Harvest

by Belva Plain

  She got into her own car, backed up to the far end of the parking lot under a dark tree, and turned off the headlights. Nameless fright kept her indecisive. She was timid about calling the police, yet she knew she ought to. Oh, God, if some terrible thing had happened— Yes, she must go at once to the police.

  And at that moment the light in the office went out. A few seconds later Theo came walking from the building with a woman. She watched. She saw them speak together for a moment and saw the woman—young, slim, wearing a nurse’s white uniform—reach her arms around Theo’s neck and kiss him. She kissed his mouth. Iris’s heart stopped.

  And when it started again, pounding, she went crazy. She jerked the bright lights on, slammed the accelerator with her foot, gunned the engine, and swung around the corner on two screeching wheels.

  Bastard! Bastard! On this awful night of their grief, he had been in that back room where the lamp had shone, where the leather sofa was, with her photo and the children’s on the shelf behind him so he could see them while he lay on some filthy tart, thieving another woman’s husband— Oh, he had their pictures everywhere, that one of Laura and herself in mother-daughter dresses, sprigged Liberty cotton, standing in front of a bank of pink azaleas when Laura was six years old, while he lay—bastard!

  He could well have had this planned all along and only pretended he needed to work off his nerves at the office.… If her hands had not been gripping the steering wheel, they would have been fists.

  So it had happened. And the suspicions against which she had fought, for which she had chastised herself so often and so harshly, had been justified after all.

  “Jealousy,” Mama warned, “is like poison in the veins.” Well, let the poison pour, taste the green-black bile of it. Taste it.

  Yes, I’m crazy now, she thought. But it’s the cunning craziness of a woman who wants to hurt. No more weeping, no more weakness; this time let there be only strength and cold revenge.

  Back in the house she went to the bathroom and locked the door. She ran a hot tub and lay down in it, not to wash herself, only to lie inert while her brain whirled and whirled. She was so numb with rage that she had not yet begun to feel pain. Later, she knew, it would come full force, but for now all she could think of was this need for revenge, how to hurt him without letting him know yet what he had done to her. That would come in good time, the right time.…

  He was knocking on the bathroom door, rattling the knob.

  “Iris? Are you all right? Why is the door locked?”

  “Because I wanted to lock it,” she said, clipping the words.

  “Iris, I know you’re still angry, but didn’t you hear the phone just now? There’s news.”

  “Yes?”

  “About Steve. Somebody made bail for him. Jimmy just called as I was coming up the stairs from the garage.”

  She got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. She wasn’t going to appear naked before him now, when he had just come from another naked woman. And she unlocked the door.

  “Well?”

  “Jimmy says it was one of the professors, actually that guy Powers, curse his soul, except I suppose one ought to be grateful. I don’t know, I’m all confused. But it seems he managed to arrange bail for a whole group of kids. Anyway, Steve’s out and on his way back to school, Jimmy says, or will be in the morning.”

  “Thank God. What happens next? Do you know?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

  “Jimmy—what a head he’s got—made inquiries and found out that Steve will have to appear back in Chicago. There’ll be a fine and a warning and—”

  The rest trailed away from Iris’s ears. Details didn’t matter. Steve was “out,” and that was all that did matter.

  Theo sat down and took off his shoes. “What a day! What a night! That Jimmy’s a prince. I hate to see him dumped on so much because of Steve. He shouldn’t have to be so responsible.” Theo was close to tears. “Well, Steve’s out of this mess, more or less, I suppose, for the time being anyway.” He looked up at Iris, who was still standing with a towel wrapped around her. “You must feel a lot better.”

  “I would feel a lot better if my son’s father, instead of a stranger, had provided for him.”

  He sighed again. “I’m sorry. Sorry about everything.”

  “Are you? What’s everything?”

  “Why, what do you think? That we have all this trouble. Sorry about being angry at each other tonight. But we’ll get through. We’ll be fine.”

  His smile made its appeal to her, the very smile that had touched her the first time she had seen it in her parents’ house, the small, wistful smile that women loved.

  “Why are you standing there? Come on, Iris, let’s get to bed. We surely need the rest.”

  Stony and grim in her wrath, she mocked him to herself: Tired? Oh, yes, after the energy you must have used up tonight! Liar. Liar. You’ll suffer, and you’ll never know why, unless and until I get ready to tell you why.

  She would not let him see her tears, although wild, passing terrors assailed her: that he had been having a long-term affair, that his lovemaking at home had been only a pretense all along, and even that he would one day come with guilt and sorrowful regret to ask for a divorce. Yes, it was quite possible that he would abandon her. It happened all the time.

  “When do you plan to talk to me again?” Theo asked after the fourth day of silence.

  “When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”

  “I had the firm here call a lawyer in Chicago. It’s not so bad after all. Steve was with a crowd that was only marching, obstructing traffic, nothing more. There’ll be a reprimand and a fine, which I’ll pay.”

  “Congratulations,” she said.

  “Iris, this isn’t like you. Why are you treating me like this?”

  Coldly, she stared at the lips that that woman had kissed, then at the hands that had stroked the woman, her breasts, her— This was the start down the slippery slope, at the bottom of which lay hatred. It would end with hatred. Theo and Iris would hate each other. It was possible.

  She wandered about the house all that morning. Pearl’s face, by its very blankness, betrayed her curiosity. It might have been a comfort to confide in her, but Pearl was not the right one. Nobody was. Friends certainly were not, for Theo’s reputation, if only for the children’s sake, must never be compromised. And her mother must not be burdened. Besides, Anna would just have offered platitudes. Only her father, only he could have helped, and he was gone.

  Too restless to plan anything for the rest of the day, Iris walked without aim into the yard. It was one of those rare mornings that bring a touch of sadness with them simply because they are so rare and will not last, with the porcelainblue sky unclouded, the trees heavy in moist, glossy leafage, and the air cool in the stirring of a light wind.

  Pearl called her to the telephone. “The doctor wants to speak to you, Mrs. Stern.”

  “I called,” Theo said in a formal manner, “to let you know that the appointment is definite. I am to be chief of the surgical staff.”

  This was validation of his worth, a proud achievement, especially for a man still in his middle forties. This was cause for jubilation, and it was a grievous thing not to be able to jubilate with full heart.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said with equivalent formality.

  “That’s all you have to say? In that flat voice?”

  “I’m sorry you don’t like my voice. I said it’s wonderful. What else am I expected to say?”

  “If you don’t know, never mind. There’ll be some recognition of it, some sort of announcement at the hospital dance. In the circumstances you ought to look especially good.”

  As good as your whore? she wanted to say, but said instead, “Most people say I always do.”

  “I meant, get a new dress. That’s all I meant.”

  She bit her words off one by one. “Very well. I’ll get a new dress.”

  The shop was in the summer doldrums, wi
th fall things just beginning to appear, so that Iris had all of Léa’s attention. Every chair and every hanger in the spacious pearl-gray dressing room held sumptuous silks, satins, and lace, tweed suits, dresses of French jersey, and hand-knitted sweaters.

  Iris studied herself front and back in the mirrored walls. Black lace fell in wide, soft flounces from the low neck to the floor; shoestring ties and bows of pale blue satin were scattered over the skirt and fastened the puffed, elaborate sleeves at the elbows. Her reflection brought a smile to her face. She was flushed, and her widened eyes were bright with her pleasure, just touched with bitterness, in her own image.

  “It’s so becoming,” Léa said. “But the lavender is lovely on you too. It’s a hard decision, isn’t it?”

  “No. I’ll take them both.”

  “Oh,” said Lea, the sound forming in part an exclamation and in part a question.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “No, not at all. I’m only pleased to have you back as a customer. You haven’t been in for a long time, though I do see your mother now and then. How is she?”

  “Doing pretty well. My father died, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Your mother is a lovely person. Is she planning to move?”

  “No, she likes her house.”

  This fashionable, shrewd woman asked too many questions. Her curiosity was the one thing Iris had never liked about coming here. Yet it was just her way—not very mannerly, but obviously she didn’t know any better. And she did have the best clothes in the city, no question about that.

  “I thought—so many widows move to Florida.” And as Iris did not reply, Léa continued, “I’m thinking that a pale blue satin stole would be perfect with that dress in case it gets cool in the evening. Otherwise, it looks stunning just held over your arm.”

  “Why, yes,” agreed Iris.

  She was spending a fortune. The moss-green suit, the royal-blue jersey, three sweaters, the checked tweed jacket, the striped white silk, and the two evening dresses must amount to several thousand dollars. She wasn’t going to bother calculating. Let Theo pay. He spent like a drunken sailor, anyway. God knew what he had spent on that creature, that whore.

  “Come out to the front and look at the stoles. We’ve also just gotten in some stunning Italian bags.”

  On this humid afternoon in the city there were more saleswomen than customers in front. Actually, there was only one other customer, a man who was making selections at a counter.

  Léa draped the blue stole over Iris’s shoulders. It framed a portrait of black eyes, red mouth, and white neck. “You see what I mean,” she said.

  “Yes. Yes, it’s perfect.”

  At the full-length pier glass Iris examined herself. That mere cloth could make one look so different was astonishing. Her face and figure were, after all, the same as ever. But no, her face was not the same; something had energized it so that it gleamed; whether the something was anger, resolution, despair, or all of these, instead of deadening, it had mysteriously enlivened.

  Then, in the glass, her eyes met the eyes of the man at the counter. He made no move to pretend that his glance had been accidental. She looked down, fingering the narrow, delicate fringe on the end of the stole. When she looked back up, his eyes were still on her. Only three or four seconds passed, yet within their space she realized two things: that the man’s frank stare was approving and also that it was Theo’s old familiar look, the one she had always pretended not to see.

  She turned to Lea. “I’ll take it, of course.”

  The man spoke. “If you’ll allow me to say so, you make a picture.”

  “Why, thank you,” Iris answered prettily. And she went back to the dressing room with a sense of having had a small triumph.

  They were talking in the outer room. “You’d be surprised,” the man was saying, “how much of a fad the American West has become in Europe. I picked up a rather nice little watercolor, a Navajo woman, this morning.” The voice was full and rich with an indeterminate accent, not like Theo’s accent, which was easily identifiable. “I owe a present to a friend in Geneva.”

  “A positive Santa Claus, you are.” This voice, young and slightly saucy, belonged to the smart young woman named Lucy who was apparently a partner in the business.

  “Yes, I didn’t do too badly here today, did I? But seriously, when you travel as much as I do, people entertain you, and unless I’m in a place where I have a home, I have no way of properly paying back except with gifts.”

  “The question is, where don’t you have a home? And now you’re buying another one.”

  “Only a little mountain house. A Swiss retreat from cities and Riviera crowds. Oh, don’t put that scarf back. I’m taking that one too.”

  When Iris came out of the dressing room, the man was just leaving, and Léa was saying, “I’ll have the white purse in tomorrow for you to look at, but in the meantime everything else will be delivered to you at the Waldorf. Good to see you as always, Mr. Jordaine. And you too, Mrs. Stern.”

  It seemed that Mr. Jordaine and Iris were going in the same direction. At the corner of the street, while waiting for the light to change, he remarked how pleasant it was to shop at Chez Léa.

  “It just occurred to me, too, that perhaps my compliment to you was forward of me. I’m sorry if it was, because I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “Oh, no—it was very kind of you.”

  That was a stilted answer, she thought, feeling awkward. Then, catching her reflection in a plate-glass window walking with this stranger, she felt more awkward still.

  He was an attractive man, though, well built and well dressed. His thick hair was cared for; he had good teeth; his gold cuff links were in quiet taste. It struck her as funny that she should be evaluating these details of his person while he must be doing the same to her. And she was glad she had worn the black linen, her best summer dress, a fine display for her round, bare arms and narrow waist.

  “The tropical summers of New York,” he observed.

  “Yes, I’m glad I don’t live in the city.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Westchester.” Flustered, not wishing to be rudely abrupt, she added, “I drove in. My car’s parked near Third Avenue.”

  They both crossed Park Avenue and both turned down-town. His packages were being sent to the Waldorf, so obviously he must be staying there.

  “I’m at the Waldorf,” said Mr. Jordaine. “I had planned to buy a small place for my New York visits, because I spend a couple of months here every year, all told, but the deal fell through, so I’ve taken a place in the Towers. Have you ever seen the Towers apartments?”

  “No, we—I—don’t know many people in the city. We—I—mostly stay close to home. With four children, one doesn’t—” She stopped. Clumsy, clumsy, she thought.

  But he appeared not to notice, continuing easily, “As far as I’m concerned, the Towers are all anyone could want. I shall probably make this place my permanent New York home.”

  Iris wished she could think of something interesting to say, something sparkling, while at the same time she wondered why it mattered whether she said anything at all, because in a minute or two they would be at the Waldorf and she would go on without him. Too bad! It was exhilarating to be striding down Park Avenue like this. If Theo could see her …

  Then she thought of a response. “A home when you’re not in Switzerland?”

  “How did you know about Switzerland?”

  “I could hear you from the dressing room.”

  “Really? It’s a good thing I wasn’t telling any secrets.”

  All at once words came. “Secrets are safe with me anyway.”

  Now, wasn’t that an odd thing to have said? Without prior thought it had popped out, sounding positively coquettish, even a trifle suggestive too. She felt herself blush.

  They had reached the front entrance of the hotel and paused. Mr. Jordaine looked down at Iris for a long moment.


  “I believe that,” he said seriously.

  “Why, how can you tell?”

  “I read people rather well. You’re an honorable person.”

  The moment prolonged itself, and then he said, “I don’t know about you, but this heat’s given me a terrible thirst. If you have a little time, I’d like to invite you in to have a drink.”

  Iris’s heart jumped. She wondered whether he had meant a drink in his apartment. Some women dared things like that even after a ten-minute acquaintance, she knew. Yes, and some women got themselves murdered by psychopaths for their daring. But in this case such a thought was ridiculous. This man was obviously a gentleman, a courteous European gentleman. Still, she certainly was not about to go upstairs with him.

  “The bar? Peacock Alley? Iced tea? Whatever you choose.” He smiled. “If you need a reference, you can call them at Chez Léa. They’ve known me for years.”

  She felt foolish. “No, of course I don’t need one. And iced tea will be lovely.”

  “I guessed you’d pick tea,” he said, following her to a table.

  “I don’t care much for liquor except wine with dinner.”

  Her heartbeat was still rapid. She could hardly believe what she was doing, sitting here with this stranger, ordering tea and cake. He faced her across a bowl of fragrant white flowers. People were moving around the room. The fragrance and the motion made her faintly dizzy.

  “Well, this is an unexpected encounter, isn’t it?” he began.

  “Very. It’s nice here, so cool and dim.”

  “A chance to recharge before you go home to the four children.”

  “They’re all away for the summer. Two are grown, anyway. One son’s getting ready for medical school in a year or so.”

  “One wouldn’t guess it to look at you.”

  She tried gaiety. “Oh, yes, I’m an old lady.”

  “Hardly. Especially in that dress you just bought. I hope you’re going to wear it someplace where it will be appreciated.”