by Warren Adler
Marie drove the car along Massachusetts Avenue. Briefly she thought of her children, but she continued, gaining speed as the traffic thinned ahead.
"Where are we going?"
"It is futile to speculate at this stage."
Marie darted a glance at the woman, who looked straight ahead, her chin raised in what seemed an arrogant gesture.
"I can understand. Really I can."
"You understand nothing," Marie said belligerently. "How can you understand?"
"You'll see."
The car headed south on Wisconsin Avenue until the woman directed another turn onto Calvert, where they found a parking space. They proceeded on foot to the large apartment house on the corner of Wisconsin. In the elevator, Marie looked at the woman in the light, confirming her age, feeling superior to it. In the polished metal, she saw her own face, the lines smooth, the skin still creamy, despite the lack of makeup. Surely, an old rejected mistress. All right, I am jealous, she thought. I am jealous of his whole life without me.
A young woman opened the apartment door and they went in. The woman was blonde, full bodied, in a tight blouse and slacks. She moved across the room with a youthful grace.
"Another one," Anne whispered. She removed her trench coat, revealing a thin, barely defined figure in a loose sweater and nondescript gray slacks.
"This is Frederika," Anne said. "What is your name?"
"Marie." She had not wanted to give her name and was surprised that it came out. "Marie LaFarge," she said.
"I am Anne McCarthy," the tall woman said. She walked to the couch and sat down heavily. Marie felt the eyes of the younger woman on her.
"I don't know what this is all about," Marie said, actually feeling her sense of superiority. He is my man, she told herself.
"Tell her, Frederika," Anne said. "I have tried. Really I have."
"Faith, hope, and charity," Frederika said. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the smoke disgorged like a dragon's breath. "That's us. Which one are you?"
"Probably faith," Anne said. "You know that's a marvelous metaphor."
"We are all his lovers," Frederika said. "The three of us. We all share one man. Am I correct, Anne?"
"Well, we are missing one admission." She looked at Marie. "At least three."
"And she is married," Anne said, the sarcasm thick.
Marie felt her knees buckling, the blood draining from her head, dizziness descending. She reached to the wall for support. Frederika rushed to the kitchen and brought a glass of water.
"Here," she said, offering the water, which Marie took with shaking hands, trying to hold down a few swallows. Marie felt her strength ebb. She sat down.
"The reality is terribly demeaning," Frederika said. "I'm sure we hadn't meant to be cruel. I've had my shock already and I'm learning to live with it."
"I love him," Marie said helplessly. "He is everything to me." She felt a hand on her back, a gentle caress.
"We know," Anne said, softer now.
"But it doesn't seem possible.... "Marie began. She pictured his body, the surge of strength, the beautiful, graceful sexuality. Can it be the same with them? It is casual with them, she decided.
"It is embarrassing," Frederika said, as if reading her thoughts. Marie could sense her attempt at lightheartedness, although the sadness and resignation beneath the cheer was quite obvious. She moved across the room, then sat down on the bed.
"He was here with me last night. I feel silly saying it. But I feel that we must.... "She swallowed deeply. "...be as accurate, as truthful as possible. I knew then. Anne had told me. And although I could not wash the knowledge from my mind, it was the same with him. Can I describe how much I love this man?" She closed her eyes, holding back tears. Her chin trembled. "I feel so naked, telling you both this. But if you could get inside my body, my heart, my soul, you would see how important it is to say this.... "She stopped, gulping for air, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself.
"It is hateful for you to say that," Marie said, standing up, wobbly, her rage beginning. "It is simply not possible. This is a dream. It is not possible. I will wake up soon."
"There is no point in hating each other," Anne said quietly. "Or bickering. There is a compelling reality here." Her eyes turned from Marie to Frederika. "We are all in love with the same man."
"You?" Marie turned toward her, searching for a gesture of humiliation.
"Yes, me too. You're thinking that I'm older, a bit over the hill. Well, maybe more than a bit. But what do either of you know what is inside me? I love him. I am not ashamed of that. What he gives me is more than I ever thought was possible in life. I will give him anything, anything...."
"Money," Frederika said. "She gives him money."
"You mean you buy him?" Marie said, thankful for the clue.
"And you, Marie," Anne said. "What have you done for him? We are all doing something. Frederika here is a courier. We have, we know, been responsible for helping him kill his enemies and innocent people, as well."
"Yes, I have delivered information," Frederika said, with odd precision. "Tapes."
"Tapes?" A little scream came out of Marie's mouth, a compulsive cry.
"So you have done something?" Anne said. "Did you think you had a special role here? Come on, tell us. What have you done for him, for the cause, for Chile?"
"What I did, I did for him," Marie said, angry now.
"What?"
"I don't think it's any of your business," Marie said, suspicious now. "You could be agents, enemies."
"Something with the tapes, right, Marie?" Frederika pressed. "You did something with the tapes."
"No. It's not true."
"What are you? Who are you?" Anne pursued. "You are obviously French."
"You have no right."
"No right?"
"You're his enemies." She started to move toward the door.
"Believe me, Marie," Frederika said, gently now. "There is no escape from the reality of it."
"He wouldn't," Marie began. Eduardo, she cried within herself.
"He did.... "Anne said quietly. She looked at the two women, the sense of commonality coming quickly. She was trying to conclude something in her mind, to accept something. She could see the anguish in the other women's faces.
"I planted a device in the embassy" she said finally, remembering what she had done for it, remembering the pain, the humiliation.
"So you see.... "Frederika said. "You are in it with us."
She turned toward the wall and banged her fists into it, more in anger than despair.
"My God, how I hate him!" she cried, feeling the essence of her life slip from her. How could he betray me? Surely, it was different with them.
"Hate?" Anne asked. "You said hate."
"What else is left?" Marie cried, turning again. "Do you feel as foolish as me?"
"Not foolish," Anne said.
"Used?" Marie asked.
"Not that either."
"What then?"
"I'm not sure," Anne said.
"Nor me," Frederika interjected. "It is too complex to fathom."
Too complex to fathom. A wisp of an idea intruded in Marie's mind. It was the mode of Eduardo. If he did not want to explain it, it suddenly became too complex. And she had accepted that explanation. She had accepted every explanation from Eduardo. Now the truth was emerging, like a chick from a cracked egg. He had felt nothing, nothing. Only the nerves of his body had reacted, mindlessly.
"It is possible he loves all three of us?" Marie asked suddenly, surprised at her own lucidity.
"He loves none of us," Anne said, her lips tight. Her face had paled. There was a long silence. "Perhaps Miranda."
"Who?" Marie asked.
"Miranda."
"I never heard her name."
"Nor I," Marie said. "Who is Miranda?"
"Maybe all of us," Anne said. Marie turned to Frederika, echoing her confusion.
"What does it matter?" Marie said bitte
rly. "He is beneath contempt, a Casanova. One woman is like another." There was never anything beyond "the event," the sexuality, and the way in which they, the women, could be fitted into the master plan, the cause. The words, as they cascaded in her mind, had the ring of truth. But there was something peculiar in her perception of it. The story of Casanova, or what she imagined was the story of Casanova, was never told from the woman's point of view. It is a fraud, she told herself suddenly. She leaned against the wall, watching the other women.
"I am sick in my heart," she said quietly. "I feel unclean." She wanted to say more, hesitated, watched the other women watching her, feeling their pain, as if they were all in the same hospital ward isolated because of the same disease. "I am deeply jealous, as well," she admitted aloud.
"It will curdle your insides," Frederika said. "I have already passed through that valley." She tossed her head. "I am still passing through that valley. The idea of it inflames me, burns me inside. The thought of Eduardo. My Eduardo." She paused. "You think I am cruel and presumptuous. That is the way I think of him. My Eduardo! There, I have said it. Later when I picture Eduardo, my Eduardo, in the arms of each of you, I will ache. I will want to die from the pain of it."
"Yes," Marie said. "I see." There was a stab of compassion as she looked at the older woman, who turned her eyes away.
"I suppose you would think it ludicrous if I were to confirm the same reaction in me ... the older woman." Her fingers worked together nervously. "I am nearly fifty," she said. "And I was under control. I had seen it all, all except.... "She swallowed hard. "...love." Standing up, she faced the blinds. "What a ridiculous stupidity. I had no idea what it was to be a woman until Eduardo. Such a gift demands repayment. What is anything against such a value, the knowledge of oneself? My life was a charade until Eduardo. And yet, despite what I feel, I could not bear to share him. Up till this moment, I thought perhaps I could resolve to do so. Now I am certain. I could not bear to share him. I would rather die."
"Nor I," Frederika said.
Marie felt now the sense of terror. "What then?" she said. Then loudly. "But I need him. I cannot leave him."
"Don't you see, Marie. It is impossible," Frederika said. "He cannot be possessed. He can only be shared. If not with us, with others. None of us know him. None of us have him. We have, all three of us, been betrayed by him."
"But why us?" Anne said. They turned to her, watched her hands move together, her fingers constructing an abstract cathedral. "He must have searched carefully, seeking out the most vulnerable.... "She looked at the two women. "...like us. Smoldering ashes in dead bonfires, waiting for the gift of renewal, of fire. I was ready for him. I was vulnerable...."
"He was laughing at us," Frederika said.
It's true, Marie thought. Eduardo had cast the line. And we bit like hungry fish. Who could possibly live with that? The bastard. She cursed him now.
"He is a bastard," she said aloud.
"I am not made for a sheik's harem," Frederika said, an edge of humor breaking the tension. "Not me," she emphasized. "The idea is disgusting." Then she laughed. "We could pass him around between us like a credit card. Use his flesh. Treat him as a kind of game, a toy."
"He could never be a game to me," Anne said. The words carried a sense of authority.
"Then there is no solution," Frederika said. She sighed. "Look at us," she said sadly, shaking her head. "Three intelligent women, rendered hopelessly incompetent ... no, paralyzed, by the effect of one man. I don't know how you both feel, but I feel ashamed, ashamed for myself, ashamed for my ... sense of womanhood, that I should even feel this dependence, this lack of control. How dare he exercise such power? How dare he do this to me, to us? I love him, yes. Does that sound so terrible coming from me, knowing how you must all feel?" She paused. "But you know, at this moment, just now, I could kill him and feel no remorse whatsoever."
Marie felt the idea pass into the air, loose and free, a bird suddenly released from its cage, swirling above their heads, a loathsome thing, with a furred beak and little barbs on spindly legs and shaggy wings with an odor that was thick enough to induce nausea. It was her bird, as well, she thought, now that it was loose, her possession as well.
"How can you kill what you love?" she asked, knowing that she was speaking for all of them, certain that they had run to ground on the same track, as if they had suddenly possessed a single heart, a single brain, a single nervous system.
"Better to kill it than suffer with it." It was Anne speaking, softly, but it was their voice now.
"Kill Eduardo?" Frederika asked, her voice low, in the same key as Anne's. "Did I suggest that?"
"I can't believe we are thinking it," Marie said, calmer now, a tranquillity descending over her like a shroud.
"Not thinking it, Marie," Anne said, her fingers entwined, the knuckles white. "Concluding it."
"It was only a metaphor," Frederika said. "A figure of speech."
"Was it?" Anne asked.
"I hadn't meant...."
"Come now, Frederika," Anne said. "It's hardly the time for dishonesty between us."
Marie forced her mind to darken, to pretend that she was not in this room, that she was not really herself, that she was somehow someone else, watching, merely observing.
"You are serious?" Frederika said. "I think you are both actually serious."
"Better that," Anne said, "than living with the truth of him, the knowledge that he will always be shared."
"I'll forget him," said Frederika. "You'll see. In a month, a year, he won't mean a damn to me. Not a damn. Haven't you ever been in love before when the guy meant everything? You couldn't live without him, then poof, it all disappeared, the hurt was gone, and then another guy popped up and it started all over again?"
"Is that the way you expect it will be?" Anne said.
"Yes."
"And has it been that way?" Marie asked. It will never come again, she told herself. Eduardo is mine. I will share him with no one. I would rather have the memory of him than to know the sharing of his flesh with others.
"But to kill Eduardo," Frederika protested, although the power of the protest was fading.
"We have already killed him in our hearts," Anne said.
"I will never love another man," Marie said.
"But how?"
"I have no idea," Anne said.
Silence descended in the room, palpable, thick. Marie could hear the obscene flutter of the bird's wings, the sound creating a cacophony beyond the wave of ordinary hearing. She could not tell how long the odd sound filled the room, only that she was sure that they all had heard it.
"They will think his enemies did it," Frederika said suddenly, obviously contemplating a concrete idea.
"So there is also the instinct of survival present," Marie said thankfully. She had imagined that the deed would mean the death of them as well. And she was secretly preparing herself for it, although she was afraid. Death, after all, would be the end of it. She could endure anything now, she told herself.
"An act of terrorist revenge," Frederika said. "It could be contrived. That is the business he is involved in. It could be contrived."
"How?" Anne asked.
"There are ways."
"Like what."
"Are you both sure?" Frederika asked. "It can only be a decision by the three of us." She breathed deeply and they could see a mist begin in her eyes. "I am so ashamed of my thoughts. I could not bear to know that I was thinking this myself."
"You're not," Marie said, sensing the air of finality, the ritualization of the pact between them.
"I'm scared to death," Frederika said. "My thoughts are frightening me."
"There is no other way," Anne said.
Again the room filled with the sound of the bird. Eduardo! Somehow Marie felt his presence in the room, guiding them.
"All right then. There is one logical way. The weapon is the same the terrorists use. Quick. Loud. There is no pain." Frederika seemed introspec
tive, as if she were talking to someone else in the room.
"I could not bear for him to have any pain," Marie said.
"A bomb." Even the word, as Frederika uttered it, had the force of an explosion. They waited, perhaps sensing that the debris must settle, the psychic blast must be weathered. A bomb, Marie wondered. What did they know of bombs? But the question did not linger long.
"Arrangements can be made." Frederika looked at Anne. "It can be bought."
Even as she recounted it later in the car, Marie could not remember any conversation beyond that, no planning, no confirmation, only the understanding that something was to happen with her concurrence which would mean the end of Eduardo. It was nearly midnight, and as she drove the car toward home, she prepared herself for the inevitable explanations. She was barely in the door when her children and Claude confronted her. The children hugged her.
"We were so worried, Mommy," her little girl said.
"Daddy was going to call the police," the boy said.
She patted them both on the head, kissed them, marveling at her own hypocrisy, the ability to move in this world with such dissimulation, then dismissed them and passed into the kitchen where she heated some water and prepared some tea. She felt Claude's eyes watching her.
"What was it?" he asked, the sarcasm apparent.
"Some trouble with the carburetor. I had to wait interminably."
"Wait." He paused. "Where?"
"A garage."
"Where?" She had felt her alertness falter. Now it returned with full vigor. It's an interrogation, she thought. He knows.
"Really, Claude, I have been through a lot today. I have no patience."
"What garage, Marie?"
"Someplace near Georgetown. I can't remember the name."
"I called them all. I called almost every garage in the area. Many of them were closed." She turned, saw the redness on his neck, the inflammation of anger. His lips were tight, compressed.
"Where were you, Marie?" His eyes met hers and she turned away.
It is the moment, she thought. The opportunity. The confrontation she had longed for in her heart, the time to lift the burden, to confess. But she could not find the words and she knew they were drowned in fear.
"You simply missed the correct one," she said, her voice a whisper.