The Secret Keeping (19 page)

M: I’m sorry Dr. Kristenson, I’ve tried. (she is obviously depressed) I feel ridiculous. I can’t help it. (she won’t look at him at all now) I feel (long pregnant pause) ugly.

Dr. K: (passes on that one, waits for the husband’s response)

S: If she loved me and respected my needs there wouldn’t be a problem with it.

M: If you loved and respected me then you wouldn’t need to wear my things!

S: See what I mean, doctor? My, my, my, all the time my! You are so selfish, M. You are ruining everything with this shit.

Dr. Kristenson held up her hands in the shape of a T and they quieted down. Eight sessions and the wife was still in extreme discomfort over this issue. She had tried it his new way and didn’t like it. For her own reasons, Dr. Kristenson was inclined to identify with the plight of the wife. The woman felt ridiculous in bed with him, enough so that she couldn’t feel romantic anymore. He had pushed her too far with his fetish, a fetish she had never even known about until a few months ago, which is why they were in counseling to begin with. Now the woman was experiencing a kind of female impotence with her husband. She couldn’t have sex with him at all. Their love life was simply not elastic enough to accommodate the kind of bedtime antics he had in mind and by forcing the issue on her, wearing her things and playing a blame game, he had crippled her feminine pride. The doctor sighed sympathetically without meaning to. She wondered why he hadn’t at least had the courage to buy his own fancy underwear.

They waited gloomy-faced for her to speak, their bodies posed in the manner of those who are prepared to wait forever, if need be, for the right answer.

Dr. Kristenson wanted to say, look mister, here’s your wife’s core issue: If you are not a real man then she must not be a real woman. But how could it help? She masked her annoyance and indicated with her pencil that they should continue their dialogue.

M: Dr. Kristenson, you’re a woman. Can you understand how I feel?

Dr. K: (Ummm.)

S: She doesn’t have the hang-ups you have! She knows it’s perfectly natural.

Dr. K: (holds up her hand again; they are silent once more; she folds her hands around her knee and smiles bleakly) I am not here to take sides. I am here to help you work this out, if that’s what you both want.

An issue like this is only a problem if the marriage cannot withstand it. If that is the case, the behavior remains right for one partner, but wrong for the other, and thereby wrong for the health of your relationship.

(she paused to see if they comprehended her meaning) Do you feel that this might be the case?

M: Yes.

S: No.

_____

“Del Lewiston,” Delilah shouted, pointing at the empty chair. “May I?”

“Please do.” Helaine was surprised she had come over. She shook the extended hand, “Helaine,” was all she volunteered, “How do you do? Can I get you anything from the bar?”

“Oh, no! I’m already three sheets–how’s that go?”

Helaine smiled. “Three sheets to the wind–it’s a sailing metaphor!”

“That’s it!” She wasn’t really drunk. “You look awfully familiar!”

It was a crowded, noisy night at Frank’s. Helaine pretended not to understand her.

Delilah leaned forward and yelled above the room. “You know I’ve got a friend who’s just gaga over you!”

Gaga? Helaine looked over her shoulder and back again. She nodded.

“Do you know which friend I mean?”

Helaine nodded again. “The feeling is–”

“What?”

Helaine grinned and leaned across the table. “I said the feeling is mutual!”

“Mutual? Oh, MUTUAL! Good! Wonderful! Then what’s the problem?”

Good question. “Where is she?” Helaine asked.

“Where?”

“Yes!”

“Moping somewhere.”

“Oh? I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you know why?”

“Because–I’m not exactly sure how to put it! What’s the problem, I asked?”

Helaine waited for the room to quiet down before answering. “There are complications.”

Delilah indicated she understood. “Husband?”

Helaine laughed. “Uh…no. Just as bad, I’m afraid.”

“Does my friend know this?”

Helaine coughed nervously. “She does now.”

Delilah’s eyes brightened with insight. “I see.” She rolled the information over in her head. “You know ladies, it’s a modern world out there. This would not be a ‘complication’ for the rest of us.”

“But your friend?”

Delilah wanted to lie for Lydia but she was reluctant to misrepresent her. “Nah, she wouldn’t go for it, I think. Not knowingly.” She rose from the table seeing that the waiter was delivering Helaine’s food.

Helaine liked her. “You’re a good friend, Del.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Helaine whoever you are, incognito. We’ve never had this conversation.

S’aright?”

Helaine smiled confidentially. “Of course.”

Delilah headed for the bar.

“News?” the waiter asked hopefully. He set a dessert down that Helaine hadn’t ordered. “Eat,” he prompted. “So where is she?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

He handed her a fork and knife. “Is she coming back?”

“She didn’t say that either.”

He grimaced. “What then?” His movements were drawn out, unnatural.

Helaine laughed at his expense and cut into the black forest. “She’s ‘gaga’,” she replied.

The waiter slowly loaded his tray, bending low as he did it. “Gaga?”

“Mmmm.”

He hoisted up the tray and winked. “Gosh!”

She laughed. It was a relief to smile again even if she didn’t know where Lydia was.

“Gaga,” the waiter said, finally turning to leave. “Isn’t that French?”

_____

The city was hotter than Lydia expected it to be. The trees along the avenues stood brooding and indignant, unhappy with the heat and their isolation. They seemed to resent the shaded walks beneath their limbs and the scorched humans who intermittently took refuge there. Here and there, at a taxi stand or bus stop, a blistering bench shone empty and forlorn in the full mid-day sun, the hardwood beside it deliberately refusing to provide any comfort.

She had a week left of her vacation. Summer in metropolis. Lydia had forgotten how sticky it could be.

She plodded back from the car rental, the sidewalks burning through her sandals, and sighed with relief when she finally entered the air conditioned lobby of her building. The doorman smiled his familiar greeting but even he looked hot and bothered. She should have stayed in the woods with the happy vegetation, she mused as she stepped into the elevator.

A pile of newspapers blocked the entrance to the penthouse. She climbed over them and unlocked the door, flicking the overheads on and tossing her bag in before her.

She smiled with delight at the blast of cool air that greeted her, the sight of the glorious wood floors. No more dingy welcome-homes. The place was inviting even without furniture. In the living room the old sofa stood as a lone sentinel and it beckoned her to come and tell her all about her trip. Beside it, the answering machine blinked like a Christmas tree and she plopped into the waiting pillows and hit the play button with her thumb.

Ooh, what’s that? A din from the club: the girls singing. Mom. Del. Mom. Hang-up. Paint’s here? The paint! Mom. Mom again (oh, brother). Dad? Del. Another hang-up.

She rewound it. Better call Mom first. Then Del. Daddy can wait.

_____

“Well, how are you?”

“A hundred percent and declining.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm, any day now I expect to start dying.”

“Liddy! We start dying the day we’re born.”

“No, c’mon, Del. I don’t see how that could be. When you’re young you’re growing and growing. That’s the epitome of life.”

“Dying and dying. I’m sure of it. It just looks like growth. I can see we’re still morbidly preoccupied. So what’s a vacation for anyway?”

“Painting, Del. Come see.”

“Painting? Oh, that’s right. Does it look like a whorehouse yet?”

“You won’t believe!”

“You got anything to eat there?”

“Not really.”

“Chinese?”

“Sounds good.”

“It does?”

“Good enough, I meant.”

_____

“You did this? It’s beautiful, Liddy. Look at those floors!”

“Sponge on the walls. Out of a book, of course. I’m going to have wood trim installed. What do you think?”

“It looks like you know what you’re doing. Ooh, Liddy, that table and chairs. Claw and ball. I like it. Ooh, what are those?” Delilah asked, pointing out two charcoal drawings hanging in the area Lydia now referred to as the sun-room.

“Master studies. Manet. Student’s work from the forties. That’s from Luncheon in the Grass.”

“Yah! Some lunch. How come the men aren’t nude?”

“You don’t think it’s funny? I thought of Frank’s the minute I saw it.”

“I think it’s a riot! Who’s that babe?”

“That’s Olympia. A courtesan most likely, though. At least that’s what the dealer says.”

“Lydia Beaumont, she almost looks like you. Maybe you were a courtesan in your past life. That would explain why you’re so cautious now.” Delilah stepped back from the piece. “I swear she looks just like you.”

Lydia laughed self-consciously. “You think so?” Perhaps that’s why she had been attracted to it. Odd that the dealer hadn’t mentioned the likeness, or maybe he thought it rude to point it out. Nice gentleman. Very polite. She’d ask his opinion about it next time. Curious she hadn’t noticed it herself.

“And what does a courtesan sleep on these days?” Delilah inquired from the hallway.

“Getting there, getting there. Just an old mattress for now.”

“Liddy, how you gonna get any action on that thing? It’s shockingly Spartan of you, you know. Hey, but that dresser looks nice in here. Why didn’t you polish it?”

A pair of black silk fishnet gloves hung from one of the drawers. Delilah recognized them. The women eyed each other in the mirror, Lydia frozen in the doorway.

“When are you going to ask her, my friend?”

“Del…” She wanted to put an end to it before they began. “I don’t know.”

“That is why you fled, am I right?” She placed the gloves where she had found them and turned to face her friend. “Ask the woman, Liddy. The very worse she can say is no.”

“Ask her what, Del? Would she have an affair with me? I don’t want an affair. Would she get rid of her perfect ten for me? Her beautiful, young girlfriend? Huh? What are the odds of that, Del? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” She headed for the living room, Delilah following after her.

“A perfect ten? Get real. There’s no such thing.”

“Oh, yes there is, Delilah, and I’ve seen her.” Lydia spun around and they stood face to face. “So what do you say to that?”

“What do I say? I say go look in the mirror, for godsakes. If that’s not perfect then what is?”

Lydia was silenced by the compliment. She sat down on the couch, Delilah standing over her.

“It’s just a little competition, Dame Beaumont, you can deal with that.” She sat down beside her. “You deal with it every day. They’re all the same punks. Spoiled. Arrogant. Stupid.”

Stupid. Lydia doubted the shark was stupid. “I don’t know. Besides I’ve never really asked someone out before. How do you go about it with a woman?”

“Well, how did Joe ask you out?”

Ugh, Joe. How did he? She thought back to it. It didn’t seem that he actually had. No. He was just always circling her, his pretty manicured hands constantly reaching for her erogenous zones. She cringed at the thought of it. He had seduced her.

“All right,” Delilah interrupted. “Forget it. How about before Joe?”

That was easier. “Flowers. Dinner. Love poems.”

“And you can’t afford flowers?”

Lydia chuckled. “I could buy her the Hanging Gardens of Babylon if she wanted them, but how would I get them to her? I don’t even know her last name. And it doesn’t matter anyhow. I don’t like to share lovers, Del. You know that.”

“So, obviously you think she’d say yes if you asked?”

Did she think that? “I don’t want to share, that’s all I meant.”

“So you’ll break your own heart? Like you did with Joe.”

“He did me wrong, Del. Right from the start. I don’t want that again. Why begin and then cry for something that might have been–you know that song?”

Yeah, but she didn’t share the sentiment. It was fun to fall. “You are in love, Dame Beaumont?” It was a gimmee, a setup for an if-this-then-that. Hypothetical hyperbole. Delilah knew her friend would dodge it.

“I’ve made up my mind, Del.”

“Oh, c’mon. Love at first sight?” Delilah pressed. “LUV?”

Lydia smiled despite her unease. No, definitely not at first sight. It had been a slow awakening. Couldn’t she gradually go back to sleep now? That’s what she was hoping for. “I can’t remember how it started. It just crept over me. Like a pox. LUV. Christ, Del, with a woman. I can’t believe this has happened to me.” She hesitated there waiting to be rescued, her head humming like a bees’ nest.

Delilah offered nothing but an expectant expression.

“A womanizer like my father. Del, say something.”

“Lydia Beaumont, have you ever slept with a woman?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then you’re hardly a womanizer. Besides, at this rate?”

“Have you?”

“Slept with your father?”

“Del! You know what I’m asking.”

“Liddy, please stay focused here. You’re going off on a tangent.”

“Del?”

“I have never been in love with a woman. There, are you satisfied?”

“Is that a yes?”

(Oh, geesh.) “It was a long time ago. I was drunk. In all places, Shanghai. Erotic and impractical. Mmmm.

Quite impractical for a conservative investment banker like me.”

“Solar flare?”

“That’s right, a solar flare. Not quite the blond bomb as your Helaine is, but an entire month of electrical interference anyway.”

Helaine? Lydia gulped. Delilah knew the blond’s name? “How do you know–? Oh, Del, tell me that you didn’t talk to her. Tell me you didn’t make me look like a child!” She moved closer to her on the couch; Delilah’s lips moved like a fish gulping for air. “Delilah Lewiston, you didn’t!”