The Doctor's Wife (28 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Brundage
“Why not?”
“Because I’m mad.”
“What about?”
The door opened. Rosie was holding the doll from the mailbox. She’d wrapped it up in one of her baby blankets. A chill went through Annie; a lump rose in her throat.
“Gross, Rosie,” Henry said.
Rosie’s eyes welled up with tears and she began to close the door again. Annie caught it in her hand. “Let me see, lovey.”
Rosie held out the doll. She’d washed off the blood and had wrapped its deformed plastic head with every conceivable kind of Band-Aid. Annie crouched down and spoke quietly. “Is she feeling better?”
“I saved her. She didn’t like it in the mailbox. It was scary and cold.”
“You’ve done a very nice job, Rosie.” Annie took Rosie into her arms and held her close.
“I just want to play with her, okay, Mommy?”
Annie nodded. “But no locking doors.”
“I’m going to introduce her to all my dolls.”
“That’s a good idea.” Annie swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat was still there.
Michael had the day off on Sunday. They avoided each other, drifting through the hours and accomplishing very little. Every time she tried to talk to him about the clinic he changed the subject. On Monday, after her morning class, she went for a swim. The pool was empty and cold and she swam hard, trying to sort out her feelings. Michael’s obstinacy made her angry. She could give him an ultimatum, she thought: Quit the clinic or quit the marriage. But she didn’t feel right about that either. Although she hated to admit it, the Life Force propaganda was getting to her. Images of twisted fetuses and nearly full-term infants with bashed-in skulls. She found them incredibly troubling. On the other hand, no matter how many times they called Michael a murderer, they couldn’t be further from the truth. The issue seemed to be more about control than anything else. They wanted it; they knew how to get it.
Another swimmer had entered her lane and was coming up behind her. Undeterred, she swam harder and flip-turned at the wall, only to glimpse Simon’s gold cap swiftly approaching. He was the last person she wanted to see just now. Striving to keep her lead on him, she cranked down the lane, feeling the whirl of his turn behind her. But he caught up easily and passed her, running his hand, like a fish, along her thigh, sending a wicked rush through her loins. The desire quickly turned to anger,
how dare he,
and she pushed herself to compete, her body pumping with adrenaline until she passed the cocky bastard and took the lead back. When she reached the wall, she climbed out and disappeared into the dressing room with her heart pounding.
Touché,
she thought.
how dare he,
and she pushed herself to compete, her body pumping with adrenaline until she passed the cocky bastard and took the lead back. When she reached the wall, she climbed out and disappeared into the dressing room with her heart pounding.
Touché,
she thought.
Stepping into her clothes, she realized she was shaking. She didn’t know what to do about Simon Haas and it terrified her.
Gathering her things, she rushed into the corridor, heading toward the double doors that led to the parking lot, praying she wouldn’t run into him again. The hall was empty and a smile played on her lips as she pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the rain. But there he was, waiting for her under an umbrella.
“Surprise, surprise,” he said.
“I would have thought you’d be the type to primp,” she said.
“I didn’t want you to get wet.”
“It’s only rain.”
“You’re right.” He closed the umbrella. “Getting wet is much more exciting.”
She stood there looking at him in the rain. If only he wasn’t so goddamn appealing.
“You wouldn’t want to get a drink or anything? There’s a nice little bar across the street.”
“What for?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t answer that.”
She frowned, bustling toward her car.
“Look, Annie, I’m sorry if I’ve distracted you.”
She turned to face him. “Distracted me?”
“Your cozy little life.”
The comment hurt; that was hardly the life she was leading these days. “You have no idea about my life. You have no idea what we’re going through right now. You want to know about my life? There’s nothing cozy about it.”
“I’m sorry, Annie. Truly. I shouldn’t make assumptions about your life.”
“It’s not that I don’t want—”
“People have been making assumptions about me for years and, frankly, I’m sick and fucking tired of it. And that’s why I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“A favor?”
“I want you to write something about me.” He looked at her. “I know you want to.”
She stood there; he had her now.
“Maybe you haven’t admitted it to yourself,” he went on. “But that’s who you are. You can’t help it, and I wouldn’t expect you to be any different. And it’s a good story. People have been trying to get it out of me for years. Well, guess what, I’m ready to spill the beans.”
She swallowed hard. She felt a little sick. “I wonder what’s so interesting about a middle-aged artist on the verge of extinction?” She was testing him now.
“That’s just it,” he said. “That’s the part they like most—the scent of failure. It’s quite intoxicating, actually.”
“You don’t believe that. And anyway, you’re not a failure.”
“Thank you, Annie. It means a lot to me. But as we’ve already established, you’re a romantic. You always see the best in people. It’s liable to get you into trouble.” They looked at each other and he sighed. “Assuming you would agree, I took the liberty of arranging an editor. I hope you don’t mind. She’s a friend of mine.” He handed her a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it. “She’s at
Vanity Fair.
” He glanced at her for a reaction, which she would not supply, and he frowned with obvious disappointment. Annie could tell he had expected more from her, but with calculating measure, she showed him nothing, not even the slightest glimmer of pleasure, and it clearly agitated him. His voice soured. “I said they could have the interview on one condition, that you be the one to write it. I have to warn you, it took some convincing. Your name didn’t ring a bell. She had to look you up on the computer. Said she wasn’t sure you had the experience, didn’t know if you could handle it. I gather you’re not quite in the loop.” He smiled coldly. “She’s waiting for your call.”
Vanity Fair.
” He glanced at her for a reaction, which she would not supply, and he frowned with obvious disappointment. Annie could tell he had expected more from her, but with calculating measure, she showed him nothing, not even the slightest glimmer of pleasure, and it clearly agitated him. His voice soured. “I said they could have the interview on one condition, that you be the one to write it. I have to warn you, it took some convincing. Your name didn’t ring a bell. She had to look you up on the computer. Said she wasn’t sure you had the experience, didn’t know if you could handle it. I gather you’re not quite in the loop.” He smiled coldly. “She’s waiting for your call.”
“She was right,” Annie said. “You’re out of my league. You are one tough subject, Mr. Haas.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You’re the only one I trust.” He seemed utterly pleased with his tactics of manipulation.
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m as cutthroat and heartless as all the rest of them. In fact, I’m worse.”
“I have feelings for you, Annie.” He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. “I’ve been dreaming about you.”
“Please stop dreaming,” she said softly. “It’s time to wake up.”
Leave it alone,
she told herself.
Stay away from him.
But that afternoon, she found herself dialing
Vanity Fair
from her office telephone. She asked for Tina Chase and was connected with her secretary, who asked Annie to identify herself. To Annie’s surprise, the secretary put her through right away. “I’ve been reading over some of your work.” Chase spoke with a British accent and had a deep smoker’s voice. “Strong stuff. If you can pull this off before the retrospective, I imagine you’ll be fairly desirable to have around in the future.”
she told herself.
Stay away from him.
But that afternoon, she found herself dialing
Vanity Fair
from her office telephone. She asked for Tina Chase and was connected with her secretary, who asked Annie to identify herself. To Annie’s surprise, the secretary put her through right away. “I’ve been reading over some of your work.” Chase spoke with a British accent and had a deep smoker’s voice. “Strong stuff. If you can pull this off before the retrospective, I imagine you’ll be fairly desirable to have around in the future.”
Retrospective?
“Forgive me, but I’m not aware of a retrospective.”
“Forgive me, but I’m not aware of a retrospective.”
“At the Whitney. The first week in April, I believe. They’re doing a whole thing on the body painters. They’re doing Haas, Lucian Freud, Fischl, Pearlstein, a whole bunch of fabulous people. Lots and lots of naked bodies. It should be very exciting.” She hesitated, inhaling a fresh cigarette. “We’d like to print your piece right before the show. That gives you about three months to finish it. It’s not much, but I’m sure you can handle it.”
“Sure. No problem,” Annie said, trying to sound confident when in fact she was trembling.
“I hear he’s quite the animal.” Chase waited for a reply.
“Well, yes,” she said, “he has that reputation.”
“Makes for good storytelling,” the editor said. “Don’t be shy, Ms. Knowles.”
“No, of course not.”
“Righto, then. Keep in touch. Best of luck.”
The woman hung up. It came to Annie that this was the break she’d been waiting for. She hadn’t earned it, not really, but she’d grabbed it just the same. She’d been waiting for something like this for a long time. Now that it had finally come, it was impossible to resist. But it wasn’t something to celebrate, not like this.
Rain began to fall outside the South Cottage. When she stepped into the courtyard Simon Haas was waiting for her. “You didn’t mention a retrospective.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“That’s very exciting.”
“So you’ll do it? You’ll write the article?”
“Yes, but don’t expect anything more from me. And don’t expect me to thank you, either.”
He smiled, watching her closely.
“I mean it.”
“No you don’t. Why can’t you just admit it to yourself.”
“Simon. Please.”
“Please what?” He came toward her, backed her up against the building, the old brown stones, and moved his enormous hands under her coat. “Please what?” he repeated, urging her back into the vestibule, into the small hallway where the bathrooms were. Now they were kissing, consuming each other, and he pulled her into the men’s room and locked the door. She didn’t look at him; she couldn’t and he seemed to know this, and kept his eyes on her body, which shook in his hands. It was quiet, and nearly dark, just a rectangle of light in the small window, and all the faucets were dripping,
gossiping,
and he kissed her violently, working her body into a funnel of pleasure that begged to spin apart.
I will
not
do this,
she thought.
gossiping,
and he kissed her violently, working her body into a funnel of pleasure that begged to spin apart.
I will
not
do this,
she thought.
“I can’t.” Annie pushed him away, roughly, but then her voice crawled out weakly. “I can’t, Simon. I really can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.”
She left him there and ran out into the cold, across the quad to her car, hoping he wouldn’t follow, knowing, somehow, that he would not. The quad was empty, silent. A thin layer of mist hovered over the grass. She got into the car and locked the doors and sat there for a moment, trying to collect herself. Her body rushed with anticipation. The awful thing was that she
did
want him. Her body would not let her deny that.
did
want him. Her body would not let her deny that.
Annie started the engine and turned on the heat. She felt as though she were caught between her two selves: a wife and mother versus the woman underneath. Was it so wrong to want to be with another man? she wondered. Was it so wrong to desire someone other than her husband, and to be desired? Was it so unnatural? It didn’t
feel
unnatural, but it went against everything she’d been taught.
feel
unnatural, but it went against everything she’d been taught.
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