Our Seas of Fear and Love

by Richard Shain Cohen

  “First, why don’t you get in bed and rest?”

  “What do you think my music is?”

  “I know.” She felt the embrace of love in her heart, aware they had just exchanged their feelings for one another. “Are you sure, though, you wouldn’t want to lie down.”

  “I’m sure. I’m no different than yesterday.” He knew she had something she wanted to say. “Tell us, Brigit.”

  She laughed. “I’m too transparent. Some woman.” Maybe that’s how she got him so easily. “Gregory, Pamela, I’ve got an idea. Mary knows someone on the museum Board. If so, perhaps we can get her to talk to the person, ask him to call a meeting or something like that, to check the finances.” By now she was nervous, troubled she was interfering.

  “Well,” Gregory answered, “that’s keeping it in the family. It’s the family that’s going to suffer from the whole rotten thing anyhow.”

  Brigit quickly took to Mary. “Try her, Greg.” Mary will be hesitant. Or maybe she’ll be glad. We both love that woman.

  That evening, Gregory called Mary, asked her to come over alone after her dinner. She and Evelyn had now bought a house. Brigit had also called her home, lied, something that bothered her terribly, and said that Gregory wasn’t feeling too well. She’d explain later. She turned red-faced from the phone. Pamela pretended not to notice. To ease the awkwardness, Brigit told them, “Well, we’ve got a guest nurse for the rest of the day. Tell Andrea to take time off so we’ll have privacy.” Her voice caught, “I’ll make dinner for us.”

  Thus, in effect, Brigit moved in that day and took over the home. Still somewhat nervous, she wanted to shower, wished she had brought a change of clothes. Later she asked Pamela if she could use Melinda’s vacant room and bathroom. She wanted to rest, if she could. She would run a bath, rather than shower, and then rest, perhaps sleep for a while.

  Hearing the bath running, Pamela knocked. “Brigit, may I come in?”

  “Why yes. I decided to lie in the bathtub, relax.”

  “That’s what I wanted to see you about. Brigit, I’m scared, really scared. I think of what’s going to happen and it makes me so nervous. I feel as though there’s always going to be a black mark against us. And here we are conspiring against my mother. My conscience, maybe. I know Melinda is feeling it. We talk when she has time. She said she’d get time off and come home. I told her you’re here a lot. She was glad but worried about your family.”

  “Pamela, my family is fine. I know the children are O.K. The maid will get dinner. If he needs me, Thomas will call.” She wanted to tell Pamela she felt comfortable here but said nothing. “I’m nervous too, Pam.”

  “I was thinking, what if my mother suddenly appeared. What would happen?”

  “If that happens, we’ll take care of it then. Now don’t worry about that. You know what happens when women face off against one another. Besides, your dad is here. He’s no weakling. He can handle her himself.” Suddenly Brigit stopped, looked straight at Pamela, realizing she had revealed so much of herself.

  “You hate my mother, don’t you? You hope she’ll go to jail, and she will.”

  “Well,” Brigit stammered. “Well, one time I did hate her.” She decided to be honest. Why avoid the truth? Pamela was a very intelligent woman. “Maybe I still do, but there’s no reason. I have my own family. I’m aware you know your father and I love one another. There’s no sense in denying that. You probably think I’m a terrible woman, deceitful. But I despise what’s going to happen with your mother and what’s she’s done.”

  Ignoring the last of her words, Pamela answered, “I did once think you were trying to destroy our family when you first appeared. But I knew better. I trusted you almost from the beginning. And I meant what I told you. I do love you, Brigit, and I still wish . . . .”

  “Shhh. I know.” And they kissed again, hugged, held each other tightly, crying for themselves, one another, and the horror of Deirdre.

  “Pamela,” softly, “You wet me, Brigit. Is it O.K. if I get in the tub too?”

  “I’ll leave, if you prefer, but it won’t embarrass me if we’re in here together.”

  “No. You can stay. It doesn’t faze me either. We can relax and talk.” She undressed. “The water’s so nice and warm.”

  ~

  Mary did come alone and promised not to tell Evelyn.

  After the greetings and cheek kisses, Mary told them she did know a doctor on the Board. They did want to protect the papers they found. So, the next day, Mary put them through a Xerox. Returning them, she tried to stay calm but couldn't prevent her outburst.

  “Fuck your Deirdre, Greg. I knew all along she was poison. Godamn you, Greg. I tried to tell you.”

  “Shut the hell up, Mary.” His voice was raspy.

  Mary stepped back, startled both by what she said and her brother's temper. Worried about the effect on him and Brigit whose presence her temper had neglected, she started to apologize, to Pamela, Brigit, and him. She choked back her tears but then placed her hand to her mouth, crying, her face wretched. She looked at Brigit whose face had become pallid. Mary reached out her arms for her. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean to hurt you, not for anything. I love you so.”

  Brigit tried to smile. There was no need for apology, for Mary was thinking of her and how Greg had abandoned her for a temptress. “There’s no need, Mary,” she weakly replied. “I love you too, and I understand what you meant. It just . . . .” and she stopped, trying to hold back tears for the past. Both women were hugging, Pamela gazing, relaxed some. This was her family. Here was love, something Melinda and she had missed from a fiendish mother who had borne them.

  Gregory pushed himself from the sofa, and went to them, pleading softly, “Don’t. It's all right. I realize what I did. Please, Mary.” She released Brigit, and leaned into him. “Forgive me,” through her sobs. “Oh, God, forgive me, both of you.” She tried to fake a laugh. “But I won’t take back a word about that bitch.” She sniffled some, wiped lightly at her eyes. “I’ve got to call Evelyn. I promised. She feared there was something wrong with Greg when I wouldn’t tell her why I was coming.”

  The thought of Evelyn cheered and softened her. One day they would marry, if that were ever allowed. She wanted to get back to her, to feel Evelyn’s arms about her, the tenderness, the softness of her body, her scent. But this wreckage Deirdre had created. That must be taken care of. She called the doctor in Boston, told him she’d come down for a day and would tell him then why it was urgent to see him. You’re a dead woman, Deirdre. That fake cosmopolitanism, that desire for fortune and social upper crust. What are you going to do when you fall into the sewer you created for yourself?

  ~

  Deirdre appeared at home suddenly about two days later to find Pamela out and Brigit alone with Gregory. She walked into the bedroom, surprising them, having seen Brigit tending Gregory, taking his temperature, wiping his forehead, helping him get ready for a doctor’s appointment. He stood partially undressed.

  “What’s going on here?” She startled them.

  “You’re home,” Gregory calmly told her. “You were gone long enough. Did you see your Frenchman?”

  She ignored him. “What is she doing here?” She glared at Brigit.

  Brigit, quite calm, answered her, “I’m taking care of your husband. I’m a nurse, remember? And,” her voice hardening, “you’re never here when he needs attention.”

  “And nurses fuck like the rest of us.” Suddenly Deirdre stopped, knowing she had condemned herself, then staring at Brigit, her face hardened, her eyes bright with hatred, “Well, you go and finish, nurse dear. You don’t need me.” She thought of Pamela. “Where’s Pam?”

  Brigit answered calmly, sarcastically, “I told her to go out and enjoy herself, that I’d take care of everything.”

  “Well, I hope it was a good fuck, dear,” and Deirdre abruptly left, decided to look at mail. Then she saw it. The letter was from the Board requesting her appearance for a hearing. Her he
art raced. She forgot Gregory and Brigit immediately, thinking that she must get to Étienne. She also told herself she would never enter this house again. She walked quickly to the bedroom. “Gregory Hurwitz. I’m leaving this house. I’ll get a lawyer if and when.” She had no idea of how ironically she had spoken.

  Gregory looked at the crumpled letter she held tightly in her hand.

  “What’s that letter, Deirdre?”

  She glanced at the letter. “I have a Board meeting in a couple of days. That can’t be of any interest to you. Nothing I do apparently is. The two of you, get out of my bedroom. Get a sleazy motel room for yourselves. I have to pack.” She hesitated but could not hold back. “I’ll be leaving this house. You can fuck here, although who knows if it comes to a divorce.”

  “Well, Deirdre, before we enjoy ourselves, why don’t you explain these.” Gregory then went to a drawer where he had hidden the papers. “Brigit,” he knew he shouldn’t have used her name, “found these and thought they might explain some of the museum pieces in the house. Oh, and that money I’ve never seen.”

  “What are you talking about? And that bitch has already taken over my house. Look at her like she’s the protecting Virgin Mary. You fuck her in our bed, don’t you?”

  “Or MY bed. And don’t you insult her.

  “Now explain these.” He held out the papers.

  Her face paled, her hands shook, and she felt a shock through her body as though she had placed her finger in a socket. She felt unsteady, as her eyes seemed to fail her. She did manage to move to him more slowly than she intended. Her body it seemed was failing her. Her heart pounding, she reached, managed loudly, “Give me those. They’re . . . .”

  “They’re proof that you’re a liar and a thief. Now get the hell out of my house. Call your lawyer.”

  She steadied herself, her voice low and menacing, “I’ll get you, Gregory. You watch your back. And while you’re at it, protect that bitch, hiding in the corner there, your . . . .”

  “Whore? Is that what you were about to say, Mother?” as Pamela walked in.

  “Mother. Mother?” Pamela’s eyes filled with tears. “Mother. Shit. You hate all of us. When I needed a hug, even advice, where were you? Robbing? With that Frenchman? Did you ever love us, Melinda, Kaitlin. Oh, Kaitlin,” and she sobbed. “Get out of our lives, whoever you are. I heard it all. Any love I thought I had,” she continued sobbing. “Oh. damn,” and she ran to Gregory, who himself weak from the confrontation, held her as tightly as he could and led her to the bedroom chaise to comfort them both, while Brigit, scared for Gregory, glared at Deirdre as she went to make certain he was all right. “Why don’t you just get your things and leave? This man is sick. Sick, you hear me, and somehow I’ll take care of him for as long. . . .” And she stopped, her face colorless, thinking of Gregory dead.

  ~

  In Belmont, she went to Étienne’s house that felt more like home to her. She was weary of all those years of Gregory’s illness. Here she felt secure from that eventual fatality, increasing her enjoyment of her sexual encounters with her lover-business partner. Here in Boston and Belmont, she was Étienne’s wife. He was attentive and kept no photos of the Frenchwoman to remind Deirdre of her temporariness. Although occasionally she recognized she was a paid mistress, more like a prostitute, she also knew the apparent admiration of Belmont’s and Boston’s social whirl. Here she was rid of Gregory and the concerns of motherhood. Melinda and Pamela were grown women who also were no longer her problem. If necessary, they could rely on their father until that CLL killed him, soon she hoped. No more unwanted sexual humoring. The visions of their encounters disgusted her, his more difficult breathing when she handed or mouthed him, or as he entered and moved to her pretended willingness. No more. Now she was alone until Étienne came. Only it wouldn’t be until after her meeting with the Board. Until then she was alone. I’m alone. Jesus, oh Jesus, God, I’m scared. What are they confronting me with? I’d almost just as soon have Gregory with me. I’d welcome his fingers and hands, his penis pulsating in me. I don’t want to be alone. Where the hell are you, Étienne?

  She hardly ate anything, walked continuously about the house, put on the TV. Nothing satisfied her. She undressed late, lay naked on the bed, and in an attempt to quiet herself, she placed her fingers below, moved them inside, sucked the wetness, rubbed, trying to arouse herself by imagining Étienne, as she did so many times lying on her back allowing Gregory inside her. But she stopped, turned on her stomach. Wetting her pillow with tears, she was a woman moaning a family death. Perhaps she should return to Gregory, even though it would mean begging. That is what she would do. She’d be a helping wife, even though she no longer cared. I never loved him. You knew it from the beginning. It was a game. But somehow I’ll make it up to him and the girls. Do you really want that? You took him away from that weak bitch just to show your power to tantalize. And what did you get for it? Why the hell didn’t you stay with Étienne, marry him? Crap. I don’t know what I want. Tomorrow. I’ll take care of that too. Charm them as I always have.

  ~

  Her first activity of the morning when she woke from a restless sleep was to place a call to Étienne who was in Philadelphia where he said he had to see an art dealer who could help them. She asked him to come to Boston that day because of the meeting. She wanted to talk to him afterwards. She had already called and told him about the meeting, of her concern regarding the tone of the person who contacted her.

  “Well, what did you do to cause any unease, if there is any?”

  “I don’t know,” she lied.

  “Don’t play games with me, Deirdre. What’s it about?”

  They want to ask about some money and contributions to the museum.” She hesitated. “They may ask about provenance. I don’t know,” she desperately replied.

  “ Calm yourself. Are you telling me everything? I can take care of provenance. What about the contributions?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I can’t think of anything,” she answered plaintively.

  Étienne caught her tone, the dread. He never told her he had talked to an ally on the Board who told him there were questions about her, that he was uncertain whether it involved Étienne; but the ally would be in touch after, or even during, the meeting.

  Finishing the conversation, she went angrily through her wardrobe. He’s questioning me. Should I worry? I can handle him. Forget it. I have a date with my hairdresser. But what to wear? She decided on a rose-colored dress adorned with small sequined flowers from the bust to the waist, print on the skirt. At the hairdresser early, the woman shaped her hair to show its wave that curved just above her neck. The manicurist did her fingernails in light red. Her lipstick matched. She wore Indian turquoise earrings that hung below her hairline. Satisfied, after lunch, which she barely ate, she took a taxi to the museum.

  The meeting began as usual. Deirdre looked directly at each member, holding her back erect, forcing herself to smile when necessary, pretended to take notes, until the chairman addressed her. “Mrs. Hurwitz.”

  Though she felt her heart quicken, she answered calmly, smiling flirtingly at him, looking away, then back; for she knew he had always wanted to approach her privately but was too afraid.

  The chairman cleared his throat, saddened. “Mrs. Hurwitz. You’ve met the auditor.”

  “Yes.”

  “He seems to have found some discrepancies. We need your answers.”

  “Why, of course.” Now her voice shook slightly, her poise disappearing some.

  “Mrs. Hurwitz,” the auditor continued. “There are over $14 million dollars that appear unaccounted for.”

  She managed. “I don’t know why.” She felt herself failing, wondering how long she could maintain the costume in which she psychologically tried to clothe herself.

  Now he was direct. “We’ve called in an investigator. Bluntly. The money’s missing, and we believe you know where it is.”

  “You what?” she managed unbelievingly. �
�You’re accusing me of theft? Do you understand what you’re saying?”

  “Very well. You can make it easier if you just tell us . . . . And, naturally, there’s some question about the provenance of several pieces.”

  “This is absurd. I resent what you are accusing me of.” The self-assured, tantalizing woman was disappearing, the costume falling, leaving her naked, unprotected. She interlaced her fingers. “I resent this,” she said more quietly. Recovering some, she told them, “I’ll gather everything I have, all my records, and report to you tomorrow at which time I’ll expect an apology.”

  The man’s voice hard, “We will give you until tomorrow not only to tell us about the funds but also the pieces we suspect were stolen that you and your partner, or one or the other, sold to the museum. And please, Mrs. Hurwitz, all exits from the city will be watched. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, we have a policewoman who will be with you tonight and with whom you’ll return tomorrow. We will also be calling in the FBI. If we are wrong, you will receive our deepest apologies,” this last sounding rather sarcastic.

  Deirdre stood her full length, showing herself an assured, desirable woman. “You bring on your guard, gentlemen,” she coldly told them. “I’ll see you tomorrow and expect that apology and legal compensation when I sue you for defamation.”

  ~

  Although the plain-clothed policewoman accompanied her to Étienne’s Boston apartment, Deirdre slammed the study door to close her out, and desperately called Étienne; but he was already on his way to Boston. She sighed. He’d know what to do.

  “There’s food in the refrigerator,” she told the policewoman. “Go and make yourself something. I’m eating later. And, oh, you’ll have to sleep on the sofa, but it is comfortable.”