by Joy Fielding
She looked over at Victor. He smiled at her, lowering the book she knew he was only pretending to read.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“All right.”
He had asked the same question at supper earlier. She had given him the same answer.
“What did you do?”
“Well, obviously I had my hair done.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Do you like it?” The question was pointed and carried traces of a smirk.
“No. You know I don’t like dyed black hair.”
“Your hair is black.”
“My hair is natural.”
“My hair’s natural too. Just the color isn’t.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“I thought so.”
No, she didn’t. Not really. Neither of them had any humor left anywhere inside them.
“What else did you do today?”
She knew how hard it must be for him to carry on a polite conversation. What he really wanted to do was drag her by her newly blackened split ends back to the hairdresser and have at least the top of her head made normal again. But he stayed in his seat. He stayed where he was and listened to her reply.
“I took Sharon in for her six-month check-up. Then I watched Sesame Street with Adam. Sharon kind of watched.”
“Dr. Wellington?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, Dr. Segal. I told you I was changing doctors.”
“Dr. Wellington is the best pediatrician in Palm Beach.”
“He’s also the busiest. He doesn’t know if my children are black or white, male or female. Besides, Dr. Segal is my doctor, and this makes things a lot easier.”
“Who is he anyway? A nobody family practitioner.”
“I like him.”
“That doesn’t make him a good doctor.”
Donna had said everything she intended to say on the subject. She stood up.
“Are you going to make some coffee?”
“I was going to go to bed.”
Victor checked his watch. “It’s only nine o’clock.”
“I’m tired.”
He stood up. “Please, Donna,” he said, his hands tentatively reaching out for hers. Immediately she tensed and withdrew. He pulled his hands back to his sides. “Couldn’t we just sit and talk for a while?”
“I’m really tired, Victor.”
“Don’t you want to hear about my day?” She could hear the pleading implicit in his voice.
Donna stood as if she had been overcome by nerve gas, unable to move. She didn’t know what to do with her legs. They felt paralyzed. She wanted to run; somehow she couldn’t get her feet to understand. Victor took this as a sign that she would listen to him. “I sold a staggering life insurance policy. You want to know to whom?”
No, she thought. “Who?” she asked.
“One of the men who bought into The Mayflower.” Donna regarded him blankly. What the hell was he talking about? “He was actually at that party the night we met.” Oh, that Mayflower. An Original Concept—For Original Americans. She wished she’d never heard of the damn place.
“I’m going to bed, Victor.”
“Your room?” he asked suddenly.
Donna hoped she didn’t look as startled as she felt.
“Of course,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
“I thought maybe—”
“Goodnight, Victor.” She walked past him and out of the room.
It was almost midnight when she heard him come out of the bathroom and go in to check on Adam and Sharon. He did that every night. Then he would turn around and walk back to his own room and go to sleep. Except that this time she didn’t hear his footsteps receding. She heard them approaching. Immediately, she retreated far down under her covers.
She didn’t have to see him to know he was standing in front of the open door. She could feel him moving softly toward her.
“Donna?” She said nothing. “Donna, I know you’re not asleep.” Go away, her silence screamed. I am not here. I am not here. “All right, you don’t have to say anything. But you will have to listen. I’ll do it this way, if this is the way you want it.”
This is not the way I want it! I want you to go away and leave me alone. I don’t want to hear any of this. If we were doing what I wanted, you wouldn’t be in here. I wouldn’t have to listen to any of this.
His voice was soft. “I love you, Donna. I’ve always loved you. You know that. I’ve made some mistakes, I admit it. I’ve mishandled certain things. I did them out of love.” Do I have to hear this? Do I have to listen to this? “I’ve tried to be patient, Donna. I’ve let you sleep here, alone, undisturbed all this time. During your pregnancy, I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt the baby, and after, I’ve waited till I thought things were starting to improve between us. For a while, we seemed to be getting along. I kept hoping you’d turn up at our bedroom door, but—” I am not here. I am not here. I am not hearing any of this. “Donna, there’s nothing I can do about that night. It’s over. It happened a long time ago. I’m really sorry it happened the way it did, but you have to understand what you were doing to me. You kept on at me; you humiliated me at the party; you don’t even realize what you’re doing sometimes, but you just—” Is this supposed to be an apology? Victor, do you honestly believe this is an apology? I’m sorry, but you made me do it? I’m sorry, but be reasonable, Donna, it was all your fault? I am not here. I am not hearing any of this. “Look, it didn’t turn out all that badly after all, did it? I mean, we have Sharon. And I love you, Donna. We’re a family. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Donna. Come on, now, be honest. I really didn’t hurt you. Did I?” You’re right, Victor. You didn’t hurt me. You only put five years of marriage on the end of your prick and rammed them home to me the best way you knew how. I am bursting with the residue of what you left inside me. “Please, Donna. I can’t do any more than say I’m sorry. I can’t make that night go away. It happened. But we can’t let it destroy us. It’s gone on long enough. It’s time we started living in the present, enjoying what we have.” I think I’ve heard this speech before. Something about the ball being in my court. Play or get off the tarmac? “I just want things back the way they were between us before that night.” Back the way things were between us before that night? Are you crazy? You want things back to the way they were before? Don’t you realize that that night was exactly the way things were before? You just used a different approach! “Please, Donna, I want my little girl back again.”
Donna felt her body starting to heave. She quickly threw back the sheet and raced to the closest bathroom where she emptied her dinner into the toilet. Then she sat on the cool of the tile floor, her hair matted at her forehead, tears streaking her cheeks, hugging the side of the toilet bowl, until she heard him walk back down the hall and close his door behind him.
——
She awoke at precisely three A.M., as she did every morning. Then she got out of bed and walked toward the kitchen. The counters were dirty, she had noticed while making dinner, and the outside of the appliances. Adam’s fingerprints were all over them. She would give them all a good scrubbing. Make everything shine.
She walked into the kitchen and turned on the kitchen light, then she flipped on the small transistor radio very quietly and got out her Ajax, her Fantastik, and her handiwipes, and started to work. She always worked to the beat of the music. The beat goes on, she thought, applying the Fantastik to the white countertop. Victor had once caught her using Ajax—don’t you know it destroys the finish?—and they had spent a good couple of hours thrashing out that important issue. Yes sir, nothing was too unimportant to discuss ad nauseam in this marriage.
She felt the beat change. Obviously, another record. She adjusted her tempo accordingly.
“—first I was afraid—”
She recognized the song. Gloria Gaynor, she said to herself proudly, singing about her fear of being alone, that she couldn’t live without her man beside
her, calling the shots.
It gets faster in a minute, she thought, her hand poised and ready to wipe. Any time now, just another few bars and the woman would be singing about how, surprisingly, after he’d left she’d learned how to survive on her own.
The song took off. Donna’s hands danced along the countertop.
And then the man suddenly reappeared.
Rubbing. Rubbing. Cleaning. Till it shines. I will make you shine.
He was back to re-stake his claim, to reclaim his territory.
The music building. And building. Clean, Donna, clean!
But the woman was telling him no. She was telling him to get out.
Donna stopped abruptly.
She was telling her former lover to leave, telling him he was no longer welcome.
Donna stared at the small transistor. Then her eyes moved to the kitchen door.
What was she thinking?
Donna’s hand dropped the handi-wipe to the floor.
Could she do it? she wondered. Could she really leave?
She moved to the phone. Victor always kept the keys to his car in a dish under the phone.
It had been so long since she’d felt in control, so long since she felt she could breathe on her own. What made her think she could survive without him?
“And I’ll survive. I will survive—”
She picked them up and walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.
“Hey-hey—”
Donna felt the cool night air hit her body and realized all she had on was a thin nightgown. It didn’t matter. She was just going out to start the car. She’d come back inside and throw something on after she got the kids. But first she had to start the car. Something she hadn’t done since—
She wouldn’t think about it. She would simply get into the car and drive. She had always been a good driver. Before Victor—She stopped. Had she ever done anything on her own before she met Victor?
She opened the car door and got behind the wheel. The image of Victor was right beside her. “Watch that trash can,” it said.
“I will not listen to you,” she said aloud, putting the key in the ignition. “You are not here.” The radio blasted into the small space. She had forgotten that Victor never turned it off. It was always there as soon as the ignition was started.
The radio was tuned to the same station as her small transistor. Gloria Gaynor had only just started the second verse. It was as if she was singing directly to her. And she was telling Donna to stay strong, not to fall apart. That’s good, Donna thought, keep telling me. Keep telling me.
I will not fall apart. I will put this car into reverse and back out onto the street. Then I will go inside and get my children.
She was through feeling sorry for herself, through crying herself to sleep night after night. She was through with tears. It was time to do as the song advised, time to hold her head up high.
Donna felt her head raise. She tried to put the car into reverse. Her hand wouldn’t move. She could actually feel Victor’s invisible hand on top of hers.
“Do you know where you’re going, Donna? You passed the street three blocks ago.”
Get out of my car, Victor. You are not here.
“You’re straddling the white line.”
I am not.
She wouldn’t listen to Victor. She was no longer some silly little girl still clinging to a romantic ideal that had never really existed.
“You almost missed that stop sign.”
I didn’t.
It was time to leave. It was time to get the hell away.
“For Christ’s sake, Donna, are you trying to kill us!”
I didn’t mean to, I didn’t see it—
She wouldn’t let Victor break her resolve as easily as he’d already broken her spirit.
“Just shut up for a change, Donna.”
Don’t do that! Don’t do that! Get off me. Do you hear me? Get off me. I will not be violated. I will not be violated this way!
“Are you trying to kill us?”
Bad little girl. Bad, bad little girl.
“Just shut up for a change, Donna.”
You must be taught a lesson. You must be taught a lesson.
She’d already taken the first step. She’d walked out her front door.
Donna felt her hand begin to shake. Then her whole body.
She wouldn’t crumble. She wouldn’t just lay down and die.
But Donna couldn’t stop the shaking.
Try as she might she couldn’t stop the shaking.
She couldn’t survive.
Donna reached up and turned off the ignition, then she lowered her head to the steering wheel and cried.
How could she survive? she wondered ruefully. She’d forgotten she was already dead.
THIRTEEN
“My God, what happened to you?”
“You don’t like it either, huh?”
Dr. Mel Segal stood up behind his large wood desk and walked around to where Donna was standing.
“Victor calls it my early-Auschwitz period.”
Mel smiled. “The man always had a way with words.”
“But you don’t like it either?”
Mel took a long pause. “I’m not crazy about it, no.”
Donna let out a sharp exhalation of air. “I did it myself,” she said, running her hand through what remained of her hair. “Last night.”
“What brought that on?”
“Victor said I was starting to look more like my old self again. I would have shaved it right off but I didn’t have the guts.”
“You came close.”
“Victor says I look like a starving Peter Pan.”
“Leave it to Victor.”
“Are you going to tell me to leave him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I told you that the first time you walked in here. You’re an adult—I figure I only have to tell you something once. The rest is up to you.”
“Ah, come on,” she teased. “Tell me to leave him.”
His face was suddenly very serious. “I can’t.”
Donna turned toward the door. “Nuts,” she said. “Why do I always have to get involved with men of integrity?”
“Involved?”
Donna turned back to face Mel. She was caught off guard by the choice of her words. “Well, you know what I mean.”
He said he did, but she could see he didn’t. For that matter, neither did she.
“It was really nice of you to see me without an appointment.”
“Since when have you needed an appointment?”
“You have a waiting room full of people.”
“Why did you come?”
“I’m not sure.”
“The kids okay?”
“Fine.”
“You?”
“Fine. I feel—fine. Actually, I feel about as good as I look.” She laughed. “You think they have a bed at the nearest hospital I could use?”
“You don’t look that bad.”
“I do.”
“Personally, I’ve always thought Peter Pan was kind of cute.”
Donna smiled and walked toward him. “He’s always spoken very highly of you, too,” she said, her hand reaching up to touch Mel’s face, feeling his beard brush against her hand.
“How’s Annie?” she asked, withdrawing her hand.
“Great. She’s very heavily into masturbation at the moment.”
They laughed.
“What do you do about it?” Donna asked.
“Do? Nothing. Let the kid enjoy herself.”
Donna and Mel stood staring at each other for several long seconds without saying a word. Then Donna heard a voice break the silence.
“I better go,” the voice said quietly.
“Okay,” Mel answered, even more softly.
“I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t stand it,” the voice continued. “Oh, my God,” Donna said aloud and turned quickly and walked out of th
e room.
He was right behind her. She heard him make hurried excuses to his visiting patients—he’d be back in a minute, a sudden emergency—and seconds later she heard his footsteps behind her on the stairs. When she reached the bottom, he was right at her heels.
“My car’s in the lot,” he said, taking her elbow and moving her toward it. She recognized the little white MG. “Goddamn, it’s locked,” he said, fidgeting in his pocket for the keys. “Here they are.” After a few fumbles, he found the right key and opened both doors. Donna climbed in the passenger side and Mel got behind the wheel. They closed the doors.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” he answered, his arms immediately wrapping themselves around her, his lips sealing themselves across her own. Donna had never kissed a man with a beard before. She liked it. She liked everything about him.
“This is incredibly unprofessional,” he said, moving his lips from her mouth to her eyes.
“I couldn’t ask for better treatment.”
Their lips moved back to their previous positions. They remained huddled that way for several minutes, kissing frantically, grabbing at each other, touching each other’s cheeks, finally pulling apart and staring into each other’s newly awakened eyes. He moved his right hand up to her head and rubbed it across her cropped hair.
“How can you kiss a woman with a crew-cut?” she asked.
“Watch,” he said. And did.
“I can understand why I’m attracted to you. But I’ll never understand what you find attractive about me.”
“I like your eyes,” he said gently. “Your nose, your lips.” He kissed each in turn. “Your ears.” They laughed, as he kissed each one. “Your neck.” He leaned forward.
“Careful, I don’t think there’s room in this car for you to like any more of me.”
“Where are the kids?”
“Adam’s at nursery. Sharon is with Mrs. Adilman.”