Solitaire and Brahms

by Sarah Dreher

  Chapter Seventeen

  They stood in the office doorway, the three of them, looking like the three weird sisters from Macbeth. Connie and Lisa, grim… Jean a little embarrassed and... ashamed?

  She felt a moment of apprehension, and shot Jean a questioning look. Jean shook her head slightly. She looked guilty.

  "Come on in," Shelby said to the troika.

  Connie strode into the room, the others shuffling behind. "Close the door," Connie ordered Jean, last in. She turned to Shelby. "We need to talk to you."

  Shelby didn't like the way this felt. She turned wary. "What's this? Before-lunch bridge?Where’s Penny?"

  "This doesn't concern Penny," Connie said. Lisa nodded agreement. Jean walked over and pretended to look out the window. It put her on Shelby's side of the desk, opposite Jean and Connie.

  Shelby's apprehension increased. Jean was protecting her. From what? "So what's up?" she asked in a cheerful and innocent tone of voice.

  "Well..." Connie made herself comfortable in Charlotte's chair behind Charlotte's desk. She took one of Charlotte's paper clips from Charlotte's ceramic desk tray and twisted it out of shape. "Look, we know you're strung out about the wedding and all..."

  She didn't dare turn to look at Jean.

  "I mean," Connie went on, "it must be really frantic, and there must be times when you want to get as far away from it as possible..."

  Shelby almost laughed.

  "But, frankly, we miss you."

  "It seems like, any more," Lisa picked up, "you're always working, or doing wedding stuff, or with... well, with Fran. It's been weeks since you've done anything with us." She giggled nervously. "I guess we feel kind of neglected."

  They were right. It had been weeks. The time was going by so fast she hadn't noticed. What with suicide attempts and all. 'Tm really sorry," she said. "It's nothing personal. Everything's hectic."

  "Maybe it's time to take a deep breath and restructure your priorities," Connie said as she doodled on Charlotte's pristine note pad with Charlotte's freshly sharpened pencil.

  "Don't do that," Shelby said. "Charlotte will have a fit."

  "Oops. Sorry." Connie tossed the pencil down, breaking the point. "So what do you think?"

  "About what?"

  "Priorities."

  Shelby felt a little like an eight-year old standing in front of a tall, cold-faced teacher. Her mind went blank. "Well, sure," she said.

  "Sure what?"

  She was having trouble breathing. She wanted to open the door. She wanted to leave through it. "Priorities. Good idea, priorities."

  "And how about us?" Lisa asked.

  "How about you?"

  "Are we a priority?"

  Shelby forced a laugh. "Of course you are. For Heaven's sake, don't you know that?"

  "Apparently not," Jean muttered.

  Jean wasn't in favor of this whatever-it-was they were doing. All too reminiscent of their own "little chat" back in March, no doubt. Shelby looked over at her and hoped she conveyed both gratitude and apology.

  "Then why haven't we seen more of you?" Connie plodded on.

  "Time got away, that's all."

  "It's not just a matter of us feeling neglected," Connie said. She stared at Shelby expressionlessly, as if challenging her.

  Shelby made her face go blank in return. "I see."

  "It's not healthy for you."

  "It's not right," Lisa added.

  Shelby felt her face redden, and didn't know why.

  "You shouldn't cut yourself off from your friends. You need us at times like this, Camden."

  "I know that."

  "To help you relax and have fun."

  Oh, yes, fun is exactly what I need right now. Tons and tons of FUN. "I appreciate your concern," she said.

  "Well, can we do something together? For a change?"

  It was impossible to miss Connie's tone, sarcasm laced with disapproval. It reminded her of Libby. Play dumb, she told herself, and smiled. “I’d love to."

  "Not just one something," Connie said firmly. "Let's make this a part of a whole change of behavior."

  Anger bubbled up in her. "What's the matter?" she heard herself say. "Are you jealous?"

  Connie raised her eyebrows. “Of what?”

  "My time with Ray, the wedding?"

  "Hardly." Connie smiled.

  Lines of music came into Shelby's head. From "Mac the Knife." Something about sharks and pearly white teeth...

  "It doesn't have anything to do with us," Connie went on. "We're concerned about you."

  "Things suddenly fell into place. "It's Fran. You resent my friendship with her.

  Connie laughed. “Be real, Camden.”

  It felt as if someone had poured acid into her stomach. Fear and rage went a few rounds. Rage won. "Penny told you about the weekend," she said flatly, her face cold as marble.

  Lisa and Connie exchanged a look. "What about the weekend?" Lisa asked, innocent as a dog caught chewing the furniture.

  "Yes," Jean broke in firmly. "She did."

  “Jean..." Connie warned.

  "She said she'd run into you. Camping. In the state park."

  "After you told everyone you had to work," Lisa added.

  "I was working. I explained it to Penny." Don't make excuses for yourself, she thought. It's none of their business how you spend your time.

  "It really hurts us," Connie said. "That you'd lie to us. That's not like you."

  Shelby felt a tingling sensation around her lips. "I ran into Fran. I told her I was working. She suggested taking the work up to the lake..." She hated herself for being defensive. She couldn't stop. "It was just as easy to work up there. Easier, really. I needed a change of scenery."

  Jean sighed.

  I should have told her. I don't blame her for being hurt. I would be. "It's very complicated," she said to Jean, touching her, hoping she'd realize the touch was a promise to clear it up later, when they were alone.

  "I know," Jean said.

  It gave her a tremendous feeling of relief, as if someone had just blessed her.

  Connie glared at her.

  "I told you it was a mix-up," Jean said.

  "I still think it's indicative..."

  "For God's sake," Shelby exploded. "I did one little thing not quite the way I said I would. You don't have to make a Federal case out of it. What is this? Communist Russia?"

  Lisa had gone white and trembly, and seemed about to bolt.

  "It's just a mistake," Jean said. "Nobody meant anything by anything."

  Shelby was still angry. "I'm sorry," she said tightly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It just happened, OK?"

  "A lot of things seem to be just happening," Connie began.

  Jean cut her off. "Do you know how ridiculous we all sound? This is worse than high school."

  "True," Connie said with a sudden smile. "We came in here to touch base, not to fight."

  For some reason, that smile was even more unsettling. She was tempted to claim a need for the ladies' room, just to get out of there. But that wouldn't work. They'd come in the ladies' room after her. The ladies' room was only a refuge from men.

  "So let's forget this business," Jean went on, "and do something."

  "Suits me," Shelby said quickly. "What do you have in mind?"

  "We're all going to a movie tonight," Lisa said tentatively.

  "Come with us," Connie demanded.

  Shelby wanted to tell her where she could store her movie, one reel at a time. "No can do. I have a date to see Ray tonight." She smiled in what she hoped was a sheepish way. "How about Wednesday?"

  "OK," Connie said.

  "We can go to a movie then," Shelby said. "Unless you're tired of movies. What's on?"

  Connie shrugged. "Who cares? Let's hit the early show and have a late supper after."

  "Terrific." It wasn't terrific.

  "We'll meet at my place. Six-thirty."

  “Fine.” It wasn't even fine.

&n
bsp; They filed out, Jean going last again and turning back to throw her a look of apology.

  * * *

  The evening wasn't going well. Ray was tired and petulant. Shelby responded, out of habit, by turning relentlessly cheerful. It exhausted her, and didn't help the situation. She finally suggested they make an early night of it, since they were both a little cranky. Ray seemed surprised at this, and wanted her to explain exactly what he had done to make her think he was cranky. She said it wasn't any thing so much as a feeling. Which caused him to smile in a condescending, "women-and-their-little-intuitions" way. Which made her want to kill him. She didn't dare say anything. She might say too much.

  She'd already decided not to bring up her doubts. Not until she was clear.

  "Looks to me," Ray said, "as if someone's doing a little projecting."

  "Projecting" had been Ray's favorite concept since he'd done his psychiatric quarter.

  Shelby thought about "projecting" him into the next county.

  He slipped an arm around her and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. "Tell you what," he said, "let's take your suggestion and call it an early evening." He yawned. "You obviously need a good night's sleep."

  She gritted her teeth. If she got into an argument with him now—which she wanted to do with every fiber of her being—this could go on all night. If she played along, she'd get to go home soon.

  Get to go home. A great way to feel about your beloved betrothed.

  "You're probably right," she said. "If you don't mind..."

  Ray laughed. "How many times do I have to say it, Shel? There'll be all the time in the world when we're married."

  The list of things they could postpone until after they were married and had eternities together was growing longer every day. It was beginning to feel like a prison sentence.

  A half hour of obligatory grope and fondle, and they were on their way to her house. Shelby glanced over at Ray in the dash board light. He was smiling, happy they were going to be together, happy to be taking care of her now. Guilt swept over her. This man really loved her, had loved her almost from their first date. She wondered what the rest of her life would be if she didn't marry him.

  He didn't even ask to come in, for which she was grateful. Between the guilt and the fear and the mist, she wouldn't have the strength to refuse him. Instead he walked her to the front door, took her in his arms gently, and kissed her. "Good night, wife," he murmured in her ear.

  She pretended she hadn't heard.

  * * *

  Fran's door was open. It meant she might be up for company, if Shelby were so inclined. Shelby decided she'd be very much inclined once she changed into her pajamas. She peeked into Fran's apartment. "Oh, God, you're playing solitaire."

  Fran looked up at her and grinned. "But no Brahms."

  "Does that mean you're only half depressed?"

  "It means I know I won't be able to get to sleep if I go to bed now."

  Shelby leaned against the door jamb. "Want to borrow America as a Civilization?"

  "No, thanks.” She moved over to make room on the couch. “Join me?”

  "In a minute. I want to change from a girl to a woman."

  “Ah,” Fran said.

  “Sure you don't mind company?”

  "Why? How many rowdy people do you have with you?"

  "Only me."

  "Good thing you don't want a party. I just ran out of onion dip."

  Shelby laughed. She laughed a lot around Fran, she realized. Simply because it was so easy being together. "Need anything from down my way?"

  "Nope. Just your gorgeous face."

  She decided to make tea, anyway, while she shed her linen suit and heels and climbed into pajamas. With a sigh of relief, she reached for her brush and broke the stickiness of her sprayed hair. The teakettle whistled, she poured boiling water over the tea leaves. Living here, with Fran just down the hall where they could visit all times of the day or night without having to make an Event out of it... it was a little like being back in college. A lot like it, she thought as she waited for the tea to steep and decided her bare feet would survive a run down the carpeted hallway. A lot like it.

  Maybe that was her problem. Maybe she wanted to hang onto the old, safe, carefree days of college. Except they hadn't been carefree, exactly. It seemed as if she was always putting things off to the last minute, so was usually in a panic of studying or paper writing, pulling all-nighters and subsisting on stale coffee and Hershey bars. She'd even begun to think that grainy eyes and a metallic taste in her mouth was her natural state. Once, her junior year, she'd taken a large amount of No-Doze during a pre-exam cram session. It kept her awake, all right, but her hands shook so badly she couldn't read her own writing on the exam.

  There'd been a litany of things to worry about. Would she be liked? Had she said the wrong thing in a just-finished conversation? Had she made a fool of herself in chem lab?

  By the end of her sophomore year, she'd pretty much eliminated that self-consciousness by collecting a pool of friends she could feel comfortable with. Well, almost comfortable. She was never really deep, down in her bones, comfortable. Not while there were mistakes to be made. And there were always mistakes to be made. But she knew they liked her, and that was a step forward.

  She'd had a pretty normal college life, actually. Contributed her ten pounds of gained weight to the Freshman Ton, agonized through and survived Sophomore Slump. Read Catcher in the Rye her junior year, and declared war on "phonies." Even languished around the bridge table enjoying a case of Senioritis.

  She gathered up the tea things and trotted down the hall to Fran's apartment.

  "How'd it go tonight?"

  "I got through it."

  Fran smiled. "What makes me think it wasn't much fun?"

  “Ray was in a foul mood. but he insisted it was me.”

  "Uh-huh," Fran said. "Feel any clearer on the marriage?"

  Shelby shook her head. "Not tonight. I'm still waiting for enlightenment." She rested her head against the back of Fran's couch. "I wish I could go to sleep and it would be all over when I wake up." She looked over at Fran. "I'm really scared. I feel as if I'm holding the fuse on a mountain of dynamite, and sooner or later I'll have to set it off."

  Fran merely nodded.

  "Sometimes the whole thing seems unreal. I mean, I just don't get myself into messes like this. I've always tried so hard not to make mistakes. Even when it meant hurting myself." Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's not fair."

  "I guess this was a mistake that happened when you weren't looking. It is going to be awful. I can't think of anyway around that. But please remember you're not alone in this."

  "I am," Shelby said. "Ultimately. I'm the one who has to break the news. And I have to do it soon. I even feel guilty talking to you about it, before I tell Ray. I mentioned to Jean that I was having doubts, and I feel guilty about that." She sighed. "Oh, Fran, I've made such a terrible mess."

  Fran squeezed her hand. "You haven't. You've done what seemed best at the time. Maybe it was even all you could do at the time." She was silent for a moment. “You look worn out.”

  "I am. I can't sleep worth a darn."

  "Stay here tonight. Maybe it'll be better if you're not alone."

  She was about to resist when she realized she really, really wanted to be with Fran.

  "If you're worried about tossing and turning and keeping me awake," Fran said, "we'll leave a light on out here. Then you can come out and read. I can't offer you America as a Civilization, but I find Bleak House to be pretty effective."

  "Thank you," Shelby said. "I think I'd like that"

  She only woke up once during the night. It had turned colder, and Fran was covering her with another blanket. Only half awake, she turned on her side and snuggled deeper into the bed. She felt a soft, warm breeze, and realized Fran was stroking her hair.

  She pretended to be asleep, so she wouldn't stop.

  "Hey," Fran called from the living room, "I
don't hear sounds of dressing in there."

  "I don't want to do this," Shelby called back.

  "You're the one who said you had to, not me."

  Shelby went to the living room. "I know."

  Fran was curled in one comer of the couch, a medical reference book in her lap. "You also know you have a deadline. About six days from now."

  "I know. Maybe I'll just skip the Labor Day reunion."

  "If you want to face the Wrath of Libby."

  “It's going to come down, sooner or later.”

  Fran looked at her with deep seriousness. "You don't have to blow the whole thing out of the water. Just let him know what you're thinking."

  "That's not so easy. Even I don't know what I'm thinking."

  "So tell him that. We'll cross other bridges if we come to them."

  "We?"

  Fran blushed a little. ''I'm butting in. But isn't that what friends are for?"

  Great, Shelby thought. I'm supposed to be getting ready for a date with my fiancé, so I can tell him I don't think I want to marry him, and all I can think of is staying home and talking with this woman.

  And touching her, she realized. She yearned to feel Fran's arms around her, to lean her head against Fran's shoulder, to know how safe it was with her.

  She picked up Fran's book. "Why are you reading about sports medicine?"

  "I work in a university. It's nearly September. The jocks are coming. Get dressed."

  "I think I'll go like this." Shelby looked down at her jeans and sneakers. "Isn't this what all up-and-coming young career women wear to break their boyfriends' hearts?"

  "No," Fran said firmly. “It is not. Now, git.”

  She didn't hear him drive up, or come through the main door. Fran answered his knock. He seemed surprised, his eyes narrowing slightly, his pupils contracting, the hint of a frown. "Well," he said over Fran's shoulder to Shelby, "what are you girls up to?"

  Fran went back to her seat and book. ""I'm trying to learn how to think again."

  "Army rots the brain, huh?" He lifted her coat from the hook on the back of the door and held it out for her to slip into.

  "Serious gangrene," Fran said. "We may have to amputate."

  Shelby shrugged her arms into the coat sleeves. She flipped her hair from beneath her collar and looked around for her purse.