Still Life with Elephant

by Judy Reene Singer

  “Maybe one,” I said.

  “I’ll ask around,” he said, then paused. “You say Margo’s doing okay?”

  “I’m feeding her bananas,” I said, then thought, dang, I had just given him a wrong impression. I hoped he didn’t think I was personally feeding her bananas, because I meant I was technically feeding her bananas by letting her slap them out of my hand. There was a big difference.

  “Wonderful! She needs that personal contact,” he said. “You’re on the right track.”

  “Actually, I’m—” I started, but he interrupted me.

  “Damn, sorry to cut you short,” he said in a rush, “but I’m being paged. I’ve got to get to a dinner and I’m running late, but I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

  He clicked off.

  I heard a noise outside my bedroom door. Probably Grace. I opened the door to let her in. It was Reese, bending down like he was tying his shoelaces, except that he was wearing socks.

  “You were listening in,” I accused him.

  “How could I hear anything over your TV?” he asked. “But who is he?”

  “He’s the elephant man,” I said. “I’m going to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

  “Elephant man?” he repeated, then looked very sympathetic. “Oh. Wow. Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “Not that kind of elephant man, you idiot,” I snapped. “The elephant man I went to Africa with.”

  “Oh. Right.” Reese said. “Listen, would you mind asking him a question for me?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “What do you want to ask?”

  He took a deep breath. “How do you know if there’s an elephant under the bed?”

  My shoe just missed him.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  THE NEXT day proved to be very ecclesiastical, because I spent most of it praying. I prayed all the way to the sanctuary, that Margo wouldn’t make me look incompetent in front of Tom. I pictured myself blithely handing her bananas and Margo trumpeting and throwing them right back in my face.

  “Please let the elephant take my bananas,” I prayed, sending to heaven perhaps one of its more unusual requests. That prayer was quickly followed by “And please let Tom still be talking to me when the day is over, because I’m going to look like a real fool.”

  Tom arrived at the sanctuary office promptly at one o’clock, looking fresh and handsome, in a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman-farmer kind of way. He was dressed in acid-washed jeans, Movado watch, expensive loafers, and an immaculate, freshly pressed blue dirndl shirt. My heart jumped at the sight of him.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, giving me a salutatory peck on the cheek when he saw me and Richie.

  “Pretty good,” I said. “I’m over my jet lag.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said. “You look none the worse for wear.”

  Matt, on the other hand, arrived late, drooping with fatigue, needing a shave and a haircut, and wearing a shirt and pair of pants that looked like they had seen a lot of veterinary work.

  “How’s it going?” Tom asked him, as I stood behind him, making faces at Matt’s obvious lapses in hygiene. Matt noticed.

  “Horrible,” said Matt, giving me a withering look. “I haven’t slept since we got back, and I’ve had to take over my whole practice.”

  “That’s because his partner is busy being pregnant,” I offered helpfully.

  “To err is human,” Matt said between his teeth. “Are you familiar with that quote?”

  “How about this one?” I retorted. “To love and honor, forsaking all others.”

  “Let’s check on Margo,” Tom said, diplomatically stepping between us and leading us to the barn. Richie quickly secured Margo’s bracelets to the floor chains, and Matt administered a mild tranquilizer before carefully washing her wounds and applying huge handfuls of Silvadene ointment. He finished by giving her another shot of antibiotics. The wounds that had covered her hips and legs were starting to close up; her ears and trunk showed new, healing pink skin. Even the baby looked stronger.

  “Come on in,” Richie invited me and Tom into the enclosure when Matt was finished. Tom approached Margo slowly, talking softly until he reached her side and was able to run his hands over her legs.

  “I see real improvement,” he said. “I’m very pleased. Then he turned to me. “How are you coming with her training?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’ve been holding up bananas so she will regard me as the source of her treats,” I said. “I want her to learn that I’m her target and focus on me.” Richie gave me a thumbs-up from behind Tom’s back.

  “Excellent,” Tom said. “And how’s it working?”

  “Working?” I repeated, wondering how I could tell him it really wasn’t.

  “Margo took a banana right from Neelie’s hand,” Richie added.

  “Slapped it, really,” I said.

  “Wonderful,” said Tom. “At least she’s interacting with you.”

  “Right,” I said. It appeared that everything had gone well, and I was relieved. My prayer had been answered, Tom was pleased, and I still had my fingers. I turned to leave the cage.

  “Can I watch?” Tom asked.

  I spun around in surprise. “Watch what?”

  “Her take a banana from your hand?”

  I looked at Richie with mounting panic, hoping he would save me from humiliation. He held out the basket of fruit, without any expression on his face. I didn’t know what to do. Margo hadn’t been civil to me since we both got to New York. I took a banana.

  “Move a little closer,” Richie suggested.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I moved another two feet toward her and held out the fruit.

  “Margo, take the banana,” I said, praying silently that she wouldn’t separate my hand from my arm in the process. And hurry, before the sedatives wear off, I mentally added. I could see she was getting the flap back in her ears.

  Then I remembered what Richie had told me. “Look here,” I commanded, standing tall and holding the banana in front of me like a waitress serving a customer. Hello, my name is Neelie, and I’ll be your target for today.

  She faced me. Her trunk touched my arm and ran down my hand. My heart was pounding. Her trunk stopped at the banana. She yanked it away from me, and stuffed it into her mouth. I marveled at my good luck.

  “See?” said Richie to Tom, while I composed myself. “This is just the beginning. Next week, Neelie will be feeding her inside the cage without the leg chains.”

  Tom beamed and patted my shoulder. “Great,” he said. “Great. You’re doing wonderfully.”

  I thanked heaven for small banana-shaped favors, Richie undid the bracelets from the floor chains, and we closed the gates.

  It was time to go, but Matt seemed to be spending an unusually long time in the small office attached to the barn, checking his supplies. Several times he peeked out. I realized that he was waiting for Tom and Richie to leave so we could be alone, but Richie was chattering on about the lions. Tom kept nodding pleasantly, Richie kept talking, Matt kept stalling. We were in gridlock.

  Matt finally got paged, made his apologies, and drove off. Richie ran out of small talk and had to feed the other animals. That left Tom and me.

  “I thought they would never leave,” Tom said. “Ready for a late lunch?”

  My small victory with Margo had worked up a huge appetite. “I’m ready,” I said.

  Warthog was not on the menu, though I hadn’t really developed a taste for it, and I was too thrilled to eat much of my dinner anyway. Though I had shared a tent with Tom in Zimbabwe, it felt different to share a table. He looked more important, more distinguished, more handsome. He was animated and witty, and though we drank wine, and ate good pasta, and talked about saving elephants, his eyes lingered a second too long each time he looked at me. We talked of everything. Books and music and good food and traveling. And elephants.

  “It’s terrible that elephants even have to be res
cued,” I said.

  He nodded in agreement. “It’s terrible that we have to teach humans to be humane.”

  I took a piece of bread. He studied me, gray-green eyes steady, solemn, filled with—what?—amusement? “I admire you for following this whole project through, you know,” he said. “Not too many women would agree to something so dangerous.”

  “Have you ever been hurt?” I asked. “I meant, by one of your rescues?”

  He rubbed the scar on his cheek. “One of my early elephants,” he said ruefully. “Before I learned to dodge tusks.”

  “Wow,” I said. “And here I’ve been wasting my time worrying about falling under their feet.”

  He laughed and clicked his glass against mine. “I’m impressed with you,” he said. “You’ve done more than I had a right to expect.” I studied him as he took a sip of his wine. His face was lean, his nose was straight, linear. There was a certain assurance about him, as though all the plans he ever made fell right into place, as though he would brook no other outcome. Commanding. “Your devotion to Margo amazes me, especially considering what you’ve been going through. Divorce is not fun.”

  “Have you ever been through a divorce?” I asked.

  “Twice.” He made a sour face. “And I think it’s easier to save an elephant than a relationship.”

  I guess he had experienced failures, though there was a sense of control about him. And serenity. I liked the serenity.

  We finished our lunch and lingered until Tom checked his watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “If you want, I can follow you so that you get home safely, and then I’m off to the city. I didn’t use my driver tonight, so I don’t want to be driving back when I’m tired.”

  “Right,” I said. Our eyes met and something passed between us. Neither one of us looked away.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” he began, “but are you officially single?”

  “I’m extremely single,” I said. “I’m just not papered yet.”

  He laughed, then looked down at his plate with an embarrassed grin. “I feel awkward,” he said. “Because I’m sort of your boss, but I would like to ask you something.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Maybe we could see each other once in a while?” he said. “Without elephants?”

  “I would like that very much,” I said. Then blurted, “Would you like to come back to my house for coffee?”

  If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Thank you,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

  Then I remembered Reese. “I just have to run to the ladies’ room—I’ll be right back.”

  I phoned my house from a stall in the ladies’ room.

  “Go home,” I said to Reese, after he picked up the phone.

  “What?”

  “Go home,” I repeated. “I am bringing the elephant man back with me and I want some privacy. Take your pizza boxes and go home.”

  “Can’t I go home in the morning?” he asked. “I was just getting comfortable.”

  “This is important to me.” I was getting irritated. “And I really don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I’m under Mother’s orders,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Because she’s worried about you not eating, and dundering around Africa, misunderstanding everything that goes on around you.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I whispered fiercely into the phone. “I am coming home in about twenty minutes, so please don’t be there.”

  “Am I to understand that you have given up on Matt?”

  “Whose team are you on?” I hissed.

  “There are teams?” he asked. “If I join yours, do I get a free jersey that says Team Elephant?”

  “Twenty minutes,” I said, and disconnected.

  Tom was waiting for me when I returned. I got into my truck, he got into his hunter-green Bentley, and as we left for my house, I was praying that Reese would be gone, and that maybe something would work out between Tom and me, and then I wondered if I was being too presumptuous to send up this last fervent prayer for the day.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  SOMEONE UP there was listening, because Reese was gone by the time I got home. I led Tom into the house, where Grace sniffed his shoes for an embarrassingly long time before finally nipping him in the shoelaces. I pulled her off. “NO BITE!” I growled into her ear.

  “What does she have against Bruno Maglis?” Tom asked, retying his shoelaces.

  “She has issues,” I explained, then excused myself to lock her in the bathroom.

  When I got back, Tom was staring at a mug on the drain rack that Matt had always used for his morning coffee. It was a big blue mug with a shaggy dog on the front, and it read “World Class Vet.” Reese had started drinking out of it. I turned it to face the other way.

  “My brother was here,” I said. “I guess he was using it.”

  Tom raised his hand to my face and ran his thumb across my cheek. It left a trail of sweetness.

  “Would you prefer I go home?” he asked gently.

  “No,” I said, reaching up and clasping his hand in mine. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted to let go of Matt. I didn’t want it to be his and my house anymore. I wanted to cleanse him from everything. I wanted to begin a new life.

  I stood awkwardly in front of Tom, painfully aware that everything in the house had once belonged to Matt and me, and I was standing in it with another man.

  “I guess I’ll make coffee,” I said.

  “Not now,” he said. He was being very polite, but I could see him looking around. I loved my kitchen, but I realized how modest and small it must have seemed to him, although earlier that morning I had thought it was perfectly comfortable. We stood there for a moment, awkward and aching for more from each other, and afraid to move, until I got an inspiration.

  “Would you like to see my horses?” I asked.

  “I thought you would never ask,” Tom said, maybe a bit relieved, and followed me out through the back door.

  Mousi was asleep in his hay nest, a big white mound; Isis was sleeping with her head under her hay rack; Conversano was vacuuming up the remains of his dinner; Delaney watched us with great suspicion from over his stall door. I introduced them all, until we got to Delaney. Tom reached out to pet him, and Delaney reared sideways before scooting away.

  “I got him in for retraining,” I said. “He’s got—issues.”

  “Good God,” Tom said, “does everything in your life have issues?”

  “I had a jelly donut this morning that didn’t,” I said.

  We returned to the kitchen, and I stood there wondering what to do next. Reese had left the elephant music playing loudly on the stereo for me.

  “Would you mind if we turned the music down a little?” Tom asked, looking toward the stereo. “And what on earth is that playing, anyway?”

  “It’s my brother’s music, he lent it to me.” I said. “I always keep music playing.”

  “Always?” he asked. “Why?”

  I just shrugged, embarrassed. I didn’t know how to answer him.

  “Another one of those issues?” he asked, and stepped toward me. The anticipation left me breathless. I wanted to feel his arms, wanted him to pull me to him, wanted to feel the heat and strength of his kisses again.

  “Is it okay?” He tilted his head sideways, waiting for my answer.

  “Yes,” I said, and he kissed me. Slowly at first, tentatively, until I kissed him back, and then he pressed against me. I could feel his body pressing against me, and it felt strong, insistent.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d let me share your sleeping bag,” he murmured into my ear. I pulled away.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m easy—I mean, after the tent thing,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I don’t think you’re easy at all.” He drew me back into his arms.

  I pulled away again. “And I hope you’re not in a relationship,” I added. “I don
’t want to be the other woman.”

  “Single,” he said, pulling me close again. “Heterosexual, good health. Likes to walk on the beach, hold hands in the moonlight, and solvent. Anything else?”

  “No,” I whispered, and let him kiss me again and again.

  First kisses are like opening a door and stepping through, into a new country with a different landscape and a different language. His arms, his lips felt different from those of anyone before, his body moved in a different rhythm from the one I was familiar with. All different, surprising my body with its newness. There was a resonance between us that made me feel alive; the world was suddenly full of promise.

  We lay together, and he stroked my hair, and slowly caressed my body. Slow, slow, like we had infinity to be together. Slow. He moved his fingers across me, then his lips, then took my hand and ran it across his own body, letting the slowness build into demands. He covered my face with a thousand little kisses, like butterflies, telling me that I was beautiful, beautiful; then he braced himself above me, resting on his hands, and looked so intently into my eyes that I thought he could see my soul.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I moved against him. “Oh yes.”

  He pressed into me with urgency, with strength and tenderness. The universe crashed around us. Stars imploded and pulled us together, whirling, burning white, rising into a small sharp point of light and desire and release.

  I spent a wonderful night with Thomas Princeton Pennington.

  Was it Revenge Sex? Consolation Sex? Rebound Sex? I didn’t know, but I had never felt anything like it.

  We did a donut run together in the morning and brought our goodies back to the house and ate them together, sitting across the table, the table that was all mine, in a kitchen that was all mine. Maybe it had been Neutralizing Sex, because I felt very much that my home was mine, that I had a piece of myself back. We drank our coffee and ate jelly donuts, which I thought were especially good that morning, and we talked while Grace slunk under his chair and punctuated our conversation with occasional growls.