By August first, she’d sublet her apartment, stored most of her furniture, and moved into his town house. He helped her carry in the three suitcases and fifteen boxes, and watched her unpack into the spaces he’d made for her.
Mike found he enjoyed the arrangement and the domesticity. He could almost convince himself that he’d forgotten Kate, with Allison to hold every night. Their lifestyles meshed well. His short business trips, which had always been reprieves from his lonely life, became even more pleasurable because he had Allison to come home to.
Mike wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d gone through women like Sherman went through Georgia, but he didn’t think of himself as a user. He was truly looking for the right one. Unfortunately, none of them could match his ideal—his Kate. When he could see things weren’t going to work out, he’d always been honest with them all, even though his candor had usually ended up hurting them. But Allison seemed to almost fill the place in his heart he’d reserved for Kate Armstrong.
And so by September first he’d asked her to marry him. Their wedding was a civil ceremony. He didn’t tell Sheryl till the next day, when they drove through Clinton, Maryland, on their way to Washington, DC. “It’ll be a working honeymoon,” he’d warned Allison. “You consider that work?” she’d jokingly pouted.
His parents never even got to meet her. By the time Mike was able to get away to Tampa to see them, he and Allison had already split up.
He’d never brought up Kate or Paul. He avoided the subject of his hometown when he could. But the Armstrongs were due back in Staunton in a little over a month, and he knew it was just a matter of time before Kate invited the newlyweds for a visit.
Mike wanted this marriage to work. And then they’d gone to that damned New Year’s Eve party.
“You know Paul Armstrong?” Allison asks in amazement.
She holds up a framed photograph of Paul and Mike that Kate had taken the year Paul won the Gold Glove award for the first time. Allison rarely enters his study while he is working, and never comes in when he isn’t there. Her respect for his privacy is one of the things he really appreciates about her.
“We grew up together.”
“Wow,” she says, putting the frame back in its place on the library table. And then she spots the only photo of Kate he allows himself to display. Actually, it is one of her wedding photos. Kate and Paul standing on the steps of Saint Francis Catholic Church, with Kate looking at Paul, and Paul laughing into the camera. The picture serves as a reminder that she really does belong to someone else, and that someone else is his best friend. It is a humbling experience every time he looks at it.
“Aren’t they the perfect couple?” she exclaims. “They’re both gorgeous.”
Mike says nothing. Instead, he takes Allison in his arms and kisses her desperately.
When Paul calls in December it is only the third time they’ve talked that winter.
“What’s up, bud? We haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Work’s keeping me pretty busy,” Mike answers.
“Yeah, work and Allison. Am I right?”
“When you’re right, you’re right.”
“Well, you and Allison need to get yourselves over here for New Year’s Eve. Kate’s planning a big one. It’s ‘come as your favorite movie character.’ We’re giving out prizes for best costume, and best performance.”
Mike winces. “Best performance?”
“Yeah, everyone has to do a scene from the movie their character’s from.”
Now Mike groans. “Who are you going as?”
“Crash Davis,” Paul answers, naming the down-on-his-luck baseball player Kevin Costner has made popular in the movie Bull Durham.
“Quite a stretch for you,” Mike states sarcastically. “Don’t tell me Kate’s going as Annie Savoy?”
“She told me not to tell. So, we’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Can’t wait to meet Allison.”
Suddenly Kate’s voice comes on the line. “Yeah, and I hope she’s more fun than that Marla.”
“Mara,” Mike corrects her. “And the woman I’m married to is named Allison. Can you try and remember that? Al-li-son.”
Kate’s throaty laugh makes him weak.
“Remember what I told you,” Mike says as they pull in front of the Armstrongs’ house the afternoon of December 31. “Don’t take anything Kate says or does too seriously.”
“Stop worrying. This is going to be fun.”
Mike steps out of the car, muttering, “Yeah. Fun.”
Paul meets them at the door, and as Mike introduces Allison he sees a look of incomprehension cross his friend’s face.
Allison enters the house, and Paul draws Mike aside and says, “Not your usual type.” Mike knows what he means is, she’s not like Kate, and he replies, “You’re wrong.”
The two men find the two women face-to-face in the hallway. They have already introduced themselves and are shaking hands. Mike watches Kate’s face, concerned at what he sees.
Kate’s scrutiny of Allison is unnerving. He isn’t sure, having never seen it before, but he thinks it is a look of jealousy. And for the life of him, he can’t understand why. But when Kate sees Mike, her face lights up and she is suddenly coquettish. Almost possessive in the way she takes his arm; the way she kisses his cheek. And then he knows they are all in trouble when she whispers, “I’ve been practicing my performance for two weeks. I’m betting you’ll like it.”
Mike attempts to smile, as he hisses back, “Kate, I’m warning you, don’t fuck this up for me. I’ve already told her all about you and your parties.”
She stands back, grinning. “Let me show you up to the guest room, Allison. The party starts at eight, so we have plenty of time to get to know each other.” Kate takes her arm and leads Allison up the stairs, saying, “I can’t believe Mike is finally married.”
Mike has wandered downstairs a little past seven and is fixing himself a drink when Paul joins him.
“You’d think there would be a time in your life when you wouldn’t want to wear a baseball uniform,” Mike comments.
“Yeah, but look how good I look in it.”
Through his connections, Paul has gotten an authentic Durham Bulls home uniform and has had the number 20 sewn on the back. It is the only time he hasn’t worn the number he started the majors with—5.
“You look pretty sharp, Marshal Kane.”
Mike does his best Gary Cooper “aw shucks” grin and lifts his black Stetson with his middle finger. The gesture isn’t lost on Paul.
When Allison saw Mike’s outfit from High Noon for the first time just a few minutes earlier, she seductively circled him, eyeing the long-sleeved white shirt, black vest complete with star-shaped badge, the tight black jeans and black boots, and had growled. His gun belt rode low on his hips and she pressed up against him, saying, “Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?” Allison wore only a merry widow and stockings. He had replied, “A little of both, ma’am.”
Now, Allison’s voice asks, “Well, what do you think, boys?”
The two men turn. Mike’s face breaks into a broad smile that wavers when he hears Paul say, “Uh-oh.”
Mike tears his eyes from Allison, who is walking into the living room, and looks at Paul. “What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?” And then he sees Kate coming down the staircase, and he distinctly says, “Oh, shit.”
Two gorgeous, redheaded women. Two strapless, curve-hugging, floor-length, slit-to-the-crotch, black satin dresses. Two pairs of long black satin gloves. Two pairs of black ankle-strap high heels. Two “Rita Hayworths.” Two Gildas. And two pairs of stunned blue eyes.
Kate is the first to break the awkward silence, when she throws back her head and laughs. “Great minds think alike!” Mike, preparing himself for the worst, is relieved when Kate puts her arm around Allison’s waist and says, “Are you the two luckiest men in the world, or what?”
Mike takes his eyes off Kate to see how Allison is taking it, and he can s
ee she isn’t taking it well. He honestly thought it would have been the other way around. Mike quickly goes to Allison, who has wriggled out from Kate’s hold on her.
“You look amazing,” he says, kissing her on the lips. “The wig is the perfect touch.”
She looks up at him, eyes narrowed slightly, and mouths the words, “I don’t believe this.”
He shrugs, whispering, “This is going to be fun. Remember?”
But his eyes stray to Kate and the amount of skin she is showing. Something is different about her, but he can’t put his finger on what she’s changed.
By the time the guests start arriving, Allison’s discomfort has subsided. Each time a new couple comes in the door, the talk centers around their costumes, and by nine o’clock the house on Frazier Street is filled with people talking, eating, laughing, and dancing. The two Gildas have become the clichéd joke of the evening, when nearly every person who is introduced to Allison says, “Haven’t we met somewhere?”
The insanity begins in earnest when Kate announces the start of the auditions. After an hour of hilarious renditions of scenes that go from Gone With the Wind to The Godfather, Kate yells, “Take five, everybody! I think I wet my pants,” and she turns the stereo up again and goes into the kitchen to put a fresh batch of hors d’oeuvres in the oven.
Allison, sitting on Mike’s lap during the entertainment, says, “I’m going to see if she needs any help.”
Allison enters the kitchen and asks, “What can I do?”
“Oh, good! A helper.” Kate straightens up, closing the oven door. “Could you get the rest of the vegetable platters out of the fridge?”
Allison is removing the plastic wrap from the trays when she notices Kate standing at the counter, preparing another bowl of chili dip. “Don’t you want to put on an apron?”
“There’s an idea,” Kate answers, holding up hands covered with the cheese she is grating. “Would you mind tying it on for me?”
Allison stands behind Kate. “You’ve got something on your dress back here.” She starts to brush at the tan-colored stain that has appeared where the zipper starts on the dress. Kate whirls around, startling her.
“Would you mind doing this? I’ll take care of it.” Kate rushes out of the kitchen and nearly knocks over Mike in the hallway in her hurry to get upstairs.
“Kate? What’s wrong?” His words bounce off her retreating back. Puzzled, he pokes his head into the living room and catches Paul’s attention. “Kate just ran upstairs and she looked panicked.”
“I’ll check on her. Thanks,” Paul says, hurrying after his wife.
Allison appears in the doorway, a questioning look in her eyes.
“What happened?” Mike asks.
“I don’t know. I noticed a spot on the back of her dress, and she went nuts.”
Paul comes down a few minutes later, and Mike seeks him out. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Don’t say anything, okay?”
Kate enters the living room moments later wearing a black silk shawl, and it is then Mike realizes what has been nagging at him about Kate’s dress. It’s strapless, and although higher in the back than Allison’s, it still shows about six inches of her upper back, something he’s never seen before. And there is something else he’s never seen. Her scar. He’s known about it for years, and knows she never wears anything that would reveal it. And he hasn’t seen it tonight, either. She has covered it with body makeup. That is the stain Allison has seen.
Mike notices Allison working her way through the crowd toward Kate. Moving quickly, he grasps Allison’s arm before she can reach Kate. Without preamble, he states, “I’ll tell you later. Don’t say a word.”
But the evening has been ruined for Kate. He can see it on her face and in the subdued movements of her body. Allison watches in hurt wonder as Mike leaves her side to go to Kate.
“Did you save a dance for me, Katie?” Mike asks, running a gentle hand over her hair.
And it is then that Allison knows she has a rival in Kate, and that Kate doesn’t even know it. Allison can’t take her eyes off Mike as his arm circles Kate’s waist, and she melts into his body. They both have their eyes closed, but she can see them whispering to each other. Allison looks for Paul in the crowd, wanting to see his reaction, but she is disappointed when he watches Kate and Mike for a few seconds with a grin on his face, and then goes back to the conversation he is having with three other men.
When they’ve finished their dance, Kate’s spirits seem restored, and Mike watches in amusement as she asks for quiet. “Jerry? We haven’t seen your performance yet, and I’m sure everyone is dying to know what scene you’re going to do from True Grit. Why don’t you start the next round?”
Jerry Springer, the second-string catcher for the Giants who comes from nearby Waynesboro, quickly says, “What about you, Kate? I think the hostess should lead off the second half.”
His suggestion is met with voices raised in agreement and clapping. Kate looks at Paul across the room and he gives her an encouraging nod. Her eyes sweep the room, then she grins and gives a “what the hell” shrug.
“Okay, let’s get this over with.” She looks at Allison. “Care to join me?”
Allison shakes her head. “No. I don’t think I can compete.”
Kate moves to the far wall, takes off the shawl, and faces the crowd. “All right, Paul. Hit it.”
The music starts and Kate begins her husky-voiced rendition of “Put the Blame on Mame,” doing a perfect imitation of Rita Hayworth’s pouty, provocative burlesque. Their friends roar as she slowly peels off a glove, trails it over Mike’s head, and drops it in his lap. As she seductively glides through the movements of the number, the other glove comes off, ending up in Lou Whitley’s outstretched hand. She bends forward, placing her hands on her thighs, revealing milky-white cleavage. She sings through a curtain of fiery hair, one smoky blue eye gazing at her audience. When she finishes with arms up and one shapely leg peeking out of the expanse of black satin, those who aren’t already standing, leap up to join the applause.
Winking at Mike, Kate grabs her shawl on her way out the door.
Allison downs the gin and tonic she’s been nursing during Kate’s number, and holds out the glass to Mike. “I’ll be right back.”
Allison finds Kate on the mud porch, the back door wide open.
Kate smiles. “Needed some fresh air.”
“I can imagine,” Allison responds. “I could use a little myself.” She pauses, then says, “That was quite a performance.”
“Thanks,” Kate answers. “It would’ve been a kick to do it together.”
Kate’s words seem genuine to Allison, but she still asks, “It was a performance, wasn’t it?”
Kate turns. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Allison says as she looks into Kate’s eyes and sees genuine puzzlement. “Kate, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about Mike. What’s the longest relationship he’s had?”
“Probably the one he has with you. I guess hell finally froze over.” Kate’s grin disappears at Allison’s frown. “Hey, I’m sorry!” She runs her hand down the other woman’s arm. “It’s a very old joke. He’s lucky he found you.”
The champagne starts flowing around quarter to twelve. Allison drifts from room to room searching for Mike. She finally finds him in the backyard playing catch with Kate and Homer while Paul looks on from the back porch. Kate has slipped a sweater on over her dress and has taken off her shoes. Allison can see Mike’s breath in the backlight of the floods in the trees. They are both laughing, as they tease the dog with the promise of a tossed ball.
Allison leans on the railing next to Paul. “Do I remind you of her?”
“Does it matter?” he asks.
“I hope not,” she says softly.
They both watch in silence for a few minutes, then Allison asks, “It doesn’t bother you?”
“What’s
that?” Paul asks, never taking his eyes off Kate.
“That he’s in love with your wife.”
Paul chuckles. “Everyone loves Kate. Besides.” Paul glances at Allison before turning his attention back to Kate. “It shouldn’t bother you, either. He married you, didn’t he?”
There is a groundswell of noise billowing out of the house and the screams of “Happy New Year” reach their ears. Kate runs to Mike and flings her arms around him, as he lifts her into the air and swings around. When her feet are back on the ground, she pulls his head down and hisses him. In seconds, Kate is running toward Paul. She reaches the railing and smiles up at Paul, saying, “Happy New Year, baby. God, I love being home!”
Paul reaches down, scoops her up in his arms, and brings her over the railing. Still holding her, he brings his lips to hers for a hungry kiss. As Paul carries her into the house, he says over his shoulder, “See you guys in the morning … Happy New Year!”
Mike is still standing in the middle of the yard. He hasn’t noticed Allison come out, and is now surprised to see her. He hurries to the porch. “Alli! I didn’t know you were out here.”
“Obviously. Happy New Year, Mike.”
“Happy New Year, Alli.” He leans forward to kiss her, but she backs away.
“What’s this about?” he asks.
“Can’t you guess?”
He draws a breath. “I warned you about Kate.”
Allison locks her eyes with his. “But you didn’t warn me about you. I’m going to bed.”
Mike sees the party out to its bitter end. The last couple departs around one-thirty, leaving Mike to turn out lights and lock doors. As he pads past Paul and Kate’s door in bare feet he can hear their bedsprings creaking, but no other sounds come through the thick walls and heavy door. He’s heard it before. It always tortures him.
Mike slips into the guest room. Allison has left the small art-glass lamp on and it casts an amber glow in the far corner of the large room. He undresses quickly, turns off the light, and makes his way into the four-poster bed. No movement comes from Allison’s side of the mattress, but he knows she’s not asleep.
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