by Bobbi Marolt
Cory nodded. “But you did, and many people are very happy.” She took Helen’s hand into her own.
“Did you go to the services for Blair?”
“She was buried at Ferncliff Cemetery, in Hartsdale. I attended with Stacey and Marty. Marty took it hard. She didn’t want to leave Blair in a can.”
Helen internalized her feelings of guilt. Had she been responsible for Blair’s death? She could only come up with a positive response. With that in her mind, she kept the moment light and responded.
“Ferncliff is where Judy Garland and Joan Crawford rest. Harold Arlen. To name a few celebrities. Blair would have loved the idea. She always liked a good ending.”
“I’m sure she’s still around,” Cory said. “She’s probably lurking about this apartment, trying to think up ways to piss me off.”
Helen smiled a little. “I’m out of energy already. Get me back into bed?”
“Sure, and I’ll stay right next to you this time.”
Chapter Twenty
Although she was tired at the end of an evening, mornings and afternoons were good for Helen. She wouldn’t allow Cory to take pity on her and proved quite capable of doing many tasks.
Those things included keeping a spotless aquarium and well-fed fish, motoring dirty dishes to the dishwasher, watering plants, and any other household chores that she reached from a sitting position. Two weeks went by and she convinced Sam that she was taking fewer pain meds and was well enough to do a weekly column.
The show’s group had carried on with their plans during her hospitalization. Stacey had acted as producer-at-large. There was little remaining for Helen to organize, and with plenty of time on her hands, she felt a need to become involved again. Everyone would have a swell time and she’d simply be a hostess. A Suzy Homemaker of the vaudeville kind. No, she couldn’t let her role be that miniscule. If she was about to fling herself from the closet, she’d make sure she was their equal, if only for that night. But how? What could she do?
She looked toward the music room and then tapped the cast on her arm. For bathing purposes, the cast was removable. She’d found her answer.
Cory, it turned out, was a creature of habit. She was wired, restless, and baby-sitting was not her forte. Helen sensed her need to perform and that need played along perfectly with her intentions, which included a surprise for Cory.
Cory finished shaving Helen’s single hairy leg, rinsed it with warm water, and smoothed cream over the fresh flesh. She topped it off with a kiss to Helen’s big toe.
“Thanks, baby,” Helen said.
“I enjoyed that. I’ll do both someday.” She tapped on the cast.
Helen shuddered. “It’s frightening to think what we’ll find under that one.”
Helen took the shaving paraphernalia back to the bathroom and then parked her ride beside Cory. “Do you think we need time away from each other?”
Cory looked away from a book and to Helen. She closed the paperback. “Are you getting tired of me?”
“No. I just think there’s no reason for you to coop yourself up every minute for me. I can get around pretty well.”
“I would like to get some running in, maybe visit my manager.” After a quick thought, she showed more excitement. “Vladimir Ashkenazy is in town this week. I’d love to see him perform and say hello. Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you alone for a while?”
“Yeah. Maybe Stacey or Marty will drop in. Maybe Yoko.” She smiled. “No, really. Enjoy yourself.”
Cory agreed.
*
Although Helen felt guilty for her harmless scheme, several hours each week were filled with nine feet of grand piano, and Marty who usually arrived right after Cory left. When Cory returned from an outing, she talked amicably with Marty, but there was a small cloud of coolness that alerted Helen to a problem.
“I’m tired,” Cory once said when Helen asked if something was wrong. “We don’t have much in common,” was her most interesting response.
“You’re both artists, entertainers, known to practically all nine planets, and you think you have nothing in common?”
Helen shrugged off Cory’s attitude and attributed it to winter doldrums.
Three weeks later, Marty finished reading aloud the latest chapter of a lesbian novel, while Helen practiced the left hand to Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” She’d chosen the piece for the memory of Cory in the Jacuzzi, and also because of its simplicity on the lower register of the piano.
“Why do I have to read this mushy stuff to you?” She flung the book toward Helen. “It’s about a green woman.”
“She’s a witch who’s in love with a mortal, and Cory thinks I’m reading when she’s out. You read, I listen, and I learn the sonata at the same time. I tell Cory about the book, and everybody is happy.”
Marty collapsed to the floor and stretched her leg muscles. “Not me. That romantic stuff makes me ill. Give me horror. Bite my neck and send me screaming into the night.” She expressed amusement when Helen stopped her practice and grinned. “I haven’t seen a smile like that since Carter was president.”
“There was a time when I would have bitten your neck.”
“Well, sweetheart.” Marty stopped exercising and shuffled up to her. “Let’s get you into bed.” She fooled with the brake on the wheelchair, a playful attempt to grant the wish of yesteryear.
She slapped at Marty’s hand and laughed, then held her aching belly. “Was. I said was.”
“All right, but if you and Chambermaid ever split—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.” Helen returned to the music, while Marty continued stretching. “Listen,” she said. With both hands, she played. To her ear, it was slow but promising. She played to the thirty-eighth measure and stopped. “What do you think?”
“It sounds nice.” Marty grabbed the coat she’d flung over a chair. “I have to go.” She kissed Helen’s cheek and headed to the front door. “You’re looking much better every time I see you, and life with Cory seems to agree with you. Bye-bye.”
Helen nodded and practiced an appropriate fingering for what could be a sloppy run up a series of keys. On her third attempt, she stopped and wheeled back into the living room.
“Hey,” Cory said when she entered the apartment and closed the door quietly. She pushed off her running shoes.
“Hi, you. You’re covered in snow.”
“It’s crazy out there. Traffic’s at a crawl and my exercise turned into a power walk.”
Her wintery cheeks tugged at Helen’s need to feel fresh air swirl in her lungs. She was still bound to the chair, so asking for an hour in the snow was out of the question. Helen glanced out the window. She’d wait for better weather.
Cory reached for her jacket zipper. “The storm should end around—”
“Will you take me to the park?” Helen blurted and wheeled to her side. “Let’s build a snowman. We’ll catch snowflakes on our tongues.” She might have sounded like she’d taken too many meds. The idea was crazy and Cory hadn’t responded with the least bit of interest. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”
“I’ll take you. The park roads are reasonably clear,” Cory said without much enthusiasm, and rummaged through the closet. “I can at least get you over to Strawberry Fields. Give me a minute to find some warm woolies for you.”
There was something on Cory’s mind, of that Helen was certain, but she didn’t let it burst her bubble of freedom that she was about to experience.
“Thanks, baby. This means a lot to me.”
*
Bundled and cozy in a coat, hat, blankets, and mittens, and well beyond Ono’s mosaic “Imagine” tribute to John Lennon, Helen sat within Central Park. The setting was a winter wonderland. Heavy snow settled quickly and turned her lap and leg into porcelain art. She didn’t care that January’s winds stung her cheeks and frosted her breath, but intermittent seconds of the snowy night of the plane crash smashed at her brain. The cries of a baby, the groans of adults.
Blair.
“Are you all right?” Cory asked.
“Yes. Just…thinking about that night.” And the fire. Smoke that choked her. She held back her tears. “I often wonder why I’m alive.”
Cory crouched beside her. “Because you’re strong and because you were very fortunate.” She slipped her hand beneath the blanket and held Helen’s hand. “Have you talked with the psychiatrist?”
“Not yet. I’ll call her soon.”
“Would you rather leave? Go back to the Dakota?”
“No.” She smiled. “Let’s finish the snowman.”
Cory rolled another ball of snow. Helen took deep breaths and geared her mind back to the beauty, the fun, and of the lives and land that surrounded her.
She poked stones into the snowman to form his jacket. Then she changed her mind. “I want a snow woman,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, and scooped up enough snow from her lap to form the beginning of breasts.
Cory stepped back and studied Helen’s handiwork. “Definitely double Ds.” She looked down at her chest and then back to Helen. “You like big boobs.”
“Love ’em.” Helen growled, then reached for Cory’s breasts.
Cory jumped away and looked around quickly. “There are people here.”
“So what? New York is full of weirdos.” Helen reached again and Cory pushed her hand away.
“Stop it,” Cory snapped. “I’m not a weirdo.” She moved to the back of the transgender statue.
“Nice knockers,” a guy yelled as he jogged by.
“See? Weirdos.” Helen continued to form the double D breasts. “Lighten up.”
“I suppose Marty would…” Cory’s voice trailed off.
Helen stopped and looked around the snowman, at Cory. “She would what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, not nothing.” Helen wheeled herself to the other side. “What about Marty?”
“All gooey-eyed,” Cory muttered.
“Gooey-eyed?”
“Why does she call you so late?” Cory asked.
“She’s worried about me.”
“I’m there. Tell her not to.”
“Tell her not to call?”
“Tell her not to do anything. When I go out, she’s usually there when I return, or she’s just left. I’ve seen her leave on several days and evenings. Today I saw her.”
“Don’t be silly,” Helen said lightly. “I understand where it could look bad, though.”
“Damn it, Helen. She’s always there.” She stabbed a branch into Ms. Frosty’s side to form an arm.
Helen glared. “Is that an accusation?”
Cory looked at her. “Is there guilt?”
“What?” Helen flung a handful of snow at her. “Sure.” She steamed. “I climb right out of this chair and slip into our bed with her. I don’t think so.” She pushed the top of the snowman with her good arm. Ms. Frosty crumbled on top of Cory’s feet.
“Don’t talk to me in that tone.”
“Do you realize what you’re asking me?” She brushed the new layer of snow off her lap. “I happen to love you.”
“Marty’s your fantasy. Maybe you’re connecting the dots?”
Helen stared. “I don’t believe you said—”
“I won’t be used, Helen.”
“Used? You think I’m using you? I’m not listening to this.” She maneuvered a crisp left turn with her chair and headed toward Central Park West.
“Come back here!” Cory yelled.
“Get real,” Helen called over her shoulder.
“You don’t have your key.”
“And you don’t have a clue.”
Helen chastised herself while her wheels skipped and slid beneath her. Why did I ever say Marty was my fantasy? Of course she’d think we’re fooling around. It’s her fear of being used. This is my fault. She quickly flip-flopped. Bullshit. She should trust me.
Cory caught up to Helen and they plodded through the fresh powder.
“Why don’t you trust me?” Helen bellowed.
“I don’t trust her. She can be charming.”
“And I’m a sucker for charm?”
“Are you?”
Helen let go of the joystick, skidded to a stop, and looked over her shoulder.
“Shove it.” She spun off again.
Back and forth, their battle continued through the park. Helen denied this and Cory suggested that until, what seemed an eternity getting through the park, they reached the outside perimeter of the trees. Cory stopped.
“Now look what we’ve done,” Cory said, sounding helpless.
“Fought,” Helen mumbled, looked to her left, and then she stopped as well. The Metropolitan Museum of Art laughed at both of them. “Damn it. We’re on Fifth Avenue.”
Cory turned the chair around for Helen and they silently headed back across the park.
“Are you warm enough?” Cory asked, halfway home.
“Very.”
Without another word uttered between them, they reached the elevator at the Dakota. Helen was angry, tired, cold, and hungry. The doors closed and she pushed a button.
“That’s the wrong floor,” Cory grumbled, and hit the button for the fourth floor.
“Maybe I’m going to Yoko’s.”
“Whatever. I’ll leave the door open.”
She was quiet again until the elevator chimed, then she held the door and waited before following. Cory tucked herself into her music room, while Helen made tea and fixed a light supper.
“Charming.” Helen mimicked Cory’s description of Marty.
She sliced a grapefruit in half, sprinkled salt over the sections, added cherry halves, and slammed them into the broiler. The cherries skidded to the bottom of the stove.
“I’ll give her gooey-eyed.” She tore open a bag of fresh biscuits and searched the refrigerator for honey. “Look, you!” She held the jar accusingly toward the music room. “It’s crystallized. How many times have I told you not to put the honey in the fridge?” She ran the jar lid under hot water before she could remove it. Holding the jar between her knees, she opened it with her one good hand. Finally, she shoved the glass container into the microwave, and watched it go around and around.
Leaving her own dinner on the alcove table, she wheeled Cory’s into the music room and placed the tray on top of the piano.
“Eat,” she said.
“Don’t leave.” Cory reached for Helen’s hand.
“Leave me alone,” she said and wheeled out.
*
After picking at her grapefruit, and then taking a warm sponge bath, Helen struggled with putting on a fresh nightgown and pulled herself into bed. She heard the television tuned to the eleven o’clock news.
She opened a Katherine Forrest mystery, read two pages, and then closed the book. Mystery wasn’t her favorite genre. She didn’t even know where the book came from. Stacey probably left it. She looked at the cover.
“Sorry, Katherine. I don’t care whodunit.” She tossed the book onto the nightstand and thought about their argument.
Marty ignited a genuine fear in Cory. She felt threatened, but had no idea what Marty’s presence actually meant. She’d seen them talking, laughing, kissing good-bye. Of course, the kisses landed on cheeks, but it still looked bad.
Minutes later, Cory came into their bedroom. She removed a nightgown from the armoire and began to undress. She kept her back toward Helen.
“Don’t do that,” Helen said softly. She scanned the feminine curves in front of her.
“Don’t do what?” Cory asked curtly.
“Don’t turn from me. Let me see your body.”
Cory stood bare from the waist up. She rested her forearms against the armoire and crossed her wrists. She leaned her forehead against them. Her shoulders raised and lowered with each breath she took. When she turned, Helen reached for her.
“Come here, baby.” To Helen’s disappointment, she stayed across the room.
“We can’t fix anger wit
h sex, and Dr. Santos said no.”
“Baby, please finish undressing for me.”
Helen watched while she stripped. She stepped out of her jeans and panties, and then turned to face Helen. Helen watched and absorbed every inch of her: breasts to sigh for when pondered, to beg for when close to Helen’s lips; rounded hips that led to a sweet treasure, hidden behind a curly trim of dark hair.
Cory took a step closer. Helen swallowed when a twinge hit her thighs and she shifted her legs. More than a month had gone by since they’d last made love. The twinge turned to throbs. Helen breathed through her lips and wet them with her tongue.
“How does it feel to want me and not have me?”
“Painful,” Helen said, barely audible. “Pleasantly painful, looking at you now.”
Cory slipped her toe under her bikini pants. With a quick kick, they sailed through the air and came to rest across Helen’s chest. Helen grabbed the pink microfiber and held it against her lips. She closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes, Cory stood beside the bed. She took Helen’s left hand and Cory pressed it between her legs. When Helen reached for another touch, Cory dropped her hand.
“You want something from me?” she asked, and backed away. She tore the elastic from her hair and shook it loose.
“You are so fine. Yes, I want something.”
Cory stepped to the bed again and Helen reached once more. Cory took back Helen’s hand.
“A warm, wet place. That’s what you want?” She took Helen’s index and middle fingers into her mouth, all the way.
“Oh God.” Helen groaned as Cory’s tongue and lips teased her fingers. Helen pulled back with her hand and slid her fingers in again. Cory parted the fingers with her tongue. She sucked and licked between them, confusing Helen on who seduced whom. “Yes. That’s what I want.”
She removed Helen’s hand and placed the wet fingers inside of her. She put one knee on the bed and allowed Helen to push deeper.
“Oh, baby. You’re so wet.”
“Do you want to taste me?”
“Desperately.”
Cory pulled away from Helen’s fingers. She took Helen’s hand and brushed the wet fingers against her lips. Helen eagerly took them into her mouth.