Truths of the Heart (28 page)

She smiled.

CHAPTER TWO

On the way to the grocery store, Carl had stopped at a familiar GetGo Tavern.
At the crowded bar, Mike, the owner and bartender, introduced him to Al Marsh.
Al ran the local Bait & Tackle shop. Al remembered Carl's football playing
days. Al had been fishing and had a healthy string of walleye in Mike's cooler.
Carl bought a round, then Mike, then Al and then Carl bought the bar a round
and more rounds were bought for Carl.

CHAPTER THREE

9:30, Rachelle wondered briefly again what had happened to Carl, had an
idea, the GetGo Tavern.

Rachelle Rachelle Rachelle
, she said to herself.

Returned with T.S. to the back porch, she heard car doors slamming, laughter
and then Carl and a stranger came staggering through the screen door.

Reeking drunk, Carl introduced equally drunk Al then held up Al's
stringer of walleye, “Loo’ at ‘is catch,” he said to Rachelle.

Rachelle stepped aside as the two drunks stumbled to the kitchen. Carl threw
the fish on the counter next to the sink, and called to Rachelle, “Get your ass
in here Professor, clean `ese fish up, Al and me is hungry.”

After a pause to cool down, Rachelle went to the kitchen to throw Al
out and put Carl to bed.

Before she could do or say anything, Carl, getting beers from the refrigerator,
said he wanted the walleye fried with chips on the side.

Rachelle went to the pantry got two cans of beans and, smiling broadly,
threw them on the table, “Dinner guys, enjoy.”

Carl took a stainless steel boning knife from a drawer and waved it in
the air. “I said, we want fish.”

She laughed.

He flashed the blade in her face. “We want fish.”

T.S. sniffed at fish blood dripping to the floor, Rachelle picked him
up, went to the bedroom, closed the door, and locked it.

Carl banged on the bedroom door. No response, he kicked the door then, singing
the Notre Dame fight song, and with the string of fish over his shoulder, left
with Al for the GetGo bar.

Hearing them leave, Rachelle changed into a night shirt, went to the kitchen,
poured herself a glass of white merlot, drank it quickly, then poured another.

She took the wine to bed and, T.S. nuzzled up to her side, she sipped, started
to read a
Communication Journal
article. After the first paragraph, she
didn't know what she had read. Her mind swam with the fact that she had yet
made another lollapalooza mistake.

How could one, supposedly educated, be so naive about the opposite sex,
pick such losers
?

T.S. yawned widely.

“Oh shut up.”

Finishing the glass of wine in a gulp, she snapped the light off and
fell into a deep sleep.

Dreaming of Com. 501, she awoke when she felt something at her feet. She
stared sat up.

Carl. Naked. Smelling of smoke, beer and perfume, sucked her toes.

She pulled free, “Carl, you're insan—“

T.S. scooted under the bed.

Carl yanked the bed covers to the floor and pinned Rachelle to the bed.

“Carl, you're hurting....”

He smothered her mouth with his.

She pushed at him but he ripped her night shirt off, grasped her wrists
in one hand, probed her with his other. Then she felt him penetrate hard and
huge, responded and hated it.

****

Next morning, Rachelle arose early, took T.S., launched out in
Esther
II
and sailed in a light breeze. Just before noon, at the far end of the
lake, she anchored, and T.S. by her side, she sat in the galley, and took up
her journal:

What a fool you have been. You had begun and then … Don't you see, he's
a manipulating genius. You'll never get out of this … he's dangerous....

She felt a tug of sympathy for Carl, then wrote:
Tug! What is with
you, Zannes? How many times do you have to go down the gilded road before you
get it!

She heard an outboard motor boat approaching then bump the side of
Esther
II
. She went top side. Carl in a small rental boat was wide eyed and she
thought he was going to cry. He had been worried sick.
Esther II
gone,
he feared something dreadful had happened.

He boarded, hugged her and, the rental in tow, they sailed back to the cottage.

Later that afternoon, driving back from Houghton Lake, Rachelle’s mind whirled
in a quagmire of frustration:
should have listened to my lawyer, this marriage
… is that what you call it … futile … but how to get out? And you let him …
he’s staying the week. You're the PhD, Z. Figure it out. Hah.

She said, “Carl, next Saturday I'm having a reception at the house for
a local playwright.”

“So.”

“I was wondering if you would be here for the reception.”

“Here.”

“When will you be going back for the hearing, I mean are you going straight
from here to Washington or back to Detroit?”

“Detroit.”

“I'm going to be very busy next few days, final week of classes, final exams,
reading papers, grades.”

“So.”

“So I won't be around the house much.”

“So.”

CHAPTER FOUR

April coming to an end, a Monday morning rain shower ended early. Seth
had returned to the same location he had visited last October when he painted
the country barn scene. He thought he's do a different perspective. Dressed in
baggy white pants, gray sweatshirt, black flight boots, under brilliant natural
light, he worked. The scene now shimmering in sparkling white and pink buds:
the faded red barn, the fence in disrepair, the duck pond in the foreground, two
ducks floating on the surface.

Absorbed in painting, as was his habit, he talked aloud: “I wonder if Rachelle
has read my story. Probably not. Who cares, rot anyway. Perhaps Kaysee has read
it. Are we whining? Wonderful. One last class scheduled before the end of the
semester, probably giddy goodbyes and suck it up show-offs. I guess I'll go and
then again maybe I won't. Wonderful.”

He mixed red and burnt umber for the barn color. “I don't want to live
in this god forsaken rot. I'm thinking someplace warm, year round.”

He laid in some of the mixed red and umber on the barn's side. “You stayed
too long at the dance, Seth-o, turned into a pumpkin. And why? This siren,
vamp, diva. I see her in my dreams, smell her, hear her. She is smack between
the eyes, always there … but it can never be. What was that Whittier drivel again,
For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: It might have
been?

“Nuts!”

He jammed some pure burnt umber to the canvas. “I'm not sure she's
aware I even exist. The hell with it all, her too. We have one last class
meeting. You said that. I might go, see what's going on. Those things are just
a formality anyway. Hand the projects back, some final official sounding do-wacky
something. Probably flunked, anyway. She probably didn't even read my story. So
what, it's done, I'm finished with her, done, over, move on. Who are you
kidding? It's all a lie. What I had imagined, what I thought might be, I'm
embarrassed to think about it. That's it, she read my story and was embarrassed
by it. Damn rot.”

He squeezed some white on his palate and mixed it with red and green to
produce a slate gray for the barn's roof.

Applying the color, “When I took the project to her, she didn't even
know who I was. Just another bump on a log. But then, why should she? I think
I'm going to quit it all. Get out now, drop it. Whiner. Is one a whiner if one
whines to ones' self?

“Doesn't matter does it, what one is basically doing is whining.
Doesn't matter to whom one whines because it isn't for whom anyway. It's for
the whiner.”

He squeezed some white directly onto the barn roof. “I gave it my best shot
… but who need's it.”

He worked some cobalt blue into the sky.

After a time, pushing paint around with brush and fingers, the sun
setting, he concluded to the countryside, “I'm beginning to realize that our ole
friend Seth might not have the persistence to make it in the art life. It's
like a sightless person dreaming of being a baseball umpire. To hell with it.
I'll go get some more living under my skin, isn't that what they say, go learn
from the fat lips of life, suck on her tongue for a while, lie with her, smell
her in the morning.”

With a one inch brush he smeared the painting into nothing, and threw
it on the ground,

“To hell with it all.”

Walking away from his equipment, he needed to see Jude.

CHAPTER FIVE

Entering Pudd’nheads, Seth saw Jude sitting at a table with a very tanned
and, to Seth anyway, an older man. The man wore a navy blue blazer and white
turtle neck pullover. Jude saw Seth and beckoned him to the table. The man
stood. He was an inch taller than Seth, had neatly clipped black hair streaked
with plenty of gray, a neatly trimmed beard with similar gray and his brown
eyes exuded warmth.

Jude said, “Hi Seth, I'd like you to meet Impresario Roland Tacafondi.”

Roland said in broken English, “Signore, please to meet you.”

They shook hands.

Jude: “Roland is from Milan. He's a guest of the M.S.U. Music Department.
He's the conductor of the Milan symphony.” She looked at Roland. “Seth is an artist,
pretty good one at that.”

“Buono, meraviglioso!” Roland smiled and he and Seth sat.

Seth studied Jude. She was dressed in a white knit suit and her hair
was pulled tightly back into a bun. She looked … mature.

This isn't Jude,
Seth thought and said to Jude, “You not playing tonight?”

“On break.”

Roland looked at his watch, said, “But si, Jude my dear, I must a be depart,
I have to a rehearsal.”

He stood and offered to shake hands with Seth. “Pleasure meeting you, signore.”

Seth shook hands and said, “Me too, ciao.”

Roland bent and kissed Jude on the cheek. “I see you later tonight,
bella donna, si?”

She squeezed his arm. “Can't wait.”

“Ti amo.”

She said, “Me too.”

Roland nodded and left.

“Ciao,” Seth leaned back in his chair so the front legs were an inch
off the floor, “What in the name of Mona Lisa is that all about?”

“I'm madly in love.”

He rocked forward. “Oh no you're not.”

“I am.”

“He's got to be fifty years old if he's a day!”

“Listen to you.”

“How long have you known Rudolph Valentino from Milano?”

“Two weeks.”

“And you're madly in love.”

“Yes.”

“Did he force feed you cocaine or what?”

“Listen to you.”

“What are you going to do when he goes back to Italy, live on love emails?”

“I'm going with him.”

“Where?”

“To Italy.”

Blinking, “Are you insane!”

She smiled. “I'm going to marry him.”

“WHAT!” He stood.

“I'm going to marry him.”

“Oh no you're not.”

“Listen to you.”

“Are you nuts! He's ready for the bone yard.”

“Listen to you. And sit down.”

He sat and Jude explained: The Milan symphony orchestra was guest performing
at Michigan State. She had met Roland the first night they rehearsed for a
joint performance. He invited her out with his dinner party.

Seth said, “Did you pick up the check?”

“Seth.”

“What about your schooling, your degree?”

“Roland says he can get me in the Milan Conservatory of Music.”

“Bullshit.”

“SETH!”

“You can't go.”

“I can.”

“What did your parents say?”

“I haven't told them yet.”

“That settles it, you won't be moving to Italy.”

“Bet me.”

“What did this silver tongued Romeo promise you, a Ferrari?”

“He said the magic words.”

“What?”

“I can't tell you.”

“He's drugged you. He's a molester, a kidnapper, child porn king, I'm
going to report this to the police”

“Listen to you, it's more like I kidnapped him.”