Wild Things

by Karin Kallmaker

  "You can't stop me," I said slowly. "You might as well accept it."

  My father shoved a kitchen chair aside in his rush across the room toward me. I was prepared for his enraged blow. When he hit me, it would be proof that my leaving was justified.

  "Thomas, no," I heard my mother gasp. She had never protested before.

  I stood my ground. I thought irrelevantly that Eleanor would have had him put to death for merely approaching her with his fist raised. There was something to absolute power.

  Michael got there first. He pinned him against the counter for the few seconds it took for our father to regain his control, before letting himself be shrugged off. Michael was white with pain.

  My father towered over me. "Get out of my sight! Pray God I forgive you."

  I walked away on legs of rubber, not out of the room, but to put one arm around Michael. "Are you okay?"

  He nodded tightly.

  "I'll run a cool bath for you," I offered. It was a small service, but he knew I was trying to thank him. We went out of the kitchen together, leaving behind a stunned silence.

  Michael leaned heavily on me as we went up the narrow stairs and didn't seem to notice how badly I was shaking. "What do you do for an encore?"

  "I go to a wild party and stay out most of the night," I said. I felt him shudder with laughter and realized I hadn't seen him laugh in ages.

  "Good for you," he said again. "Do you think if I were healthy I'd be living here?"

  I pushed open the door to his room and started to help him inside.

  "Nah," he said, pushing me away. "I'm okay. It just hurts so damn much."

  "You let your painkiller prescription run out again, didn't you?"

  He shrugged. "I don't want to get addicted. Though they tell me kicking the addiction hurts less than the skin grafts. Still, I'm trying to tough it out."

  I pursed my lips. Michael was getting good care from the Navy, but I found his stoicism foolish. Still, I wasn't the one who had crawled out of an engine-room fire and lived to tell of it.

  "You want that cool bath?"

  "Sure," he said. As I turned away he said, "Hey, Ensign ..."

  "Yes, Lieutenant?" I turned back.

  He gave me a little salute. "Chin up, sailor."

  "Aye, sir."

  * * * * *

  Chet Baker's creamy voice, crooning "Let's Get Lost," streamed past Liz when she opened her door. I was still shaking inside, feeling a little drunk with the enormity of stepping into a future I had never envisioned. Liz's smile and warmth made me feel a lot less terrified.

  "These are so beautiful," Liz said, taking the lilies from me. "I love fresh flowers. I'll put them in water, then introduce you around."

  Her top-floor flat in the three-story building was overflowing with women. I was glad I hadn't asked Eric to come with me. Not only would it have been presumptuous, since Liz had not mentioned bringing a guest, but he would definitely have felt out of place.

  The shaky feeling went away, and I felt a flooding rush of confidence and happiness fill me as Liz took me from group to group. I met several women who had read one of my books and was soothed by their genuine praise. My parents thought my condemnation of the Inquisition in Isabella was borderline heresy and gave me only criticism. In the scheme of publishing by professors at a university with more than fifty Nobel laureates to its credit and over twelve hundred full-time faculty, my books were distinctly small potatoes. They sold rather well, but didn't show up on best-seller lists. The praise of other writers and academies pampered my bruised ego, and I was very glad Liz had invited me.

  She finally left me in conversation with an older woman with attractive gray streaks in russet hair. Nara Rogier had just published a photo essay of gargoyles. As she left us, Liz grinned at me as if to say, "I knew you'd enjoy yourself."

  Nara and I swapped what-were-you-thinking-when-you-saw-the-altar-at-Notre-Dame stories, then moved on to other French and English gothic structures and the ideas and images they had stirred for us.

  "The Tower of London made me dizzy," Nara said, her eyes shining. She hadn't lived in Ireland for years, but her voice still carried a soft lilt that made her words almost musical. "I walked through Traitor's Gate and thought of all the people who had done that before me. The grounds where they erected the executioner's scaffolds — I was thinking of Anne Boleyn and how she apologized to the executioner for her small neck. And four centuries later I was standing in exactly the same place that she died. I was sobbing like . .. oh, like I did when Beth died in Little Women. I felt it so personally. Old places do that to me."

  "Me, too," I said. "When I went outside Notre Dame and walked around the plaza, I started thinking about all those people who came for Henry of Navarre's wedding and ended up being massacred. Fourteen thousand people in a matter of days." I felt tears start in my eyes and wasn't embarrassed. "All by the sword, and for being Protestant instead of Catholic. I was bawling my head off. A policeman asked me if I needed help!" I shook my head with a chagrined laugh. "I've considered doing a biography of Catherine de' Medici, but I don't like her. I mean I understand how the Inquisition was necessary to Isabella's faith. Religion played a large part in her decisions. It wasn't political expediency to her. But Catherine had all those people massacred to curry favor with the pope and get even with her son. She does prove that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Even women."

  "Oh that one, she's an enigma," Nara said. I could see the gleam of my passion for the past in her eyes as we talked.

  I happily shared my feelings on seeing the effigy of Eleanor at Fontevrault during my summer trip, and she eagerly offered me photographs she'd taken of the portal jamb figure reputed to be Eleanor at Chartres Cathedral. Before I knew it an hour had passed and neither of us had had a chance to mingle. Nara gave me her business card and wrote her home number on the back, and we made an eager date to have lunch the following week. Just as I was pocketing Nara's card, I became aware of someone standing just behind me, quietly waiting for my attention.

  Sydney gave me a sparkling smile and said, "I knew it was you. How do you know Liz?"

  A little flustered, I explained about the radio interview. "You must be what she meant by notable women," I said and hoped she didn't think it was inane.

  "Maybe," Sydney said. "Liz knows everybody, though." Sydney quickly pointed out three other politicos, a local actress who had recently signed for a network sitcom, and a coloratura with the Chicago Opera. "And then there's you — Faith Fitzgerald, writer. When Eric introduced you, I didn't recognize your name. But later that night I started wondering if you were the woman who wrote Isabella, so I dug it out and there you were on the back. I loved that book."

  "Why thank you," I said, touched. Sydney's expression was so open I knew she wasn't idly flattering me. I opened my mouth to say more, then lost what I meant to say. Her eyes were a velvety brown with hints of purple. Not at all like Eric's. I drew breath in again, lost the thought, and would have blushed if Liz hadn't bustled up to us at that moment.

  ''Where do you know each other from?" Liz looked quite curious. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly at Sydney.

  Sydney half-closed her eyes as if answering no to a question Liz hadn't asked. "Faith is a friend of Eric's."

  "Oh," Liz said blankly. Then more brightly and to Sydney, "You'll never guess who's back in town."

  "Who?" Sydney sipped her drink.

  Liz inclined her head toward the doorway. They both looked that direction, and I thanked God they weren't looking at me.

  "Heavens," Sydney said. "Does Jan know?"

  "I'm not going to tell her," Liz said. "I spent enough time with a wet shoulder."

  I managed to smile at Sydney when she glanced back at me. I didn't want her of all people to think anything was wrong. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Renee approaching us. If ever I felt that God had time to worry about my little life, this moment was retribution for all my sins.

  "Sydney," Renee sai
d effusively, not even giving me a glance. "I didn't get a chance the other night to congratulate you on the Roebuck Award."

  "Thank you. I didn't know you were there," Sydney said. I saw then her public smile: polite, interested, yet distant.

  Liz's hand was under my elbow and she turned me away so that I wasn't in the conversational sphere that included Renee and Sydney. To my profound relief, she steered me gradually to another circle, then whispered in my ear, "Someone you don't need to meet. She's not what I would call a nice person. Lord knows who she's here with. I didn't invite her."

  I nodded and said nothing. I had had a moment of pique when I realized that Renee didn't recognize me, but it had quickly passed. Liz's obvious dislike of Renee endeared her further to me. I wished that I hadn't had to leave Sydney that way, but the last thing I wanted was for Renee to see me and say anything that might make Sydney realize that Renee and I had been ... lovers. No, we were never lovers. We had sex. Or rather, Renee had sex with me; it had not been a shared act except that she had found ways to make me tell her that I wanted what she wanted to do to me. And I had wanted it, my body reminded me.

  Liz dropped me off in a cluster of fellow academics in the kitchen, but the party had lost its fun for me, and I was sure I didn't want to come face-to-face with Renee. But leaving without a final word with Sydney would be rude, especially since I would be seeing her again on Sunday. I glanced surreptitiously into the living room and saw Renee going into the den. Sydney was warming her hands in front of the fire with a pensive frown that melted away when she saw me in the reflection of the mirror over the mantel.

  As I crossed the room I was aware that her velvet brown gaze never left me. I answered her smile in the reflection with one of my own. It wasn't until I was abreast of her that she turned and I looked into her eyes instead of the reflection.

  The reflection had shielded me from the warm greeting in her eyes, and for a moment I was dizzy. She looked at me for a long moment before mercifully releasing me from her stare by looking down into the fire.

  I found my breath. "I need to be going, but I'm glad I ran into you. Can I bring anything on Sunday?"

  "Nothing at all. I love to cook — it's how I relax. When you talk to Eric, tell him I've perfected my lasagna. You can bring a very large appetite." She glanced up and I could see the hot, dancing orange of the fire shimmering across her face.

  "I will," I managed. I smiled a good-bye and went to And Liz.

  "Don't say you're leaving," she said after I thanked her for inviting me.

  "I really have to. But I've enjoyed myself," I said. "When I'm settled in my new apartment, I'll return the invitation."

  She saw me to the door and cheerily waved goodbye. I was at the bottom of the last flight of stairs, when someone above called my name.

  My hand was on the knob. All I had to do was turn it and run. But a fragment of self-respect asserted itself, and I waited for Renee to catch up to me for what now seemed an inevitable meeting. Maybe this was something I just had to do.

  "I knew it was you," she said, just as Sydney had.

  Her mouth was too wide for her face. It was the first thing I thought when I saw her, and in spite of myself I remembered that mouth on me.

  "Same old Faith," she said, with a light laugh. "Am I going to have to make you answer me?"

  It was so lightly said I should not have reacted to it, but I did. "You can't make me do anything anymore, Renee."

  Her smile stilled and she stared at me, clearly intrigued. It was as if no time had passed at all and she only wanted me because I tried to resist. "Really?"

  She wasn't beautiful, but her manner and bearing were compelling. I had seen people stare at her — perhaps it was her five-eleven height and slender figure. Her thick, honey-blonde hair fell attractively into her gray-blue eyes. Those eyes were as wild as I remembered them, fit just now with intent as she fixed her gaze on my lips.

  I said coldly, leaning away, "I'm not interested."

  Renee crowded a little closer to me. She wore the same scent she had worn all those years ago, and it was still intoxicating. "At least tell me what you're up to these days. I think about you from time to time."

  I bet you do. "I don't have time at the moment," I said as I went out the door, leaving her standing there.

  I realized then that I should have called a cab before I left Liz's, but there was a small motel about a block west and I'd be able to call from there. To my dismay, Renee caught up to me again.

  "Need a lift?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Where are you living these days?"

  I increased my pace and didn't answer.

  "I might think you were running away from me," Renee said. "I don't bite."

  "No, I don't suppose you do. But I don't want to pursue an acquaintance with you. There's no point to it."

  "An acquaintance? We've done too much to be merely acquaintances," Renee said. She kept pace with me and after a minute said, "You've gone back to men, haven't you?"

  I was so surprised I stumbled a little.

  Renee's tone was smug. "None of my business, I suppose. I just never would have thought you would. You loved what we did. I remember what it was like with you. In some ways there's never been anyone like you since."

  The night had turned cold. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. "I never loved it," I snapped, knowing I lied.

  The chilled air rang with Renee's mocking laugh. "No, not when you begged for it. Certainly not when you-"

  "Stop it," I said insistently. "I've gone on with my life. I like my life now. I don't need you in it. I don't need you making trouble for me."

  "Trouble," she echoed. In the wan streetlight, her blonde curls were washed with silver. She put her hand on my arm. "Faith..."

  I yanked myself away from her. "Don't." In spite of myself, I stopped and turned to her. "Look, my memories are not pleasant ones. I don't want to have even an acquaintance with you. I don't see the point."

  "You're afraid I'll tell someone about us, aren't you? I remember how insistent you were on silence before."

  I didn't like her having any power over me. I saw a predatory look cross her face, then she leaned toward me. "Of course you weren't silent all the time. Do you remember?" Her voice was low. I had forgotten how it cut through me. No matter how much I tried to stop my ears, I heard every word. "Do you remember how loud you were the first time? And that time in the science lab? Do you remember all the things you would say when I finally got you into bed? What about the time outside Swift Hall? That was incredible. You said fu —"

  "Stop it!" No, I vowed. I won't go through this again. I am not a virginal schoolgirl caught up in her body's first passions.

  "Maybe you don't want me," Renee said. "But I'll never believe you've given up on women. So right now you're with a man. You'll come back eventually."

  "Not to you," I said. Then I realized what I'd admitted.

  She smiled and without warning cupped my face. I pulled away, stunned that she would touch me when I'd made it so plain I didn't want her to.

  I was too stunned. She saw it. And I knew it. Her hands had been soft against my cheeks. But Eric's hands are soft, too, my mind cried. But not the same. My body was electrified, and telling it that these feelings were an abomination, a sin, made no impression.

  I was shuddering as I said, ''Damn you, Renee. Don't do this to me."

  "Do what? This?" Before I could back away, even if I had wanted to, her hands were on my waist, then over my ribs, and she cupped my breasts.

  I felt the ground turn to water under me. My vision narrowed to only her face as her touch ignited me. Time stretched as she tipped her head down to mine. I remembered what it felt like to anticipate her kiss. How she would move so slowly toward me. How I would long to close the distance and finally ask her to kiss me.

  She whispered in my ear, "You can't fight your nature, Faith."

  "I can," I said, before I realized I had admitted a seco
nd time that my nature was ... that I was . . . like her.

  My senses were spinning, but I found one moment of clarity. I might want women, but I did not want Renee Callahan. My skin chilled and I pushed her away. "I don't want you," I said coolly. "Please don't touch me again."

  "Suit yourself." She turned away. "Sure you don't want a lift? No? Well, good-bye, then." She walked a few steps towards Liz's, then turned back. Her eyes took on a feral glint. "Faith, I won't make trouble for you. I care enough to wish you would accept the truth, though."

  I turned and walked away with my dignity in tatters.

  * * * * *

  I got home late enough to go straight to my room without running into Michael or my parents. I wanted to scrub myself in the shower again, but I slipped into a nightgown and into bed, huddling not so much for warmth, but for the comfort that comes with being warm in your own bed.

  Comfort didn't come. I was beset with unwanted memories. I told myself that Renee was wrong. She had spoken nothing but lies. Everything was wrong. I didn't have the feelings Renee had aroused in me. The feelings were lies.

  We had not left a late lecture and wandered through the building looking for any unlocked room. We had not stumbled inside the science lab. She had not sat on one of the tables, leaning back on her hands, legs open and ready to wrap around me. I had not seized her hips so hard I left scratches, I had not buried my face into her wetness. I had not been drunk on the taste of her.

  I had not, lying on my back, begged her to straddle me and bring herself to me again so I could feel the slick wet of her on my lips again. I had not been thirsty for her until, for once, she pushed me away.

  It had not happened. It was a lie. It couldn't be real.

  Because if it was real, then Renee was right. I wanted to be with women and I was damned.

  "Merciful Mary," I whispered. I rarely looked to the Christ figure in church, but always to the sweet and gentle Queen of Heaven when I was troubled.

  I stumbled for the old words and sought their familiar comfort. "Hail Mary, full of grace..." But even her comfort eluded me.