi concentration camp, thus explaining the contradictions in her appearance.
‘Are you the owner of the property?’ she asked, indicating where she had picked the berries.
‘Oh no. I think that’s the Baxters’, but they won’t mind. They have many berry bushes.’
The lady widened her smile. ‘Going for a nice walk?’
‘Yes. I live about a half a mile toward the village.’
‘Beautiful. I lived in a village even a little smaller in Hungary. You’re a very pretty young lady. You have a boyfriend?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling.
‘How old are you if I may ask?’
‘Nearly twenty-two.’
She shook her head. ‘What’s wrong with the young men here? I was married four years by your age.’ She patted Victoria on her left arm gently. ‘But you’re probably smarter. Wait for the man who thinks you walk on water,’ she added.
She started to walk away.
‘Can I ask?’ Victoria said. ‘Those numbers on your arm?’
The lady looked at her arm. ‘What numbers?’ she said, smiling. She walked on.
Victoria watched her being greeted by a young girl who could easily be her granddaughter, excited about the berries and what she would do with them. She could probably already taste the pie.
Victoria smiled but also felt a sudden wave of shame. Look what that woman had survived. How many times had she been raped, abused, beaten? How close had she come to death? From where did she get her smile now?
From today, she answered herself.
She walked on, laughing at the elderly lady’s advice. Wait for a man who thinks you walk on water.
And then, a few days later, she had brought her car for service at Stonefield’s. Bart came out to greet her, and it was as if someone had cleaned the blackboard, erased her entire history, and she really could be reborn.
She could smile like the elderly lady, too.
FOURTEEN
Florence Stonefield had barely touched her chicken salad, served in a scooped-out half of papaya. It was her weekly luncheon with her two closest friends at Patsy’s in Monticello, a more upscale restaurant where they could get a decent mimosa. Occasionally, they had a fourth join them if none of the three put up any resistance. It had become something of an understanding among the three, however, that whoever was lucky enough to be included was not to become a regular. It was the exclusivity of their friendship that made becoming one of the Yalta Three – so nicknamed by the three husbands, jokingly comparing them to Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin
– so valuable and desired.
Natalie Newton believed with the fervor of a religious fanatic that you needed only two real friends, friends being differentiated from acquaintances. There was nothing friends couldn’t frankly discuss, and friends always told each other the truth. Friends were as reliable as mothers – good mothers, that is. Sisters were not reliable. There was that nagging sibling envy thing. Real friends bonded, went out with each other, took vacations with each other and were frank about everyone their friends knew. They weren’t envious of each other; they were happy to learn something new, especially when it came to fashion, nails and hair. They never gave each other false compliments. Friends didn’t ingratiate to earn friendship. They paid for it with honesty and sincerity.
‘Good girlfriends, married girlfriends,’ Natalie declared with an air of prophetic certainty, ‘annoy husbands. They are not only jealous of their wives’ relationships, but fearful, if not respectful. No secret should or could be sacrosanct when it comes to real girlfriends. Real friends share misery as well and as quickly as they share pleasure and success.’
And these three had plenty of success to share.
Natalie’s husband Henry was a county judge and had been for close to twenty years now. Her two sons, Theodore and Paul, Theodore a year older, were both accomplished attorneys. Theodore was in Scarsdale, New York, and Paul in Albany, both recently married to girls they had met in college – girls from accomplished families, one girl’s father also an attorney and the other’s father a cardiac surgeon. Theodore’s wife was pregnant with the delivery date only four months away. She’d be the tight group’s first grandchild.
‘But I’ll insist my granddaughter or grandson call me Nana or something and not Grandma,’ she declared, pronouncing Grandma as if the word came along with the taste of sour milk.
Natalie was Florence’s oldest friend. They had attended high school together and then both married local men. They were double-dating as far back as their junior high school year. Both husbands knew they had to win over their wife’s best friend as well as their wife.
Bea Sommers, the youngest of the three, was married to Karl Sommers whose family owned and operated the county’s biggest home heating oil company. They also distributed propane to heat swimming pools and run barbeques. Bea and Karl had two daughters – Sally, now attending Skidmore as a sophomore, and Janice, who was a high school senior. Bea was also the shortest of the three, just five feet four. She was often compared to the actress June Allyson because she was soft-spoken and had those diminutive facial features, as well as the light brown hair.
The three were on all sorts of charity boards, often went shopping in New York City together and, when attending large gatherings, always ended up clinging to each other’s reviews of what was happening around them. They believed with sincerity that they didn’t gossip; they discussed and their comments, about other women especially, were not petty. They were simply more perceptive.
Natalie was elaborating on her opinion of silicone breast implants that had suddenly become the rage. ‘The question every woman considering it has to confront,’ she concluded, ‘is whether she’s doing it to please herself or her husband or boyfriend. I’m tired of all the sacrifices we women make for our men.’
Bea was about to offer an opinion when Natalie practically spun on her seat to face Florence. ‘All right, Flo, enough.’
‘What?’ Florence asked, looking confused. Was she supposed to answer a question or offer an opinion after Natalie’s diatribe?
‘You’re sitting there like a Buddha. What is bothering you today? And don’t tell me it’s nothing or not really important. Don’t even try it.’
‘Natalie,’ Bea said with the tone of a gentle reprimand. Although the three were honest with each other, they were also very protective. Natalie and Bea were quite aware of the rumors about John Stonefield and his bookkeeper, but neither had the heart to bring it up. They had an unwritten agreement not to discuss it until Florence alluded to it.
Florence looked at Natalie and then Bea.
‘You two know about all this, I’m sure. You’re just being kind, too kind. But don’t either of you worry. You won’t tell me anything I didn’t know or express feelings I don’t share about it.’
Bea’s face softened as her gray-blue eyes filled with compassion. Natalie pressed back the sides of her dark brown hair so hard and abruptly that she unhinged her orange-and-white Ronettes-style clip-on right earring. It fell to the table. She plucked it off the stark white table cloth and put it back on without saying a word. Of the three, she was the one who was more intense about looking well put-together. She was nearly five eleven, a good ten pounds overweight now, but still cut a striking figure in her favorite black crepe, beaded chiffon lace-bodice dress.
‘Neither of us takes any pleasure in it, Flo,’ Bea said. ‘I’m sure you know that.’
‘Of course I know that. I was going to tell you myself,’ she said. ‘I was just trying to find the right words, the words that wouldn’t set me screaming.’
‘Neither of us would blame you if you did,’ Bea said.
‘The truth is we’re glad you’re ready to talk about it,’ Natalie added.
‘She’s not stable, you know,’ Florence began. ‘He doesn’t see that, I’m sure. Men unfortunately see with one eye – the eye between their legs.’
Her bitterness forced both her girlfriends to look down for a moment. No one spoke anyway because the waitress, a woman who Natalie was sure was nowhere near the age she appeared to be, was too close. She was surely much younger, but worn and tired living with some miserable bastard. She passed them by, pausing to see if any of them wanted anything. The morgue atmosphere she sensed sent her off without asking.
‘He’s a damn fool,’ Natalie muttered. ‘He doesn’t have any idea what he’s risking.’
Florence nodded. ‘Yes. I always hoped the example you and Henry set for your boys would by proxy influence him.’
‘None of us has it that perfect,’ Bea suggested. ‘We’re open and honest about ourselves, but sometimes, I’m sure, each of us felt we could so depress the others that we kept our disappointments to ourselves. In my mind, you have to look at the entirety of it and not judge yourself and what’s happened on the basis of one or even two incidents. Too many boats are sinking and we’re still afloat.’
‘Afloat but taking in water very quickly in one case,’ Natalie said. She pursed her lips again. It was as if the gesture sealed the words she had spoken.
‘What can we do to help you, Flo?’ Bea asked.
‘I doubt there is much you can do about it if I can’t,’ Flo said.
They both nodded. Bea instinctively reached out and put her right hand over Florence’s left. ‘The worst thing is to get yourself sick over it,’ she said.
‘He won’t. That’s for sure,’ Natalie added.
‘Why should he? He’s happy. That’s what’s so hard about it,’ Florence replied. ‘He thinks he’s found the perfect love. He sounds like a lovesick teenager, in fact.’
‘Does he?’ Bea asked. She shook her head. ‘Men never really stop being boys.’
‘And the worst part of this is how alone I am. I mean, John doesn’t … he doesn’t seem to care. Oh, I know he was always carefree about things that your husbands took more seriously, but he’s not exactly oblivious. He knows what’s happening, what she has to be like.’
Natalie narrowed her eyelids. ‘Are you saying that he doesn’t mind your talking about it?’
‘Oh, I can talk myself red in the face, talk until the cows come home. He just looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language or he’ll simply get up and leave the room.’
‘That makes it all so much more difficult for you,’ Bea said. ‘It’s downright cruel.’
‘To say the least,’ Natalie added. The three were quiet for a few moments. Then Natalie leaned forward as if she wanted the other two to do the same, just like three children sharing a secret. ‘When … how
did you find out exactly?’
‘Oh, I knew from the get-go,’ Florence said. ‘He never mentioned anything, of course. He surely knew how I’d react, but Cissy Levine saw them together.’
‘Cissy Levine?’ Bea said. She looked at Natalie. ‘Did she say anything to you? She speaks to you more than she speaks to me.’
‘Not a word,’ Natalie said. ‘She’d know better. I assure you, I would have taken off her head if she so much as showed the first signs of glee. You know how she is.’
‘She’s a parasite,’ Florence said. She took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, it came to something of a head this morning. Of course, he’s been seeing her almost daily since that night Cissy saw them at Dante’s.’
‘They went to Dante’s together?’ Bea asked quickly.
‘Yes. You’d think he would have been a little discreet in the beginning. I mean, it could very well have worked out that he knew he had made a mistake. Why be seen with her so quickly?’
Neither of them spoke. They stared at Florence.
‘The last thing I expect is for either of you to tell me I’m being unreasonable.’
‘How could we?’ Bea asked.
‘Exactly. Anyway, to get back to what I was saying. At breakfast this morning, he announced he was going to give her a ring.’
‘What kind of ring?’ Natalie asked, pulling herself up, her eyes widening again.
‘An engagement ring! What else? Well?’
The two stared with one astonished face.
‘You know who I blame for this? I blame John. Two days ago, unbeknown to me, he decided to go forward with the Volkswagen dealership in Monticello and he told Bart he would be the manager – at a much higher salary, of course. So Bart felt he now had what he needed to go forward. He hasn’t even been dating her that long. Well? What do you really think about it all?’
Bea looked at Natalie and then back at Florence. ‘You’re talking about … the Myers girl – Victoria Myers – Bart and Victoria Myers?’
The Incident Page 17