Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel

by Deanna Lynn Sletten

  "Here, I picked up the mail earlier." Denise walked across the room and handed several envelopes to Katherine. She sifted through them finding nothing interesting, only the electric bill, her Visa bill, and a contest entry to win one-million dollars. The only one that stood out was a large manila envelope addressed by her own typewriter. Oh, great, another rejection letter.

  Denise looked at Katherine with a worried frown. "What’s the matter?"

  "Oh, nothing. Just the usual." Katherine felt the thickness of the envelope, noting that the sample pages had been returned. Not always a sign of rejection, but most likely one. "Just another letter telling me my manuscript isn’t right for them."

  "You don’t know that for sure. Why don’t you open it?"

  Katherine slid out of the window seat, walked over to the sofa, and plopped down, the mail falling into her lap. "I don’t think I have the strength," she said wearily. "I don’t need any more bad news today."

  "Come on, it might be good news. Open it up," Denise urged.

  Katherine dumped the other letters beside her, opened the envelope, and peeked inside at the cover letter. She read the letter aloud, "While your idea is intriguing, I’m afraid it is not for us. Best wishes placing your manuscript elsewhere." Katherine tossed the envelope on the coffee table in front of her. "Just like I said, another rejection."

  Denise sat down beside Katherine, grimacing. "Sorry. I shouldn't have told you to open it."

  "I think I’ll get a job at Walmart," Katherine announced, still staring at the envelope on the table. "How do you think I’d do selling women’s underwear?"

  "Lousy. You're not a sales clerk, you're a writer, Kathy. And a good one at that. I know you’ll sell your book. It just takes time."

  "I’ve been trying to sell it for two years. How much more time do you think it will take?" Katherine looked up dismally at her friend. "I just have to face it, the book stinks. The trouble is, I’ve been over it a hundred times and I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it."

  "Your characters are probably dull and your writing is flat." Darla’s voice popped up from behind them.

  Denise spun her head around. "How long have you been standing there?"

  "Long enough to hear Katie complain about her life. And personally, I think her idea about Walmart sounds great."

  "Why don’t you let people know when you’re in the room?" Denise asked, annoyed. She hated the way Darla always snuck around, poking her nose in where it didn’t belong.

  "Because you two stop talking when I’m around and I miss all the good stuff." Darla clomped over to the sofa in her platform sandals and leaned on the back. Her skirt was up to her crotch and she had on black fishnet stockings. She was chomping on a wad of gum.

  "What would you know about Kathy’s writing, anyway? You’ve never read her book," Denise said defensively.

  "I read the newspaper. I see her articles. The few she’s done were boring and flat. There’s no life to them. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out."

  "Shut up, Darla. Can’t you see Kathy’s upset? She doesn’t need advice about writing from a hair stylist." Denise was unusually defensive. She rarely took a stand against her sister unless she was defending Kathy. It went both ways. It was a pattern that had followed them since junior high school. Kathy defended Denise against Darla, Denise defended Kathy. Neither one ever took Darla’s side.

  "Well, I was just giving my opinion," Darla told her, clomping back toward the stairs.

  Katherine turned and spoke for the first time since Darla entered. "If you’re so smart and know the problem, then what’s the solution?" she asked, her voice filled with contempt.

  Darla didn’t even blink at Katherine’s tone. "You need to get out and live life a little before you can write about it. Feel something. Experience new people and new places. You’ve been the little housewife too long to remember what living is really like. That’s what’s missing in your writing, real life."

  Katherine rolled her eyes. "So, in other words, if I hang out in bars with jerks and act like a slut, like you, then my writing will come alive. No, thank you."

  Darla shrugged, an amused look on her painted face. "You asked, I answered. I’m going up to see Chelsea. I want to borrow one of her skirts for tomorrow. Nightie-night girls." Her heels on the wooden stairs echoed throughout the house.

  Denise turned to Katherine. "Maybe a house will fall on her someday," she said hopefully.

  Katherine shook her head and smiled. "No, we’re not that lucky."

  "Don’t pay any attention to her. She doesn’t know the first thing about writing."

  Katherine sighed. "No, I hate to admit it, but she’s right. My writing is flat. It’s dull, boring, and lifeless. My editor said the exact same thing this morning. I lack style."

  Denise stared at her, dumbfounded.

  "And you know what the worst part is?" Katherine continued. "That someone like Darla can see it. If she sees it, then I must really stink. I really should consider that Walmart idea."

  Denise experienced one of her rare moments of strength. "No. I won’t believe it. You’re a good writer and you will succeed someday. You’re not a quitter, you never have been. You’ll find a way to prove everyone wrong." She sat tall and straight, completely believing in what she said.

  Katherine smiled appreciatively at her friend, wishing Denise could be this self-assured when she was dealing with her sister. "If you say so," she told her.

  Denise looked satisfied.

  Chapter Three

  Winter advanced on Seattle with the caution of a new lover, gently caressing the city with rain that could, at times, become ardent as it fell. Occasionally, the sun appeared through the clouds, and the waters of Puget Sound winked up at the family above as they continued their daily lives.

  As predicted by Denise, Katherine didn’t give up writing nor find a new career at Walmart. She continued going to, and writing about, the boring details of the school board and city council meetings. Occasionally, Earl would toss her a bone by assigning a story about a new class addition or sewer line in town, but nothing exciting. Katherine kept her mind off her menial writing by attending Chris' basketball games, driving the two kids to various activities or friend’s houses, and scrutinizing her manuscript for changes.

  Darla continued her nightly routine of bar hopping and who knows what else. Katherine never asked. There was no sign of another man coming up to Darla’s room since the last incident, so if Darla continued bed hopping, she was doing it elsewhere. That suited Katherine just fine.

  On a clear, sunny Sunday in November, Denise’s parents came over for dinner and to see how the house was shaping up. Katherine loved Marcia and Dan Richards as if they were her own parents. As a teenager, she'd spent many days and nights at the Richards' home. Her own parents had been too busy with their careers as college professors to spend time with her. At that time, Katherine's father was the head of the Mathematics Department and her mother worked in the English Department at the University of Washington. They worked long hours and felt their jobs were much more important than being with Katherine. No matter what Katherine did or excelled at, it didn’t seem to interest her parents. Like good parents should, they'd provided her with a nice home to live in, everything she could possibly need or want, and a college education, but gave nothing of themselves. They'd both been mortified when Katherine decided to stay home after Chris was born, claiming she was wasting her education. They felt she wasn't doing anything important, or making a contribution. To them, success was defined by a person's position at work, not by the type of person that you were. So when they moved to upstate New York to work at a university there, Katherine didn't mind. It was only the occasional phone call from her mother that irritated her. "So, are you writing anything important yet?" she'd always ask. Katherine never really had an answer. Obviously, they had different definitions of the word important.

  The Richards were different. They were down-to-earth family people who we
re always ready to lend a helpful hand or a warm hug. They were attentive and interested in everything the girls did, just as they were interested now in the house they all shared.

  "This place is beautiful," Marcia declared after a tour of the house. "And I just love the view of the Sound."

  "How did you like my room, Grandma?" Chelsea plopped down beside Marcia on the sofa, and the older woman placed a loving arm around her. She was every inch the grandmother, slightly plump with short, graying hair and a warm smile.

  "I love your room. I hear you painted it all by yourself."

  "Sure did. And Chris did his own room, too. Did you see his rocks and seashells?"

  Marcia draped her other arm around Chris who had slipped in beside her. To her, Chris was as much her grandchild as Chelsea. "Yes, I did. And you did a great job on your room, too, Chris." The young teen smiled appreciatively.

  "I see you still need to replace the bathroom countertop," Dan piped up. "I can have it on in a jiffy, if you'd like."

  "Dad, we didn’t invite you here to work," Denise objected. Dan was always ready to tackle any house project.

  "No sense arguing with your father," Marcia interjected. "Might as well let him do it. He will anyway."

  Katherine smiled to herself as she watched Denise shake her head at her father. She loved it when everyone was together like this. This was what family was all about. The only one missing was Darla, but no one asked why. It was assumed by all that she was sleeping off her Saturday night.

  "Tell me where the new countertop is and I’ll get my toolbox from the car," Dan said, unyielding to Denise’s protests.

  Katherine laughed. "It’s in the garage, behind the door," she told him. When Denise gave her a sharp look, Katherine shrugged her shoulders. "We might as well let him do it. I don’t want to, do you?"

  Denise sighed. "Okay, Dad, you win. But be done by dinnertime."

  "Come on, Chris. You can be my assistant." Dan headed toward the back door.

  "Hey, I want to help, too." Chelsea took off after them and soon the three women were alone in the living room.

  "So, how is this living arrangement working out for you girls?" Marcia asked.

  Katherine and Denise smiled slyly at each other, both understanding exactly what she meant. "You mean, how is living with Darla, don’t you Mom?" Denise asked.

  Marcia simply smiled.

  "It's been interesting," Katherine offered.

  Marcia chuckled warmly. "I’m sure it has been. You three girls are all so very different. And Darla, well, she can be difficult."

  "In other words, a pain in the ass, right Mom?" Denise gave her mom a mischievous look.

  "That, too," Marcia agreed. She knew exactly what her daughter was like, and although she didn't always approve of her lifestyle, she accepted it just the same. "This is good for Chelsea, though. She’s happy here with all of you around. She used to be such a lonely child, living with Darla, and whoever else might happen along for the moment. I’m glad you're all together. I worry less about her now."

  "Chelsea is a sweet girl," Katherine said. "She deserves better than she’s had." They all silently nodded agreement to this.

  "Well," Marcia said, pushing herself up from the sofa. "What are you girls cooking in there? It smells wonderful. Let’s go take a look." They walked into the kitchen together, smiling and happy, talking about chicken and mashed potatoes and how much rain had fallen, and everything else families talk about that doesn’t really matter, yet matters so very much.

  ***

  The table was set, the chicken was golden, and Marcia was just finishing making the gravy when Darla made her appearance at the bottom of the back stairs.

  "Hi, Mom. I thought I smelled something good cooking down here." She strutted over in gold flats to stand beside her mother, who gave her a hello kiss on the cheek. Darla's jeans were too tight and her sweater was too small, but what stood out most was that she’d changed her hair color again.

  Marcia’s eyebrows rose at the sight of her, but she didn't mention her hair. "Your sister and Kathy did the cooking, dear. I’m just making the gravy."

  Darla leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette, drawing in deeply before spewing the smoke out into the air. "Yeah, Katie never has been very good at gravy, have you Katie?" she asked between puffs.

  Katherine’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look up from the vegetable tray she was filling. "It’s Katherine, not Katie," she said bluntly.

  Darla shrugged. "It’s good enough for Hepburn, it should be good enough for you."

  Denise appeared through the swinging door. "Oh, you’re up," she said, then let out a small gasp that made Katherine turn to look at Darla.

  "What have you done to your hair?" Katherine asked, wide-eyed.

  Darla continued puffing on her cigarette, unshaken by their reaction. "I tried to color it auburn, but it turned out too red. So I made it darker."

  "It’s so...black," Denise said, staring in shock.

  "It does makes you look pale, dear," Marcia added.

  "No, that’s just from this cold I’ve had. It’s really running me down."

  "Maybe if you didn’t smoke so much, you’d feel better," Katherine suggested snidely.

  Darla merely shrugged.

  Denise just shook her head, use to her sister's craziness, and picked up the vegetable platter. "I’m going to call Dad and the kids down for dinner." She turned and disappeared out the door again.

  Katherine picked up the basket of rolls and Marcia followed behind with the bowl of gravy.

  Darla pulled out a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. "I’ll bring the wine," she offered, swinging the bottle by the neck and walking behind the procession of women into the dining room.

  They all filled their plates with plump pieces of chicken, creamy potatoes, and Marcia's rich gravy as the room filled with their chatter. Dan told amusing stories about the people at the telephone company where he worked as a foreman. Marcia talked about the cake decorating class she was teaching, and the kids each took turns telling stories about their teachers and classmates. Darla animatedly recalled the time the newscaster at KSPS had lost his hairpiece five minutes before the broadcast and she had to fill in his bald spot with a can of brown spray paint. Everyone broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

  They made plans to have Thanksgiving at the Richards’ house with the decision that Denise and Katherine would bring sweet potatoes and dessert. As they finished eating, and Darla invited herself to one more glass of wine, Chelsea spoke up.

  "Don’t forget about my orchestra concert on December second, Grandma. You and Grandpa have to come."

  "Don’t worry, dear. I have my calendar marked. We're looking forward to it," Marcia told her.

  Darla pushed back from the table and lit a cigarette. "I can’t believe you kids are ready for a concert after barely three months. I swear, you’ll all sound like a bunch of whining cats in heat."

  Denise fingered her necklace. "She’s been practicing really hard, Darla."

  "Yeah, I know. I’ve heard her all the way up in my room."

  Chelsea sat up straight and stared hard at her mother. "You promised to come, remember?" she said pointedly.

  Darla drew in deeply from her cigarette, then blew the smoke out slowly. "I know I did. I’ll be there."

  Chelsea sat back, satisfied.

  "Both of you kids are growing up so fast," Marcia gushed. "Chris, you're taller than I am now. And Chelsea dear, you’re getting more beautiful every day."

  "You’ll be a heartbreaker for sure," Dan put in.

  "Yeah, just like your mother, eh Chelsea?" Darla said with a grin. "You may look a lot like your Aunt Denise, but you’ll have my boobs for sure."

  "Mother!" Chelsea blurted out, horrified.

  "Well, it’s true. You already have quite a set on you."

  Chelsea turned scarlet and everyone at the table sat, dumbfounded.

  "Oh, don’t be a bunch of prudes. We’re all
family here," Darla said. She saw Chelsea’s eyes dart quickly to Chris, who was fidgeting with his napkin. "I’m sure Chris has noticed, haven’t you Chris? After all, you’re close to being a man, and that’s what men notice first."

  Chelsea threw her napkin on the table and flew out of the room and up the stairs. Chris mumbled a quick "excuse me" and did the same.

  All the adults at the table stared at one another. Katherine's eyes burned with disgust. "Darla, how could you?"

  Darla only laughed and continued puffing on her cigarette. "Kids are so sensitive at that age," she said.

  ***

  "Come on, everyone. We’ll be late." Chelsea stood impatiently at the bottom of the stairs. She fidgeted with her sweater sleeves and moved her violin case twice. Katherine was the first one down.

  "Chelsea, you look beautiful," she exclaimed, giving the young teen a hug. "I love that dress."

  Chelsea smiled, pleased. She’d picked out the black floral dress and crochet sweater specifically for the concert, and had also bought new black heels. Her mother had balked at the price until Chelsea reminded her that she would be able to borrow the clothes. That settled it right away.

  Chris came down next, looking stiff in a shirt and dress pants.

  "Wow, look at you," Chelsea said, beaming at him.

  "It’s nothing," Chris said, his face growing hot.

  "It is to me. Thanks," Chelsea said softly.

  "Well, your first concert, and solo, is special," Katherine said. "Are you nervous yet?"

  "I’m shaking. I hope I stop or I’ll drop my violin on stage for sure."

  Denise came running down the stairs, buttoning the cuff of her sleeve. "Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get my hair to do anything." She stopped and took a long look at Chelsea. "Oh my, you look so pretty. I love the way you pulled your hair up. It’s gorgeous."

  Chelsea smiled with pleasure. She loved all the attention, but she was still nervous about being late. "Where’s Mom? I told her this morning we had to leave early."