Rebecca understood that Claudia’s shopping addiction had overcome her. Now, there would be no holding back. Rebecca was herself excited over their two-hour road trip. The highway from Peoria to Bloomington was lined with some nice woodsy patches and this time of year there would be spring flowers just past their peak, still glorious, and ready to succumb to the warmer weather.
Expertly backing the Mercedes out of the driveway, Rebecca indulged Claudia’s persistent chatter while focusing on how she would cull the information she needed from Dr. Leighton. She had checked his office to find out if he took Saturday appointments, and been informed that she could come to the clinic as a walk-in patient up until 1 P.M.
Rebecca planned to feign self-consciousness and mention she had been referred to him by Julia Wilson. She would be as vague as possible about her symptoms, then vaguely ask if he would recommend that she have the same procedure. That would hopefully be all she needed to get him to reveal the specifics of Julia’s case; then she would know definitively if this expenditure had been appropriate. If it had not been, there was meat for real controversy.
It didn’t occur to Rebecca that Julia may have received treatment for some life-threatening emergency, or that her situation could be in any way pitiable and deservedly kept private. Rebecca would cross the ethical divide when it came to her, and, currently in war mode, she had not yet intuited that it would.
“Why, Rebecca, are you just going to let me talk to myself for the next hour? Girl, I don’t know what, but there’s something important on your mind. I guess I know you too well.”
Called back to the present by her sister, Rebecca shook her head as if snapped to attention.
“I’m sorry, dear. You know I enjoy your conversation. It’s the only way I ever find out about things like what to wear and such. I guess my mind wandered, looking out over these gorgeous colors. Which do you think dry out better, the forsythia or the hyacinths?”
Claudia’s attention shifted to the pastoral, which up to now had escaped her view. “Honestly, I have no idea, but I imagine both will dry very prettily. You know, I just now noticed that milkweed. That makes a pretty arrangement all by itself in a tall vase. One of those pewter vases would be just the thing for a bunch of it.”
“Well then, we’ll stop on the way back,” Rebecca swiftly responded. “Remember where we are right now, right at Exit 14 on the Interstate.”
Rebecca had skillfully managed to divert Claudia’s attention so that her own silence would seem less remarkable. Now Claudia was off clothes and onto decorating.
“Marshall Field’s usually has some beautiful household accessories. I may give that third floor the once-over if you think we’ll have time.”
Rebecca, who had every intention of spending all of ten minutes inside the department store, said to her sister, “You take all the time you need. By the time I haggle with these florists, I’m going to need to go somewhere and have a cup of tea to calm myself. If you can occupy yourself until around two, all the better.”
“Oh, yes. I can do that easily. If you pick me up then, we can go somewhere for lunch.”
“Let’s plan on it.” Rebecca had succeeded in structuring the day to allow ample time for her visit to the clinic. She would get around to her florists later, if it turned out she had time to kill.
“Lord, talking about food makes me hungry. It’s a good thing I brought this fruit.” Claudia reached into her bag and opened a Tupperware bowl filled with apple slices. “Rebecca, you want some of these or you going to hold out?”
“I am on the hungry side, but after I drop you off, I’ll grab some toast and coffee somewhere.”
She knew Claudia’s shopping urge would not permit her to stop and eat a full meal, so she didn’t press her to have something substantial for the morning hours. Their size was the starkest difference between the two sisters, and Rebecca’s need for fuel was never meager, while Claudia’s was sometimes birdlike. Today, as always, Rebecca’s agenda accommodated their differences as well as her need to conduct her investigation of Dr. Leighton without distraction.
Heads turned at the sight of the gray Mercedes pulling up to the entrance of the ornate department store, which took up a whole block of the small downtown. Claudia garnered further attention from the pedestrian traffic as she alighted. Claudia, used to receiving attention for her style and elegant bearing, still wore her kerchief. She had also retrieved her Dior sunglasses for the brief walk from the car to the store’s main entrance.
Rebecca, noting the small sensation that her sister caused, was confident that her upcoming church announcements would produce the same effect. She was also confident that Claudia would select just the right ensemble to wear to morning service. With an impeccable eye for detail and the lines that suited her, she was devoted to her appearance even in casual mode, and with more time and planning for a special occasion, she would be totally arresting.
Before continuing on her way, Rebecca reached in the car’s glove compartment to retrieve a street map for Bloomington. She was across town from Leighton’s clinic, and the map indicated she would be best served by heading south for about three miles, then making a left onto the avenue where the clinic was situated.
The Aphrodite Clinic. Rebecca noted the bronze-plated sign alongside the automatic glass doors with curiosity. Inside she found a scrupulously clean, spacious, and well-lit waiting area. Four women were seated on comfortable plush green chairs with chrome frames. The Berber carpeting was a gray-flecked ivory. The women and the facility suggested affluence.
Rebecca walked over to the registration desk and gave her name to the casually dressed attendant. In return, she was given a form to fill out providing her medical history. Rather than inspecting the large, light-skinned black woman dressed somewhat androgynously in khakis and a neat oxford shirt, the other patients studiously avoided looking at Rebecca, as well as at each other. Rebecca was increasingly curious about this doctor and his clientele. The faintest tinge of embarrassment prevailed throughout the large room, and the attendant’s ingratiatingly friendly manner only underscored it.
Rebecca took a seat and began filling in the form. She stopped momentarily and scanned the two-sided document to see if there were gynecological services offered. Never having been inside an abortion clinic, she imagined the tension in the room might be from something of that nature. She saw nothing on the form asking for anything other than routine medical history. There was a question about computer imaging, but in Rebecca’s mind, this was an innocent enough procedure and these days could pertain to a range of ailments.
Several magazines were arranged on a long glass-topped table in between the rows of chairs where the women sat. Rebecca picked up a copy of House and Garden and began leafing through it. She was interrupted by a light tap on her shoulder. A woman seated directly across from Rebecca had moved to the vacant chair next to her. She was carrying the Bloomington newspaper folded back to a page showing a crossword puzzle.
“Do you happen to have a pen or pencil?” she asked Rebecca.
Rebecca reached in her bag and produced a pen.
“Thank you.”
The woman smiled and, rather than return to her seat, remained seated next to Rebecca. She frowned over the puzzle for about two minutes, then spoke to her again.
“Excuse me. Here’s your pen back. I guess I’m a bit nervous today.” She seemed intent on starting up a conversation.
Rebecca thought nothing of telling the presumptuous woman that she would rather read than talk, but right away thought better of it. She could certainly find out why she was seeing Dr. Leighton, and it could be helpful in discovering the type of surgery he had performed on Julia Wilson.
After the woman confessed to her nervousness, Rebecca interjected, “This is my first time seeing Dr. Leighton. Is he a good doctor?”
“Oh, I should say. I’ve been with him for years now, starting right after my youngest finished college. You know, the prices have almost tripled in
the past ten years, but the way you feel about yourself afterward is worth every penny.”
Rebecca waited for the woman to reveal more about her particular health complaint.
“I knew I had to do something to keep my husband happy. I wasn’t getting any younger, and everywhere you look there are so many pretty girls. A woman needs to feel attractive and good about her assets.”
“Indeed,” was Rebecca’s puzzled comment. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you here now?”
“Oh, just for a checkup. I had the last operation a few months ago.”
Rebecca, knowing she was overstepping the bounds of politeness, asked pointedly, “What did Dr. Leighton do for you the last time?”
The woman, only too happy to reveal herself to Rebecca, glanced quickly around the room as if to make certain no one else heard her.
“The first time,” she said, speaking in a stage whisper, “I had liposuction.”
Rebecca’s mouth flew open in astonishment. She checked herself immediately and responded dryly, “I see.” After a decent interval, she asked further, “Did everything go well?”
“I had just the tiniest bit of discomfort after the procedure, but Dr. Leighton really knows what he’s doing. And the medication he gave me was superb, and I’m not one for taking a lot of pills.”
Rebecca, still not fully recovered from the woman’s revelation, prepared to ask her what her current visit to Leighton portended. Before she could think of a tactful way to raise the question, however, the attendant called out to her.
“Rebecca Cates Furness, the doctor will see you now.”
Rebecca, for a moment disoriented at hearing her married name, thought fleetingly that she would drop Jake’s surname and change her name legally back to Rebecca Florentina Cates once Jake was safely ensconced in Sacred Lamb. No one in Peoria remembered her married name, anyway. She, Claudia, and Gracelyn would forever be “the Cates girls” to all of their neighbors in their small universe. She quickly got over the shock of what her fellow patient told her, and in her steely mind, started planning how she would query the doctor.
Rebecca was led by the attendant to the doctor’s office, a small, pleasant room with Impressionist paintings on the walls, prints of Cézanne’s water lilies, and some of Matisse’s portraits and still lifes. When Dr. Leighton—a man she surmised to be in his late forties—entered the room in his immaculate white surgeon’s coat, Rebecca noted the same muted elegance as in the paintings. Tall, olive-skinned, and of medium build, he spoke to her in a well-modulated baritone.
“Mrs. Furness, I’m Dr. Leighton.”
“Hello,” Rebecca responded. Her eyes followed him as he sat behind a long teak desk positioned directly in front of a large picture window with old-fashioned blinds drawn nearly shut. Her eyes then swept the small room in totality and stopped at a credenza, above which were mounted several carved West African masks.
Noticing Rebecca’s survey of his decor, Dr. Leighton began to talk with enthusiasm about his art collection.
“I’m very passionate about Yoruba sculpture, as you can see. There is such a spiritual quality to these pieces in addition to their beauty, and since I’m in the beauty business, it’s good to have as much of it around as possible.”
Rebecca thought initially that Dr. Leighton might be a black man. The tinge of cadence in his speech and the resonance of his speaking voice confirmed this for her.
“You’ve been to Africa?”
“I go as frequently as I can. I’m planning my next trip for sometime this winter. Are you a collector yourself?”
“No, not in the least. My business is orchids.”
Without waiting for the doctor to give her a lead-in, Rebecca stated, “Julia Wilson, my pastor’s wife, referred me to you. I’m interested in the same procedure and knowing what you think is best for me.”
Dr. Leighton cleared his throat and paused before he began speaking.
“Mrs. Furness—”
“Do call me Rebecca.”
“Oh, thank you. Rebecca, it’s important to me that the women I see first appreciate their own special features before considering any surgery I might perform on them. Unless I misunderstand, you are interested in breast enlargement.”
Rebecca, unflinching, replied, “Actually, breast reduction.”
“Oh, I see, I see.”
A trace of a smile came and went from Dr. Leighton’s mouth.
“I was confused when you mentioned Mrs. Wilson.”
“I can see how you would be,” Rebecca probed, just to make certain she completely understood their exchange. “No, sir. I’m a bit overendowed.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say so, given your height and build. Your breasts are quite appropriate. Have you been having back pain or any other discomfort?”
“No, none. But I thought some surgery might enhance my appearance. I suppose that’s vain.”
“Well, possibly. But more likely you are saturated with American cultural images of the perfect woman. You should really travel to Africa and get another sense of beauty. Men there value larger women. To some extent, that’s true of our people here as well.”
Dr. Leighton continued talking to Rebecca, as though he didn’t often have the chance to express his opinions about art, culture, and varying types of beauty. Listening with mild interest, she tried to conceal her excitement at having learned the truth about the three thousand dollars the church had paid toward Julia Wilson’s breast implants. As far as Rebecca’s strategy went, this development was beyond perfect. Noting that Dr. Leighton had stopped speaking and was looking at her thoughtfully while stroking his chin, she thought it best to tell him she was not going to do anything for now.
“But if you don’t mind, I may want another consultation with you.”
“Why certainly, I would advise just that.” Leighton leaned forward earnestly. “Even if just to be assured that you’re very attractive as you are.”
Rebecca stood, and he immediately sprang to his feet and came around the desk to escort her out.
“I do not charge for up to three consultations, because I recognize these are serious issues, and I don’t want my patients to hesitate to contact me. So, you keep that in mind.”
“Oh, I will, Doctor. And thank you so much. I feel very much at ease after speaking with you.”
It was just shy of one o’clock, and Rebecca decided to forgo seeing her florist clients and just drive around the town, since she would need to pick up Claudia at Marshall Field’s in just over an hour. She was so happy with her discovery of Wilson’s financial impropriety, she didn’t feel she could talk to business clients coherently, and as far as she was concerned, her workday was over. She would just relax behind the wheel, get something to eat with Claudia, and enjoy the ride back. The next, more intense phase of her project was about to begin, and she would need to recoup her energies. Armed now with critical information, she would be able to launch a searing attack.
VI
REBECCA STOOD OUTSIDE the gothic building noticing the sky was cloudier than earlier that morning. The Cates sisters had abandoned their walk to church because of the grayness, and Rebecca had let the others out while she parked the Mercedes in the lot adjacent to the small backyard. If in fact it started to rain, the parishioners would not be in a rush for the service to be completed. That was a good thing for Claudia. She could take her time making announcements without hearing an impatient sigh or anyone’s feet tapping. Rebecca realized that if her glamorous sister relaxed, she would completely charm the congregation.
Rebecca proceeded indoors, pausing briefly in the entryway to acknowledge two white-gloved ushers in starched white dresses and lace caps. One of the women handed her a program and the other led her down the center aisle to the sixth pew from the front, where she took the aisle seat next to Claudia, who sat primly in the middle of the pew reading her Bible. For most of the last century this had been the Cates family pew. Rarely did other members of the congregation invade the s
isters’ designated seating area. If they did, it was only when the church was completely packed, at Easter service or when a well-known guest speaker was present.
Claudia’s dignity was enhanced by the ensemble she had chosen for this morning. Hatless today, she wore a sleeveless ivory linen dress that provided just a hint of an A-line over her slender frame. The bateau neckline was accented by a vivid melon-and-teal-printed silk scarf, ends clasped by a large onyx brooch resting on her sternum. The effect of the scarf was welcoming, and the subdued neutral dress created a regal effect. Sparse gray strands wound through the chignon at the nape of her neck, giving her an air of kindness and gentility.
A few moments after Rebecca was seated, Gracelyn appeared from a side door at the back of the church. Walking briskly up the aisle, she plopped cheerfully next to Claudia and began to fan herself excitedly. Rebecca knew she had spoken to Sunday school students about a meeting next Saturday evening to discuss the Tubman play. That morning, if everything went smoothly, they would have deposited Bernard at his hospice. Claudia would also mention the play in her presentation that morning, and ask parents to support the activity. Rebecca planned for Bernard’s commitment to be kept quiet for a while, and she hoped any public interest in his plight would be muffled by the excitement over the children’s play. In the weeks that followed, when rehearsals were under way, she would have Claudia refer soberly to his unfortunate decline. Rebecca herself would be able to drop the bomb regarding Julia Wilson’s surgery before people had a chance to gossip about how buoyant Gracelyn seemed about her project, despite her husband’s misfortune.
Strains of organ music halted Rebecca’s rumination. She raised her head up to the choir loft, where tiny Shirley Breeden had seated herself at the pipe organ three or four times her size. Rebecca began humming softly to Shirley’s signature prelude, “Is Your All On the Altar of Sacrifice Laid.” Ever since Rebecca could remember, Shirley had begun playing this melody at the start of the church service as a signal for members to cease shuffling and whispering in their seats in preparation for the procession of the pastor and the choir.
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