Chris (3 page)

And when they'd gotten back to New York, Dizz had found them this gorgeous apartment. They'd settled into a pattern of something called living. Dizz, the beautiful wife, the perfect cook; the eternally bored dilettante, the artist, the music lover, the sculptor. Bored, bored, bored. And Chris. Solid, steady, plodding Chris. Hard-working and diligent, keeping her darling in cash enough to feed her whims.

But Chris had never been able to look at Dizz without little prickles of heat chasing up her spine. She could clench her fists and jam them in her pockets. But that didn't kill the tingling in her fingers, the yearning to reach out and grab Dizz and pull her close. Nothing could ease the pain of it.

It had been Dizz's idea that she go out that first Saturday night. She'd been blunt enough, Chris remembered. "Chris, if you want it–" Not that Dizz didn't care. She did. Oh, not about the sex part. Just that Chris was so vulgar about it. She got drunk first.

And that's how it had been for them. Dizz did have her sentimental moments. She would creep into bed with Chris on Christmas Eve, sometimes even on a birthday. She would tease her with kisses. She would let Chris make love to her. But it never changed. The moment of greatest joy invariably became one of utter defeat.

Chris smiled wryly to herself. With all its frustrations, its denial, she knew she would not have missed a second of her years with Dizz. She was obsessed and she knew it But she loved Dizz with all her being. She would always love her, even if George came back—even if Dizz left her.

There was a light rap at the door. It opened and Dizz stood there glowing. She had changed into a crisp blue dress that caught her essence and elaborated on it. She looked all soft and warm and ready to be loved. It was long minute before Chris had the strength to sit up and get off the bed.

"Darling," Chris whispered. "You... you..." There were no words for what she was feeling. It stuck in her throat. It blinded her.

"Chris," the low voice vibrated. "I'm sorry I got upset about George. You know I didn't mean it." She moved very close to Chris, so close their thighs were touching and their breasts. "Darling, you do forgive me?"

Chris would have forgiven her a knife in the ribs. "Of course I do." She stood still, afraid to breathe, afraid Dizz would move suddenly and leave her alone.

"Darling," Dizz said, oh so tenderly. "Kiss me, darling." I'm going mad, Chris thought. Stark, raving mad.

Chris put her arms around Dizz and gently held her tight. She kissed her and Dizz returned the kiss. They stayed close for a long time. "Dinner's getting cold," Dizz murmured in her ear. "Hmm. I guess it is," Chris murmured back. She could not let go of Dizz. She felt she might faint.

Dizz took her hand and led her out to the kitchen. Chris did not protest. She could put up with George, with anything—just so long as once in a while Dizz would look at her like that and touch her.

Nor did she question when Dizz got in bed beside her that night and snuggled close. They had spent a quiet evening of being pleased with each other. Too happy to think, Chris had let herself be mesmerized by the nearness, the very existence of Dizz.

She did not try to make love to Dizz. Being beside her in the dark, holding her close, pressing her lips to the baby soft hair was a more exquisite joy.

It was just before she fell asleep that Chris realized what was wrong. That it was only when she had found something new to interest her that Dizz knew content. And that the interest must be indeed profound to have produced an evening like this one.

Chris knew a moment of fear. She shivered in the suddenly cold room and pressed herself tight against the girl.

Chris finished her third cup of coffee and lit a cigarette. She had been sitting at the kitchen table for a half hour. She was fascinated. Dizz was cleaning out the oven, cleaning out drawers, cleaning out the sink. Dizz was cleaning and enjoying it.

"Chris, come get that platter down for me, will you?" Dizz paused to smile at her, then dampened the sponge in her hand and went back to the stove.

"Are we expecting company?" Chris said as she unwound from the chair and stood up. She walked to the cupboard and stretched to reach the platter. She set it on the table and returned to the chair.

"Not that I know of," Dizz answered. "I'm full of energy, that's all. You know I like to keep the house clean for you."

Chris picked the cigarette up from the ashtray and took a long drag. "What's the platter for?"

"Turkey. We haven't had it for ages. I thought you'd like it for a change." Dizz came over to the table and stood looking at her. She reached out a hand and ruffled the close-cropped hair on Chris' head. "Honey, in case it doesn't show, I like you sometimes."

Chris did not answer. It was too good to last, she knew, but why not enjoy it while she could?

The phone rang in the living room and Dizz moved to answer it. "I'll get it," she said.

Chris sat quietly smoking, not listening to the conversation. She knew without being told that the hiatus had ended. She wanted to drain it of every precious moment. She could not think beyond the second, beyond the reality of caressing Dizz and, for that second, possessing her.

Dizz came back into the kitchen and sat down facing Chris. She seemed suddenly subdued, yet her eyes betrayed an inner excitement. She folded her hands on the table.

"Darling," Dizz said, "that was, George. He's driving up to Connecticut to see a client. He asked me to ride along."

"Are you?"

"Yes. He’ll be here about noon."

That does it, Chris thought.

But she said nothing. She put out the cigarette. Then she picked up the platter, stepped to the cupboard and returned it to the top shelf. She went through the living room and out to the terrace.

The garden, she thought. There's enough to be done to keep me busy, all afternoon. Dig up those bulbs and get them inside. Should have some straw. Some fertilizer.

She turned back to the house. Dizz was standing at the door watching her.

"Chris, what's the matter?" Dizz said quietly. She stood aside to let Chris pass.

"Who said anything's the matter?" Chris was in no mood for this. But she knew Dizz would force the issue.

Chris crossed to the couch and sat down. Dizz sank into the sling across from her and leaned forward.

"I wish you'd hit me or something when you're feeling like this," Dizz said. "I can't stand it when you get sullen."

Chris sighed and, leaned back. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets and stretched out her legs.

"Damn it, say something," Dizz said. "Talk to me."

"What would you like me to say, Dizz?" Chris replied.

Dizz sat back in the chair and glared at her. "Don't play games with me, Chris. Say it and get it over with."

"To be perfectly honest, I can't think of a thing."

"Darling," Dizz said, "do you really think that you have any reason to feel insecure?"

"No," Chris said slowly. She knew that Dizz had been faithful to her. She had no reason to doubt her now. But there was a terrible sickness in Chris. Something funded in her head, an ugly something. What, it said, will happen to me if he can do for her what I can't? What if she goes to bed with him and finds out what it means to be fulfilled? It's not very likely to happen, I know that. But it could. It could!

"Then, darling," Dizz went on, oblivious to the voice in Chris' head, "Why are you so upset? All that's going to happen is that I'll have a nice drive in the country. Even you can't find anything ominous in that."

Wanna bet, Chris thought. But all she said was, "I guess I'm just being silly."

"Of course you are," Dizz said earnestly. She got up out of the chair and came to sit by Chris. She ran a long pointed nail around Chris' ear and down her neck over the bruise.

Chris took the finger in her own. "Don't distract me," she said.

Dizz turned on that smile and it hit Chris where it hurt. She leaned over and pecked Chris quickly on the lips. "So you won't be jealous, will you?" she said.

"Look, honey," Chris said. "You know all I care about is that you should be happy. If it makes you happy to go out with George, go. What more can I say?"

Chris had no more to say that she wanted Dizz to hear. She dared not tell her that she was afraid, and that it was not George who made her so, but her own sense of inadequacy. She could not tell Dizz, who had never known it, of the kind of thing that happened when two people fulfilled all each other's needs. She had prayed that Dizz would never know it with somebody else. She had hand-picked their friends to include no one who might tempt her away. But George was something she hadn't counted on. And Dizz was obviously attracted to him.

Dizz curled up beside Chris and put her head against Chris' shoulder. "Well, anyhow, we'll be home early. You don't mind eating out this once, do you?"

Chris moved her head to look down at Dizz. "No, darling," she said, "I don't mind." She felt herself slipping. Dizz was so soft, so sweet. She wanted Dizz to have fun and come home early. Maybe she'd even be glad to get home.

Chris slid her arm around Dizz's waist and Dizz nestled against her. Their heads were close together. We fit so well, Chris thought. We belong this way. And she felt that Dizz must know it too.

Dizz moved after a while and went to her room to dress. She had left the door open and for a few minutes Chris sat watching her. Then very deliberately she rose and went back onto the terrace.

A black and white cat from across the alley was perched on a corner of the fence taking the sun. Somebody's radio blared out an orange juice commercial. Brakes squealed somewhere out on the Avenue. It seemed like any other Monday morning.

Yet Chris knew in her heart that it wasn't. Dizz was too happy, too anxious. She found herself hoping that Dizz would be disappointed and come home miserable and take a couple of drinks. That Chris could cope with, but this other thing she could not touch. She sat down on a garden chair and proceeded to ignore the whole situation. She looked at the cat. She listened to street sounds and some terrible thing of Bach's. She smoked herself nauseous.

The buzzer rang in the kitchen. She bent her head to hear if Dizz would run, a little too eagerly, to answer it. But it was quiet in the apartment.

"Honey," Dizz called out the window. "Get it, will you? I'm not quite ready."

An hour and she's not quite ready. An hour. A person could try on everything in Macy's in that length of time.

Chris got to the kitchen just as the buzzer sounded the second time. She pushed the button and opened the door. George took off his hat as he came through the doorway. He stood with it hanging from two fingers and stuck out the others in greeting. The left hand was behind his back.

"Hi, Chris," he said with that ear-to-ear grin. "I brought a friend." He took his left hand from behind his back and held out the friend for inspection.

"It's adorable," Chris laughed and in half a second she was sitting on the living room floor getting acquainted. The miniature schnauzer couldn't have been more than two months old. He still looked a little wobbly. With his shiny black eyes and little tufted self, he enchanted Chris completely.

"His name's Schnitzel," George said, squatting on the floor beside Chris. He held out a hand and the pup bounced over to it and licked his fingers. "He's just learning manners. Better not let him get too excited."

Chris sat back on her heels and watched the pup. “I don't imagine he can do too much damage," she said.

George picked up Schnitzel and got to his feet. "I'm beginning to think he could win a medal," he said.

"Chris, are you quite comfortable?"

Chris heard the icicles in Dizz's voice and looked up rather foolishly from her seat on the floor.

George turned quickly. "Hello, Sheila," he said. He took a step forward, cupping Schnitzel in his hand. "Chris and my buddy have just been saying hello."

Dizz turned on the charm. "Oh, he's a love," she cooed She put out a hand and played with the puppy's ear. "Isn't he darling, Chris?" she said, turning to look down at her friend.

Chris stood up and nodded at Dizz. She had a smirk on her face that she knew Dizz could kill her for. "Yes, he is," she said. "And I'm so glad you like dogs. I gather you’ll be holding the baby this afternoon."

George smiled happily at Dizz. "I'm glad you do too," he said. "I've had one or another all my life." He put out his hand and gave the pup to Dizz.

Dizz took the pup and cuddled it in her arm. She stroked it lovingly with the other hand.

Chris turned away to find a cigarette. She could not look at Dizz and keep a straight face. Dizz with a dog! It was too delicious. Dizz with one of those dirty smelly beasts that she could not tolerate.

"Chris," Dizz said, "would you get my coat for me, dear? The light blue one."

"Of course," Chris answered and went to the closet off the kitchen. She took the coat and put it over her arm. She walked back to Dizz.

Dizz took advantage of the moment to glare at Chris with fury. "Thank you," she said stiffly as Chris draped the coat over her arm.

"Well, I guess we're ready," George said. "I'm sorry you're busy this afternoon, Chris. Maybe you can make it next time."

Chris looked at Dizz. "I'm sorry too," she said.

Dizz did not look at Chris, but busied herself with Schnitzel. She flushed slightly, then said, "Goodbye, Chris. We'll be home early, I think. Won't we, George?"

"Should be," he answered. He turned to Chris. "Is it okay if I take the young lady to dinner on the way back?"

"Yes," Chris said. "It's okay."

"Then well see you later," he said. He took Dizz by the elbow and steered her to the door.

Chris closed the door behind them and stood with her back against it. She couldn't blame George, she knew. He was doing his best to play it fair. It was Dizz she should hate, if she wanted to hate somebody. But how the devil could she hate Dizz?

She walked into the living room and slumped onto the couch. She put out the cigarette. Her hands dug angrily into her pockets and she pushed her feet hard against the floor.