by Dianne Emley
“Are you getting off?”
“I miss bein’ with you, sugar.”
“Is this why you called me?”
“C’mon, honey. You still love me, don’t you?” Barbie’s breath was shallow.
“You’ve met someone else, haven’t you?”
“No, no. I’m still in love with you, Rainey. In love with you like the cool breeze that’s blowing over me. Like the way you used to blow on my skin, remember?” She moaned. “You still love me, don’t you? Tell me you love me. Say it.”
“I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
“Tell me,” she breathed. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.” Barbie began breathing harder and harder, and her moans became shrill. She gasped for air.
“Charlotte?”
Barbie’s breathing was still ragged.
“Where are you, Charlotte? I’ll come out.”
“Honey,” she panted. “I’m dying to see you but the time’s not good. I’ve got to go now, darlin’.”
“Charlotte, don’t do this to me. I can’t take this. I can’t.”
“‘Bye-bye.” Barbie hung up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Hi, I. This is your mu-ther.” Her voice was amplified through the telephone answering machine’s speaker.
Iris closed her eyes tighter against the dim light that filtered through the closed drapes.
“I’m calling again, just to see how you’re do-ing,” she said in the singsong voice she used when calling Iris. “It’s eleven now. You’re still not in. I hope you’re all right. Call me just as soon as you get in. I…”
“...love you,” Iris said the words along with her mother.
The machine rewound itself.
Iris pulled a pillow over her face. “Oh…my…God.”
She swallowed. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, which tasted both sour and sweet. She swung out her feet and sat on the side of the bed. Her head throbbed across both temples. She looked down at her nude body. Her skin felt hot and seemed flushed and troubled.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time, didn’t it, Iris Ann?”
She saw her new sweater on the floor beside the bed, turned halfway inside out. She picked it up and righted it. Blades of grass and bits of dirt fell off.
“Awww…” she moaned. “Football. That damned Art.”
Her panties dangled from a lamp shade where they had landed after she’d thrown them. Her shoes were on opposite sides of the room, lying where she had kicked them off.
She went into the bathroom and pulled on her terry cloth robe, the soft fabric feeling rough against her hot skin. The almost empty bag of Oreos was next to the bathroom door.
“Awww…Not Oreos.” She paused, then slapped her hand to her forehead when she remembered another empty cellophane bag. “Barbecued Doritos. A whole bag.” She rubbed her sour stomach. “Tequila shooters, wine, milk, and cookies…Ugh! And pot… Ugh, ugh, ugh!”
She turned the rod to open the blinds, letting in the bright sunlight. She winced. She played the five messages on her phone machine. Two were hang-ups. Three were from her mother. She’d called every hour since nine that morning.
“Great. A nervous-mother day.”
She sat heavily on the bed and punched a number into the telephone.
“Hi, Mom. I was here. I just had the phone unplugged. Out with friends. I didn’t get in until late. But I didn’t get mugged or raped or stabbed. I’m here. I’m fine. Yes, I heard about the girl who was murdered in her office garage. Please don’t do this anxiety thing today. I know you love me. John was busy last night. He’s not coming by today. He’s…busy. Gotta go. Everything’s fine. He just wanted to spend time with his daughter, okay? Gotta go. ‘Bye.”
Iris clicked off the phone. “Jeez! Get a life, Mom.”
She made coffee. The coffeemaker hissed and belched as it sent boiled water through the grounds. She filled a mug and washed down two aspirins. The coffee scorched her throat and the aspirins felt like rocks. She put bread in the toaster, leaned against the kitchen counter, held her coffee mug between both hands, and took small sips. The aroma of toasting bread filled the room. She started to feel hungry. It was a good sign. She took a few more sips of coffee while staring at the linoleum floor.
“What the hell happened last night? Why do I feel so uneasy?”
She set down the coffee mug and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. It felt as if there were sand underneath her eyelids. Her eyes sprang open in terror.
“No. Please, no!” She frantically searched the scattered fragments of her memory. “I didn’t sleep with Art, did I?” She put her hand against her rapidly beating heart and breathed a sigh of relief. “No, I didn’t.” Then she touched her lips. “Something about a kiss. And Barbie. Why was I mad at her?”
The toast popped up. She slathered butter and jam on it, took a bite, and chewed while she stared at a closed cupboard in front of her.
“Forget it.”
She found her purse on her bedroom floor, took it to its place on top of the antique table in the entryway, dropped her keys inside, and took out her sunglasses. She carried the toast and the portable phone onto the terrace.
The street was full of people walking and riding bikes and roller skating and being sun-kissed and healthy and enjoying the day and the ocean and sand and life.
“Iris, you degenerate.” She put on her sunglasses.
She looked over the railing into the thick decorative bushes below. The street man was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up to his chest. His bedding was neatly rolled up and the dark green plastic garbage bags containing his belongings were hidden in the bushes. His long hair needed a wash but it was combed and pulled back into a ponytail. His jeans and T-shirt looked fairly clean. His corrugated cardboard VIETNAM VET WILL WORK FOR FOOD sign was leaning against the wall behind him.
Sighing with exasperation, she plopped into the Adirondack chair that she’d purchased from L.L. Bean. She looked at the phone dial, hesitated, then punched in John’s number. In the pause before the call connected, she hung up. She bit into the toast. Crumbs fell onto her bathrobe. “Bastard.” She dabbed her tears with the robe’s belt. “Jerk.” She punched in his number again. A woman answered. Iris quickly hung up. She sprang out of the chair and paced back and forth on the terrace.
“She spent the night!”
The street man looked up at the underside of the terrace.
Iris went inside and refilled her coffee mug. The recollection hit her like a cold wave. She slapped the counter hard enough to make her palm sting. “I told her! I don’t believe it! I freaking told her!” She hit the counter again. “Shit. I was high, I didn’t care, and she knew it. She pushed me. She kept asking me about it. Damn her!”
Iris picked up the coffee mug. “That’s what I was mad about. I kept saying if I had the money, as if she couldn’t see through that. Whatever. It’s safe. If she tells anyone, I’ll just deny it.” She dumped the coffee into the sink. While she was putting the mug in the dishwasher, she suddenly straightened up and touched her lips. “She kissed me. Oh, man.”
Iris was just stepping out of the shower when the phone started ringing. She wrapped a towel around herself and answered it.
“Hi, sugar. How ya doin’?” Barbie’s voice was as clear as a bell. Her energy made Iris wince.
“I have a major hangover.”
“I figured you might, so I brought you my surefire hangover tonic. Fix you right up.”
“You’re here?”
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I should have called first. Is this a bad time? You know you got a man livin’ in your bushes out here?”
“Yeah, I know. C’mon up.”
Iris quickly dried off, threw on sweat pants and a T-shirt, and wrapped a towel around her hair before the doorbell rang. She opened it without looking through the peephole. J
ohn Somers was standing with Barbie.
“Look who showed up just when I was comin’ in,” Barbie said.
John was carrying a large spray of red roses, baby’s breath, and greenery in a glass vase. He was wearing blue jeans, a denim shirt, and athletic shoes. His coarse red hair was neatly trimmed and stood away from his scalp, as if it had been recently washed and cut.
“Pretty flowers,” Iris said.
John handed her the vase. He moved to kiss her on the lips. She turned her head and offered her cheek.
“Wanted to wish you a belated birthday.”
“Thank you.” Iris walked to put the vase on the dining room table. “Aren’t they pretty, Barbie?”
“Very nice.” Barbie was carrying a large, handled shopping bag from an exclusive department store and a plastic grocery sack. She was wearing skintight stirrup pants with a long, multicolored overblouse, high-heeled sling-back shoes, and her faux jewel-encrusted baseball cap. She walked into the kitchen and began taking bottles of tomato juice, Tabasco, and clam juice out of the grocery sack and setting them on the counter. “Course if you’d been with her on her birthday, you wouldn’t be here with flowers in hand trying to make up for it today.”
John walked to the end of the kitchen and stood in Barbie’s line of vision. He planted his hands on his hips and leaned his long torso toward her. “Just what business is this of yours?”
Barbie faced him, holding the neck of the clam juice bottle. “Iris is my friend. My friend’s affairs are always my business.”
“Well, my affairs are none of your business. Furthermore, Iris understands what happened between her and me.”
“Oh, yeah. She understands all right. She understands so good that she cried her eyes out right here on my shoulder.” Barbie indicated the location with a manicured fingernail.
They both looked at Iris, who stood watching them, her legs apart, arms dangling by her sides, mouth ajar, as if she couldn’t believe they really existed. She finally spoke. “Barbie. Would you mind waiting in the bedroom while John and I talk?”
“No problem, darlin’.” She waved at Iris. “I bought you a li’l somethin’ and I wanted to hang it up anyway.” She grabbed the handled bag and started to walk out of the kitchen past John. He made an insignificant move to clear her way. His jaw was fixed, which pursed his Cupid’s bow lips, giving him a look that was more like a boyish pout than an intimidating glower.
Barbie brushed past him, hitting his waist with her elbow. “Excuse me. Not much room to pass here.” In her heels, she barely reached his chin. She left the room, her sling-backs slapping against her feet. Her fragrance hung in the air.
“I can’t stand that woman,” John said before Barbie had completely exited the room. He stared at the doorway through which she had just passed. “I told you that there’s something about her that’s not right.”
Iris closed her eyes and rubbed them with the pads of her fingers.
“Out late last night?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. With her?”
“Yes. And other…people.”
“Hmmm.” John surveyed her puffy face and red eyes as if they would reveal what had transpired. “Where’dja go?” he asked conversationally.
“John, you’ve lost information privileges. Especially if you’re sleeping with your ex-wife.”
He paled beneath his freckles.
“Did you do it before we officially broke up or did you at least wait until after?”
“Last night was the first time.”
“Oh. You waited. I feel so much better.” She walked onto the terrace and leaned her back against the railing. “Why did you come here? You were the one who wanted to end it.”
John stood beside her, gripping the railing with both hands. He shook his head. “I thought I’d made the right decision, but when I read your card, I was really moved by some of the things you said.”
“I didn’t send it to try to change your mind. I was just finishing business. Just wanted to say a few things.”
“Want to hear something funny?” John laughed. “Penny opened it by accident.”
“By accident?”
“Well, she wouldn’t have opened it on purpose,” he said with a defensive backpedal in his voice.
“Oh, not Penny.” Iris heaved out a sarcastic burst of air.
“C’mon, Iris. You don’t know her very well if you think…”
She turned to face him. “No, you don’t know her very well. How can a man who’s so tough and astute in his professional life be so namby-pamby in his personal life? Why don’t you ask yourself why you feel so ambivalent about taking up with her again? Why don’t you ask yourself why you’re here now?” She ripped the towel off her head and threw it on the Adirondack chair.
“I know why I’m here.” The corners of his eyes were moist. “I still love you, and I was thinking maybe—”
“John, don’t.” She grabbed the railing as if to steady herself. “It’s either me or Penny. If it’s her, then please don’t come around anymore”—her voice broke—“because I can’t take it.” The tears came quickly.
He wiped his eyes with his hand. “Well, I guess I better go. I hope you like the flowers.”
“They’re beautiful, but it’s a hell of a way to get you to bring me flowers.” She looked at him and laughed. He laughed too. It was horrible to have shared a joke.
He looked out at the ocean again, then looked around the terrace, as if he was trying to imprint the scene in his mind. He glanced under the terrace. “Hey! Hey, you. Iris, I thought you were going to get the police to get rid of him.”
“I told you, it’s pointless. He just keeps coming back.”
“These bums, they’re not saints, you know.” His tears had dried. “It’s not like in the movies where the homeless man becomes your buddy.”
“John.” Iris sighed with fatigue. “I’ll deal with it, okay?” She walked back inside the living room and slowly moved to the front door. She opened it and stood beside it with her hand on the doorknob.
He followed her inside and stopped when he saw the open door. He looked at the rectangular opening and the hallway beyond it, knowing that passing through it would change his life forever. He angled his body slightly forward and walked past her through the doorway and kept walking, not looking back, until he was halfway down the corridor and heard the door close quietly behind him.
Iris blew her nose on a paper towel from the kitchen and threw cold tap water on her face. She felt even more tired than she had earlier. She stood in front of the sink and tried to comb her wet, tangled hair with her fingers, mindlessly occupying herself for several minutes. Then she remembered Barbie roaming somewhere in her home and immediately walked toward the bedrooms, her bare footsteps muted on the carpet.
She peeked in the guest bedroom, which she used as an office and saw Barbie looking through one of her desk drawers. Iris stood in the doorway and watched her for a brief moment before Barbie noticed her and quickly closed the drawer.
“Hi, sugar,” she said brightly. “I was looking for a pair of scissors.” She displayed her left hand, in which she already held a pair of scissors. “I bought you something and I wanted to cut the tags off.” She set the scissors on the desk and walked toward Iris with open arms. “Oh, darlin’. You’ve been cryin’. What happened?”
Iris took a couple of steps back and put her palm out in front of her. “I’ll be fine. John and I were just talking.”
Barbie stopped in the middle of the room. “About what? What made you so upset?”
“Oh…” Iris shook her head and wrinkled her nose as if it was nothing. “Just things.”
“What kind of things? Something made you upset.”
“I’m hungover. I’m feeling kind of fragile anyway. It’s nothing.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Positive.” Iris smiled cheerfully. “So, you said you needed a pair of scissors?” She glanced around
the room, taking everything in.
Barbie shook her head bitterly. “I’m sorry, honey. Maybe you thought I was out of line, but I don’t like it when people don’t treat my friends right. And I don’t like cops. They have an attitude I don’t care for. I know John’s got some good qualities but”—she waggled her index finger at Iris—“honey, you could do a lot better. And you will.”
“So, you said you bought me something?” Iris’s voice was bright, but her eyes were cool. She surveyed the office one more time, then turned and walked toward the bedroom. She stopped at the doorway. “You made my bed and picked up. How nice.” She looked around the room.
Barbie peeked in the doorway behind her, putting her hand on Iris’s waist. Iris stepped away from her.
“You know I can’t sit still. I’d rather be busy.” Barbie skipped into the walk-in closet and retrieved a long-sleeved, purple silk blouse on a hanger. “What d’ya think?”
“It’s beautiful.” Iris walked up to it and fingered the material.
“Let me cut the tags off first. Now, don’t look at the price.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Don’t you remember, honey? Last night you were telling me that you didn’t have anything purple and I told you I’d buy you somethin’ and here it is.”
“Thank you. That was very nice.” Iris rubbed her temples. “Frankly, I don’t remember too much from last night.”
Barbie took the blouse off the hanger and held it toward Iris. “Here, try it on.”
“I’m sure it’ll fit. It’s the right size.”
Barbie walked toward her, holding the blouse out. “Don’t you want to try it on?”
Iris took it and held the shoulders against her own shoulders. “See. It’ll fit fine.” She handed it back to Barbie and watched as she walked into her closet and hung it up.
“Boy, I was really out of it last night. I don’t remember hardly anything. What were we talking about?”
Barbie sat on the bed. “Oh, all sorts of things.”
Iris gestured toward the hallway. “Weren’t you going to make me your hangover tonic?”