The Book Club

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Well, Bobby was in college now and Sarah wasn’t a child any longer. Wasn’t Bronte proving to be responsible for Eve? Yes, perhaps she should help Sarah assume more self-responsibility and give R.J. more of her time.

  Her mind began racing with possibilities. She and R.J. united again! She’d make it work. She’d discuss it with him tonight. After the party. Yes, she decided, her effusive delight building her fantasy. Tonight at the party she’d sparkle; he wouldn’t be able to help but notice what an asset she was to him. Then she’d quietly set aside one bottle of champagne. Then, after the guests were gone, she’d wear a pretty negligee and offer herself to him. Totally. Her time—her body...

  Her toes squeezed in her shoes with excitement and hope as she forced her body to remain still. R.J. was cursing under his breath and fumbling for his “damn eyeglasses” in order to see the small clasp of the necklace. She knew he hated the indignities of growing older: the loss of hair, the dimming of eyesight, the absentmindedness. Her eyes softened with affection as she watched him slip the reading glasses on and bend over her neck. Dear man, she thought with a gush of affection, remembering the young man he once was, loving the older man he was today. This man was hers.

  She sucked in her stomach and set her jaw. She would change things. She’d make herself more interesting. And tomorrow she’d begin that diet....

  * * *

  Annie was teetering on the edge of sanity. Any lucidity that remained as she sat in her garden waiting for John to return home had dissipated with the last wisps of daylight. John finally walked in the house just after dusk in a whirlwind, dropping luggage in the foyer, showering, changing into his dinner clothes with barely a word. He was a man on a mission. R.J. expected him at the house early for the party; there were plans to discuss, last-minute details to sort through.

  Annie sat in a chair with her knees close to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, watching him pace. She was still and quiet, but inside there was an implosion of her feelings. She was being drawn inward by the density of her secret. Cancer was not news one could just blurt out. Such news required a quiet moment, the two of them seated in chairs, cups of tea in their hands and plenty of time for the right words and responses.

  So telling herself that she could get through this evening, she rose and showered, slipped into a sparkly black slip dress chosen at random from the closet, and stepped into a pair of gold leather mules. She couldn’t bear to fuss in the mirror tonight—what did it matter? She simply smoothed red lipstick on her lips. The brilliant color against the paleness of her skin enhanced the odd brightness in her eyes.

  “John, I want to leave early tonight,” she said as they were driving to the Bridges house. “I’m not feeling well. And I want to talk to you.”

  He turned his attention to her, scanning her face. “Sure, okay. As soon as I can get away. You look a little pale. Anything up?”

  She saw immediately that he thought she might be pregnant. The realization stung and she swung her head to look out the window into the blackness. “I just want to go home early. We’ll talk then.”

  Doris greeted them at the door in a queenly manner that was out of place, even insulting, to Annie and John. When Annie told her plainly that they’d be cutting out early, Doris looked at her with an incredulous expression. Then, turning to John, she said with insinuation that R.J. was expecting him to spend the entire evening.

  “We will, don’t worry, Doris,” he replied quickly with a disarming smile.

  Annie stood with her arms at her sides, speechless.

  Doris sent her a sidelong glance of triumph.

  “Do what you want, John,” Annie said, furious at the tremor in her voice. “I’m going home early.”

  Before anyone could respond, R.J. stepped into the room with his usual bluster. “John!” he roared jovially. “Where the hell have you been? Come over here and see what I’ve got planned!”

  John cast her a loaded glance, then turned and walked toward R.J., all enthusiasm and smiles.

  More guests arrived and Annie, stuck for the moment, chatted rather stiffly until she could retreat somewhere and hide. Not that it wasn’t a lovely party. Doris and R.J. had gone all out with the flowers, decorations and food. Red, white and blue candles were cleverly positioned everywhere, creating a magical effect in the house and onto the extended patio. The buffet table was a sumptuous feast and champagne flowed liberally. Good lighting, good food and good champagne—the recipe for a successful party. Yet Annie couldn’t enjoy any of it. She felt outside of it all, an “other.” It was physically painful for her to be here tonight.

  She wandered through the house, nursing her glass of champagne. She didn’t know most of these witty, chic, well-dressed people who lit up the Bridgeses’ landscape like fireflies, nor did she want to. She had nothing against the other guests, they all seemed perfectly pleasant in a nondescript sort of way. While the men and women came in all sizes and shapes, the common ground here was status, chiefly determined by wealth. Although it would have been considered vulgar or in bad taste to talk about money—either her own or someone else’s—in subtle ways a person’s income, connections and status were always the first thing one learned about someone else. She could imagine Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice whispering behind her fan, “He’s worth ten thousand pounds a year!”

  She knew the Bridges house well, had been to many Book Club meetings here, yet each time she visited she couldn’t help but be impressed by its size, charm and distinction. This was a home of generations of living, and the attention to detail was all Doris. How Doris loved this house, took pride in it, as she did in her children. John felt this way about their Frank Lloyd Wright house, too.

  Why couldn’t she feel attached to her own home? To her it was a nice enough place, an attractive four walls and a roof. A place to hang her hat. Yet, despite the work they’d put into it, she could leave it at any moment. Success to her wasn’t about things but about the people she surrounded herself with. Success was a state of mind.

  And a bankbook, she thought with a cruel realism that she was never afraid to own up to.

  She eyed the door with longing. She didn’t want to be here. Idle conversation felt beyond her tonight. Her brain throbbed with her diagnosis, and the fear and feelings it carried, as though it were going to burst any moment and bleed out her secret all over Doris’s Oriental rug. She felt edgy, too, and anxious about the conversation she’d have with John later that night. He had to face the fact that hard, uncertain times lay ahead, that a baby wasn’t going to happen. Not for them.

  That thought was a heartbreaker. John had spent months hovering around her, checking her temperature and calling Dr. Gibson regularly, nagging her with questions about what they still might try. Annie couldn’t stand that the whole effort was over, that her body was out of her control. She’d failed. No amount of positive thought could change that. Along with that came the onslaught of thoughts about her future—what was she working for? What was she leaving behind? The course of their future had been irrevocably changed.

  She shuddered and finished her wine, dispatching to a remote corner of her mind any thought of the disease that riddled her body. She couldn’t go into that dark place now. Not here. Not yet.

  A few couples passed by carrying plates full of filet and salads. Annie’s stomach turned. The sight and smell of food made her nauseous. Thank God this wasn’t a sit-down dinner, she thought, moving to the fresh air outdoors. Then she’d be trapped twirling food around a plate between two strangers. She craned her neck to scan the milling guests. She needed to talk to someone she cared about. John apparently didn’t have time for her, she thought with bitterness. Well, screw him. Where was Eve?

  Annie reached for another flute of champagne, hoping the bubbles would have their usual soothing effect. She drank the liquid in gulps, ignoring the shocked expression of a white-hai
red woman in a long dress that looked like it had been pulled out of mothballs for one last tour of duty. She moved away, hanging on a while longer for John’s sake, keeping an eye open for Eve. She hadn’t seen her since the last Book Club meeting. Why was everyone so busy lately?

  R.J.’s voice boomed over the crowd, calling like a carnival barker for everyone to face the river for the fireworks show. Annie moved lethargically to the edge of the patio and stood alone in the humid night with her wineglass. She sipped her drink, swatted mosquitoes and looked out with a desolate feeling as black as the darkness beyond. Somewhere out there lay the Bridgeses’ large, prime piece of real estate, and beyond it a winding road, and beyond that, a dense forest preserve where mosquitoes bred and frolicked and the Des Plaines River meandered by.

  John came to her side as the first firework shell burst across the sky. Against his dark-navy linen jacket, his blond hair and white, collarless shirt seemed iridescent in the moonlight.

  “Hi there, stranger,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, as excited as a boy. “It’s going to be a great show. Just great.” He whispered in her ear exactly how much it cost R.J. to purchase the show of large shells.

  Annie turned her head and narrowed her eyes. John’s eyes were bright against his tan and there was no concealing his delight in the telling of the exorbitant amount. It seemed as though, in some odd way, he participated in the glory by virtue of his association with the man. Oh, John, she wanted to scream at him. That’s all money he’s not paying you! A shell burst like thunder and she steeled herself against the explosions in her heart, turning her head toward the sky to view a bright-red chrysanthemum pierce the darkness.

  “Are you still feeling off?” he asked when the spectacular display was over. “You seem kind of down.”

  “I told you I didn’t feel well, but that didn’t seem to register. Or matter. No, no,” she said, brushing away his excuse. “Never mind. Have you seen Eve?”

  John shook his head but his soft blue eyes appeared troubled. “I don’t think she’s been invited.”

  Annie drew herself up. “Not invited? Eve? Why not?”

  John anxiously looked over his shoulder to see who stood around them. “Shhh... R.J.’s looking for legitimate prospects tonight. This is a business dinner.”

  “Don’t shush me! Business dinner, my ass. Look over there. Mrs. Davy. And the Lincolns. The Kochs. They’re neighbors.”

  “They’re also on the Riverton planning board. R.J. didn’t want extraneous people.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “R.J. didn’t want unimportant people.” She could feel her blood boil, and once that happened, it was like a geyser spouting. “What a proud, arrogant prig! And Doris is no better. You can’t tell me that if Tom Porter had left his wife well-off and she lived down the block that she wouldn’t be here tonight. Screw this. Screw them. Anyone who thinks the gentry doesn’t exist in America today is naive.”

  The subject inflamed Annie. She grew up having her nose rubbed in class difference and despised it. Just as she despised the fact that Eve hadn’t been invited tonight. Had she even suspected the shun, Annie would never have come.

  “How could Doris not include Eve, especially now when she needs her friends and connections more than ever? What the hell kind of a friend is that?”

  She’d said this to John heatedly within earshot of Doris. He looked up with alarm, tugged at her arm and drew her aside.

  “Keep your voice down,” he said in a low, strangled voice. “And that’s enough of that. You’re getting drunk.” He took her wineglass away and downed the remainder in one angry gulp.

  “I’m only just getting started,” she fired back. “And don’t ever take a wineglass from my hand again.”

  “R.J. is uptight enough. I don’t need to worry about you, too.” He must have seen her fierce expression because he looked down and said in an appeasing tone, “What does it matter if Eve isn’t here tonight?”

  She opened her mouth to explain but a couple they knew approached. While John greeted them warmly, Annie looked over his shoulder and spotted Doris standing in a cluster a few feet away. She was standing as straight as a board, smiling stiffly and speaking to the mayor and his wife. Annie knew by her high color that Doris had overheard. Good, she thought.

  Annie, impatient to continue her argument, shooed the couple away with a few choice, cool remarks. Then turning to John she said in a loud, deliberate voice, “I want to go home. Now.”

  John was furious, and grabbing her elbow, walked her to a quiet corner. His face was red and he blurted out a cuss word she’d never heard him use before.

  “You had no business being rude to those people.”

  “Who are they anyway? They mean nothing to me.”

  “Now who’s being a snob?”

  “You deliberately misunderstood me.”

  “I understood you. Perfectly. Now understand this. This party isn’t about you. Or Eve. Or even Doris. It’s business and R.J. will have my head on a platter if I leave now.”

  “Ah, do as R.J. says...whatever R.J. wants.... Typical,” she muttered.

  “Cut it out, Annie. This is my job. I like these people. I work with them. I’m sorry if you’ve got it in your mind to hate everyone here. Me included. But I don’t. So go if you want to. Take the keys. I really don’t care. But I’m not leaving.”

  “I don’t hate everyone,” she said archly, her sarcasm ringing. “Just two people in particular.”

  He paused and his eyes, bright with frustration, bore into hers. “It’s always about you, isn’t it, Annie? What you need. What you want. For once, Annie, do something for me.” Then he released her arm abruptly, almost hurting her, and stomped off, his blond hair bouncing along his neck.

  So she stayed. Begrudgingly. For John’s sake. But she swore she wouldn’t be social for another minute. Not one more false, “Oh hello!” Not another, “I’d like you to meet...!”

  The fireworks were over; the evening was winding down. John had joined the boys smoking cigars on the verandah. Women clustered, waving hands in the air as they spoke. Annie looked around, desolate, emotionally unable to scare up someone to talk to about nothing. If only she had a good book she could escape the frivolous gossip.

  Well, why not escape, she thought? Perhaps no one would notice if she slipped quietly away. She scowled, firing up her resentment. Well, to hell if they did. A waiter strolled by carrying a half-empty tray of champagne flutes. Annie hoisted two off the tray, muttering curses at John, then strolled away from the blazing lights of the house toward the welcoming, gravel-strewn trail that was seductively lit by well-placed, lily-shaped lanterns. She traveled slowly down the gently sloping hillside into the dark.

  It was a lovely summer night, soft and introspective, perfect for a solitary stroll. She swung her arms wide, balancing the two flutes like dumbbells, delighting in the way the air cooled the soft underskin of her arms. In the secretive shadows, alone among the green, she felt a lightening of the oppression that gripped her at the party. She was free! The mood shift was electric and rippled through her. She swayed with drowsiness, yet her senses felt heightened. Awakened. Pulsating. The late-evening breeze was sweet with the scent of Doris’s lush perennials, the pool’s water and the freshly mown grass. It drowned her senses. Here and there in the distance, fireflies glowed against the purpling sky and dense foliage. In the air, the humidity hung thick like a moist tropical fog.

  The long, oval pool was a good distance from the house, a secluded enclave encircled by an army of tall weeping cypress trees and countless evergreen shrubs. Walking into the hideaway in the moonlight was like entering another world. The dark surface of the swimming pool resembled a pond. The stars reflected in the water with the glitter of jewels. A soft spray of water from a fountain in its center caught in the wind and sprinkled her with its refreshing coolness, becko
ning her near.

  She reached the pool’s edge, then bent low, tottering slightly, testing the water with her fingertips. It was warm, velvety and very, very inviting. And it seemed the fireflies were humming inside of her head now, tickling her, making her giggle. She felt light-headed and languorous as she stretched her fingers farther in the water. How utterly delightful the simple sensation of water running through fingers could be. She dribbled water down her face, along her neck, feeling it pool between her breasts. Looking out, she felt she could skim across the sheet of water on the tips of her toes. Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes far into the darkness, laughing when she heard one thud, then another, lost forever.

  “Marvelous,” she sighed, sticking her toes under the surface. The water felt delicious where she swirled a figure eight. It might have simply been the wine, or defiance against John and Doris and R.J. Or it might have been the impact of realizing that her time on earth might be limited and she’d better enjoy every moment. Annie felt a loosening inside and opened up to the child she once was, the girl who sang to trees and hunted for leprechauns and fairies. That child was buried deep inside but tonight, under this magical moon, she felt the girl struggling to emerge. She giggled, hiccuped and spread her arms wide in a wingspan, faceup to the moonlight, laughing.

  “I am youth! I am joy! I am a little bird who has broken his egg!” she called out, reciting favorite lines from Peter Pan. She swirled around in a circle, then arched on her toes at the edge of the pool. Swaying, she leaned too far over the edge. Her balance was lost. She flapped her arms like a bird about to take flight, but in her heart she knew she was going down.