You're Not You

by Michelle Wildgen

  I looked at Kate and said, “No, we really don’t need to do that.”

  Ted made eye contact with his assistant, who nodded and headed out the door. Kate and I watched him disappear toward the driveway.

  “Trust me,” said Ted.

  Kate said wearily, clearly knowing she would be ignored, “That’s not necessary.”

  “That’s not necessary!” I called after the assistant, who pretended not to hear.

  When the assistant returned, Ted bustled over to Kate. He hefted her up from her chair as though she were a grocery sack, then staggered and started to set her back and start over. “Heavier than I remember,” he huffed. “That’s good. Gotta keep that weight up.”

  Her eyes met mine over his shoulder.

  “All right,” I said. I nudged Ted out of the way and gave his arms a good shove to get his hands out from under Kate’s armpits. Kate gave me a warning look.

  “Wouldn’t be earning my money if I didn’t do this for her,” I chortled to Ted. Kate’s face was impassive as I lifted her into the chair she didn’t want, then we hemmed and hawed and said no thank you, just the headrest.

  “Well, if you have any other needs I hope you know who to call,” Ted said. I watched Kate answer and repeated, “Fine. Thanks.”

  When they were gone, Kate and I looked at each other. “There has got to be someone else we can call,” I told her. “Someone who doesn’t try to haul you around without even asking. He’s the enemy.”

  She sighed and rolled her head back and forth. I went over and rubbed her neck and shoulders. “Thanks,” she said, then added, “they really are the only distributor around here. And unless I want to wait ten years for everything I need, I have to deal with him.”

  “We could go to someone near Milwaukee,” I suggested. I rubbed my thumbs against the silky warm hair at the base of her skull. “Capitalism is made for just these situations.”

  “Bec,” she said, “it was nice of capitalism to think of me. And you know I’d like to, but it only makes it harder on me in the end. I just can’t do everything I want to do.”

  “If you had use of your arms for just a minute you could give him a good smack,” I told her. She snorted.

  “I don’t,” she said.

  I finished rubbing her neck and smoothed her hair back down. “Well, I do,” I said.

  EACH WEEKEND EVAN CAME home from wherever it was he spent his Saturdays and wrote me a check. Saturday nights began with cocktail hour, as I made whatever dish we had decided on at the market, a glass of wine on the counter next to me, and music on the stereo. Evan would join us in the kitchen. Then we had a cocktail and sat around the table while the pasta water heated up or the frittata baked. Sometimes I stayed; Evan and I ate dinner after Kate had had her nutrition shake, the three of us lingering until Evan got up to clean the kitchen. I much preferred this arrangement to leaving her alone as I did the rest of the time.

  One night, we were talking about the first time we got caught really screwing up. This was near the end of July. I had called my friend Brian an asshole at his parents’ dinner table, over salmon loaf, and was sent home with a note. Kate had been nabbed walking out of Ben Franklin wearing a stolen plastic ring, its fake ruby turned inward toward her palm.

  “My friend Pete and I were supposed to be vacuuming the church aisles,” Evan said. He was sitting next to Kate, periodically reaching over to touch her hand. I was at the counter kneading bread dough, preparing to roll it out. It wasn’t second nature to me yet. I had to keep reminding myself to punch, fold, quarter turn.

  Evan continued, “We were already being punished for something; that’s how dumb we were. Anyway, we started pretending to preach, you know, using the priest’s microphone and trying to outdo each other. We were listing every possible activity that might be bettered through prayer: screwing your wife or someone else’s, going to the bathroom—”

  “The bathroom?” Kate interrupted, incredulous.

  “Baby, we were eleven.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, it was pretty fun until we heard the basement stairs sort of start to rumble. And the Ladies’ Auxiliary just blasted in. They’d been holding Bible study in the basement and the mike was wired to the speakers downstairs.”

  Kate and I were both laughing too hard to speak. Evan sipped his wine and looked satisfied. “Supposedly we caused some fainting but I think it was exaggerated. I mean, we’re talking the Dutch Reform church, and they, if you’ll pardon the term, are some tough sons of bitches.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, the effort of kneading sounding in my voice. “Not being Dutch Reform.” I took a deep breath, inhaling the yeasty, tangy scent of the dough.

  “Nobody is anymore, hardly. They went for an easy ride and became strict Catholics.” He chuckled to himself, rubbing Kate’s hand. “What were you raised, Bec?”

  “Skeptical,” I said. They laughed. “Seriously. My parents are your classic Midwestern folk except that they’re the only ones in town whose social life doesn’t revolve around church. In high school I was the only kid who didn’t have to do some kind of candy striping or join a church group. So naturally I had to try going on my own, since they’d failed me in that respect. I went to church every Sunday for like three weeks last January.”

  “How’d that go?” Evan asked, exchanging a glance with Kate.

  “Bored out of my skull. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except that I’d made this big announcement to my mom about it, and she knew damn well I’d never stay with it. I just hate it when she’s so sure of this stuff.”

  Kate said something and we paused and listened. “You’re lucky,” she was saying. “My family still calls me up to say they’re having healing prayer services for me and do I want to come?”

  “Have you ever?” I asked. They both shook their heads.

  “They think of it all in terms of deserving and not deserving,” Kate said slowly, “even though they don’t mean to. But that’s what their logic boils down to. And I just don’t think—” She paused and swallowed carefully. Evan leaned forward slightly, then sat back as she started again. “I don’t think there is a reason for this. I think this”—and she moved her chin and glanced down to indicate her whole body, its stem-legs and unmoving arms—“is just horrible luck. And I don’t want to pretend to accept this shit and call it happy.”

  “I think the term is ‘God’s will,’ ” Evan put in.

  Kate didn’t laugh. “I call it shit,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  We were all quiet for a moment, except for the sticky sound of my hands in the dough, the soft swallow in Evan’s throat as he took a sip. I had never heard Kate be this frank, or this bitter. I had believed she was fairly accepting, if caustic, about her situation, but now I suspected she just kept it to herself.

  And I understood why people wanted more of an explanation than this. In a way she was being confrontational rather than placating, to say it was terrible luck, like the naysayer who insists the tunnel of white light people see near death is just a trick of brain cells dying.

  I stretched out the dough. It wasn’t quite square, but I was hoping no one would notice once it was rolled up. The plan was to spread it flat, cover it with butter, cinnamon, and sugar, and roll it back up into an oblong loaf. I dipped my fingertips in a dish of butter that had been sitting out on the counter, getting soft and shiny in the sunlight, and spread it over the bread dough. With my clean hand I sprinkled a handful of cinnamon and sugar over the butter, regretting that I hadn’t thought to chop walnuts.

  “Well,” I began, wiping my hands on a towel. It was seven thirty. I waited to see if I would stay long enough for the bread to bake. It was a half hour past the time I should have left, but I wanted to stay in their kitchen, finishing my wine while the light grew more yellow and the smell of yeast and cinnamon filled the room.

  “Why don’t you stay?” Kate said.

  Evan glanced
at his watch. “If you guys want to eat without me you can,” he said. “But I have to run out for a little while.” Kate looked at him. “I’m getting that movie,” he told her. “And then I have to do a few other things.”

  She watched him for another long moment. I turned away and covered the dough with plastic wrap. “You don’t have to do anything on a Saturday night,” I heard her say.

  When I turned back Evan was writing my check. “No, but it would be nice to get it done and relax,” he said offhandedly.

  I went and got my purse from the hall table. “Fine,” I heard him say as I came back in. “I won’t, okay? Let’s not worry about it.” He looked up at me and handed me the check, the light flashing off his glasses.

  “Thanks, Bec, as always. You’re the alpha and omega.”

  IT WOULD NOT BE right to say that I didn’t see what was happening between them. I tried not to. I reminded myself how little I knew, and that much of their relationship took place offstage for me. I busied myself straightening the counters when I saw a frown pass between them, paused a minute before I entered the room if I had caught a contentious tone of voice. I told myself that it was not my place to guess what might happen to their marriage, but I didn’t have to guess; I saw it anyway.

  six

  YOU KNOW MY OWN mom never even tried to bribe me,” I told Kate. “It was really frustrating.”

  “I’ll bet,” she said dryly. “You drove here and hardly broke a sweat, so I stand by my bribe. Look for something cute.”

  We were in a boutique in Chicago. I’d arrived at Kate’s that morning to find her restless and irritable, swearing at the loud music from the ice cream truck. After I’d put on her makeup she’d said, “Is there any reason not to take a road trip?”

  In twenty minutes I had put together a bag for her and left a message for Evan at work. “Won’t he want to come?” I’d asked, the phone wedged between my neck and shoulder. “What if we stay overnight?”

  An odd look flashed across her face. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she had said. “He’s got a lot of work to do anyway.”

  Now I draped a huge necklace of gold discs over my clavicle and peered at myself in the mirror. “The traffic wasn’t so bad. I’m glad I had to do it. What do you think?”

  “Your style is a bit subtler than that,” Kate said. “Try the choker, the one with the jade.”

  I handed the discs back to the saleswoman, who set the necklace in the case and stroked it lovingly back into place, as if to comfort it for meeting my unrefined skin. The choker was a silver ring of wire with a carved jade oval dangling from it. I put it on and stared at myself. The sterling and jade made my eyes seem a silvery green rather than plain gray. I smoothed my hair back into a ponytail and turned to Kate.

  “Is it a worthy bribe?” she asked.

  “Definitely,” I admitted. “It’s too worthy.”

  “Well, we don’t have all day to debate,” she said lightly. “Hurry up and dig out my credit card so we can get to the museum.” She glanced down at her watch. “Eventually I suppose we have to plan for real life again.”

  I handed over her American Express and signed Kate’s name. The saleswoman observed us closely, probably debating whether I was defrauding Kate. This made me glad, as if someone else were watching out for Kate as well. Most times salespeople barely registered who was signing and whose purse it came out of. To make it easier Kate often had me carry her wallet in my bag, so it looked as if I were paying with my own card. One of those little adjustments to ease our way.

  After the museum we went to an Italian restaurant Kate knew, where she insisted I order a half-bottle of wine with each course, saying they were better than the glass offerings. I couldn’t finish them and didn’t even try, but I didn’t complain. The car was safely parked at the hotel a few blocks away. I didn’t know why she was so extravagant today, but she seemed as happy as I’d ever seen her.

  “Sure you want to go back tomorrow?” Kate asked me.

  I had just finished getting her to bed and was sitting cross-legged on the end of mine, flossing and watching television. “Huh?” I turned to watch her as she repeated it. “Oh, I guess we can stay,” I said. “I don’t have a whole lot going on in Madison anyway. There’s you, but you’re here.”

  Kate shifted her head slightly, stretching her neck.

  “Are you comfortable? Need to move?”

  She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I feel pretty good.” She smiled at me. “Thanks for coming along today. I needed something different.”

  “My pleasure.” I yawned. “You want to call Evan? I’m sure he’s home by now.” I was reaching for the phone, but she shook her head.

  “No.”

  I stopped, one hand still outstretched, then changed position. I waited for her to elaborate, but she began flipping through channels with the remote I’d set beneath one hand, her gaze on the screen. Better not to pry. I headed to the bathroom instead to wash my face.

  I scrubbed my face with the hotel’s warm, mineral-smelling water. As I did I had a brief vision of the two of us just living here, in the Marriott double room, wandering Chicago as we pleased and not returning for months. If ever. We’d go hear blues singers, shop, see a few plays. I supposed Liam would be the man to call to find out the best clubs, but he seemed so far away just then. I pondered him, hours away in Madison in his yellow house, feeling as detached as if he were someone I barely knew. In the other room a series of voices scurried through the television’s speakers until Kate stopped flipping and settled on a channel.

  THE NEXT WEEKEND I brought Jill to work with me, at Kate’s request. We let ourselves in the front door, calling hello, and found Kate at her computer, the stereo on. I glanced around for Evan. We waited while she backed up and turned the chair toward us. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She was wearing a white peasant blouse and turquoise earrings.

  “So Kate, this is Jill,” I said. I was carrying a pizza we’d picked up on the way over. I wanted to get it into the oven, but I thought I should give them a moment before I left them together without a translator.

  Kate smiled and said hello, welcome, and for a moment as I repeated her words to Jill I felt an absurd pride in Kate, her beauty and the flash of her grin and this pretty house. I set the pizza down and straightened a few magazines on the coffee table, putting a coaster back in its holder. I realized I’d felt freer when Kate’s friends were there instead of one of mine. They knew me only as the person lifting and aiding her, and for some reason that was helpful; it made me perceive myself in terms of mere action. But I was afraid that doing these things in front of Jill would feel showy. Or that she, having done something remotely similar to it but in a completely different place, would see that I was doing it all wrong.

  “I’ve been reading all your books and eating your recipes,” Jill informed her. “So I’ll thank you now for culturing up Bec and making our apartment a better place.”

  Kate laughed and answered her. Jill watched her speak, concentrating, but gave up and turned to me for the explanation. “ ‘She was cultured up already,’ ” I repeated. “Yeah, Jill.” I watched Kate speak to her again and then asked Jill, “ ‘Which ones did you read?’ ”

  Jill started listing her lendings from the Kate library and I took the opportunity to duck into the kitchen and put the pizza in the oven. I had expected to find Evan in here, tearing up a salad or pouring the wine, but the kitchen was dark, the wineglasses still in the cupboard. I looked in the refrigerator and found the salad makings, untouched: a head of romaine, a flat bulb of fennel from the market, and a lemon.

  Back in the family room Jill was still talking, slightly nervous, clearly worried about having Kate try to answer her before I was back. I knew I’d stayed away a little too long, but Jill was too polite to show that. I felt a little stab of satisfaction that she wasn’t totally at ease. I’d worked with Kate almost as long as she had volunteered, after all.

  “Yeah, you know . . .” she was sayi
ng. “I liked Jane Eyre too. Not Wuthering Heights, I read it in junior high and I think I didn’t get it. I tried it again later and kinda got it that time. . . .” She had obviously been trailing on for a few minutes when she turned to look at me.

  “Did you get the movie?” I asked Kate. She nodded, and I said to Jill, “We’ve been watching those movies from the thirties where they drink a lot of martinis and wear fur-trimmed evening gowns.” I handed Jill a glass of wine and said to Kate, “Where’s Evan tonight? I thought he’d be here.”

  “No,” she said smoothly, “he had a poker game. How long do you think the pizza will take?”

  After dinner we sat around the kitchen table. Jill had had a third glass of wine with dinner and was flushed and charming. She was telling stories about me.

  “Once Bec ruined my brand-new Little Bo Peep doll. She waited till I went downstairs for Pecan Sandies and took the hair net off. She actually had to tear it out of this poor doll’s skull. It was stapled on.”

  Kate was chuckling, her cheeks pink. Jill had been in rare form all through dinner. I toyed with a crust of pizza, then tossed it onto Jill’s plate. She looked at me in surprise. “You always hork the crust,” I said. She ignored me, gave the crust a dismissive glance, and opened her mouth to continue.

  Jill had a knack for recalling the stories that really needled me, even after all these years. Next she’d tell Kate about the time I accidentally laughed at a girl who fell in gymnastics, before I realized she’d broken her wrist.

  “Do you need anything, Kate?” I said. They both looked at me, startled. “Readjust your chair, or go to the bathroom?”

  Kate’s eyes clouded for a moment. Jill looked into her wineglass as she took a sip. Then Kate simply nodded and we left Jill at the table while I took her down the hall. The whole way back to the bathroom I wanted to kick myself. I could tell she was embarrassed to have me bring it up so baldly, and at the table too, and I was preparing myself for a reprimand. But she said nothing. It made me feel worse.