Solitaire and Brahms

by Sarah Dreher

  "Not in the story," Penny said in an annoyed tone. "Fran."

  "She goes without when she's relaxing. She doesn't really need one."

  "How do you come by that bit of information?"

  "You can tell by looking at her."

  "Personally," Penny said casually, with a smile, “I don't go around looking at women's breasts.”

  "That's probably just as well," Shelby said, and forced herself to attend to the story.

  "It looks cheap."

  "I thought you didn't look. If you had looked, you'd have noticed that Fran doesn't need to wear a bra."

  "I suppose, if it was a hundred degrees in here, you'd think it was all right to come to work naked."

  Shelby shook her head. "We were camping, Penny. She wasn't expecting anyone."

  "You're someone."

  She was becoming really annoyed. "But I don't care what Fran Jarvis wears. I don't care what you wear. I don't care what anyone wears. This is a ridiculous conversation, and I don't know why we're having it."

  "It doesn't look good, going around without a bra."

  Shelby tossed the folder of stories on the desk. "We're not here to discuss Fran's fashion sense, Penny. If you want to talk about what the well-dressed career girl wears, make an appointment with Charlotte."

  Penny crossed her legs and swung one foot perilously close to Shelby's knee. "Well, excuse me. I don't mean to waste your valuable time."

  Shelby took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. "You're not wasting my time, Penny. I just have a lot to do."

  "Right. You didn't get much done last weekend."

  Oh, God, Fran's right, she thought. Penny's jealous. She ought to be especially kind to her now. Jealousy was a painful, horrible feeling. But she really, really didn't have the energy. "Penny," she said as gently as she could, "I think I know what you're going through, and I sympathize, I really do. But we have to do this."

  Penny swung her foot and shrugged. "Then let's do it."

  OK, Camden, she told herself, ignore her mood. Say what you have to say. "Look, this isn't about this latest batch of stories. Not entirely. It's all your work. You know how well you were doing when you started, but lately your judgment... well, it's not as sharp as it was." She forced herself to look Penny in the eye and speak in a concerned voice. "Is something bothering you? Getting in the way? I hope you know you can always talk to me..."

  "There's nothing wrong with me. You're more particular than you were."

  "I really don't think so."

  "You are. It's unconscious. No one could live up to your standards. You're afraid Spurl will judge you by my work."

  "You're not the only reader I supervise, Penny."

  "Yeah, but I'm your particular responsibility. I'll bet you're not as hard on the others. It isn't fair."

  Her temper flared. "File a grievance with the union."

  "We don't have a union," Penny said calmly. She looked down at the floor and swung her feet and pouted. "You're cranky all the time, too."

  "I have a lot on my mind."

  "Like what?"

  She'd never seen Penny chew gum, but her attitude and behavior cried out for gum-cracking. "Like the wedding, for one thing. I mean, you don't just snap your fingers and have it appear."

  "According to your mother, that's what you think."

  Shelby looked at her.

  Penny looked back, big-eyed and innocent. "Well, that's what Connie says, anyway."

  This was a mistake. Everything was a mistake. Being born was a mistake. She felt trapped, frozen...

  The phone rang. She jumped to answer it. "Miss Camden."

  "Hey, Miss Camden."

  Her heart started up again. "Fran. Hi."

  "Am I interrupting you?"

  More like saving my life, she thought. "No."

  "I'm checking up on you. Actually, I just wanted to hear your voice. No, to tell you the truth, I'm calling to see if you'd pick me up a couple of things from the supermarket on your way home."

  "Sure." She got out a paper and pencil. "Let me have it."

  Penny tapped her shoulder.

  "Oh, wait a minute," she said into the phone.

  Penny shook her head. "Don't stop. I have to get back to work. We can finish this later."

  "Thanks."

  Grinning from ear to ear, Penny left the room. She closed the door softly and tightly behind her.

  "Sorry about that. It was just Penny, leaving."

  "Did she say anything about Saturday?"

  "She noticed you weren't wearing a bra."

  Fran gasped. "Why, that dirty girl. You're doing OK?"

  "I'm doing," Shelby said. "OK or not is open to debate. What do you need?"

  Fran gave her the list. "You know where to find me if you need me. You have my work number, don't you?"

  "Yep. I'll have you paged all over the Student Health Center and embarrass the pants off of you."

  Fran laughed. "First no bra, now no pants. What next?"

  "God, it's good to hear your voice."

  "Not as good as it is to hear yours. You take care of yourself."

  "I will. You, too. Don't pick up any incurable diseases."

  “The only diseases around a college campus," Fran said, "are hormonal."

  "Well, look out for them. See you tonight."

  She ought to go find Penny now, and finish their conversation. That idea held all the charm of a trip to the dentist. Still, it had to be done...

  No, what she really ought to do was figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life. Marrying Ray was definitely out of the question now. If she didn't love him, love him completely and without hesitation, she couldn't in good conscience go through with the wedding. So Ray would have to be told, before anyone else. Then her mother, and her friends. And she'd better do it soon before the arrangements went any further. So she had to start with Ray, probably tonight.

  She didn't want to do this. She felt tired and weak and frightened. The thought of picking up the phone, telling Ray she needed to see him, explaining it—explain it how? "Gee, Ray, I hate to disappoint you, but I just found out I feel more for my friends than I do for you. Have a nice life."

  The idea of it made her stomach churn. This was no little thing she was about to do. Not some minor inconvenience like rain on a picnic. This was going to cause major, irreversible destruction. Her parents, their friends, her friends, Ray's friends, the whole damn Camden clan... There'd be a thousand questions, and no acceptable answers. A thousand arguments while they tried to talk her out of it, or they'd laugh at her feelings or say it was "just wedding nerves." She'd already tried the "just wedding nerves" bit on herself. It hadn't worked.

  She might as well have herself staked out on an ant hill.

  When she looked at it, really looked at it, she knew it was impossible to change everything now. She just couldn't do it. All she wanted was to crawl down a hole and stay there until everyone had forgotten her.

  But there were three good reasons she couldn't do that. One, she knew what she knew and she couldn't un-know it. Two, she couldn't spend the rest of her life married to a man she didn't love. She'd been pretending for years, and all it had done was give her headaches. And three, it would be just plain immoral.

  They were going to eat her alive.

  Oh, God. She doubled over to curl around her burning stomach. I want everything to just change. To blink my eyes and have it all be easy. To never have gotten myself to this point. I did what people wanted. I did what they expected me to do. And now it's going to blow up in my face, and all I did was try to do the right thing.

  This couldn't really be happening. It was too much like a movie or a story... or a terrible nightmare. But she'd never had a nightmare this bad. This was the A Number One, Olympic sized, World's Record of Nightmares.

  What was she going to tell people? "I woke up one morning and decided it had all been a mistake?" That might work for some people. People who were known for blowing
in the wind. Like Lisa. Penny probably changed course in midstream without even thinking about it. And even Connie had been known to be stricken by a terminal case of attitude about some minor thing and completely changed her plans, indifferent to anyone else's inconvenience.

  But not Shelby Camden. Shelby Camden did what she said she was going to do, and she'd never say she was going to do it unless she was certain, so you could absolutely, positively count on her to know what she was doing and why.

  She'd always been like that. Even as a child. Teachers called her responsible. Her friends—even people who weren't really her friends but needed something from her—knew they could count on her. Shelby was the rock, the one person you could hang on to in an unpredictable world. It was universally assumed that Shelby knew herself and her word was as good as a contract.

  Nobody ever guessed she had been running on fear. Fear of displeasing. Fear of being different. Fear of being found out. You name it, Shelby was afraid of it.

  And look where it got you, she told herself. There was a poetic irony in the situation. After years of compromising and avoiding, years of doing her dance of balance, here she was face to face with a no-win situation.

  It made her feel like a child.

  She should have gone ahead and killed herself. But she couldn't do that to Fran. She loved Fran, too, in her way. A way that felt good and right, and like a true expression of herself. She was happy with Fran. Happier and less lonely than she'd been in a long time. She couldn't turn her back on that friendship. She wanted to bask in it, to feel the warm, safe feeling of being around her. Wanted to go camping, and hiking, and play gin rummy or just do nothing at all with Fran.

  Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe the difference between what she felt for Fran and what she felt for Ray wasn't really that strange at all. Maybe loving a friend and loving a husband just were different feelings and it didn't mean anything. Maybe she'd grow to...

  Get real, she told herself roughly. The truth of the matter is, you're not in love with Ray and you can't face it. So pick up the phone and call the man, and your mother...

  Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't dial. She slammed the receiver back on the cradle.

  You know it's not going to get any easier, she reminded herself. Pull yourself together and do it.

  She could feel her blood pounding through her veins. Suddenly she had to get out of here. Before she suffocated. Before her heart burst.

  She reached for the phone again, and dialed Jean's desk. "I have to talk to someone," she said. "Can you meet me in the lounge?"

  Just the sight of a friend made her feel better. Jean poured them each a cup of coffee and sat beside her on the couch. “Wow,” Jean said, "you look awful."

  "I have the willies," Shelby said. She tried to steady her cup. "Very large willies."

  "Wedding willies?"

  "You can't imagine."

  Jean smiled. "No, I can't say I can."

  Shelby took a sip of coffee. "I don't think..."

  Jean waited for her to go on. She couldn't. "Neither do I," Jean said at last, "unless I absolutely have to."

  "I don't think… I want to do it."

  "The wedding?"

  Shelby nodded miserably.

  "OK," Jean said.

  "OK?" She stared at her. “This isn't OK. No way is it OK. This is a disaster."

  "I'd feel the same way in your place. Anyone would."

  "I don't think so." Jean didn't get it. "I mean, I really have serious doubts about this. I'm not even sure I love Ray."

  Jean turned thoughtful for a moment. "Where's this coming from, Shel? Did something happen?"

  “Not really.”

  "Has Ray been a cad? We have a cure for men like that, you know. We send them on all-day excursions on school buses loaded with third graders singing 'one-hundred bottles of beer on the wall.'"

  Shelby had to laugh. It felt good. "It kind of fell on me," she said. Her voice caught. "Over the weekend."

  Jean took her hand and held it.

  "I could be wrong. It could be more jitters, or something I don't even understand. Maybe it'll pass." She ran her free hand over her face. "Sometimes I think that was just a silly passing thing, why am I getting so shook up? And then I think the fact that I'm so shook up means it wasn't a silly passing thing...

  "What happened?" Jean asked softly.

  "Nothing, really." Penny would certainly have spilled the beans by now. Shelby looked down at Jean's hand cupped around hers. "It suddenly hit me. I don't feel about Ray the way I do about my friends."

  "Of course you don't," Jean said with a laugh.

  "You don't understand. I don't feel as... open or... close with him."

  "From what my mother tells me, it's always like that. The difference between men and women."

  "But this is a very large difference."

  Jean ran her thumb across Shelby's knuckles as she thought. It felt good. Disturbingly good...

  "Look," Jean said, "maybe Ray's just not the right guy for you. Maybe you need to take a step back and check the whole thing out again."

  "Maybe. Do you know what kind of a mess this could be?"

  Jean nodded. "Not as big a mess as marrying the man and realizing later when you find yourself in a wild, compulsive affair with the pool boy."

  Shelby had to laugh. "You've read too many bad stories."

  "Maybe." She was silent for a moment. "Look maybe you should call it off, feeling the way you do."

  Shelby forced herself to look at her. "What would you think? Of me?"

  "We're talking about changing your mind," Jean said softly, "not committing murder."

  “I guess.”

  "At least give yourself time. Meanwhile, try not to get pregnant."

  That made her smile. “If I get pregnant, I might as well shoot myself right here.”

  "Here?" Jean looked around the room. "Shelby, listen to me. No matter how bad things are, they're never bad enough to justify shooting yourself on an orange vinyl sofa." She squeezed Shelby's hand. "Mind if I give you some advice?"

  "I wish you would."

  "If you do decide to call it off, wait until after your family Labor Day picnic."

  "Oh, God!" She'd forgotten about the Camden reunion. The annual command performance, where she'd go and be paraded in front of various aunts and uncles and cousins for their disapproval. This would be her twenty-fifth, if you didn't count the one she'd attended in utero, which she was sure had warped her for life. In good years, it was painful. During her adolescent years, when she had been prone to attacks of shyness and insecurity, alternating with fits of rage—which she had managed to keep hidden—the Camden family reunion was a day in hell.

  There was nothing wrong with the Camden's, exactly. They were just proud, old, and critical.

  Even Libby, who really didn't like them, curried their favor.

  They expected it. The main course at all Camden family dinners, Shelby thought, was curried favor.

  Only blood Camden's were welcomed at those reunions. In-laws were expected to attend and observe, but were discouraged from participating. Mostly they were ignored. Unless they were absent, in which case they were discussed. Once, in a fit of collegiate rebellion and compassion, Shelby had tried to make one of the Camden-in-law wives feel at home by chatting with her. It had made the woman so uncomfortable she'd twitched and shifted for ten minutes, then announced she really had to see if they needed her help in the kitchen.

  For years, Shelby had been the only child at the dinners. Camden's who had children tended to avoid them. This was encouraged, as children at Camden reunions were considered disruptive and made the older folks nervous. Not Shelby. Shelby was a good child, quiet and polite and invisible. Shelby had good manners for a child. No one ever wondered if there might be something troubling a child with such good manners.

  "Hello," Jean said.

  Shelby shook herself. Her mind was wandering, straying from The Problem. "You're right,
I don't want to drop any bomb shells before the reunion." She laughed. "Who knows? In two weeks I may be over this fit of pique and wonder why I made such a federal case of it."

  "Well, if you're not, I'll man the trenches with you."

  "Thank you," Shelby said. She was genuinely moved. She decided to take a chance. "I'm really scared about this, Jean. If I do go through with... not going through with it... you know it's going to be terrible."

  "I know. But look at it this way. You have friends you can count on, and a job that's great and destined to get better. So your mother cuts holes in the ceiling with her head. You're not alone in the world."

  "And Ray?"

  "Ray will be hurt. And Ray will recover. He's a big boy, Shel."

  "I guess."

  "And so will you."

  She glanced up at the clock. "I'd better get back to work." Instead she broke bits of styrofoam from the rim of her cup and dropped them inside. She counted them. Jean smiled at her and waited. "Don't tell the others about this, OK?" she said at last. "I couldn't bear trying to explain."

  "Your secret's my secret. Listen," Jean said as she gathered up their used and broken cups, "we're all going to a movie tonight. Why don't you forget this mess and come with us?"

  "I'd better not. I have a million things to do, and I haven't talked to Ray since Friday. How was my revered maternal parent, by the way?"

  "Libby? In rare form. Manic."

  Shelby groaned and got up. "Thanks for the sympathy. I really mean that, Jean. It matters a lot. See you at lunch?"

  "You might want to think twice about lunch. There's going to be a lot of wedding talk."

  Shelby shook her head. "I don't want to let on anything's amiss. Just don't let me put my foot in it, OK?"

  "Of course." Jean looked at her fondly. "Saving you from yourself is what I do best."

  Later, back in her office after lunch, she had a sudden feeling that it could be all right. She had friends who cared about her. Really, genuinely cared about her. Jean was behind her. And Connie, who would rather be a mother hen than a maid of honor any day, would ride to her rescue. Lisa would do whatever Connie did. Even Penny would probably jump on the band wagon.

  And there was Fran.