The Last Original Wife

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “I’m still alive,” I said and chuckled.

  “This is good news. So how’d it go?”

  “I don’t know. Okay, I guess. I had this Oriental surgeon, you know. Harold got him for me.”

  “I’m pretty sure they say Asian now but who cares? In general, they’re smarter than everyone else anyway.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Walk in the park.”

  “For him maybe. You got any pain?”

  “Not too bad. Not great but not impossible to deal with. Okay, it hurts like hell.”

  “Aw, man. Can I do anything for you? You want gelato?”

  “Gelato? You Italians and your gelato. I love it. No, I think I need a martini, but I can’t drink any booze with the medicine.”

  “Now that’s terrible! What did they give you?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Some antibiotic. Something else for pain that’s blocking the road in between me and the vodka. So what’s up with you? Heard from Harold?”

  “Yeah. He’s good. Anyway, so when can we hit the links?”

  “A week. Maybe ten days. I’ll get the green light from this Dr. Chen and let you know.”

  “Sounds good. So, no chemo or radiation?”

  “Nope. Not so far.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Paolo?”

  “What?”

  “Coffee gelato is my favorite.”

  “You asshole.”

  It was good to hear from him. It was good to be alive! I knew it didn’t pay to fool around with young girls like Cornelia and Lisette. Well, fool around maybe, but marry? Not in a million years! Here I was in my bed and my sheets smelled so good, and that never would’ve happened if Les was thirty. The best news of all? I wasn’t going to die. Not yet anyway.

  Les opened the door.

  “I thought I heard you talking,” she said.

  “Yeah, Paolo called. You know, to see how I was feeling. Can you help me up? I want to go to the bathroom.”

  “Let me call Bertie. He’s much stronger than I am. Bertie!”

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Les. You just don’t know.”

  “Thanks,” Les said kindly. “So how are you feeling? It’s time for your pills.”

  “I’ll take the antibiotic, but I don’t want that other pill. Makes me too groggy.”

  “The doctor actually said you could try Motrin if this other pill made you itchy or anything like that.”

  A martini!

  “We got any Motrin?”

  Bertie came in.

  “Ready, Dad?”

  “Not quite.” I rolled over on my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Slowly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, but when I tried to stand, it pulled so badly in my groin that I thought I might topple over. Bertie grabbed me under the arms. “Maybe I’ll take that pain pill.”

  “Yeah, I’d think you’d want them for the first couple of days,” Les said. “After that Motrin might do the trick. The whole story with pain management is to stay ahead of the pain.”

  “I guess I’m stiff from lying down.”

  “Stitches pull too.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I want to go downstairs.”

  “For what?” Les said.

  “To sit in my recliner and watch the Golf Channel.”

  “It’s easier to bring a television to you, Wes.”

  “You can stream it on my laptop,” Bertie said, helping me across the room.

  “I don’t know about streaming, but if I don’t get in that little room soon . . .”

  We made it there, and Bertie just kept standing around.

  “I’ll call you if I need you, son. Thanks.”

  “Okay, I’ll go get my laptop. Be right back.”

  Streaming from a laptop. It was a whole new world, wasn’t it?

  I took my pills from Les, and Bertie set me up with actual live television on his computer. For the record, the computer did not smell. So I was all propped up and Les came in with a bowl of chicken soup and some buttered toast on a tray. Now, this was living!

  “I thought you might be famished,” she said.

  “You know, now that you mention it, I am.” It smelled delicious.

  She moved the computer aside and put the tray on my lap.

  “Call me when you’re done, or I’ll just send Charlotte or Bertie up to get it.”

  “Les, you’re the best! Isn’t it wonderful to be here with all of us together?”

  “I think the pain medicine has gone to your brain, Wes. Really.”

  “Well, thanks for the soup.”

  She left the room and I thought, Oh, boy, this isn’t going to be easy. I reached for my cell phone and called the house. Les answered.

  “Why are you calling the house?” she said.

  “Because it hurts too much to call out for someone. Can I talk to Bertie?”

  “Sure. Bertie?”

  “What’s up, Dad?”

  “Get your sister and come upstairs.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  A few minutes later here came Bertie and Charlotte.

  “I brought you a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk,” Charlotte said. “It’s pretty good.”

  “It’s hard to get good chocolate cake in Kathmandu,” Bertie said.

  “I’ll bet. Thanks,” I said. “Sit down.”

  They sat and looked back and forth at each other.

  “Okay, what’s wrong with your mother?” I took a bite of the cake. It was delicious.

  “Good question,” Charlotte said. “She gave us total hell last night.”

  “Yeah, we weren’t going to say anything about it with you being sick and all, but she totally talked to us like we were a couple of losers,” Bertie said.

  “Well, is she wrong? Do you think you’re big winners?”

  Charlotte stood to leave. “You know what? I liked it better when you and Mom didn’t agree on anything.”

  “When was that?” I said and didn’t know what in the hell she was talking about.

  Bertie piped in. “Yeah, she always used to defend us but not last night. I mean, she was really pissed. She went into this whole speech about how we’re the only two children on earth who aren’t obsessed with pleasing their parents.”

  “What’s the matter with pleasing your parents?” I said. “Tell me because I’d like to learn something here.”

  “It’s obsessive behavior that’s a problem for me,” Bertie said. “Man, that’s sick.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “If I were you?” Charlotte said. “I’d look out. I’ll bet you’re next on her list.”

  “She’s been nothing but nice to me,” I said. “Ask her to come up here. Here, take this with you, please.” I handed her my tray.

  A few minutes later, here came Leslie. I put on my best face, under the circumstances.

  “Come sit down, sweetheart, talk to me.”

  “You okay?” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. So I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done, Les. You really saved me, you know. I mean, the house is all organized. You cooked all this great food. I’m just so happy to have you back. I’m really hoping you’re going to stay.”

  “I’m not staying,” she said.

  Just like that. She said, I’m not staying just like she was saying Pass the peas.

  “Why not?”

  “Are you kidding me? Listen, Wes, ever since I walked in this door I’ve been cooking and cleaning. No one lifts a finger around here. When I got here, this house was so filthy that I called Martha and had to beg her to come back and help me. And she’s not coming back unless it’s a life-or-death situation. I was so tired I almost fell on my face.”

  “We need you, Les. I need you. You’re the only one I trust.”

  She was as cool as a cucumber as she delivered the lethal blow.

  “Trust? You listen to me, Wesley Carter, and hear me good. For thirty years I’ve been your personal slave, swallo
wing more nonsense than every dumb goose in Canada. I’ve scrubbed, cleaned, scrimped and saved, driven old cars, shopped sales, and all the while you’ve been sitting on twenty-two million dollars! How do you think I feel? I feel like a fool, that’s what.”

  Oh my God! Wait! She knew!

  “I thought I told you to use the key only if I died!” Now I was angry.

  “I didn’t touch your stupid key. When you get out of bed, go check the tape. Shame on you, Wesley Carter. Shame on all of you. I wish someone in this house could give me just one reason to stay. Just one.”

  “Because we need you?” I said.

  “Need? You know what? You could’ve said you love me or please stay because if you left it would break my heart! But not you. You say stay because we need you. Get another maid, Wes. I’m going back to Charleston.”

  “What are you saying? Are you telling me you want a divorce?”

  “No. No, I’m not saying that. I just don’t want to be here until I’m all used up, Wes. There’s precious little joy in this for me. Who in this house cares about my happiness?”

  She walked out of the room and I thought, Oh my God, I am so screwed.

  I called Harold as fast as my fingers could dial his number.

  “Hey, Wes! You feeling okay?”

  “No. Leslie just told me she found out about the money. She’s very angry.”

  Silence.

  “Bubba? You’d better calm her down, or it’s gonna cost you half of everything you own. It’s equitable distribution in Georgia. That’s the law.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Les Returns

  By the time I left, there were thirty-six one-pint containers of various soups, stews, and pastas stacked up in the freezer, all labeled and dated. The atmosphere did not improve a whole lot except that Wes was being extremely nice. He wasn’t kidding me. Not anymore.

  Thursday night I served chicken piccata with a mushroom risotto and a green salad. Wes was able to dress and come to the table unassisted, so as far as I was concerned, my responsibilities to take care of him in sickness had been fulfilled.

  “So you’re really leaving in the morning?” Charlotte said.

  “Where’re you going, Gammy?” Holly said, picking the mushrooms out of her risotto.

  “Back to my brother’s house,” I said. “You’ll have to get your mother to bring you down to see me and I’ll take you to the beach. We can make a sand castle and hunt for seashells and all sorts of wonderful things. Don’t you like mushrooms?”

  “I like ’em separate. You bring me, Mommy?”

  “Sure,” Charlotte said.

  “This is absolutely delicious,” Wes said.

  “Yeah, it’s totally awesome,” Bertie said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’ve made this dish exactly the same way for as long as I’ve been cooking.”

  “Well, it’s more delicious than I remember,” Wes said.

  I wanted to slap him right across his disingenuous face. I sighed instead.

  “So when will we see you again?” Charlotte said.

  “I’ll be back for Molly’s wedding, but Harlan is coming home and I’d like to spend some time with him.”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Les,” Wes said. “Please give him my very best regards.”

  I looked at him and thought, Now it’s time to knock his teeth out. But I sighed again, doubly hard. It was the very first congenial thing Wes had to say about Harlan in twenty years or maybe ever. And there was no possible way that he meant that or any of the overblown compliments and platitudes he was hurling around like Frisbees.

  “Do you need a ride to the airport?” Charlotte asked.

  Suddenly I had a chauffeur?

  “No, but thank you. I’m going to drive back to Charleston,” I said.

  “How come?” Wes said and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Do you think I can have another piece of that delicious chicken? Is there enough to go around for everyone to have seconds?”

  “There’s plenty. Charlotte, please give your father another piece of the delicious chicken.” Obviously Wes had gone off the deep end. “Because I need a car there, and I want to take some things with me. It’s not that long of a trip.”

  Charlotte got up without a word and fixed Wes another serving of everything on his plate.

  “What are you taking?” Wes said and resumed eating with theatrical relish. “My God! This is unbelievable chicken!”

  Where were my hip boots when I needed them?

  “Are you worried that I’m taking the silver?” I asked.

  “No, of course not, Les,” Wes said. “The silver! Isn’t your mom funny? Ha! Ha! Good one, Les!”

  Charlotte and Bertie exchanged nervous looks.

  “I’m taking some more clothes and a few other things I’d like to have with me.”

  “Well, then take my car,” Wes said. “The tires are newer, and it’s got roadside assistance if you get a flat or something, God forbid!”

  The Almighty Benz? Did Wes grow a giant brain tumor overnight?

  “But, Wes, I’ve never driven your car,” I said.

  “That’s because no one drives Daddy’s car,” Charlotte said. “Unless they want to die.”

  “Charlotte, don’t be silly! Leslie? I insist! Drive it around the block while the kids do the dishes. You’re taking the Benz and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  The kids were going to do the dishes? What did he say to them?

  “Wes? What if something happens to it?” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s leased.”

  How could I forget that? How? Really? Easy. Because I didn’t want to remember that he leased a new Benz every three years so he could get all the latest gadgets like fanny warmers and massagers. I drove an old Audi that I bought used that was leap years behind in technology. It was so old it didn’t even have a GPS, much less satellite radio or backup warning sensors.

  “Well, if you insist,” I said.

  “I insist. The key is in the ashtray of the car.”

  After dinner, the kids actually cleaned the kitchen, and I took Wes’s car out for a spin. I have to say, it was pretty much like heaven to drive. I thought, Well, you know what? Maybe I’ll dump my old Audi and lease one of these for myself! Why shouldn’t I have a nice car, one as nice as his? Maybe even one slightly newer!

  The next morning I packed the Audi. I didn’t want Wes’s car. Then I went into Wes’s files with the secret forbidden key to look for the title and I found it in the folder named cars. Then I pulled a dozen checks from our joint checking account register that I had never used and put them in an envelope in my purse. I was all done with Wes Carter deciding who got what when and how much. I left the key in the center of his desk. Naked, waiting for an inquisitive pair of eyes.

  No one was awake except Holly, and she was in the den fully occupied by an episode of Sesame Street, eating dry Cheerios with a juice box. Charlotte kept those things on a lower shelf in the pantry within her reach. This was parenting in 2012? I gave her a kiss and a hug and told her she was a good girl. She smiled like an angel and told me she loved me.

  I had a cup of coffee and looked around, picking up a few things—pictures of my parents, the children, and Holly; a paperweight my father had given me; a small clock that I’d always loved. Its chime would remind me of Holly’s sweet voice. In a shoebox, I packed up my CDs of Mendelssohn, Schubert, Bach, and Vivaldi that no one would miss. And I took my seldom used rice steamer. After all, if I was to have a new life in Charleston, it couldn’t be a proper life without a rice steamer. I’d take my mother’s silver at another time. If I moved out bit by bit, no one would even notice.

  I was about to leave when Bertie stumbled into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m glad you’re still here,” he said. “We got coffee?”

  “Yep. A whole pot.”

  “Sweet.” He poured himself a mugful. “So I’ve been thinking about what y
ou said; you know, the other day when you read me and Charlotte the riot act?”

  “What about it?” I said.

  “Well, I just think you have to accept us for who we are, you know? I mean, we accept you for who you are, don’t we? It’s important to be tolerant of others and celebrate our differences.”

  It was really much too early in the day for murder.

  “Bertie, here’s my problem with that reasoning. When people see you, they think this is who you are.” I waved my hand from his head to his feet. “But the truth is that this whole costumelike persona is only one tiny aspect of who you are. There’s a lot more on the inside than you can see on the outside. So as long as you look like this, people will judge you unfairly.”

  “Mom, I look like all the guys my age in Kathmandu.”

  “But you’re in Atlanta. Take a bath.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Look, I’ve got to get on the road or else I’m going to sit in rush-hour traffic for hours. I’ll see you in a few weeks if you’re still here for the wedding.”

  “Yeah, I think I’m gonna stay for a while. Dad needs help getting around, and it’s pretty nice here at this time of year.”

  “You might think about gainful employment,” I said, and he gave me a look. “It’s just a thought.”

  “Mom! Wait!”

  It was Charlotte.

  “You didn’t have to get up,” I said. “We said our good-byes last night.”

  She threw her arms around me and hugged me hard. Then she stood back and looked at me with such an odd expression I thought she was going to start crying.

  “Taking Dad to the doctor. Checkup this morning.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t blame you for being frustrated with us. We suck.”

  “Yeah, at the moment you both sort of do, but life’s long and there’s time yet for you both to amount to something spectacular.”

  “I’m going to do better. I swear,” Charlotte said.

  “Me too,” Bertie said.

  “That’s a start. But I’d rather see y’all shoot higher than to merely be better—go be brilliant! Now, I’ll call y’all when I arrive, okay? Tell your father I said so.”

  There were the perfunctory kisses all around and one last hug from Holly, who had traipsed in to see what was going on.