The Secret Keeping

by Francine Saint Marie

  A strange sense of relief claimed Dr. Kristenson once she realized this. She watched the taxi pull into the traffic and disappear around the corner without fear as to where it was going. It was not Lydia’s whereabouts that worried her anymore. It was Sharon’s.

  _____

  It is Saturday. Two women stand in the entranceway of Frank’s Place. They aren’t aware of each other yet, or the similarity of their missions. A blond woman older than both of them, and the object of their desire, is seated at her usual table for lunch. She has noticed them up there. Her eyes flash red lights, green lights, even yellow, without her knowing it. Different signals to both of them which get crossed in the air. If the three ladies were dots on a piece of paper and you drew lines connecting them, you’d be drawing a triangle, the blond of course at the apex. Both women are equally beautiful in their own right and although the last thing the blond wants to see today is the two of them in the same place at the same time thinking the same thing, it provides for an unusually good opportunity to compare them with each other, which she is also doing without meaning to. Both are young, but one is older than the other. How much older? You can’t tell. Both have dark hair, the older one’s is more brown than black. The younger woman is taller than the other, perhaps by three or four inches. She is an exotic thing with an animal’s grace and snarl. The defending champion, she wears a spoiled expression and is on a constant prowl, this very second admiring the strapless back and legs of her unknown rival. Her rival is a fine physical specimen with an elegance that borders on regal. She is armed in this contest with lofty ambitions and with unassuming good looks that come from deep beneath her skin. And she has blue eyes, Helaine’s favorite color. Her instincts are good. This second she senses someone behind her and is turning around to see who it is. At the same moment a hand expertly brushes against her bare back and a bedroom voice offers a disingenuous apology for the trespass as its owner passes too close to her on the way into the dining room. This woman seems oddly familiar and she follows her with her eye, glimpsing a cautionary glance from the blond as she does it. In her eyes she sees a yellow light flashing, then the light turns suddenly red and she balks. On the periphery the waiter finally appears heading for the entrance with a look of stupefaction. The seat Lydia wants, the one next to the blond is now occupied and the sight of those two women together again instantly jogs her recollection. She goes pale, and turns to leave.

  “Madam, wait,” says the waiter.

  _____

  “Harry?”

  “Please. Let me seat you for lunch.”

  “Harry, I–”

  “Please. This is just the tricky part, believe me.”

  Lydia gazed past him, sized up Helaine’s tortured expression, her panicked body language. The dining room was less than half filled. She could be seated inconspicuously if she consented to it. “Three’s a crowd,” she whispered.

  “Of course.”

  Lydia was silent, her face darkened with disappointment.

  “She really wasn’t expecting her,” the waiter assured.

  What does that mean? “I can’t do this, Harry. I’m not the type.”

  It was pride talking. All that pride. “It’s too late for a’ that,” he said.

  She let go a bitter laugh. “For a’ that, an’ a’ that, our toils obscure, an’ a’ that…?”

  “Yes, but ‘the man o’ independent mind, he looks and laughs at a’ that. You should, too.”

  She considered those words. What was happening to her, quoting poets? Courting Venus? Letting herself be boondoggled again, this time by a woman?

  “The course of true love never did run smooth,” he began again.

  “Okay, okay, okay.” She could not outdo him, nor did she want to try. “Sit me there,” she said, pointing at a location close to the unhappy couple. She saw a look of relief come over Helaine’s face as the waiter led her to the table, but short of that the blond refused to acknowledge her.

  The menu. Lydia put her face in it, listening for the voice she had hoped to hear today, but she heard only sliced and muffled responses, nothing to go on.

  They had been together, she realized, staring over the top of her menu. She knew it by the younger woman’s eyes, eyes fresh with a conquest, like a shark’s. She knew it by the way Helaine tried to hide it, by the way she checked her movements so it wouldn’t show. Yesterday or even today, Lydia thought, trying to discern the topic of their discussion. You are mine, the young woman seemed to be asserting to the beleaguered blond. Not a pleasant conversation. Under their table she could see the shark stretching her legs out to entwine Helaine’s in them. She wanted to kick them herself and willed Helaine to do it for her, but the blond merely mumbled something and hid her face with her hand. It was the first time she had ever seen her flushed.

  Oh, god, Lydia thought, hailing the waiter, what am I doing here? He blocked her view as he took her order.

  How good they looked together, she admitted, after he had gone, the sparks still flying between them, smoldering, though she could tell they were igniting something far more flammable than sexual passion, something quite a bit more adulterated than true love. Corrupted, but it was easy to envision how it must have been before that, before whatever it was had happened to ruin them. It was easy to see how darkness once complimented the light, posing no more harm to it than a cloud would by covering the summer sun in a breezy afternoon sky. Easy. Too easy.

  There was a quick glance from Helaine. Bear with me, it said, I’m sorry. Lydia looked guiltily away. Wasn’t she hoping to benefit by their catastrophe? Wasn’t she guilty here of opportunism?

  Lunch was ruined. Appetizers. Lydia pushed them around her plate, eyeing the blond fatale who just yesterday had sent her roses and today mere helpless glances. Strained, apologetic glances full of half-formed explanations and unspoken promises. Lies, probably. Lydia watched with dismay as the shark’s hand disappeared under the table cloth and Helaine’s face drained once more of its color. She saw the blond discreetly push her chair back from the table and send a warning look toward her lover, with lips blood red and hostile. The shark grinned insolently at her, removed her hand, and scoured the room instead.

  As if things weren’t complicated enough, Sharon Chambers was searching for the woman she had run into at the coat check. To her delight she found her conveniently seated only a few tables away. She liked the looks of the woman, her cut of clothes, the strong back and legs, and she was thinking that, if she got the chance, she’d proposition her, that she’d make a fine dessert. She sent those intentions her way, indifferent that Helaine was suddenly aware of them.

  And now, thoroughly flustered, Lydia threw her fork down and headed for the ladies’ lounge, a hapless move that both Helaine and the waiter simultaneously recognized for the huge mistake it was. Only Sharon Chambers mistook it for meaning something else. She waited an appropriate minute or two and nonchalantly followed after her, licking her chops all the way to the bathroom.

  The waiter rolled his eyes heavenward and stepped behind the bar, scribbling on a piece of paper as he eyed Dr. Kristenson. She rubbed her forehead wearily and ran her hands through her hair, her agitated fingers displacing her hairpin and sending it flying across the tabletop. There was little he could do for her at this point. He watched a proverbial straw falling in slow motion from the sky and waited for the distinctive sound of a breaking back.

  Eight. Nine. Ten minutes.

  Helaine shot a volley of anxious looks toward the ladies’ lounge, reclaimed the hairpin and scooped her hair back before rising from her chair and aiming herself in that direction. The waiter intercepted her before she got that far, handing her a note with a piece of tape attached to it.

  “Best I can do,” he said, sheepishly. The note read “Out of Order”.

  “Indeed,” she said, appreciating his tact. “Thank you.” She taped it to the bathroom door and pushed herself inside, standing quietly in a dim hallway before deciding how to proceed.
/>
  She had never been in this room, was not familiar with the layout. She moved cautiously along the length of a long wooden partition until she glimpsed Sharon and then Lydia in the mirror around the bend. Their voices floated over the divide, taut and flat. Water was pouring from a faucet. Clearly they had not heard her enter.

  “Decency?” That was Sharon. “Decency’s not much of an asset in the bedroom, darling.”

  Darling. Helaine cringed.

  “No? Well, maybe you ought to try it sometime.”

  Lydia’s lipstick was smeared. So was Sharon’s. You’re a misery, Helaine thought, glaring at Sharon’s reflection.

  “Let’s,” Sharon pursued. “I’m an excellent student.”

  “Look…I don’t need a student. Now give me my lipstick.”

  Helaine heard the sound of plastic hitting the floor, pieces of it scattering. What she couldn’t see was Sharon grinding Lydia’s lipstick into the floor with her sandal.

  “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” Sharon hissed, indignant.

  She wouldn’t know you if she fell over you, Helaine screamed in her head.

  Lydia sighed impatiently and turned the water off. “Oh, please. You’re not going to try to impress me, I hope, because you’re already operating on a deficit.”

  Helaine smiled. She wasn’t sure how Sharon Chambers was going to take that one. This was probably her very first NO. A deadly quiet filled the lounge and it hung heavy and toxic around the two women. Helaine could see Sharon’s face in the mirror and didn’t care for her expression. She thought fast and retraced her steps to the door, reaching behind her to open it and then closing it loudly again.

  Sharon came sailing around the bend. “I’m out of here,” she said hotly. “Meet me at the flat, Helaine.”

  “I–”

  “At the flat, Dr. Kristenson!” She slammed the door behind her, oblivious to the consequences, or to the sign that was taped on the other side of it.

  _____

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Lydia replied. She turned to the mirror, took out a tissue, wiped off her mouth.

  Helaine observed her from behind.

  “Doctor?” Lydia asked in the mirror.

  “Yes. A doctor.” She hesitated before confessing her name. “Dr. Helaine Kristenson.” There was nothing in Lydia’s face to indicate that she recognized it.

  “Medical?” Lydia asked. She faced her again, leaning against the counter, grasping the edge of it in her hands. They were about the same height, her and the doctor. She smiled again. A doctor. In a gray tailored tunic with a heart shaped front, linen lined with satin, just a splash of lace, tapered in above the knees, gathered at the waist, hugging the hips, the sleeves nothing more than wide straps dangling over the tips of the shoulders as if they would fall down her arms if she wanted them to. Full breasts, wide shoulders, long neck, a blond halo of hair, eyes afire, more than a little something to get burned in.

  “No,” Helaine answered. “Just a psychotherapist.”

  “Oh.” Lydia smiled self-consciously. A pleasant voice, exactly what she had expected her to sound like.

  “Can you read minds then–I hope not?”

  Helaine chuckled. “Sometimes.”

  Sometimes. Lydia nodded and averted her eyes. At her feet lay the remains of her lipstick dispenser, smeared and tracked across the floor. It made the bathroom look like the scene of an accident. Helaine saw it, too, and frowned.

  “Please tell me she’s just one of your patients,” Lydia said, trying to effect a laugh.

  Helaine grabbed some paper towels and bent to the floor. “She’s not,” she said without looking up. “I’m sorry to say.”

  Lydia watched her clean in silence. It was probably a ritual between them, she thought, noticing the gray dress slowly riding up Helaine’s thighs, the tops of stockings, clips holding them in place. Down. She could see down the front of it now. She took a step forward and then stopped, embarrassed.

  Helaine looked up then glanced at herself. “Lydia,” she said, as she cleaned the mess. “Lydia what?” She had put a corset on this morning, mostly to remember what it was like to be Helaine Kristenson. She had instantly regretted it when she saw Sharon come in, but she was not in the least bit sorry now.

  Lydia what? Lydia what? “Helaine…”

  Helaine laughed low, stopped what she was doing. “No, dear. I’m Helaine. And you are…?” She watched the blood rise to the woman’s cheeks and smiled. “Lydia, what is your last name?”

  “Beaumont–I’m Lydia Beaumont.”

  Beaumont? That’s a familiar name. “Well,” Helaine answered, shifting so the dress could slide higher up her thigh. “Ms. Beaumont, if you keep blushing like that, I’m going to have to kiss you.”

  Lydia glanced in the mirror, laughed shyly. “You sent the cognac, I hope?”

  “I did.”

  “And the oysters?”

  Helaine knelt on one knee and set the paper towels down. “And the oysters. And the roses.” She leaned forward, but didn’t rise. “You like?” she asked.

  One more step. Lydia put her hand on Helaine’s shoulder. The dress strap fell down. “Like? Yes.

  Absolutely,” she answered. “Love.”

  Helaine took a quick breath. “Good,” she heard herself say, “I’m glad.” Lydia’s hands were at her neck.

  She let her lift her face, closed her eyes. She rested her cheek against a firm stomach. “Ms. Beaumont, how did you get a body like this?”

  How? “I…work in finance.” Lydia said, placing both her hands on Helaine’s shoulders. “It’s, uh, sort of an extreme sport.” Down went the other strap.

  “Extreme,” Helaine repeated. “May I?” she asked, taking Lydia’s right hand and bringing it to her lips. A sigh. “I’m extremely in love with Lydia Beaumont,” she whispered, kissing the palm with her tongue. She felt Lydia jump. “What does Lydia Beaumont think I should do about it?”

  “What…you should…” behind them, to their sides was a bank of mirrors, a pretty portrait of two women in every one of them. One blond. One brunette. What she should do about it? They looked good together.

  She should–Lydia stroked the blond head below her, reached for the hairpin and removed it. A yellow wave cascaded onto her legs, a soft face pressed gently into her stomach. “Am I still blushing?”

  Helaine opened her eyes, took in Lydia’s face. “You are.”

  She was. She could feel it. “Then do what you have to,” Lydia dared.

  _____

  There was unfinished business at the flat. She had planned to buy her freedom today, say fare-thee-well to Sharon Chambers. Making out with Lydia wasn’t supposed to have happened yet.

  Making out!

  Helaine walked slowly toward the harbor. Life has a force all its own, she mused, so we’re never too early or too late. She could add that new observation to her book. What else, she wondered, could it do? Could it handle Sharon Chambers’ wrath, provide the antidote for her poison, prevent whatever harm would come of today’s confrontation? Wouldn’t that be nice? She floated, propelled by an unseen force, the touch of a new lover still on her lips, her perfume lingering, without her knowing it, in her hair. Tomorrow or the next day, she promised herself, everything will be fine again. As for today…she floated away from her body, watched it with apprehension as it moved closer and closer toward Sharon.

  _____

  “Ya know, Frank, you sure have some nice looking broads in here!” the man said, appraising a dark-haired woman as she left the dining room, the last of the lunch customers to go. He swiveled his barstool around to beam at the waiter. Harry grimaced and placed the bill at the side of his glass.

  Three times during the course of this guy’s liquid lunch he had been required to inform him that his name was not Frank. He refused to correct him again. The checkered suits, the beady eyes, the stupid grin, the bald patch on the back of his fat speckled head…Harry had been wondering for m
onths what a guy like that was doing hanging out in a place like Frank’s and the simple truth was that he didn’t trust him.

  Today “Checkers” (which is what he privately had nicknamed him) had abandoned his table and come up to the bar for his lunch, not long after Sharon Chambers had crashed the party. Harry wasn’t sure, having been distracted, but it almost seemed the two of them knew each other, that they had acknowledged each other in a brief exchange. It was curious and Harry was troubled by it.

  “See ya, Frank,” Checkers drawled, nearly dragging the stool with him as he tottered away from the bar.

  Harry smiled with disdain. Well, he thought, watching the big guy stagger through the patio doors and teetering on the sidewalk, if he’s spying he won’t remember what he saw today. He laughed as he wiped the bar down. Poor Checkers! He had served him drinks in triples. Four triples for lunch today!

  _____

  She calls him “Daddy.” He calls her “Queenie.” It’s an improvement over “Princess,” what he called her for the first two decades of her life. He calls her mother “The Grim Weeper.”

  “Daddy, please. That’s not nice.”

  “Then why do you laugh with me?” Edward Beaumont teased his daughter.

  “I’m not laughing with you. I’m laughing at you.”

  Lydia was thinking of her last conversation with her father as she walked from Frank’s to her apartment.

  She didn’t know why, possibly because it took her mind off Helaine, heading right then to her lover’s apartment for a little heart to heart.

  “Negotiation’s the name of the game, Queenie. It’s the only way to get what you want in this world.

  Otherwise, you’ve just got to steal it.”

  _____

  Negotiating. Negotiating. Lydia had negotiated a soft option and a hairpin curve. It was now about twenty blocks away from her, engaged in thought, with its blond hair flowing on its very own breeze. That’s too far away for Lydia to see the woman halt in her tracks, search her hair, and suddenly remember the missing hairpin lying on the floor of the ladies’ lounge at Frank’s. Also too far away for Helaine to go back and retrieve it. She was just a few blocks from the waterfront.