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Authors: Suzanne Jenkins

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BOOK: Dream Lover
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“There is a lot of energy in that place!” she said. “It must be fun!”

“Not really,” I replied. “I’m in the pool. I don’t work for one individual, so there isn’t any camaraderie at all. Maybe that’s why I am still there. No gossip, no dynamics between people. Very rarely, there is a romance and then boy oh boy! You should see the magpies hopping around, trying to spread the gossip or get another story. Fortunately, I am usually too busy to take note of what’s going on. And I am always the last to know. Always.” I wondered why that was. No one was interested in me and I really wasn’t interested in anyone. Maybe that was why I was alone. I didn’t care about anyone with whom I worked. I didn’t care about anyone, period. Jack had been the first man to capture my attention in a long time. How shallow was I that I would suffer the shame and humiliation of being used by someone just because he was gorgeous? We arrived at the coffee shop. I got out of the cab first and then waited on the sidewalk while Sandra paid the driver. It was her idea, after all. I didn’t have the money to be taking cabs all over town. She led the way and I followed her. We sat at a table in front of a grimy window. The Brooklyn Bridge was right over us. I could sit there for hours and watch the cars file up the ramp. It was cool and dark in the coffee shop, an old diner car that had lasted through several neighborhood gentrifications. It was on the decline at the present time.

“So, what shall we talk about?” I asked Sandra. And then without prompting, forgetting my previous decision to allow her to lead, I went full-steam ahead. “I didn’t know Jack that well. I certainly didn’t know he owned the company. Let’s see if I can repeat this correctly. He told me that his boss was a tyrant, a religious fanatic.” I stopped myself in the nick of time, but she was wise to me. I almost let it slip that he lied so he’d have an excuse not to be seen in public with me. She was looking at me uncertainly; I could tell I had confused her. I had to keep the upper hand now and maybe confusion was a good way to do it.

“What circumstances led to him lying to you?” she asked.

Oh no, you don’t,
I thought to myself. “I would rather not say,” was the way I answered that one. She could dig a little more if she wanted information from me. “In what capacity do you work there at Jack’s place? If I may ask.”

“I’m a partner,” she replied. She looked uncomfortable. Good, I thought. Tit for tat. It figured she was a partner, although she seemed a little young. I didn’t inquire further because I didn’t really care. I wanted to know why she was so interested in me and asked her.

“Why do you care so much about what I have to say? It’s not like it will affect anything Jack had or did.” I had an interior giggle at that; it was just enough of an allusion to make her think otherwise. She looked out the window. I was still having a difficult time getting a read on her. But something told me that she had been in his bed, and not just as a screw. Then I thought I would take a chance. She could just say no, or mind your own business, or fuck off. “You are his girlfriend.”

“Was his girlfriend. Remember, he’s dead.” She looked me right in the eye. “I have my reasons to want his reputation to stay intact. That and the fact that his widow and I are good friends now.” I don’t know why I found that difficult to believe. Would she invite me into the fold? I remembered the wife’s name: Pamela. Pamela, Sandra, and Cynthia…the three women of Jack Smith.

“Trust me; I am not going to expose him in any way. I can promise you that. Although truthfully, he doesn’t deserve it. He deserves my wrath. But I guess that I am to blame for all of it because I allowed it.” I had said it.
I had allowed it
. It was the most difficult admission I had made. Jack used me because he could. He never forced me. I came willingly, eagerly. “Wow, I think I just had a breakthrough. Thirty-one isn’t too late to save oneself from being an asshole, is it?” I asked her.

Surprisingly, Sandra Benson laughed. “No, no it isn’t. I hope I can do it by that age! Anyway, I don’t think you are an asshole at all. If what you just did was to make an admission of guilt, then let me reassure you. You are not alone.”

She didn’t say anything more, but my feeling was that perhaps Jack had had more than one victim. We drank our coffee in silence. She hadn’t said much, but Sandra Benson had given me the validation I sought.

If I were able, I would keep going. One foot in front of the other. If my life were so empty that a silly sexual relationship with a married man was the only thing I had to look forward to, and then I had better make some changes, maybe even look for a new job.

It’s not too late
, I thought at the time. But it was. It was too late for me.

Sandra Benson left the young woman at the coffee shop and went back to her office. She looked out the dirty windows of the cab, wondering how her day could have gotten worse when just a few hours before, she was sure it was as bad as was possible. She’d have to do some serious thinking before she made one more move.

2

O
rganic Bonanza in Babylon was packed with women doing their grocery shopping. Many were in tennis or golf attire, some were in gym clothes, and a few wore bathing suit cover-ups. Usually, it was the tourists who wore bathing suits in public. It was an unspoken rule that locals dressed appropriately in town—except for a few younger wives who had the bodies for bathing suits and were, therefore, forgiven and teenagers, who could wear whatever they wanted.

Pam Smith loved the grocery store. When Jack was alive, she could be seen there at least four times a week. Now that he was gone, she was usually there twice, once to pick up food for her and her mother, and the next time to get food for her weekend guests. Always pleasant with a smile on her face, the clerks loved seeing her, and made sure all of her grocery needs were met. The guy in the meat department specially butchered steaks for her back when Jack was alive, and when Jack had started to watch his weight, he trimmed them extra lean for her without her having to ask more than once. Almost every employee was there to serve the public and in spite of the astronomical prices and the big chain store just two blocks inland, the women in town patronized Bonanza because they didn’t want it to go out of business.

She pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles, wandering over to the deli counter and looking over the case, thinking about what she would fix for lunches for the next couple of days. She wasn’t making a big deal about food the way she did when Jack was alive. But with company coming for the weekend, Pam had a reason to shop again. There were no other customers at the counter, but she took a number anyway. The two young clerks were whispering to each other and ignoring Pam. When the click of the number dispenser didn’t alert the girls that a customer was waiting, Pam decided to forgo cold cuts and find something else for lunch rather than disturbing them. She moved away from the counter. One of the women looked out of the corner of her eye to see Pam leave.

“She’s gone,” Marion whispered to her coworker, Jean. “Thank God I didn’t have to look her in the eye. I’m telling you, it creeps me out big time, just her being in the store.” They turned around to look out on the expanse of the store.

“Keep your voice down! I never should have told you about it. If she finds out, my sister is going to kill me. You have to promise not to say a thing to anyone. She had to take some kind of oath to work in the hospital that she wouldn’t squeal about anyone’s personal business. She shouldn’t have told me, either.” Jean was worried now; why’d she ever say anything about Mrs. Smith to big-mouthed Marion?

“Why
did
your sister say anything to you if it is such a big secret? Shit that goes on in the hospital isn’t supposed to be dinnertime conversation, you know.” Marion hated Jean’s sister; jealous that she got into nursing school in the first place and now made decent money while Marion was stuck at Organic Bonanza on minimum wage. “Anyway, I’ve hated Mr. Smith ever since I was in girl’s T-ball,” Marion said. “He would drool all over Alice Mackenzie. Remember her? She was a skinny-assed blonde even when she was eight. His precious angel of a daughter got the attention of the other coach. The big girls like me were ignored or yelled at or both. He never let me play once we got up to Little League.” Memories of the way she was treated as a child boiled over into her present thinking about Pam Smith. “I’m not surprised that haughty bitch has AIDS. She probably got it from that prick of a husband of hers.”

Jean gasped. “Keep your voice down!” she repeated. Their boss, the head of the deli department, came up to them and told them to get busy; there had been a complaint that the deli department wasn’t manned. What had they been doing all morning?

Pam went through checkout and took her groceries to the car. She was getting her hair done in twenty minutes, so she had just enough time to unload the bags and ask her mother to put the cold stuff in the refrigerator. She’d do it if Nelda wasn’t up to it. But her mother was ready, dressed in her heels and stockings, to go into the city for the weekend. Pam’s mother-in-law, Bernice Smith, loved having Pam and Nelda stay with her at her brownstone mansion in the heart of the Upper West Side of Manhattan. At first, she resisted the idea of the two of them “infringing on her privacy.” After the second day of a trial visit, she loved it. Having other women in the house with her was like having a big slumber party twenty-four hours a day. And since Pam was paying for the upkeep of the house, it was only fair that she and her mother be welcome there. When winter arrived in a few months, Pam would travel back and forth between the beach and the city. Nelda could do whatever she liked. At seventy-seven, both Nelda and Bernice were capable of taking care of themselves. But having someone around to assist them if necessary was becoming more than just a luxury. Pam had made a deal with the staff to stay on full time, but she had to hire an additional person to be Bernice’s assistant—a combination companion and nurse’s aide. Bernice had to be reminded on a daily basis that Candy was not her personal maid.

While Pam was at the store, her sister Marie called the house. Marie was Nelda’s youngest daughter. She wouldn’t be coming to the beach for the weekend after all because she didn’t feel well enough to make the trip, or at least that was what she told her mother.

“I’m going into the city to stay with Bernice. I’ll come downtown and look after you,” Nelda said.

There was no way in hell,
Marie thought. If she needed her mother, the woman would make every excuse under the sun not to come.
What was with her?
“No Mom, that’s not necessary. I just need some rest. Having you here, I would feel like I needed to entertain you. Stay uptown.”

Nelda gave in. She didn’t really want to go take care of her daughter anyway. At forty-five, Marie was old enough to take care of herself. After they said good-bye, Marie curled up next to her sleeping lover and closed her eyes.

As soon as Pam walked through the door, Nelda told her about Marie. Pam didn’t say anything in return; afraid her anger at Marie would be obvious. Pam’s patience with her sister had grown thin. Sure that Marie wasn’t sick at all; she was probably making an excuse to stay home so that she could do something that Pam wouldn’t approve of, or why the secrecy? Anyhow, the last thing they needed was their mother second-guessing why Marie wasn’t coming.

“I wonder if Sandra is on her way,” Pam said. She decided to call her. If no one was coming to the beach this weekend, she would be free to spend the time with her children and their friends. Sandra picked up on the first ring. Something had come up at the last minute and she wouldn’t be coming either. Pam’s anger grew.
Those two are so selfish!
she thought, conflicted over needing to see them in spite of not being able to depend on them. She shook her head in exasperation, picked up her purse and left the house again.

3

D
elores Frank was an intake coordinator at the New York State Department of Health, Manhattan Office. For the past twenty years, she monitored AIDS cases in the city for the state of New York. Every case that crossed her desk was cross-referenced with cases throughout the city. On Monday, she had received a file that made her blood boil. She read through it once, and then called an emergency meeting with her boss, Ron Peterson, and two interviewers. She arranged for lunch to be brought in at her expense. She wanted her colleagues to be relaxed while she talked to them, not looking at their watches, or hearing their stomachs growling. They arrived right on time and crowded around the sandwich tray, fixing plates of food.

“I’m starving! Thank you for getting lunch, Dee,” Maggie Daniel said as she piled veggies on her plate.

“I am, too,” Betty James said. “I didn’t think I would have any time to eat today; we’ve been so busy. Did everyone in Manhattan just suddenly decide to contract HIV? I hate to think of what the rest of the week is going to bring.”

Dee Frank hated to add fuel to the fire. “It did just get worse,” she said. “I feel badly about what I am going to dump on all of you. Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.”

BOOK: Dream Lover
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