Loose Ends

by Raskin, Barbara;

  “Have you seen any of her articles lately?” Suede asked.

  Coco smiled at his lapse into obviousness, replaced the strainer, and wiped her hands on a paper towel. “They’d be hard to miss,” she said, cleverly cloaking her bitter jealousy behind an honest admission of envy. “Well, listen, I’ve got to run out to the store. I’ll be back in half an hour. If Josh wakes up, just call Gavin.”

  When Coco came home from a long car ride and a quick stop at the grocery, she walked into the front hall, placed her packages on the radiator, and then heard the sounds of ultimate betrayal drifting out of the TV room. She stood in front of the hall mirror, watching her face grow soft with sadness, and listened to Gavin, Suede and Sylvia producing genuinely happy laughter, which filtered its way into the hall, announcing that gaiety had happened without Coco, that happiness occurred in her absence, that Coco was not only excluded, but forgotten. She walked slowly toward the den and stationed herself in the doorway, smitten by embarrassment as a cramp of loneliness moved through her body.

  Everyone said hello.

  Coco forced an aching smile to her lips and waited while the silence became heavy and emphatic. Stricken by a consummate sense of desolation, she looked toward Gavin, who lay on the couch.

  Move, she begged him silently, pitifully. Sit up a little straighter because I’m home again. A lady … your wife … just entered the room. It’s not necessary to sit up completely or stand, but just move a little. Shift your body around.

  Gavin remained motionless. “Did you buy stuff for dinner?’

  “Yes. I’m going to make chili,” Coco answered, printing loneliness on each word like the brief messages stamped on heart-shaped Valentine candies. She took a swipe at a strand of hair that drooped disconsolately across her forehead and continued sending silent distress signals toward Gavin, commanding him to at least lift his head off the dirty pillow that Happy dragged around the house like a rabbit. Her anger toward her husband entered active combat with her enormous need for him.

  Suede and Sylvia were sitting in the two chairs near the television set, and Suede was watching a Burman’s domestic comedy—a pantomime of pain—with a raw smile that Coco couldn’t interpret. His expression wavered between curiosity and sympathy as he observed the estrangement being acted out. Occasionally a glint of opportunity flicked like a sick neon bulb in his eyes.

  Exhausted, Coco leaned against the door frame without entering the room. Originally wounded by the alliance they had formed in her absence, her sense of injury now festered with rejection. “Well, I guess I’ll start dinner,” she said, indicating her general displeasure with all of them and her own self-pity.

  Suede stirred uncomfortably. Sylvia looked stupid. Only Gavin seemed untouched and untouchable, a reserve of indifference greater than Coco’s emotional need of him.

  Finally he responded. “Need any help?” He used his small-talk tone of voice which was emphatically and qualitatively different from his important-discussion voice.

  “I don’t know.” Coco shrugged and began backing out through the doorway while they watched her. Her motions were harsh and self-consciously tired. The distance seemed elongated by her sense of humiliation and the intensity of all her unspecified but urgent wants and desires.

  “Just yell if you need me.” Gavin’s promise of deferred assistance floated into the hallway. One of his baffling habits was to act concerned while he remained essentially unhampered by any of the unspoken requests Coco made of him. But she knew he was paying only superficial attention to her, so she hurried down the hallway, grabbing the grocery bags as she fled into the kitchen.

  She began drinking gin mixed with grapefruit juice about five o’clock while frying hamburger for the chili con came. When she wasn’t stirring the meat she sat down near the back door and let her mind follow the teasing path of the gin through her system as she watched a collection of Mike’s friends playing ball.

  “Coco, honey”—Gavin walked into the kitchen, startling her—“why don’t you go take a nap upstairs? I’ll give everyone supper.”

  “Did you and Sylvia finish your brief?” she asked sarcastically, wanting to get into the cliquishness issue.

  “No. It’s going to take a lot more work,” Gavin said. “But I did get some of the background stuff finished.”

  “That’s good,” she said nastily.

  “Go ahead, Coco,” Gavin insisted. “It’s too hot to start drinking so early.” He donned a summer-weight look of sympathy.

  Coco shrugged.

  “Sueeede.” Sylvia’s voice came floating into the backyard from the guest-room window like an invitation to a block party. “Sueeeede,” she wailed, stranger to subterfuge and Coco understood the predicate of her wail. At the terrible witching hour of five, when weak identities are afflicted by acute resourcelessness attacks, women like Sylvia used sex for self-definition until the dinner hour. “Sueeeeede.”

  Coco shivered in the warm kitchen, where the air-conditioner produced a rasping noise rather than cool air, stood up, gave Gavin his cooking instructions, and went into the hall. Suede was still slumped in his chair in the den, obviously struggling against the temptation to run upstairs and knock off a quickie. Coco waved in his general direction and then floated up to the second floor. She went into the living room, slammed the door, and flopped down on the couch, leaning over to turn on the transistor radio Mike had left on the floor. Listening to “Bye-Bye Miss American Pie” she briefly considered running through a number with her Perfect Lover at (a) some secluded seashore shack, (b) Orly Airport, (c) on an archeological dig site in Greece. But she fell asleep before making her multiple-choice decision.

  twelve

  She woke up because Gavin was shaking her.

  “Listen, Coco. Go sleep upstairs so you’ll be able to hear the kids if they cry. I’m going to drive Sylvia home.”

  Coco opened her eyes and saw Gavin’s face high above her. “What?”

  “I said that I have to drive Sylvia home because Suede got drunk and fell asleep and we can’t wake him up. And Sylvia wants to get back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Home.” Gavin straightened up even farther than usual, wrinkled his nose to readjust his glasses, and peered disapprovingly down at his wife.

  Coco brushed her hair away from her face and sat up straight on the couch, carefully placing her feet on the floor. “What’s the matter? Are the taxis on strike?”

  Gavin’s body jerked as if she had struck him. He turned, and then Coco saw Sylvia standing near the telephone table, looking frightened.

  “Yah. We could call a cab,” Gavin said very slowly.

  “I don’t have any money,” Sylvia whispered with equal amounts of apology and pride.

  “Charity begins at home,” Coco said menacingly, trying to re-orient herself.

  So Gavin walked over to the telephone and began to dial.

  “What time is it?” Coco asked.

  “It’s almost ten-thirty,” Sylvia said.

  “It feels like three in the morning,” Coco complained, but basically she felt rested and relaxed apart from the blade of suspicion that poked through the edges of her mood. “God, I’ve been sleeping since five.”

  Gavin turned back toward them, holding the telephone receiver like a gun. “It’ll take fifteen minutes.”

  Sylvia retrieved her Mexican fabric purse off the floor, hooked it over her shoulder, and then walked nervously toward the door. “I guess Suede will just have to sleep it off,” she said apologetically. “I think he drank too much. Listen, thanks a lot for all the meals and drinks and everything.”

  Coco felt bored by the girl and impatient to be rid of her. “Sure. No trouble.”

  “I’ll turn on the outside light,” Gavin said, gesturing so Sylvia would precede him through the doorway.

  As soon as they went downstairs, Suede appeared in the living room.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Okay. I was really tired.” It
seemed difficult to look at him directly. “You know, Sylvia was trying to wake you up to take her home.”

  “I was aware of that.” Suede smiled. “But since I don’t have a car, I thought I’d cool her out. It won’t kill her to take a cab. Jesus, I’ve had enough of that chick for a long while.”

  Coco flushed and smiled.

  “You know something,” Suede said thoughtfully, “you are really a beautiful woman, Coco. You knock me out, you’re so beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Coco felt slightly restored by the compliment since the day had drained away most of her ego supports.

  “Anyway, I think I’m going to crash. Do you have any blankets?” Suede asked.

  Coco elevated herself off the couch and walked down the hall to the big linen closet off the landing. She opened the door, climbed on top of the box she used to reach the top shelf, and grabbed several blankets. Then she slid down, lost her balance, and felt Suede’s arms reach from behind to catch her. Coco sank into a whirlpool of sensation that made it difficult to extract herself from his arms. For a few frantic moments she allowed him to hold her in the mothball-scented closet, pressing herself against his hardness to taste his forbidden strength.

  “Not now,” she whispered in a hot breath against the side of his face. But a silent “soon” stirred her blood.

  Suede looked stubborn for a moment but then shrugged, released her and twisted his body to resettle his tight chinos. Coco slid past him, moved shyly back into the hallway, and then walked down the three stairs to the landing.

  And that was when she saw Gavin standing in the hall foyer with Sylvia, fondling her shoulder and talking softly and comfortingly to her, his mouth close to her face.

  Pain, anger, love, and terror throbbed through her body as she realized that it was Sylvia who was Gavin’s mistress.

  Vaguely she sensed Suede moving near to stand behind her on the darkened landing. Then he too was looking downstairs as Gavin stroked Sylvia’s hair once again with infinite tenderness just before a car horn blasted its signal outside. Gavin kissed her quickly, and then Sylvia turned around to run out the front doorway.

  “Wow, that’s out of sight,” Suede murmured in a stunned whisper.

  Coco shivered.

  “Hey, now, don’t do that,” Suede said softly, putting his hands on Coco’s shoulders. “Take it easy. Just cool it out for now.”

  Gavin waited near the door until the taxi roared off, turned to switch off the outside light, and began running up the stairs two at a time. When he first realized Coco and Suede were standing on the landing, he stopped, stared up at the two of them for a moment, and grabbed hold of the banister. A few seconds later he remobilized his body and continued coming up the stairs.

  Suddenly there was a great deal of movement and confusion. Suede picked up the blankets near his door, turned into his room, and began saying good night. Gavin, totally dislocated, looked as if he might try to shake hands with him. Coco detoured to turn off the light in the linen closet before running up to the third floor. Gavin followed her reluctantly up the stairs, tapping out an anxious rhythm with his fingers on the banister. Coco flung herself across the bed and buried her face in the pillows before Gavin entered the room, cautiously shutting the door behind him.

  “Well. So that’s her,” Coco said in a cold murderous rage.

  “What?” Gavin asked mildly, still standing beside the door.

  “So that’s her,” Coco repeated.

  “Who?”

  “So Sylvia’s your girlfriend … huh?”

  “Are you kidding, Coco? Are you crazy?”

  This time, with the image of the girl bright in her mind, Coco experienced a jealousy capable of catapulting her into homicide.

  And at that moment Gavin began to understand what Coco was feeling, because he sat down on the bed beside her and stroked her face with a love-cupped hand.

  “Look, Coco, maybe it is worse for you to go around dragging up candidates than if I tell you the truth. The famous leading lady in that quickie little affair I had was a woman from Baltimore who works for the Sun. She’s forty, lonesome, bad-looking, and will sleep with anybody who will take her to bed. That was my mistress, as you call it. I slept with her three times.”

  Coco looked at him carefully. “You’re a fucking liar.”

  “She comes to Washington to cover social events that have political connections, and her name is Catherine. Now, are you satisfied?”

  “Catherine what?”

  “What difference does it make? What are you going to do? Call her up?”

  Coco closed her eyes. “Then why were you making love to Sylvia downstairs in the hall?” Her voice sounded unfamiliar and husky. “Why didn’t you tell me she was one of the plaintiffs in that lawsuit? Why didn’t you tell me about her, that you know her and see her all the time and that you really like her?”

  Gavin began to undress, turning his back on Coco until he had pulled on pajamas. “Because you’ve been acting so crazy. Because you’ve been acting completely nuts. You knew I was handling that case. You just weren’t interested.”

  Coco pivoted around on her elbow so she could see how unattractive Gavin looked, long and shriveled in his pajamas, moving forlorn and frightened around the bedroom.

  “So why were you touching her?”

  “Because she was upset.”

  “About what?”

  “About something that happened with Suede.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that’s what she told me. That’s what she was so upset about.”

  “When did she tell you all of that?”

  “While you were sleeping on the couch;”

  “Bullshit, you motherfucking liar. That’s the same kind of shit you used to lay on Ann.”

  “You’re sick, Coco,” Gavin said with a look of ugly contempt. “You’re a selfish, self-centered, self-pitying, selfish bitch.”

  “Get out of here,” Coco said very quietly, sitting up. “Get out of this room.”

  He started toward the door.

  “Where the hell are you going?” she asked.

  “I’ll go sleep in Jessica’s bed.”

  Coco started to cry. “I hope she pees all over you, Gavin. I hope she pees in your face. You’re a mess of a father and a crud of a husband. I wish you would die.”

  “Look, let’s go have some coffee and talk for a while,” he said. He was obviously terrified.

  Coco stood up, lassoed her rage in a heavy rope of self-control, and followed him downstairs.

  They sat at the table in the kitchen, and Coco was certain that Gavin could hear her heart thumping, so violently was it pumping blood.

  “Do you want some coffee?” Gavin asked.

  “All right. Instant’s okay.”

  He got up, found a huge three-quart pot, and moved toward the sink. He was so tall that he dwarfed and distorted Coco’s kitchen appliances.

  “I certainly hope you’re not going to fill that all the way up to the top,” she said flatly.

  “Nope.”

  But she heard sloshing sounds as he spilled some water back into the sink.

  Those are the things I always hated about him, Coco thought. Those are the things that make him revolting. If I were with him (her nameless Perfect Lover) up in a cabin in Vermont and it was late at night or early in the morning (he would be wearing a red-and-black lumberjacket), he would know exactly how much water to boil for two cups of instant coffee for us before we made love in front of the fireplace.

  “You know something, Gavin?” Coco reached out for her cigarettes. “I really do feel better now that I know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That it’s Sylvia.”

  “Sylvia?”

  “Please. Let’s not have anymore of that, Gavin. We’ve lost a month of our lives from just that kind of shit. I simply want to say that I really do feel better now that I know it’s her. Not that she can ever walk in this house again … and I’ll tell t
hat to Suede too—I’m not afraid—because she’s such a disrupter, a real dyed-in-the-wool destroyer. I’m going to tell Suede that we’ve always had a rule that house guests can’t bring dates in here to sleep with them because of the kids. Especially Mike. I didn’t want Mike to see some guy’s line-up of girls over a week. But anyway, I’m sure Suede’s not going to want to stick it up her again, because he saw you too, and it was perfectly clear what was going on. But besides all of that, Sylvia and I aren’t the same kind of people. Now, are you going to let it all boil away, Gavin? I mean, can’t you even stay connected with something for three short minutes?”

  Gavin got up, looking reproved, and began hunting for coffeecups before turning off the burner.

  “They’re up in the corner cupboard, Gavin. Right where they’ve been for the last five years.”

  Gavin ignored the reprimand. Having conceded, during the past month, that his preoccupation was really a hostile act, he didn’t dare get angry now.

  “So at least I won’t ever see her again,” Coco said. “That much I know. And I certainly doubt that Suede will either, now that he’s seen what a sick chick she is—sleeping here with him at our house while she’s having an affair with you. I mean, after fucking you literally, and fucking me figuratively, coming here to fuck our friend is a bit much. We don’t use cream, remember, Gavin? And any sick creep who would want to come around under those conditions is really pathetic—I mean, even if she wasn’t your girlfriend, she couldn’t come here again, since she obviously has such hostile, jealous feelings toward me and keeps trying to put me down. Thank you, Gavin. I bet it’s too cold to drink now. And of course she was just insanely jealous because of the children, especially Joshua. Not that she even knows how to hold a baby, let alone talk to a child. She treated Mike as if he was two years old instead of seven. I mean, you don’t have to have any experience—just some sensitivity. And anyway, I really thought she was a perfectly vulgar opportunist from the very first minute I saw her, and the way she talks as if she not only made up the idea of women’s lib but that she was the goddamn queen of it and the rest of us—especially me—are the drones who do the fucking committee work, which I know goddamn well is a lot more time-consuming than just being on the Steering Committee—and acting like she was such a big mucky-wucky in charge of Delegation Challenge Tactics, which happens to be pure bullshit, because last week several women who are actually executive officers of the D.C. Women’s Political Caucus were talking, and they said that they were both going down to Miami. But anyway, Gavin, I really did feel badly you never told me about that license-challenge case. But then, I guess you couldn’t have, because that might have jeopardized your nasty, pathetic little love affair.”