Blind Squirrels (27 page)

Christie, the downstairs maid,
greeted us at the door.  A young, attractive brunette with drawn, stern
features, Christie was properly polite and exceedingly demure.  Her modest
black dress barely disguised her enticing, curvaceous shape.  A white apron
tied tightly around her midsection only emphasized the image she seemed to be
trying to hide.  She led us into the foyer and took our coats.

Pamela Bellanova – Ben’s mother –
met us in the living room.  Dressed in a baby blue baggy sweater and tight
khaki Capri slacks, she looked like Laura Petrie greeting Rob at the door after
a long day.  Her brown hair – bobbed off just below the ears – curled towards
her thin pointed face.  Her ice-blue eyes immediately shot daggers in my
direction, although she pretended to be most happy to see me.  Then, after
proclaiming that she had missed Ben severely, she placed her fingertips on his
shoulders and gently pecked him once on each cheek.  A grand homecoming if I
ever saw one.

A little later, Harold Bellanova
joined us.  Immaculately dressed in a gray knit suit, Ben’s father was the
epitome of a corporate executive.  He wore his gray hair close cut except on
top where it whipped around and formed a large, loose curl in front.  He looked
like an older, less defiant version of James Dean.  He greeted his son every
bit as warmly as Pamela did by stoically putting out his hand for Ben to
shake.  Ben enthusiastically grabbed hold of his father’s hand, but Harold was
quick to end this wanton show of affection.

Everyone sat, and Ben and I had
some refreshments.  With each moment that passed, I felt increasingly
uncomfortable.  Ben’s parents were stiff and rigid, and for once I yearned for
one of my parents’ knockdown, drag-out fights.  A little emotion, if you
please.

Upstairs maid Jillian arrived to
show us our bedroom.  Another voluptuous woman in an unflattering black
uniform, Jillian had flowing blond hair and large, jutting breasts.  For a
moment, I allowed myself to imagine that Mr. Bellanova hired these women for
more than maid service, but when I glanced back at old Harold I knew better.  A
stolid man such as this probably found sexy women and sex as too adventurous. 
Ben was probably a product of Harold’s first – and only – sexual experience. 
Clearly, Pamela wasn’t a fulfilled woman, and the maids looked as though they
had not recently been with a man either.  I gave up my musings as Jillian
ushered us back out into the foyer.

Now I had a chance to look at
this mansion.  The inside was even more magnificent than the outside had been. 
The exquisite decorating deserved recognition by
Life Styles of the Rich and
Famous
.  Most of the furniture was handcrafted and clearly hundreds of
years old.  Having no experience with quality furniture, I was unable to
distinguish one style of chair from another, but I recognized the craftsmanship
that had gone into the making of each piece.

The floors throughout the house were
made of highly polished wood and they were lovely. While people of my social
standing were using carpet to cover their – ewww – common wood floors and to
measure their worth, the truly rich were showcasing the natural look of wood
flooring.  My mother would have been aghast.  In selected areas – the living
room, for instance – throw rugs added color and warmth to the traditional
decor.  These were not the twenty-nine-ninety-nine area rugs you might pick up
at Kmart.  These were handmade Persian rugs, and they really came from the
Middle East.

I also noticed the magnificent
double staircases that led to the second floor.  Again, highly polished wood comprised
the steps, the banister, and the second-story railings.  The staircases started
on opposite sides of the foyer and wound themselves up to the next landing. 
Between the two stairways sat a beautifully restored antique wash stand of
solid pine that displayed an elegant white porcelain pitcher and wash bowl.

Antique furniture filled our
bedroom.  A chestnut colored chifferobe stood along one wall.  There were four
drawers on one side, and a built-in closet on the other.  The door to the
closet held a long, beveled mirror.  A matching armoire rested along the
windowed wall, and beside it sat a comfortable armchair.  The bed was the
centerpiece of the room.  It was a handmade pine four-poster with a canopy of
sheer cotton.  A patchwork quilt added to the homespun atmosphere, while a
twill duvet lay underneath for snugly comfort.  Fluted tiffany floor-lamps sat
on either side of the bed.  A solid pine French writing desk stood along the
same wall as the bed, and an antique pine trunk on casters was resting against
the foot of the bed.  Sheer throw swags and room-darkening wooden blinds
adorned the windows.

You could find fine pieces of
furniture throughout the house.  Most were English reproductions, and all of
them were lovely.  I had a few favorites.  There was an English hutch with two
glass doors and dovetail drawers that I fell in love with when I first stepped
into the dining room.  I also lovingly admired a drop leaf table that resided
in the tea room, and a handsome roll-top desk inhabiting the study.

Of course, I didn’t grasp all of
these fine features in one day.  We spent two weeks in the Bellanovas’ home,
and – although I saw many wonderful things – there were still parts of the
house that I missed.  I visited at least half of the twelve bedrooms, three of
the seven bathrooms, both – yes, both – kitchens, all the dining areas, the
living room, the den, the study, and more, but the tea room was my favorite. 

The tea room was my place to get
away from the disapproving looks Mrs. Bellanova was constantly sending my way. 
The room – rather small and intimate – held the drop leaf table and a few
straight-backed, cushioned chairs.  A serving sideboard standing against one
wall contained the tea service as well as napkins, sugar, and artificial
creamer.  A windowed door with sheer lace curtains opened out into the
loveliest garden I had ever seen.  In those early days of winter, holly bushes,
snowdrops, and evergreen plants were cautiously cared for by a blithe old
gardener who ensured that the garden was beautiful all year round. 

Each day, I would sit at the
table and lose myself in a daydream.  While the cold December wind kept me out
of the garden, my fantasies would carry me inside.  The garden soon became a
magical land, and each day I would find new adventures there.  It was during
this time that Max entered my dreams again.

Why was I daydreaming about Max
instead of my husband?  Once we arrived at the Bellanova home, Ben became a
stranger to me.  Every morning he would go with his father to the office and
leave me behind with Pamela the grim.  I had no idea why Ben was leaving me
there, and I resented having to spend the day with a woman who loathed me.  Ben
didn’t see that his daily absence was building a wall between us.  Matters were
worse when he returned to their home every evening.  He spent all of his time
with his parents, and he barely acknowledged that I was alive.  He was a
totally different person from the Ben I had married.  He was becoming
obstinate, cold, and indifferent.

The first few days when Ben
disappeared, I tried to enjoy Pamela’s company.  I soon gave up the hope of
ever having a civil conversation with her.  She was constantly talking down to
me, correcting my diction and my grammar, and treating me like a child.  While
searching for a hiding place, I accidentally came upon the tea room.  Christie
the maid told me that the family seldom used the room because Mrs. Bellanova
despised having guests and the living room proved more sensible for family
teas.

On my first trip to the tea room,
I opened the door and peeped out into the garden.  The icy wind soon sent me
back inside, but not before I had a chance to admire all the beautiful winter plants. 
I also noticed a cobbled path that led to a fountain in the center of the
garden.  The fountain was not flowing, but I imagined how magnificent it must
have looked in the summer.  Across from the fountain, a wooden swing hung from
an arched trellis, and I longed to sit there and remember the not quite so
fancy swing my parents had in their yard.  I wanted to remember the times I had
shared our swing with my dog Lassie who had long ago left this world.

Back inside, I quickly warmed up
with a mug of hot cocoa that Christie brought to me.  I envisioned myself back
in the garden.  It was summer, and all the roses were in bloom.  The swing
seemed suspended from the beautiful flowering bougainvillea that was growing
around and concealing the arched trellis.  Crystal clear water was flowing in
the fountain.  I rambled down the cobbled path, and in the distance I saw a
man.  As I came closer, I saw that it was Max.  He held his hand out to me, and
when I took it, we strolled through the garden together.  Christie interrupted
before my fantasy could end.  Mrs. Bellanova wanted us to have lunch together
in the solarium.  I glanced out the door and saw Max’s face smiling at me.  He
would wait in the garden until I returned.

I met Max in my fantasy garden
every day until we left for home.  By this time, there was a mile wide gorge
between Ben and me, and I had little hope of it ever narrowing.  As we waved
goodbye to Upper Arlington, I remember thinking that I would never have to
visit the Bellanovas again.  Part of me already knew that my marriage was
ending.

Somehow, Ben and I stayed
together for another year.  Our blissful existence had ended, but neither of us
would admit that our marriage was a bust.  We didn’t argue or fight; there
wasn’t enough passion left for that.  We just aimlessly floated through the
days, and we took turns staying up late at night to avoid unwelcome sexual
overtures.

I don’t recall spending much time
thinking about Max.  He was – as always – in the back of my mind, but I tried
to keep him out of the forefront.  Mostly, I tried to excel in college so I
could graduate and get a job.  I wanted to be able to take care of myself if I
did decide to end my marriage.

After my graduation from UWF,
things quickly got worse at our house.  I took a temporary programming job in
Mobile, Alabama.  Every day I commuted sixty miles to and from work.  Ben
complained about my job every waking moment.  He wanted me to quit, and that
made me more determined to keep the job.  I had tried to find a position in Foster’s
Bank, but jobs were hard to come by in a town of that size.

Two months after I took the job,
Ben announced that his father had offered him a position with the family firm. 
He was going to be their in-house advertising director, and he would one day
take over the company when his father retired.  Of course, he wanted me to quit
my job right away and move to Upper Arlington with him.  Of course, I wasn’t
about to.  We were at an impasse.  Ben wouldn’t reconsider, and neither would
I.  Two weeks passed without us speaking to one another.  Then, Ben broke the
ice.

“Let’s have dinner tonight,” he
announced one Wednesday morning.

“Are you serious?” I asked.  It
would have been an understatement to say he surprised me.

“It’s time to end this war
between us.  Why don’t you meet me at McGuire’s?  It’ll be like old times.  Can
you be there by seven?”  He seemed almost like the old Ben.  I couldn’t resist
his invitation.  I agreed to the time and place.

As usual with me, I arrived
almost thirty minutes early.  I planned to get a table and have a glass of wine
to relax.  Kathy – a tall gregarious blonde and one of our favorite servers –
met me at the entrance.  She smiled – exposing all of her perfect white teeth –
and said, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” I told her.  “I’ve
really missed this place.”

She laughed.  “That’s the same
thing your husband said.”

It surprised me to see Ben
already there.  “Where is he?”

She pointed to a table in the
back.  “Your favorite seat, where else?  If you’ll go on back, I’ll be there in
a moment.”

I made my way to our table.  Ben
looked up at me.  He was not alone.  A woman with short tightly permed hair had
her back to me.  She was sitting in my chair.  Ben stood up and met me a few
steps away from the table.

“Am I early?” I asked.

“No – well, maybe a little. 
That’s okay.  Come on over here and sit down.  Let me introduce you to
someone.”  He led me back to the table.  The woman with the permed hair turned
around as we approached.

“Kat – is that you?” she asked in
surprise.

I suddenly realized who she was. 
“Laura!  Is it really you?”  It was most surprising to see her here.  Right
after high school, Laura had gone full-on nuts about changing the world.  She’d
given up her dream of becoming a lawyer, joined some environmental volunteer
organization, and set out for some remote place in Alaska.  I guessed I’d never
see her again.

“You two know each other?” Ben
asked.

“Of course,” Laura answered. 
“We’ve known each other since high school.”

The three of us sat down at the
table.  Laura explained that she had lost faith in the organization she was
working with when many of her efforts were thwarted by bureaucratic red tape. 
She had then decided that she wasn’t as altruistic as she’d once believed and
that someone else could save the world.  She just wanted to come back home. 
Ben excused himself for a moment and left Laura and I alone to talk.  He seemed
very annoyed that I knew Laura.  I could only guess at the reason why.