Medicine Man's Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “That is such a sweet face,” he said, and kissed her gently on the mouth.

  “Thank you for last night,” he said. “I won’t forget it.”

  He was terribly close to saying final things, and Jennifer held her breath. But he merely brushed his lips across her brow, and slipped quietly out the door.

  Jennifer stood with her eyes closed, still feeling his touch on her skin. She’d handled it well, behaved reasonably and with great maturity. But that knowledge did not ease the pain she had masked so expertly for Lee’s benefit.

  She still wanted him desperately and didn’t know what to do about it.

  * * * *

  Jennifer spent the morning in a state of suspended animation, going through the motions of doing laundry and dusting furniture like an automaton. When the phone rang around lunchtime, her heart stopped for a second, but then she knew it wouldn’t be Lee.

  It was Marilyn. They exchanged news and small talk for a little while, and then Marilyn said, in that gently probing way she had, “Something’s wrong, Jen. What is it?”

  Jennifer bluffed around for a while, but didn’t fool Marilyn for a minute. She finally blurted out that Lee had spent the night with her.

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Then Marilyn said in crisp, businesslike tones, “I’ll be right over.”

  Jennifer heard the click of disconnection before she could protest.

  * * * *

  Marilyn arrived to find Jennifer in the middle of cleaning out her drawers, and items of clothing and other miscellany were strewn about the bedroom in untidy piles. She surveyed the chaos and shook her head.

  “Trying to work off our frustrations, are we?”

  “Failing,” Jennifer responded, tossing a mateless sock into a laundry basket with others of its kind. She looked up. “Where’s Jeff?”

  “With a sitter,” Marilyn answered. “I thought we should conduct this conversation without interruption.” She looked around. “Come out to the living room. You’re doing more harm than good in here anyway.”

  Jennifer got up off her knees and followed Marilyn into the other room. Marilyn plopped into a chair and put her feet up on the coffee table.

  “Okay, sweetie. Give.”

  Jennifer recounted everything that had happened since the morning of the previous day, including the conversation she and Lee had had before he left Marilyn listened, interrupting only with an occasional pertinent question or brief comment When Jennifer was all talked out, Marilyn leaned forward and peered at her owlishly.

  “Is that it?”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “So. As I understand it, the problem is that he feels a relationship with you would go against his whole background and way of life. Has he said this?”

  Jennifer made a frustrated gesture. “He doesn’t have to say it, I know him, I know what he thinks. He would really like to go back and work on the reservation in Montana, and I’d be totally out of place there. In some small, atavistic part of his mind, the part that remembers things it has never seen, I will always be esumissa, a white woman, the enemy.”

  “Jennifer, that’s absurd,” Marilyn said gently.

  “Is it? The Blackfeet hated whiles, wouldn’t trade with them, never took white captives. I’ve been reading about them.”

  “You’re talking about the attitudes of one hundred and fifty years ago!” Marilyn said.

  “So what? If you were in his position, would you forget? What was done, and who did it?”

  “You didn’t do it!” Marilyn almost shouted. “When the Indians were being exterminated your ancestors were up to their necks in some peat bog, as poor and as persecuted as his!”

  Jennifer shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. He looks at me, and sees somebody who’ll want him to turn his back on what he is. You should have seen his face when he was talking about his sister, about the imitation WASPs. The contempt, the bitterness in his voice. He talked about the marriages he’s seen between Indians and non-Indians in which the Indian always gives up his past and adopts his spouse’s culture.”

  “He may not have been saying that for your benefit.”

  “I was the only one there, Marilyn,” Jennifer said dryly.

  “Well, did you tell him you’d never ask him to do that?”

  Marilyn’s obtuseness was getting on Jennifer’s nerves. “Of course I’d never ask him to do that. I wouldn’t have to. It’s a subtle process of erosion of spirit, and only one of his own people could prevent that from happening.” She snorted. “And just by the merest chance, one of them has shown up, on cue, to drive the big bad bogeywoman away.” Jennifer told Marilyn about Dawn, and her past relationship with Lee.

  “But you’re not sure anything is going on between them.”

  “No, I’m not. But I noticed something at his house that only half registered at the time, and the more I think about it, the surer I am that Dawn is staying with Lee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when I was there I passed this sort of guest room that he has, and there were bags on the floor, and personal items about, as if someone were occupying it And I think I know who that someone is.”

  Marilyn waved her hand in the air. “That doesn’t prove anything. You said she was an old friend. If he has the room, why shouldn’t she stay there?”

  “I know, I know. But the idea of it doesn’t make me too happy.”

  Marilyn pulled at her lower lip thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you that he might be using this Dawn as a shield, retreating to the familiar in defense against his feelings for you?”

  Jennifer rubbed her forehead distractedly. “Even if that’s true, how does it help me? I don’t want to be someone he has to erect barriers against for fear of losing his identity. And I’ll tell you something else. Even if I could transform myself into a full-blooded Siksikai, I wouldn’t do it I have my pride, too. If he can’t take me as I am, and accept me for what I am, then he has no real regard for me anyway.”

  Marilyn smiled. “Spoken like Seamus Gardiner’s daughter.”

  “Up the rebels,” Jennifer responded, and they both laughed.

  Marilyn glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to go, I was only able to get Barbara to stay with Jeff for a couple of hours.” She regarded Jennifer closely. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Of course. I’ll deal with it.”

  Marilyn didn’t look convinced. “Call me if you feel like you want to talk again.”

  “I will.”

  The apartment seemed very empty after Marilyn left Jennifer trudged back to the bedroom to dig out from under the avalanche, hoping that the work would make her tired enough to sleep.

  * * * *

  The season began, and Lee’s personal appearances came to an end as the games got underway. Jennifer didn’t see him anymore in connection with work, and after the manner of their last parting, she knew he wouldn’t call her. So she contented herself with memories of their night together and spent a lot of time daydreaming, lost in thought.

  “You look tired,” Dolores said bluntly one morning. They were settling down to work in Jennifer’s office.

  Jennifer was tired. She found herself taking naps at odd times, but ascribed the fatigue to depression.

  When Jennifer didn’t respond, Dolores tried another tack. “I saw your ex on a talk show last night,” she said brightly. “He’s taking flying lessons.”

  “From what I remember of his drinking habits, he will rarely need a plane,” Jennifer answered.

  “Hostility,” Dolores said. “A lot of hostility there, Jen.” Dolores had been attending an encounter group and was lately given to such observations.

  “My experience with Bob entitles me to a little hostility,” Jennifer said. “Now are we going to get these letters out, or what?”

  Dolores ignored the question and started snapping dead leaves off the Swedish ivy plant hanging in the window. “Have you seen Lee Youngson since the company
dinner?” she asked, too casually.

  “No.”

  Dolores tossed the brown vegetation into the trash, wiping her hands on her skirt. “So that is the reason for this funk.”

  “Dolores—” Jennifer began.

  Dolores stabbed an index finger at her. “No, Jen, don’t shut me up. I may not be Einstein, but anyone can see that something is wrong with you. You’re going around like an extra on the set of The Night of the Living Dead. Don’t you plan on doing anything about it?”

  Jennifer turned in her swivel chair and deliberately looked out the window. “No.”

  Dolores folded her arms and leaned against Jennifer’s desk. “It’s not one-sided, you know.”

  Jennifer revolved back in her direction.

  Dolores fluffed her hair with her fingers. “Did you ever see that old movie with Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly?”

  Oh, God. Was this going to be another one of Dolores’ flights of fancy? Jennifer was in no mood for “Hollywood Squares” today.

  “Which one?” Jennifer said patiently.

  “Ah, let me see, I can’t think...oh, yes. The Country Girl. It’s about an alcoholic actor and his wife, and the director who falls in love with her.”

  “Sure, I remember it Grace Kelly won an Oscar.”

  “Well, the husband knows his wife and the director are in love, but they’re trying to hide it. And at one point he says to them, The only thing more obvious than two people looking longingly at one another is two people trying not to.’” Dolores looked meaningfully at Jennifer. “I was watching the two of you at the Stratford, and for some reason, that line just came to mind.”

  Jennifer got the message. Every once in a while Dolores surprised her. It was easy to forget that behind that airhead exterior was a keen observer of the human condition.

  “Why aren’t you going after him?” Dolores persisted.

  Jennifer sighed. “It’s...complicated, Dolores.”

  Dolores looked skeptical. “It must be. But I’ll tell you one thing, if he were as interested in me as he seems to be in you, I wouldn’t be spending my days in a trance.”

  That was undoubtedly true. Dolores was never one to let any grass grow under her feet where men were concerned.

  “I believe you. Now can we get to these letters?”

  Dolores whipped out her steno pad and waved it under Jennifer’s nose, muttering under her breath, and then sat with her pen poised above the paper, waiting.

  Jennifer set to work.

  * * * *

  Jennifer persuaded Marilyn to go to a Freedom game with her the following weekend. At first Marilyn hesitated, thinking that it would be rubbing salt in Jennifer’s wounds to see Lee play. But Jennifer’s insistence became pathetic. It was obvious that Jennifer needed to see Lee, even if it was from a distance, and Marilyn eventually gave in to her.

  Jennifer used her connections to get seats on the fifty yard line, reserved for a season ticket holder who would be out of town for the weekend. They were right behind the Freedom’s bench and had a clear view of the players.

  Marilyn’s knowledge of football was even more limited than Jennifer’s, which meant that it was meager indeed. She spent the entire game jabbing Jennifer in the ribs, asking “What’s going on?” and “Why are they doing that?” Jennifer usually didn’t know the answer, and so a lot of what happened down below sailed right over their heads. But they made up in enthusiastic response what they lacked in understanding.

  Lee was called out of the game for a rest during the second quarter. He took off his helmet and sat hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the game. Jennifer could see that his hair was plastered to his skull with perspiration. An assistant coach came by and handed him a towel, and Lee rubbed his head briskly with it, then left it draped around his neck. He went back to watching the action on the field, nodding as another player bent to say something to him in passing.

  The Freedom was ahead 21-7 at the break. Jennifer and Marilyn went to get soft drinks during the half time show.

  “Has it helped to see him?” Marilyn asked as they sipped soda and watched the crowd milling around them.

  “I don’t know,” Jennifer answered. “I do know that I feel like a voyeur, watching him this way.”

  Marilyn made a face. “If you’re a voyeur, so are the fifty thousand other people in the stands with us.”

  Jennifer crumpled her waxy cup and tossed it in a receptacle. “You know what I mean.”

  Marilyn acknowledged that she did.

  The game had resumed by the time they got back to their seats. They arrived just in time to see Lee make a spectacular run as the crowd leaped, screaming, to its feet. Marilyn was riveted, motionless, as she watched Lee outwit and outmaneuver his way downfield.

  “He’s poetry in motion, isn’t he?” she said to Jennifer, raising her voice to make herself heard over the surrounding noise.

  “Yes, he is.”

  She continued to watch as Lee was finally brought to the ground. It took three opposing players to do it.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Marilyn commented as the teams reassembled and the onlookers took their seats again, quieting down for the next play.

  Jennifer had to laugh. “Of course, you haven’t. You’ve never seen a football game.”

  But Marilyn wasn’t listening, as caught up as the rest of the fans in anticipation of another dazzling display.

  Jennifer smiled to herself. Another convert.

  The Freedom won, 28-14.

  * * * *

  The two women went to Bookbinder’s for dinner. They were lucky to get in without a reservation, but they ate early, right after the game, before the evening rush.

  Marilyn had baked scrod and Jennifer had oyster stew. Marilyn watched Jennifer crumbing crackers into her untouched soup and said, “Why don’t you call him?”

  Jennifer closed her eyes. That suggestion ranked right up there with the offer of a cruise on the Titanic.

  “All right, all right, don’t call him. Let’s take a walk to the Newmarket instead, look around at the shops. That’ll take your mind off him.”

  Jennifer doubted it, but as an idea it was an improvement over the first one. Marilyn ate as Jennifer toyed with her food awhile longer, and then they walked out into the early autumn dusk.

  Society Hill was busy on this Saturday night, with couples strolling hand in hand, and families out for a little exercise. A brisk breeze blew in from the nearby Delaware, making it seem cooler than it actually was. Jennifer and Marilyn cruised the stores, and Jennifer charged a lace shawl she couldn’t afford in an effort to lift her spirits. They would plunge again when she got the bill.

  They left the shopping area and walked through the restored section fronting the river, which was paved with brick and sported colonial streetlamps and reproduced period facades on the houses. One block from the water was a new condominium complex, a high-rise, where the apartments cost a fortune. Harold Salamone lived there, along with several of the city’s top businessmen.

  “How about going to Scruples with me tonight?” Marilyn said brightly as they crossed the street to stand looking out across the bay. “Jeff is staying with my mother and I have the evening free.”

  “Marilyn, it is not necessary to supervise me.”

  “Who’s supervising?” Marilyn said innocently. “You know that guy I met, Jim, the Ph.D. student at Villanova?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Clinical psychology, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right. He works nights as a bartender at Scruples.”

  Jennifer chuckled. “Ah-hah. And here I thought you were unselfishly devoting every thought to my welfare.”

  “I am, I am. Trying to kill two birds with one stone, that’s all.”

  “I see. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m bushed. I’m going to take a relaxing bath and go to bed early.”

  Marilyn turned and faced her, outraged. “You mean you’d make me go alone? You won’t even come along to
offer moral support? Some friend.”

  “Marilyn, that’s emotional blackmail.”

  Marilyn grinned triumphantly. “Let’s go home and change.”

  * * * *

  Jennifer’s enthusiasm for the project began to pick up while she was getting ready to go. She had a new dress she’d never worn, a soft silk sheath in a frosty ice blue. She put it on and donned her new shawl.

  Marilyn came for Jennifer in her vintage Pinto, and they were on their way back to Philly. This is how I spend my life, Jennifer thought, shuttling back and forth to the City of Brotherly Love.

  Scruples was in the middle of the block at Second and South. As they passed under the awning at the entrance, it began to rain. It had been raining on and off for days, stopping just long enough to allow the Freedom to play the game that afternoon, and it looked as though it would be a wet night.

  Scruples was jammed. The music blared and the strobe lights flashed, assaulting Jennifer’s ears and eyes and almost prompting an about-face for the door. Marilyn seized her arm and propelled her along to the bar, where her friend was serving drinks. They waited in a crowd three deep to get to him.

  Jennifer looked around, trying to spot an empty table. She brushed off several approaches, including one by a character who told her that he was a government agent involved in “very important work.” Jennifer sent him back to Washington.

  Marilyn went off on her own, pushing through the mass of humanity. Jennifer craned her neck and saw that Marilyn had reached her quarry by wedging between two people who appeared to be having an argument. Jim looked up and greeted Marilyn with a welcoming smile. Jennifer silently wished them a wedding in June and shoved her way to a table just vacated by a couple who vanished into the crush.

  She was no sooner seated than she was joined by a man so drunk she couldn’t believe he was standing on his feet He was tipping his drink, obviously the latest in a long line, to one side, and with every movement it sloshed onto his hand. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Jennifer had difficulty understanding what he was saying, not that she wanted to in any case. The music and his intoxication combined to make him almost incomprehensible. She picked up that his name was George, and his intentions became clear when he got her arm in a viselike grip and wouldn’t let go.