by Joy Fielding
“Hell, man, if people are that stupid, they deserve to get shot. Of course, then half of Hollywood would be dead.”
They drove for several minutes in silence, Casey absorbing each bump in the road. She was amazed to discover she was actually enjoying the sensation, enjoying the fact she was out of the hospital, out of her bed, and speeding down the street. She felt her body take flight and soar above the traffic, at one with the air. For several minutes, she wallowed in the illusion of freedom. For several minutes, she surrendered to the possibility of happiness.
“Instead, what happens is that innocent people, like Mrs. Marshall here, are the ones getting hurt,” Ricardo continued. “Bet that guy who hit her is doing just fine. No injuries there. No, it’s always the innocent who suffer. How are you doing back there, Mr. Marshall?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Ricardo.”
“Somebody said you’re a lawyer. Is that right?”
“Guilty as charged,” Warren said. “Who told you that?”
“One of the nurse’s aides. Patsy something. Lukas, I think her name is.”
“The one with the big—” Tyrone began, then broke off, either because he realized such comments might be considered inappropriate, or because he felt no further words were necessary.
“That’s the one,” Ricardo said.
“She’s pretty hot,” Tyrone said.
“If you like that type.”
“What’s not to like?”
“Actually,” Warren broke in. “I’ve hired Patsy to help take care of my wife.”
“No kidding,” Tyrone said sheepishly.
Casey pictured Tyrone hunkering down in his seat, burying his chin inside his jacket.
“She’s been wonderful to my wife.”
You mean she’s been wonderful to you.
“She’ll be waiting for us at the house,” Warren said.
Oh, great. Something to look forward to.
The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, the men in the front seat obviously having concluded that silence, along with discretion, was the better part of valor. The ambulance transferred onto the expressway without incident, and Casey found herself mentally ticking off the exits. Montgomery Drive … City Avenue … Belmont Avenue … They passed the town of Gladwynne and continued on through Haverford to Rosemont, eventually approaching the exit onto Old Gulph Road.
Old Gulph Road was a wide, winding street lined with lots of tall, leafy trees, where stately mansions sat on several acres well back from the road, and meandering horse trails took the place of sidewalks. Between 1775 and 1783, Revolutionary soldiers had been lodged in many of the older homes, as they’d been in houses all along the Main Line. Later, Old Gulph Road became home to soldiers of an entirely different sort: soldiers of fortune, men of money.
Men like Ronald Lerner.
Casey’s father had purchased the house on Old Gulph Road over his wife’s strenuous objections. Alana Lerner had had no desire to leave her larger, even more palatial estate on Brynnmaur for the somewhat smaller residence on Old Gulph Road, and their arguments leading up to the eventual purchase were both numerous and heated.
“We’re not selling this house,” Casey remembered her mother shouting as Casey blocked her ears and tried to study for an upcoming exam. She’d come home for the weekend only at her father’s insistence. He’d entered them in the parent-child golf tournament at the club, where they were last year’s defending champions. Drew was away at boarding school.
“What’s your problem?” her father shouted back. “The girls are away at school. We spend more time traveling than we do here. We don’t need such a big house anymore. And I’d like to be closer to Merion.”
“You expect me to move so that you can be closer to your girlfriend?” Alana’s outrage all but shook the crystal chandelier in the main foyer.
“Merion Golf Course, you idiot,” her father roared, and Casey had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“I’m not moving,” her mother insisted, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
“It’s a done deal,” came her father’s final word.
He’d taken Casey to see the house right after they’d won the tournament. It sat in the middle of three well-manicured acres, contained fourteen large rooms, seven full bathrooms and one powder room, and boasted ceilings that were almost twenty feet high. Casey knew that no amount of furniture would ever make this house feel like a home.
“What do you think?” Ronald Lerner asked his daughter.
“It’s pretty formidable.”
“It’s almost three thousand square feet smaller than the house we’re in now.”
“Still pretty big.”
“How would you decorate it?” There was a mysterious twinkle in her father’s eyes.
“I’d put a Biedermeier table over by that wall,” she’d said immediately, “and a couple of overstuffed sofas over there, another sofa over there, and maybe a grand piano in that corner.”
“Sounds good. Knock yourself out.”
“Really? You’re saying I can decorate? The whole house? Not just my room?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Casey was so excited she would have hugged her father had he not already been walking away.
Of course, it hadn’t worked out that way. The next time Casey returned home, with a binder full of ideas and magazine clippings, the new house was already in the hands of professional decorators. She had no say in anything.
After her parents died, her father’s will stipulated that the house be retained until Drew reached the age of thirty, at which point it was to be sold and the profits divided. In the meantime, one or both daughters could live in it, and the estate would pay for its taxes and general upkeep.
Initially, neither girl had wanted to live in that awful “mausoleum,” as Drew had christened it, and it was only after Casey’s marriage that Warren was able to convince her they should give it a try. “Now’s your chance to decorate it exactly the way you always wanted,” he told her. “Consider it your grand experiment.”
Casey had agreed to the challenge, but once they’d actually moved in, she found herself strangely reluctant to change much of anything. This wasn’t really her house, she’d quickly decided, trying to persuade Warren to relocate back to the city. But he loved living in Rosemont, and so she’d agreed to stay in the area. They could take their time looking for the perfect family house. After all, Warren had reminded her, they didn’t have to move out until Drew turned thirty.
Which was little more than a year from now, Casey realized, as the ambulance began to slow down.
“It’s just two houses past this bend in the road,” Warren instructed.
“Yup. There’s Patsy waiting at the front door,” Ricardo said as he turned the ambulance up the long, circular driveway.
“Lookin’ good,” Tyrone added quietly.
Warren squeezed Casey’s fingers. “We’re here, sweetheart,” he said. “Home, sweet home.”
EIGHTEEN
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Marshall?” Patsy was asking. “I can have the housekeeper put on a fresh pot of coffee before she leaves.”
“How about something a little stronger?”
“You name it.”
“A gin and tonic sounds pretty good right about now.”
“Then a gin and tonic it shall be.”
“Why don’t you fix yourself a glass as well?”
“Really?”
“It’s been a hectic day. I think we both deserve a break.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marshall. I’ll be right back.”
“Patsy …”
“Yes, Mr. Marshall?”
“Didn’t we agree to dispense with the formalities? I insist you call me Warren.”
A satisfied sigh. “I’ll be right back, Warren.”
“The gin’s in the cabinet beside the bar,” Warren called after her. “And there should be lots of tonic in the fridge.”
“I’ll find it,” Patsy called back, her footsteps retreating down the stairs.
“How about you, sweetheart?” Warren asked, a solicitous hand brushing across Casey’s forehead. “I wish there was something I could get for you. Are you okay? Do you even know where you are?”
Casey felt her heart quicken at her husband’s touch, the way it always had. Except before, it had been desire that had fueled its pace. Now it was fear.
“You must be exhausted,” he continued. “All that moving. All that jostling around. Quite a busy day for you. But you’re as snug as a bug in a rug now. Isn’t that what they say? I hope you like your new bed. It looks comfortable enough. It certainly should be—it cost a small fortune. I let the delivery guys take away the old bed. I figured we wouldn’t need it anymore. It was always a little girly for my taste anyway. And once you’re all better, we can start house hunting again. Then we’ll just buy everything new. You’ll be able to have everything exactly the way you want it. Lots of bright colors and animal prints. How does that sound?”
Sounds wonderful, Casey thought, wondering why her husband was being so nice to her. Was someone else there?
“I’ve moved into the master bedroom,” he continued. “I know you never liked that room, but it obviously doesn’t have the same memories for me that it has for you, so I just transferred my stuff into there, temporarily.”
You’ve moved into my parents’ bedroom?
“I don’t think your dad would mind too much. And I thought you should have your own space. I’d just be in the way in here. I’ve positioned your bed so that it looks out the back window, and if you stretch your neck just a bit, you can actually see the creek behind the weeping willow. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. Probably if you want to see the creek, you might actually have to get out of bed. So that’s something to aspire to. Can you hear me, Casey? Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
I hear you. I don’t understand anything.
She was home. That much she understood. In the lilac-and-white bedroom that had been hers since she was in her late teens, the same room she and Warren had been sharing since the day they’d moved back here.
Except he’d gotten rid of their queen-size bed and moved into the master bedroom. She’d be sleeping in this new bed alone.
Where would Patsy be sleeping? she wondered.
The phone rang. Casey felt Warren rise from his chair beside the bed. Which chair? she wondered. The mauve-and-cream-striped armchair that normally sat against the far wall, next to the gas fireplace, or one of the two floral tub chairs that normally sat in front of the large bay window?
“Hello?” Warren said. “Oh, hello, Gail. Yes, Casey’s fine. We got home about lunchtime, and I’m sorry, I know I said I’d call, but it’s been very hectic.”
It has?
Actually, it had been pretty quiet, Casey thought. Once the ambulance attendants had maneuvered her stretcher up the stairs and settled her in her new bed, she’d been left pretty much on her own for the rest of the afternoon. Patsy had checked in on her regularly, turning on the large flat-screen TV on the opposite wall, monitoring her blood pressure, and setting up the intravenous hookup to her feeding tube. Warren had stuck his head in the door occasionally to check on her and say hello, but other than the constant drone of the television, it had been very quiet. Of course, she’d fallen asleep in the middle of Guiding Light and only awakened to the sound of sirens from the five o’clock news, so maybe it had been more hectic than she’d realized.
“Yes, she seems to be resting comfortably. Her blood pressure spiked a little bit when we first got her home, but it’s pretty much back to normal now, and hopefully, it’ll stay that way. That’s why I’d like to hold off on her having any visitors for at least a few days, if you don’t mind. I know how anxious you are to see her, and the flowers you and Janine sent are lovely, of course, as always. I have them sitting on the table beside Casey’s bed.”
Casey sniffed at the air, detected the subtle fragrance of lilies of the valley.
“I’d just like to give Casey some time to adjust to the change,” Warren continued. “You know, to make sure she’s getting the proper nourishment, all that stuff. If you could just hold off for another day or two … Thanks. I knew you’d understand. Of course I will. And if you wouldn’t mind calling Janine … Thanks. Okay. Great. I’ll tell her. Of course. Good-bye.” He hung up the phone. “Gail sends you all her love, says she can’t wait to see you, that she has lots to tell you. Whatever that means. She also asked me to give you a kiss.” Warren leaned closer, planted a delicate kiss on the side of her cheek. “Any excuse to kiss my girl,” he said, as the sound of ice cubes tinkling in a glass echoed through the room.
“Everything okay?” Patsy asked, approaching.
“Everything’s fine,” Warren answered. “Casey seems to be resting comfortably.”
“How about you?”
“Me? I’ll be fine once I have a sip of this. Thank you.”
“I hope it’s not too strong.”
“There is no such thing.” Casey heard him take a sip. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Mrs. Singer says dinner’s in the warming oven. I told her she could go home.”
“Thank you. I didn’t realize it was so late. She usually leaves by five.”
Who’s Mrs. Singer?
“Has she been with you long?” Patsy asked.
“Just since Casey’s accident. I was having trouble managing on my own.”
“I don’t doubt it. This is an enormous house. You didn’t have full-time help before?”
“Casey never wanted it. She grew up with a houseful of servants. It conjures up bad memories for her.”
“I see,” Patsy said, although clearly, she didn’t.
“We were managing very well actually. We had a cleaning lady come in twice a week. It was enough. We were doing fine,” he said, the ice in his glass clinking.
“Who did the cooking?”
“Well, we ate out a lot, especially when we were both working in the city. Other times, we’d improvise. If Casey was home, she’d whip up some pasta. If I got off work early, I’d throw a few steaks on the barbecue.”
“And how do you like your steaks?” Patsy asked.
“Rare,” Warren said. “Almost blue.”
“Yikes.”
“Yikes?” Warren repeated with a laugh.
“I’m afraid I’m one of those Philistines who likes their meat well-done.”
“No!” Mock horror filled Warren’s voice. “You cook all the flavor out of it that way.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’ll have to try one of my steaks.”
“Any time.”
“But only on condition that you have it rare.”
“Oh, dear. Could we compromise on medium?”
“How about medium rare?” he countered.
“It’s a date,” Patsy said.
Well, isn’t this nice and cozy.
“Sorry,” Patsy apologized immediately. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“I know that.”
You know nothing of the sort.
“I hope you like garlic,” Warren said.
“I love it.”
“Good. Because my steaks are loaded with it. I’m not kidding. It’ll be days before you can kiss your boyfriend.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have one.”
Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. It sure beats the hell out of Guiding Light.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Warren asked.
“It’s not that easy to meet people in this city. Trust me.”
Yeah, right.
“Yeah. I guess you have to be lucky.”
“Like you were,” Patsy said.
Casey felt two sets of eyes travel in her direction.
“Yeah,” Warren agreed. “Like I was.”
“I was married once,” Patsy volunteered after a p
ause. “It was annulled,” she added quickly.
“Really? What happened?”
“Nothing.” Patsy laughed. “Nothing happened at all. And I mean that quite literally. The marriage was never consummated.”
“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
“I thought he was shy,” Patsy said, a touch of wistful-ness in her voice. “Turns out he was gay.”
“Honestly? And you had no idea?”
“I was very young. Barely eighteen. What did I know? I mean, you think you know everything at that age, but … Stupid me, I thought the fact he never tried to get past first base meant he respected me. Can you beat that?”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. We lost touch. I think he moved to L.A. He was real good-looking. Everyone was always saying how he should be an actor or something.”
“Well, obviously he was a very good actor if he fooled you.”
“I don’t know. I can be pretty gullible sometimes.”
The phone rang again.
“Excuse me,” Warren said, answering it. “Hello?” A slight pause. “Janine, hi. How are you?”
Casey pictured him rolling his eyes toward the high ceiling.
“Would you like me to refresh your drink?” Patsy whispered.
“That would be great, thank you,” Warren said. “Yes, Janine, that was indeed Patsy. She just offered to get me a cup of tea. Is that all right with you? Okay, okay. Sorry for the tone. It’s been a long day…. Yes, I know I said I’d call. Gail phoned here earlier. I asked her to tell you…. Yes, that’s right…. Because I think Casey needs time to acclimatize herself to her new surroundings. She was in the hospital a long time. The move was bound to be a jolt to her system. Her blood pressure was a little high…. Yes, it’s almost back to normal now, but I think she could benefit with a few days’ rest, and then the Middlemarch marathon can resume…. Yes, Saturday would be perfect…. Sounds good. Okay. Yes, I promise I’ll call if anything changes between now and then. Oh, and thanks for the flowers. They’re lovely. As usual. Okay, good. We’ll see you and Gail on Saturday. Bye.” He hung up the phone.
“That was Janine,” he told Casey. “I don’t think she’s Patsy’s biggest fan.” A slow release of breath. “Oh, well. Can’t please everybody. So, how are you doing, sweetheart? Are you hungry? I think Patsy will be getting you your dinner soon. It’s very interesting how she does it, incidentally. I watched her earlier. She opens the clamp on your feeding tube—the clamp is called a stopcock, believe it or not—and then she connects the tube in your stomach to the intravenous hookup. It’s all quite easy. The wonders of modern science and all that. Anyway, as soon as you start swallowing on your own, we can remove the feeding tube altogether, which will be a big relief, I’m sure. Then we can start getting some real food into you, put some fat back on those bones. Maybe you could even join Patsy and me for one of my famous steaks.” He took Casey’s hand and raised it to his lips as Patsy reentered the room.
