Starr Bright Will Be With You Soon

by Joyce Carol Oates

  “Excuse me, but will I be receiving a contract for next year?”

  “Lily, what? A contract?”—as if he’d never heard of such a thing.

  “A contract. A formal contract. For next year.”

  Entering the office of the art department chairman who was “Rob” to everyone on the staff Lily had felt sick with apprehension, nerves; out of nowhere, it seemed, she’d summoned up strength to make such a move, formulate such a request, at last; yet, once in Rob’s office, invited to shift a stack of canvases (Rob was a painter with a controversial local reputation), she felt rather more anger, aggression. You have no right to exploit me. To trade on my goodwill. Rob’s normally relaxed, somewhat condescending smile in Lily’s presence had faded; he was rubbing at his nose, blinking at her as if wondering whether he’d heard correctly. Was this his most good-natured, self-effacing and dependable faculty member?—the wife of Wes Merrick? Lily had been teaching at Yewville Community College for years seemingly grateful to be hired at all, at any salary no matter how modest, and under any circumstances no matter how hasty, last-minute.

  Lily Merrick’s student evaluations were consistently the highest of any instructor in the small department, and Lily had frequently explained the fact away, as if embarrassed by it, “Well—my students are women, mainly. They get to be my friends.” And the other instructors, most of them men, though liking Lily well enough and possibly even admiring her pottery, were quick to agree with her. Women stick together. Can’t trust women’s judgment.

  Of course, Lily’s occasional male students gave her very high ratings, too. But they liked her, it was presumed, because she was “so nice, kind.”

  There were two “stars” in the department: Rob, who was an action painter in the Pollock mode, thus expected to be absentminded, or temperamental; and a two-hundred-twenty-pound bewhiskered scrap-metal sculptor from Buffalo who was notorious for canceling his once-weekly studio class, or showing up hungover, morose and sullen. Both “stars” routinely received uneven, if not frankly low evaluations from their students; yet it seemed not to matter, their positions at Yewville Community College, and their salaries, were assured by generous contracts year following year. Lily had not wished to think of the injustice here, the unfairness; and so for years she hadn’t thought of it; until, abruptly, it seemed only the other day after a conversation with Sharon about entirely different matters she’d begun to think about it; and to think about it seriously, practicably.

  Saying now, “I was thinking, Rob, I’d like to apply to teach in Port Oriskany, if there isn’t a position here. Lloyd Morgan”—Lloyd was chair of the department at the college there—“has told me he likes my work.” This was true: Lloyd Morgan had been kind enough to send Lily a card, not long ago; but Lily hadn’t been thinking of applying to teach at his college, a sixty-mile one-way trip, until this moment. You see? I have other options. You mustn’t take Lily Merrick for granted. Rob was frowning, and tugging at his skimpy pewter-colored beard, which grew without a mustache on his upper lip and so looked oddly pasted-on, temporary. Clearly Lily’s words were a total surprise to him; he’d perhaps expected her to have dropped into his office to invite him to dinner. But Rob was an affable individual, and he’d always liked Lily, her warmth, her reliable smile, her enthusiasm, certainly he understood her practical value to the department, and so finally, with a sigh, he nodded, and agreed, yes it might be a good thing for the college to offer her a formal contract, within the week—“Wouldn’t want anyone to steal you from us, eh?”

  Lily said, “I was thinking of a three-year contract, actually.”

  “Three-year—?”

  “More or less what other adjunct instructors have.”

  “Yes, but—well, our budget—” Rob squirmed in his seat, tugged at his beard.

  “And I think it’s time for a raise, Rob, don’t you? Approximately the same raise others have received.”

  “A—raise?”

  And Lily smilingly improvised, naming a sum.

  And so she left the Yewville Community College campus, driving her car out of the parking lot amid a festive glittering of chrome and windshields in the bright April sunshine. Smiling to herself, pleased, excited, a little frightened at her audacity.

  About time, Lily of the Valley. What’ve I been telling you?

  All these years!

  When Lily arrived home it was 4:20 P.M. and there to her surprise was Sharon awaiting her just inside the door, in the kitchen, smiling but impatient; obviously Sharon had been smoking, for the air smelled of it, but she’d gotten rid of the cigarette, and had made an attempt to air out the kitchen by opening windows, switching on the fan above the stove. Sharon was oddly dressed, in the rumpled old trench coat of Lily’s she’d been wearing in wet, chilly weather; a black scarf tied tight around her head hiding every strand of hair, as if she were bald; ordinary stockings, flat-heeled shoes. Beneath the trench coat Sharon was wearing a dress but what it was, Lily couldn’t see. The glamorous smoke-tinted sunglasses hid Sharon’s eyes and her face had been artfully transformed into a model’s flawless cosmetic mask. Before Lily could share with her sister the good news of her three-year contract and raise at the college, virtually before Lily could draw breath to speak, Sharon informed her excitedly that, at last, she’d gotten over her ridiculous shyness and called an old friend—“And Marnie’s invited me over for dinner tonight, isn’t that sweet of her?”

  Lily said, “Marnie Spohn? I didn’t—”

  “May I borrow your car, Lily? Marnie lives just in—” naming a suburb of Yewville, “—it isn’t far. Gosh, I’m so excited it’s like a date. I haven’t seen Marnie in—” Sharon’s voice did not trail off so much as halt, as if she’d leave it to Lily to fill in the precise number of years.

  Lily said, “Well, I suppose so, Sharon. But—”

  Not knowing why she was faltering in her sister’s exuberant, elated presence; why she felt almost childishly hurt; yes, it was hurt she felt—as in those painful days when her pretty sister would swing into the high school cafeteria with Marnie’s crowd, an older crowd, cheerleaders predominantly, totally oblivious of Lily who often sat alone eating her lunch, or trying to.

  (And on the school bus going home Sharon would take note of Lily’s sullen silence, and ask her what was wrong, as if she didn’t know; and Lily would complain dolefully, “When other people are around, you look through me like I’m not even there”; and Sharon exclaimed with sly, cruel wit, keeping her expression deadpan, “But I looked everywhere for you, Lily—I did. Are you sure you were there?”)

  Lily smiled now, recalling. If that was what it was, no more than adolescent hurt feelings surfacing after so many years, sheer sisterly jealousy, Lily would survive.

  She said, though knowing Wes didn’t approve of Sharon borrowing the Toyota, “Of course, Sharon. Take the car. And remember me to Marnie—if she remembers me.”

  “I will, Lily! I will!”

  It was an odd, almost manic response. And Sharon hugged Lily with a strange urgency, as if she were embarking on a dangerous mission, and not simply to dinner a few miles away; as if she and Lily might never see each other again. Sharon’s thin, beringed fingers were disconcertingly strong, as Lily had noted in the past. She wore a sweet, piercing perfume; though much of her head was hidden by the black scarf, her earlobes were exposed, and golden earrings dangled from them as in a cascade of coins; around her neck, just visibly glinting inside the trench coat, was the striking gold chain Lily gathered had a sentimental value to her sister. Sharon said, breathless, triumphant, “Don’t wait up for me, any of you. I might be late.”

  Sharon hurried outside, gripping her tote bag. Lily wondered what she might be bringing Marnie. A gift? Lily had made no special effort to glance into the bag but had noted its contents appeared to be covered by a scarf or shawl.

  Since the other day, when Sharon had behaved so defiantly, with such actressy exaggeration, draping a man’s brass-buckled belt around her hips and mo
ving in a lewd, suggestive dance, a mockery of an erotic dance, Lily had felt uncomfortable in her sister’s presence. Never could you predict when that other Sharon—“Sherrill”—or was it “Starr Bright”—might emerge, cruel and funny.

  She’ll be leaving me soon, she’s become bored with me.

  Lily watched as Sharon backed the Toyota around to drive out onto the street, in tight, anxious little jerks, foot on the brake, as if fearful of moving too quickly. Feeling again a small stab of almost pleasurable hurt, jealousy. She wouldn’t have guessed that Marnie Spohn was anyone special to Sharon, no more than Sharon Donner was special to Marnie; and if Marnie had invited Sharon to dinner, why hadn’t she invited Lily, too? She would know that Sharon was staying with Lily. And Lily hadn’t seen, nor even heard of, Marnie Spohn in years.

  Odd, Lily had the vague idea that Marnie Spohn had married and moved away from Yewville a long time ago.

  She checked the telephone directory out of curiosity—no “M. Spohn.” Of course, Marnie must be married. And Sharon had known Mamie’s married name?

  “Lily, last night I had a—talk with your sister.”

  “Yes? What about?”

  Lily tried to smile. Seeing that Wes wasn’t smiling. Her heart tripped absurdly. He has fallen in love with her. He’s finished with Lily now.

  “Different things.”

  Wes had startled Lily by returning home unnaturally early—only just 5:30 P.M. Not in recent memory had Wes Merrick come home so early even when, a few years previous, he’d been sick with flu. Now he stood awkwardly in the doorway of Lily’s workroom, breathing harshly. His eyes snatched at Lily’s, then shifted away; he was the kind of man who expects his wife to complete his thoughts for him; to articulate what he himself isn’t quite able to comprehend.

  Deedee had gone to a friend’s house after school and Sharon was at Marnie’s and Lily had been elated by the prospect of a free hour or more in which to explore a design for a large angular ceramic bowl, or sculpture; she wasn’t yet sure which it would be; always in the past Lily’s work had had a pragmatic function, it was a pot, or a vase, or a bowl, and could be justified as serving a purpose; but this design might be entirely different, and not at all “attractive”—she would wait and see. And now Wes stood in her doorway all but wringing his hands, clearly troubled and not knowing how to begin.

  Lily said helpfully, “Sharon is out, visiting a friend from high school. I’m surprised—but relieved. Until today she hasn’t contacted anyone in Yewville but us.”

  “Who? Who’s she visiting?”

  “A woman named Marnie Spohn. We went to school together.”

  Wes looked blank, the name meant nothing to him. “She’s out, now? In your car?”

  “Yes.”

  Lily steeled herself for the next of Wes’s queries, for this was uncomfortably like an interrogation. But Wes said, instead, coming forward to touch Lily’s arm, “Honey, it’s hard to say this, but—I don’t think your sister should stay with us any longer. I’d like you to ask her to leave as soon as possible.”

  “Oh Wes, why?”

  This was not at all what Lily had expected. Yet she felt more stunned than relieved.

  “She isn’t a presence we want here. Especially with Deedee.”

  “You mean—the dieting? I’ve been talking to Deedee, I think she’ll be more reasonable. This morning—”

  “That, sure. But other things. The woman’s general conduct—influence.”

  “Sharon has always been—flamboyant. A nonconformist. But she’s good-hearted, so generous—”

  “No, Lily. You’re good-hearted, you’re generous. Sharon is an opportunist and a liar.”

  “Wes! How can you say such things?”

  “All day today, all last night—I’ve been thinking about her,” Wes said slowly. He was caressing Lily’s arm as if begging forgiveness. His skin was tired, coarse and sallow; his eyes were faintly bloodshot; his breath smelled just perceptibly of alcohol, and a flush as of guilt, or shame, suffused his face. “Last night Sharon came into my office around two. I was working on accounts. She was dressed to go out, she said she couldn’t sleep, she wanted a drink, but I—discouraged her. From going out.” Wes paused, looking anxiously at Lily. “She didn’t tell you any of this?”

  Lily said, “I didn’t see much of Sharon today. She kept her door shut all morning and then I was out.” Lily swallowed hard, frightened. “When she left for Mamie’s about an hour ago she seemed very—excited. Hopeful.”

  “No matter what she seemed,” Wes said impatiently, “you can be sure it isn’t what she is. That woman has been lying to us all along. About the teaching position in Pasadena and the ‘dance troupe’ she claimed to be with and something so simple as where she’s living now and why she’s here.”

  “But—how do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “The dance troupe—the school in Pasadena—”

  “I know, I checked. And I asked her point-blank.”

  “I don’t believe this. Sharon wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “Well, she’s been lying to me,” Wes said angrily. “Maybe you and your sister share secrets I don’t know about?”

  Lily was alarmed at Wes’s emotion; rarely in their marriage had he spoken to her in such a way, the way of a strong-willed, physically dominating man bullying a woman; agitated, confused, and taking it out on a woman. Lily said, “Of course, Sharon has confided in me over the years. I suppose you could say we have—secrets. We’re sisters …”

  “When it suits her.”

  “Wes, why are you so hard on Sharon? Why are you so angry? You’ve been saying you like Sharon, she wasn’t what you’d expected.”

  “Because she’s been lying to me, playing me for a fool. What is there between you that I don’t know?”

  Lily felt her face burn. She was angry, too.

  “Wes Merrick, I will not be bullied.”

  “No one’s bullying you, Lily. Just tell me is there something I should know, and I don’t?”

  Lily hesitated, hardly trusting her voice. She was so angry!

  Pulling away from Wes, and when he gripped her arm pulling more decisively from him. And she’d been so happy! So pleased with herself, for once! Proud to anticipate Wes’s response when she told him of her conversation with Rob. Thinking I can respect myself now, I needn’t cringe and apologize for my very existence.

  Wes said, exasperated, “Lily, God damn it!—I’m not accustomed to not knowing what’s going on in my own house. I want your sister to leave.”

  Lily held back tears. “Wes, I’ve invited Sharon to stay for as long as—she needs to stay. You can see how she’s been recovering, how much healthier she is. And she’s been paying expenses. She would pay more, except I won’t hear of it. She’s our guest. She’s my sister. She needs me, and I need her. I’ve been missing her for years. I’ve been—incomplete without her. Life hasn’t seemed whole.”

  Wes said, “Lily, that’s ridiculous. You sound like your sister now—exaggerating.”

  Was it true? Lily felt a suffocating wildness in her chest; in her throat and mouth; words not her own, yet clamoring to be uttered. I hate you. I love her. No one is so close as Sharon and I. You don’t know us. Leave us alone!

  More calmly Lily said, “I think, in fact, Sharon will be leaving soon,” and Wes said, “Yes, but when?” and Lily said, recoiling from him, “Wes, your face, your eyes—you look so hateful. This isn’t like you,” and Wes said, flushing, “This isn’t like you, and it’s all her fault,” and Lily laughed incredulously, saying, “We’re adults—we don’t blame other people for our problems,” and Wes said, “Well, I do blame her. I want her out of my house,” and Lily said, “It’s my house, too,” and Wes said, “And I want her out of Deedee’s life, completely,” and Lily said, “But Deedee likes Sharon—so much. You haven’t seen them together the way I have. I mean—the three of us, together. It’s so important for Deedee to have an aunt.” Lily was speaking rapidly
, excitedly. She scarcely knew what she said. Her tongue was oddly numb as if losing sensation, becoming paralyzed. “It’s wonderful for our daughter to have a family.”

  Wes was staring at Lily. “You and I are Deedee’s family, Lily. We’re all the family she needs.”

  “Wes, that’s ridiculous. We’re all related by blood—”

  “Except me, yes?”

  “What?”

  “The three of you are related by ‘blood’—Donner ‘blood’—but not me?”

  This was so: Wes was Deedee’s adoptive father. But Lily had not meant it.

  Yet she stood trembling, unable to protest.

  Wes fumbled for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket and to Lily’s dismay extracted one and lit it without apology. Lily could see the man’s hands shaking.

  After a moment Wes said, in a calmer voice, “Has your sister told you about this person who’s stalking her?”

  Lily said hesitantly, “Yes. But—”

  “But you don’t believe her?”

  “Of course I believe her.”

  “Do you? I don’t.”

  “I believe Sharon has had a difficult life. Her career might not be going so well as she says. It must be so competitive, so cruel! But she has her pride, she doesn’t require our pity. She’s still a beautiful woman and a gifted dancer and singer …” Lily’s voice trailed off weakly.

  Wes said, exhaling smoke in an abrupt, impatient gesture, “Last night Sharon told me that someone, a man, an ex-lover in California, has vowed to kill her. She fled him and she’s hiding from him, is the story.”

  Lily said, defensively, “Sharon has always attracted men, not always the best kind of men. She’s lived dangerously—sometimes. But—”

  “But if she’s in trouble, she should go to the police, Lily. We can’t protect her.”

  “Of course we can protect her! How can you say such a heartless thing! Whoever this person is—he doesn’t know she’s here. She’s safe here.” Lily paused, feeling the odd sensation in her tongue of cold, numbness. She could barely look at her husband; the acrid smell of his burning cigarette made her eyes sting. “Wes, did anything happen last night? Between you and Sharon?”