Solitaire and Brahms

by Sarah Dreher

  "Fran..."

  "To stay away from me." She leaned toward Shelby earnestly. "That's what the movie was about."

  "It was a nice movie. I liked it. The people were good people, most of them..."

  "It wasn't nice." Fran was nearly shouting. "It was about two perfectly decent women, only one of them turns out to be in love with the other and it ruins their lives."

  "But there was nothing about Martha to dislike."

  "She killed herself! Get it? She had to die because of what she was!"

  Shelby stood up and went toward the kitchen. "You're overwrought. I'm getting you a beer."

  "Probably a good idea," Fran said. Her voice was shaky. "I kept seeing the movie," she called after her, "because they were decent people, and I don't get to see or read about many people like... lesbians who are decent people."

  Shelby pulled two beers from the refrigerator, then spent three long, frustrating minutes looking for the bottle opener. She found it and popped the caps.

  Fran hadn't moved from her chair, and was staring off into space. Shelby handed her the beer, then sat on the coffee table to be closer to her. "Fran," she said softly, "start at the beginning and tell me what you think is happening."

  "They're upset with our friendship. The whole going-to-the-movies idea came about because they felt neglected. But there was nothing accidental in their choice. There are plenty of other movies around. I think they know what I am." She paused and took a swallow of beer. "It scares me. Not for me. They can't take me anywhere I haven't already been. But they can hurt you. I don't like what I see coming."

  Shelby waited.

  "They'll accuse you of being like me. You can deny it, but the rumors won't stop until we stop spending time together. I'll probably have to move out, or you will. Then they'll pressure you to make up with Ray, or find some other guy for you to marry." She drank again. "And that doesn't begin to spell out the horrors when Libby gets her manicured talons into you."

  "And if I pretend I don't know what the hell they're talking about?"

  "They won't buy that. There goes your job, and your friends. Our landlord will have grounds for eviction." She gave Shelby a wry smile. "We're not a very popular group of people."

  Shelby rested the back of her hand against Fran's face. "That's a crazy idea."

  "The world's a crazy place." Tears had seeped up in her eyes. She knuckled them away roughly. "Welcome to the true underbelly of life."

  "It's not a pretty place."

  "That's right." Fran got up and walked to the fireplace. "That's why I don't want it creeping into your world." She turned, looked at Shelby. "I thought I could keep you out of it." She laughed. It was a hard, sharp laugh. Like a slap. "And I accuse you of being naive." She started for the kitchen.

  Shelby grabbed her as she passed."I don't want you to keep me out of your world. I don't want you to protect me. I don't care about this other stuff. What happens, happens. I just want you to be my friend. I just want... " She hesitated. "...to love you."

  Fran closed her eyes. The room was very still. Someone was running water in an apartment upstairs. It sounded far away.

  Shelby let go of Fran's sleeve. "We have to stop this. I need you. But I can't have you feeling guilty every time something happens to me. I know it's upsetting. I understand, really I do. But for you to take everything on yourself, just because... it's like that movie. Martha didn't mean any harm, and you don't mean any harm. You are who you are. And who you are is my friend, someone I care about more than I've ever cared..."

  "Don't," Fran said, pulling away. She went to the window. The night was still and heavy. "You're right," she said after a while. "I have to stop feeling sorry for myself." She wiped away tears with the heels of her hands.

  I love this woman, Shelby thought as a wave of warm feeling broke over her. "OK," she said. She retrieved Fran's beer and handed it to her. "You haven't heard all of it."

  Fran sat on the couch and stared at her fearfully. "What next?"

  "I told Libby I wasn't going to the Labor Day picnic."

  Fran was silent for a long time. Then she looked at her with those blue, blue eyes. "I have a suggestion."

  "Great. What is it?"

  "Arm yourself," Fran said.

  Shelby laughed. "I thought you were an authority on these horrors, and the best you can come up with is 'Arm yourself?'"

  "There has to be a better solution." Fran squeezed her eyebrows together and stared at the floor and thought.

  "I have an idea," Shelby said. "Tomorrow I'll have a talk with Jean. See if she can shed light on what's really going on."

  "Think she'll tell you the truth?"

  "No one else will. Jean doesn't say much, but it's clear she's on my side." She put down her beer. "Listen, I'm jumping out of my skin. I keep waiting for the phone to ring. Want to get some dinner out?"

  "Great." Fran got up. "Let me 'girl' myself up a little."

  She was wearing Shelby's favorite Fran outfit. Blue jeans, an old Army shirt, and sneakers without socks. "Do you really have to?"

  "Yes, I really have to."

  Shelby sighed deeply.

  While Fran was changing, she finished her beer and thought about how terrified she was, deep down inside. As long as she kept it away, it was fine. But it was still there, gnawing at her like fire ants. It made her feel dizzy, and a little sick. She reminded herself that she didn't have to go through it alone. But, ultimately, she did. She had to deal with Ray. She had to deal with her mother, and her friends, and probably the whole damn Camden clan. Nobody'd do it for her. Nobody could do it for her. She didn't want anyone to do it for her.

  She wished today could be the middle of next week. At least she'd know…

  "You look positively stricken," Fran said. She had changed into a wheat colored dress and loafers. Her suntan was like soft bronze.

  "You look great."

  "Thank you. What's up?"

  "Same old stuff. I want to curl up in a ball and hide under the sofa."

  "Yeah." Fran held out her hand.

  Shelby took it. "Libby's capable of anything. She could call, or show up in the middle of the night. To trap me."

  "Spend tonight here, then. Might as well have one good night's sleep."

  She wanted Fran's company tonight. She had the feeling it was going to be a long time before she slept deeply again.

  * * *

  The park bench smelled of old wood and paint. It was one of those late summer days when nothing seems to fit together. The sun was golden, the shadows slanted. Weeds had gone hard. Leaves were turning leathery. The grass had become coarse. And yet the heat and humidity were stifling.

  Shelby kicked off her shoes and felt the warm earth beneath her feet. She offered Jean her sandwich. She didn't feel like eating. Jean refused, and offered to share her lunch in return. It was made of limp, yam-like things in green and eggshell white, covered with a brown liquid. Shelby was positive she saw it move.

  "Thanks," she said, "but I'm really not hungry."

  Jean looked at her with a sly smile that let her know Jean knew exactly why she'd turned it down. Disgusting her lunch partners had become Jean's signature.

  She tried to think of how to open the conversation.

  "So," Jean said, "spit it out."

  "Am I paranoid, or is something going on with you guys?"

  Jean twirled some of the cooked yarn around a plastic fork. "Not with me. But, yeah, the rest of them are kind of bent out of shape."

  "Why?"

  "Feeling rejected. At least that's how it started. I think it's turning into something else."

  "What else?"

  Jean put her lunch down and folded her hands and studied her knuckles.

  Shelby waited.

  A squirrel came up to them, begging. Shelby tossed it a piece of crust. "That movie was planned, wasn't it?" she asked.

  Jean nodded. "Connie'd seen it before. She knew what it was about. She wanted to see how you'd react." Jean
looked up at her. "She thinks Fran is... you know... like Martha.”

  "A lesbian."

  "Yeah. And she thinks she's trying to take you away from us, and sooner or later she'll come between you and Ray."

  Shelby had a sinking feeling deep in her stomach and ran a hand through her hair in dismay.

  "Is she? A lesbian?"

  That was a hard one to answer. It wasn't hers to confirm or deny. If she confirmed it, she was taking that choice out of Fran's hands. That wasn't right. If she denied it, it was like agreeing with everyone that it was a terrible thing to be. Which would be not only disloyal but dishonest.

  "I can't answer that," she settled on. "You'll have to ask her. Would it matter to you?"

  "Only if it messed things up for you."

  She took a deep breath. "Jean, I have to tell you something, and please believe me it has nothing to do with what we were talking about."

  Jean watched her expectantly.

  Jump in, she told herself, and jumped. "Yesterday, I broke my engagement to Ray. You know I've been having my doubts," she went on quickly. "And the headaches, and not sleeping, I think they were all part of it. I just realized it wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't right. Not at this time in my life."

  Jean only nodded.

  "I've tried to talk to him about my doubts, the things I'm afraid will happen to me, but he won't take me seriously."

  "That's Ray, all right."

  "So a couple of nights ago we went to dinner and I found myself going through it all again, begging him to understand. But he didn't. He didn't get it. He didn't believe me. Yesterday morning I sent his ring back."

  Jean was silent for a moment. "Well," she said at last.

  "That's all you have to say?"

  "I hope you remembered to insure it."

  She grinned. "Yes, I insured it."

  "Not to upset you unnecessarily," Jean said, "but this is going to be a real monstrosity."

  "My sentiments exactly." She wondered if Jean was saying what she honestly thought. It mattered. A lot. "Do you think I'm wrong to do this?"

  Jean laughed. "Wrong? Of course not. What would be wrong would be marrying him when you don't love him."

  "You really think so?"

  "Absolutely." She capped her plastic box and opened a waxed paper bag of fried noodles. She passed them to Shelby. "But there'll be fallout."

  Shelby crunched on a noodle. "I don't doubt that at all, but I can't imagine what kind."

  Jean tossed a noodle to a squirrel. It sniffed at it suspiciously, then grabbed it and raced off.

  "OK, what I'm really worried about," Shelby said, "is that they'll find some connection between that and my friendship with Fran."

  "Over my dead body," Jean said. "Maybe you should lay low at my place until it all blows over and people get their heads straightened around."

  She felt a tremendous rush of relief. "Thanks, but that'd probably make it worse."

  Jean touched her hand. "You must be scared."

  "I feel as if I'm frozen in the middle of the railroad tracks, and I don't know when the train'll come along."

  “There's one thing you can count on. It will."

  I might get through it, Shelby thought, with friends like this. "There's more. I cancelled out of the labor Day picnic."

  "Oh, my GOD!" Jean pulled at handfuls of her hair in mock horror. "The sky is falling! The end of the world is at hand!"

  Shelby found herself laughing. Really and genuinely laughing. "Thanks, Jean. For everything."

  Jean shrugged it off. "I'll keep my ear to the ground for gossip." She placed a hand on Shelby's shoulder. "And I expect you to let me know what you need. Anything. Someone to talk to, tickets out of town, phony passport." Her voice turned serious. "I mean it, Shelby. Anything, whatever you need. And I won't let the gleesome threesome bad-mouth you around the office. Promise you'll let me help."

  "I promise." Shelby said gratefully. "I really, really promise."

  OK, she thought back at the office. Jean, Charlotte, Fran, and me. A formidable bunch. Bring on the enemy.

  The people she'd thought were her friends six months ago had become 'the enemy.' That was sad. It made her feel as if she'd lost something, not just her friends, but a piece of her soul.

  Time to grow up.

  Growing up meant giving up. Illusions, hopes, that glow that assured her everything would work out in the end. As soon as she found the right key to fit the right door.

  Well, the doors were opening now, and the view wasn't pretty.

  She glanced down at her desk, at the story she'd been editing. She hardly recognized it, even though she'd been working on it all morning. Her editorial comments barely made sense to her, and wouldn't make any at all to anyone else.

  Now it was interfering with her work. This really had to stop. This would be a long weekend. She promised herself she'd start to see the light at the end of the tunnel before Tuesday.

  Nobody phoned her in the afternoon. Ray would certainly have her letter by now, and it wasn't like Libby to leave a stone un-thrown. She ought to be glad for the peace and quiet. It only made her nervous.

  They'd probably get her tonight, as soon as she got home.

  She called Fran at work, asked her to meet her at the diner for dinner, to postpone the inevitable.

  Fran said she'd made a vocation out of postponing the inevitable.

  After dinner she cruised slowly down her block, searching for familiar cars. It seemed clear. She pulled around into the alley, where their parking area was. Fran's apartment was dark. She was running an errand, grabbing them breakfast makings before the A&P closed.

  Her own lights were out, of course. She crossed the lawn and let herself in the back door. The odor of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Some of the neighbors must have spent the evening enjoying the last of summer. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  The cigarette smell was even heavier here. Halfway across the kitchen she realized it wasn't just cigarette smoke, it was Libby's cigarette smoke.

  There was a light under the door between the kitchen and living room. She pushed it open.

  "Well, it's about time," Libby said. She'd made herself at home. Shelby's mail was stacked neatly on the coffee table, the couch pillows had been plumped and rearranged. The bit of cold ash that she liked on the hearth had been swept into the fireplace.

  Libby the Invader had made herself a Manhattan.

  "Enjoying yourself?" Shelby asked sarcastically. She was angry, more angry than afraid.

  “Not much”" Libby said. "Where have you been?"

  "More to the point, what are you doing here, how'd you get in, and what do you want?"

  "I've been waiting for over an hour, since you're concerned enough to ask. The landlord let me in. And we need to talk."

  Shelby went over and pulled up the blinds her mother had drawn. Very clever. There was no way Shelby would have seen her from the street. She had the element of surprise in her favor. Fresh air poured in.

  "Where's your car?"

  "A few blocks over. It was such a lovely night to walk." Libby stubbed out her cigarette. "And what were you up to?"

  "Dinner out." She picked up the mail and sorted through it. Her heart was pounding like a snare drum.

  "With whom?"

  She felt stubbornness dig in its heels. "A friend."

  "Anyone I know?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Well, that's a relief. I was sure you'd be out with that woman." She flapped her hand in the general direction of Fran's door.

  "What's your agenda?" Shelby heard herself say. "I'm sure you have one." She glanced at her mother. "You always have one."

  "Yes, tonight I do, as you so sweetly point out." She languished back in her chair and lit another cigarette and drew in her breath with a windy sucking sound. "Ray called me today." She waited for Shelby's response.

  "How is he?" Shelby asked after a while.

  “Wretched, as you might imagine. He rec
eived your package this morning."

  "Good. I can throwaway the insurance receipt."

  "My, my," Libby said. "Aren't you the cold one?"

  "If he talked to you," she said evenly, "then you know what I did. And why. I explained it very clearly in my letter, which I'm certain he read to you."

  "He did. It was a very uncaring letter."

  "At least it seems to have gotten his attention."

  Her mother smiled in a nasty, "gotcha" way. "So that's what it's all about. Attention."

  "No, I don't need more attention from Ray, I need less." She knew she was being provocative, and it was dangerous. But she didn't care. She enjoyed it. It made her feel powerful. She wanted to be downright nasty. "I really don't think we have anything to discuss."

  Libby lit yet another cigarette, this time from the stub of the last one. "I don't think I remember you ever having a mean streak before."

  "I get it from you," Shelby said.

  "It's quite unattractive."

  “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  Libby emptied her drink glass and cracked a piece of ice between her teeth. Shelby had never seen her mother do anything like that before. It fascinated her.

  "I've come to a decision," Libby said. "After talking it over with Ray."

  "Have you? I'm so glad you two are collaborating. But you have all along, haven't you?"

  Her mother ignored her. "You'll come home with me. Tonight. On Monday you will go with me to the Camden reunion. On Tuesday you will see a psychiatrist. We already have an appointment."

  "We? Whoever 'we' are can certainly keep it."

  Libby screwed her lips together in a grimace of disapproval. It made her look as if she were sucking a lemon. "We have every intention of keeping it. And that includes you."

  "No, thanks," Shelby said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said 'no thanks.'"

  “This is not an invitation.”

  Shelby folded her arms and looked at her mother until Libby looked away. She felt as if she'd just won the Nobel Prize.

  "And most of all...," Libby said, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth now.

  She's reverting to type, Shelby thought.

  "...you will have nothing more to do with that woman. Ever. Do you understand?"