Praise Her, Praise Diana

by Anne Rothman-Hicks

  “It’s Daniel Meyers again.”

  “Please let’s talk to him this time,” Maggie said. “Please.”

  “If you insist.”

  She pushed the speaker button and put the phone back on the table.

  “Hello, Daniel?” Jane said. “You’re on speaker because I have Maggie Edwards here with me.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Meyers replied. “I’ll refrain from cursing at you for not calling me back all afternoon.”

  “I’m very sorry about that, Daniel,” Jane replied. “Somehow, I thought today was Saturday, so I didn’t carry my phone with me and check it every five seconds. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Time is running out, Jane,” Meyers said. “But before I have the litigators draft the summons and complaint, I thought I would call to see if Maggie had a chance to think some more about the offer Harry made at our meeting.”

  Jane looked at Maggie, who had plainly been expecting something more from Daniel. Her shoulders slumped. The tiny lines at the corners of her eyes deepened again.

  “Who are you trying to kid, Daniel?” Jane said angrily. “You’re telling me that you called my cell phone three times today to check on whether Maggie changed her mind? Seriously? I think you should call back when you have a better story. And until then, stop bothering Maggie and me. Goodbye.”

  “Hey, Jane! Slow down! Take it easy, huh? What’s the matter with you today?”

  “I’m tired, Daniel. I’m tired of Harry and I am increasingly tired of you. If you have something new to say, say it. Otherwise, this call is over.”

  “Okay, okay. Take it easy! It so happens there has been some movement on Harry’s part. I had a long talk with him. There are litigation costs we would prefer to avoid, and Harry sees that.”

  “And you might lose, Daniel.”

  There was a pause. Jane wondered if Harry was listening in on another line. She hoped so.

  “I don’t see any risk of that under the circumstances, Jane. But let’s not discuss it for now. Harry is willing to offer a settlement that is fair to everyone. The Portal will accept Diana in lieu of Staying There. We’ll exchange full releases of all obligations up to today. In return, Maggie gives us an option to serialize her next book. And we’d like to speed up the schedule for delivery of the chapters a little. We need the next chapter by tomorrow night. The following chapter by Wednesday.”

  From the moment Meyers said they would accept Diana, a look of relief had flooded Maggie’s face and her fists had clenched as she pumped her arms at her side. Now, she waved at Jane to catch her attention and mouthed the words, “Take it. No problem.”

  Jane frowned and shook her head.

  “First of all, Daniel,” she said, her voice still angry, “the only book you are getting an option on is Staying There, if and when it is written. No other books. No other strings.”

  There was another pause.

  “I’ll talk to Harry,” Meyers said finally. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Second of all, if you want Diana faster, you ought to pay more.”

  “Jane, that’s crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy. You want it twice as fast—you ought to pay twice as much. But I’ll recommend the new deal for fifty percent more.”

  Meyers said nothing. Jane waited. Maggie kept shaking her head but Jane ignored her, holding up her hand to get her to stop.

  “Jane,” Meyers said wearily. “You don’t know how long it took for me to get Harry to agree to this new deal. If you make me go back to him, the whole thing could be off.”

  “Talk to Harry and get back to me,” Jane said. “And tell him I want three thousand bucks for Maggie’s attorney fees, too. Which is a bargain. Good-bye.”

  She hung up the phone.

  “Jane, I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Maggie said. She sat on the very edge of the sofa. Her knees were locked together and her whole body seemed rigid. “This makes me so nervous. Please, call him and tell him we’ll take the deal he proposed. Please.”

  “Let’s give him five minutes, Maggie. I think I know what I’m doing.”

  “But you don’t understand how much I need this money. Jane, listen to me. I used the advance to make overdue payments to the bank. My tax bill is due in a week. I just can’t take the risk of losing this. Please call him back. Please, Jane.”

  Jane took Maggie’s hands in hers. They were ice cold. She saw the look of terror in her eyes.

  “Okay,” Jane said finally. “Just try to calm down, okay?”

  Maggie nodded her head quickly without speaking. Jane reached for the cell phone when it began to ring again. Jane pressed the speaker button.

  “Harry says twenty percent and not a penny more,” Daniel said.

  “Thirty per cent and that’s out last offer,” Jane rejoined.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Fine, you bastard. Get me something in writing tomorrow and the next chapter will be e-mailed to Anthony and Harry by tomorrow night.”

  “And twenty-five hundred for attorney fees,” Meyers said.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Jane replied. She winked at Maggie. “Okay.”

  She hung up and Maggie threw her arms around her, hugging her tight and kissing her first on one cheek and then on the other, over and over, the warmth of her body pressed hard against her.

  “Thank you, Jane,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  * * * *

  Afterward, a happy mood filled the living room of Maggie’s farmhouse as they listened to music and played cribbage and Clue and opened a second bottle of wine. Later, they turned off the lights in the living room and went onto the porch to enjoy the full moon. The yard and trees and surrounding fields were bathed in a pale light. The air was still very warm. Crickets chirped as though it were summer.

  “This is so great,” Jane said.

  “Would you like to take a walk? We could go out to the pond in the back. It’s very nice on a night like this.”

  Jane had no objections, so with full wine glasses they started on their way. At one point, Maggie gestured upward at the dark shapes weaving in and out through the air above them.

  “Bats,” she said. “Aren’t they amazing? It’s been so warm that the insects are still plentiful.”

  “Bats, huh? It’s a good thing I’m drinking. Any other wildlife I should be aware of?”

  Maggie laughed, put her arm around Jane and gave her a quick, reassuring hug.

  “Nothing to worry about. Small, cute animals like rabbits and raccoons. I’ve seen a fox on occasion, but he won’t be a problem until I start keeping chickens.”

  “You’re going to have chickens?”

  “That’s my plan. And goats, too. I hope to make cheese. ”

  They passed between the barn and the weather-beaten sheds that had been on the land when Maggie had originally purchased it. Beyond were the remains of an orchard, where several old apple trees stood with gnarled and twisted trunks, their leaves silvery in the moonlight. Nearby were the two young trees that they had planted in the afternoon, like the stick figures of children, although Maggie envisioned them bearing cherries and pears as full-grown trees in a few years.

  “I planted hybrid raspberries along the stone walls over there.” Maggie pointed into the darkness. “I’ll pick some tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

  “Wake me up,” Jane said. “I want to pick them too.”

  “If we’re lucky, we might see a snake or two.”

  “If we’re lucky, I might not have a heart attack.”

  As they walked, Maggie told Jane that one of the first things she did upon buying the house was to install a small windmill at the edge of the pond. It generated enough electricity to run a pump that aerated the water, making it clean and clear to the bottom. She also had a floating platform placed in the center of the pond where swimmers could rest or sun themselves.

  “This pond was important to me when I first saw the place. When I lived in the West
Village, I used to go at night to an old pier just two blocks north of Christopher Street. I would lie there alone listening to the river, watching the stars.”

  They stopped for a moment at the water’s edge. There were no houses around them, and Jane looked up at the huge expanse of sky, filled with stars. The moonlight and still air made the water look like glass, moving ever so gently, with barely a ripple.

  “The water’s still warm,” Maggie said. “We could go back to the house and get bathing suits. I’m sure I have one that would fit you.”

  “Strange you should mention it. I was just thinking that the last time I saw this many stars I was at camp in the Catskills and about sixteen. Me and a few other girls snuck out one night and went skinny-dipping.”

  She took a big swallow of wine, emptying the glass.

  “What are we waiting for?” asked Maggie.

  They stripped off their clothes and waded in up to their thighs, yelping at the water’s coolness on their naked skin, holding hands for courage, before Maggie dove in and started swimming. Jane followed, nearly catching her by the time Maggie reached the platform, where they both pulled themselves out of the pond, the moonlight glistening on their wet bodies. They sat for a moment on the edge of the platform, their feet dangling in the water, breathing heavily from the exertion.

  “That was the summer I lost my virginity,” Jane said then. “The head lifeguard thought I was in love with him. I just wanted a guy with some experience to do the deed.”

  “Why, Jane?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed like such a bother at the time. And the idea of saving myself for some man seemed ridiculous.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Dreadful.” She laughed. “And then he accused me of ruining it. I was turned off for the longest time. But I finally found that I could enjoy it, most of the time anyway, with the right guy.”

  “Someone like David?”

  Jane smiled and leaned backward onto her elbows.

  “That’s one of the few things he is good at,” she said.

  They sat in silence, facing the moon, entranced by the light falling on the grassy fields and the water.

  “It’s odd how things come out, Maggie. You know, I don’t believe I ever told anyone about that guy before. But it’s a bit magical out here, isn’t it? So peaceful and beautiful. I feel very much at home here. Maybe I was a farmer in a previous life. What do you think?”

  Maggie didn’t respond. Jane could see her shoulders pitch forward as though she were shivering.

  “Are you okay, Maggie?” Jane sat up. “Are you cold? Do you want to leave?”

  Maggie shook her head, turning slightly toward Jane to smile, although she used the flats of her hands to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m sorry. It’s nothing, really, Jane. You reminded me of a friend I had years ago who died. And the memory of her, along with the sheer relief of having resolved the problems with the book overwhelmed me for a moment. I’m just so happy to be here tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this good. I was thinking it was actually worth all that trouble with Harry and The Portal to have met you. To have you as a friend. I mean that, Jane. I’m deeply grateful.”

  She reached over and took Jane’s free hand in hers and squeezed it tight. Jane hugged her again. Their skin was pleasantly warm against the night air.

  “Can I tell you a secret now?” Maggie asked. “Not as a lawyer, Janey, but as a friend? Something that’s been bothering me?”

  “Of course, you can tell me anything.”

  Maggie swallowed hard.

  “This was back when I was still trying to write Staying There for Anthony. I was having a terrible time, as I told you. Hours and days and weeks went by, but I just couldn’t do it. And then one night a woman called me. She spoke in a phony Eastern European accent. She wouldn’t tell me her real name. She just called herself Diana, and said I was writing the wrong book.”

  “What?”

  “I figured that Heather must have told people how much trouble I was having. There were hints in my postings on the website. So this woman, out of nowhere, said I should write a book instead about a young woman who is picked up by two guys while hitchhiking. I should write about how they take her to a cabin in the woods and rape her, over and over again. I should write about her revenge.” Her hands gripped Jane’s like a vise. “When she said that, Jane, it was like a door opened for me from some sort of dungeon. The book spread out before me almost in one piece. I started to write it that night.”

  Now she turned, and her eyes searched Jane’s for a moment.

  “I don’t know who she is. I never found out. But she kept calling me, growing more and more insistent that I write the book. Every detail was my own creation; but it was her idea, and I can’t tell anyone. I would feel so foolish. Certainly, I can’t tell Smalley. He would never believe I’m not Diana. But you do, don’t you Jane? You believe me?”

  “Yes, Maggie. I do.”

  Again, Maggie looked deep into Jane’s eyes and seemed on the verge of saying more but stopped. Then she leaned forward and kissed Jane quickly and gently on the lips.

  “We should go,” Maggie said and got to her feet, pulling Jane up beside her. “We’ll both catch cold if we stay out here much longer.”

  Chapter Eleven

  That night, with hours still to pass until dawn, Diana sat alone. The shade and curtain on the nearby window blocked her view of the outside world. The dream had awakened her again and brought with it the familiar ache, low in her belly. If she willed it, the ache would grow stronger and stronger, and begin to burn like a fire that seemed able to consume her from within.

  And tonight she did will it.

  That was her punishment—the pain that never went away, reminding her of what she had lost; what was taken from her, what could never be replaced.

  But now she had a plan to end the pain forever. It was a plan with great risks, but great risks bring great rewards.

  She was ready for both.

  Chapter Twelve

  There is an area of Queens called Sunnyside, where row upon row of two-story brick houses line the streets. Detective Smalley and his wife had lived there for almost twenty years, since just before the birth of their son. Andrew, Jr. was now a sophomore at SUNY Geneseo studying to be a teacher, and Smalley sat alone in his son’s unlit bedroom. The chair he occupied had been in the living room for as long as he could remember, until the colorful flowers sewn into the fabric to resemble embroidery had begun to fray and they moved it upstairs. The windows were covered with freshly washed and ironed white polyester curtains that didn’t fit quite right because they had originally hung in the kitchen. Waste not, want not.

  He could hear his wife, Emily, in the kitchen below him. It was almost nine and she had been up since five thirty. She had vacuumed, dusted, done a load of laundry, emptied the dishwasher, and started cutting up the ingredients for a soup that would be their dinner along with a mixed salad and a crusty bread. She would ask him later to pick up a loaf at the bakery on the corner—that new Hungarian place. They were holding one in his name.

  Emily would be wearing a housecoat over her slip, and battered leather moccasins that he had given her for Christmas many years ago. She was unlike any woman he knew in her frugality, her hard work, and her attention to their son (who had a personal crisis every hour, it seemed, although everything had worked out fine so far). She was the perfect wife. Everyone said so. He said so. In twenty-two years—twenty-three if you count the year before they got married—she had never refused him. Even as a cop starting out, he would return at odd hours of the day or night, and she never said no. She never complained when overtime took him away from a planned dinner or made it impossible to fulfill some social obligation, no matter how much he knew she had been looking forward to it.

  The other cops were always carping about their wives. The old lady this, the old lady that. The shrew. The bloodsucker. Lazy. Fat. Stup
id. “All she knows how to do is spend my money.” How many cops did he know personally who had gotten divorced?

  He sat forward in the chair. He’d thought he heard her steps on the stairs.

  If she came in and saw him sitting alone in the darkened room, staring out the window, she would ask him if there was something wrong. Did he want to talk? Well, whenever he was ready, they’d sit down. Okay, Honey?

  Okay, Dear.

  It wouldn’t occur to her to pester him. Never in a million years. She was perfect. But she would worry about what was bothering him, and he didn’t want that. When she worried, she grew even quieter, worked harder, spent a little more time in church, lay closer to him in bed, awake, inviting him without actually asking. For many years, he had not been able to shake the thought that she did not really enjoy sex and did it only to please him—pretended to like it just to please him.

  What did it matter? He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Now he pulled his watch from the pocket of his pants that were slung over the chair. In an hour, he was supposed to meet Detective Glaser. The second young man found with his penis severed had drawn some attention at Police Headquarters. One amateur castration could be simple revenge for unfaithful behavior in its multitude of forms. Two of them, only days apart, started to be a problem. Multiple random murders make people nervous. Nervous people get the politicians restive. And detectives have to work overtime. Big deal. This wasn’t the first time Smalley had put in extra hours. He did what he had to do.

  Glaser wasn’t so easygoing about interruptions to his private life. He had been in Atlantic City, expecting two nights between the sheets with some new hottie, when he got the call to get his rear end back to New York. He was on his way now, struggling up the Garden State Parkway, cursing a blue streak, with his hottie pouting in the seat beside him. She didn’t get her money’s worth either.

  By the time Smalley met up with him, Forensics would have finished investigating at the apartment where the second murder occurred. Boring as hell, he’d always thought, but they did excellent work. Still, Smalley was increasingly certain that—like the first murder—forensics would find no trace of the killer—no prints, no blood, no bit of spit or skin to give a DNA profile. The most he hoped for was a reasonably accurate time of death, although too much time had passed for anything very precise there either.