Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel

by Deanna Lynn Sletten

  She cupped his hand with her own. "I don't want you to control yourself," she said softly, avoiding his eyes. "When I tense up, it's not because I don't want to, it's just...well..." She didn't know how to finish.

  Gary knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his and resting it in her lap. "Hon, something's been bothering me for quite some time. Something I need to know. Your reaction every time we become intimate tells me I might already know the answer, but I need to hear it from you." He tilted his head to catch her downcast eyes with his own. "What your sister said the night of the Christmas party, about you still being a virgin. Is it true?"

  Denise's cheeks grew hot and she unconsciously bit her lip. She wanted to lie to him, to sound sophisticated and knowledgeable like a woman her age should be. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew she had to tell the truth. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes, it's true."

  "Wow," he said softly. He stood and paced the floor, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "Wow," he repeated, this time much louder. "I thought that was it. I mean, I guessed that it was true, but now, hearing you say it, it just blows me away." He continued pacing as Denise sat red-faced on the sofa. She had never admitted this to anyone, and now, seeing his reaction, she wished she had lied. She fidgeted as she sat, straightening her sweater, smoothing her slacks. Her movements brought Gary's eyes back to her and he saw the crestfallen look on her face. He immediately came to sit next to her.

  "I'm so sorry, Denise. I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just that I'm so surprised that someone your age is still a virgin. I don't know whether to congratulate you or ask why."

  "Don't do either, just take me home," Denise said abruptly, annoyed by his reaction. She stood to leave but he clasped her hand in his and pulled her back down.

  "Please, don't be mad. I'm sorry." He turned her head toward his so she could see that he really was.

  "I've never admitted this to anyone," she said defensively. "Not even Katherine knows, and she's my best friend."

  "Darla knew."

  "No, she just says it to embarrass me. She doesn't really know for sure."

  Gary stared at her one long moment, wondering how a woman this beautiful, this warm and caring, could hold off men for thirty-six years. Then he thought of Darla and how loose she'd been, and he began to understand.

  "It's because of your sister, isn't it? You don't want to be like her."

  Denise looked up at him, surprised by his quick analysis. But he was right. "Yes, it is. But in more ways than you realize."

  "Tell me about it."

  "It's really not important anymore, Gary."

  "It was important enough to keep you a virgin for thirty-six years. It is important."

  It was Denise's turn to study him. She sat quiet for a long time, staring into his face, wondering if he would understand. But in his eyes, all she saw was his deep concern for her, and she knew in that moment, she could trust telling him anything.

  "When I was a senior in high school, I had a steady boyfriend named Mark," she began, hesitantly. "We did everything together, spent every evening and weekend together. We were the kind of couple that everyone assumed would get married out of high school. You know, true love." She stopped and sighed, remembering everything again for the first time in years.

  "Even though we were that close, we never had sex." She blushed. "Not that he didn't try, believe me, he did. And we'd go far, but I'd always put a stop to it before we went too far. I really wasn't ready for it, even though I loved him, and I was scared. I didn't want to end up pregnant, or considered a tramp like Darla."

  Gary's eyebrows rose.

  "Oh yes, she was that way in high school, too. Everyone knew she was easy. So, I didn't want the same thing thought about me."

  "Well, at the end of our senior year, things got tense. Mark pushed harder for sex and I backed away even more. Then, the day before the Senior Prom, I went to Darla's place so she could cut my hair and do my nails. She had finished beauty school and was working full-time and already had an apartment of her own. She knew I was coming over, but it didn't matter. As I walked in, Mark was just leaving, tucking in his shirt." Her voice was tight and disgusted. "I asked him what was going on, but he just ran past me with a guilty look on his face and drove off. Darla stood in the door with a disgusting smirk and said, "If he can't get it from one sister, he knows he can get it from the other.""

  "Wow," Gary said quietly. "It's amazing you still speak to her."

  "I didn't for a long time. But after a while, I finally realized that Mark didn't really love me. All he wanted out of our relationship was sex. So I was glad I didn't give in to it."

  "One year of dating is a long time to wait for sex."

  "I found out later he wasn't waiting so patiently after all. There had been other girls, too."

  "Oh." Gary sat a moment, absorbing her story. "Did he hurt you so much that it scared you away from men all these years?"

  Denise shook her head, a small smile on her lips. "No, I haven't exactly been a nun all these years. But every time a relationship got down to sex, I always backed away. I guess I thought that was all the men wanted. And most men won't continue seeing you when they find out they aren't going to get any."

  Gary's eyes met hers. "Do you think that's all I want?"

  Denise shook her head gently, her hair sweeping softly against her face. "No. You're different. I know you care. I can feel how much you care." She reached up provocatively and placed her arms around him, her hand caressing the back of his neck. "I want to share a full relationship with you. Everything." She kissed him hard, their tongues dancing again. As their lips parted, she whispered, "I believe this is where we left off," and tried to pull him to her again.

  But Gary backed up, his hands softly touching her sides. "No, Denise, not like this," he said softly.

  Her eyes widened, startled by his rejection. "What?"

  "I don't want us to do it like this," he repeated. "I held back all this time because I suspected you were a virgin, but now that I know for sure, I want to wait."

  Denise sat, stunned by what he'd said. For the first time in her life, she was finally ready to have sex, but now the man she was with didn't want to.

  "But I told you I want to. It's okay," she nearly pleaded.

  "No, it's not okay. Denise, you've waited all these years for the right time and the right person. I don't want to take that away from you just because we both get hot one night. When you finally have sex, it should mean something very important." He looked into her confused eyes, held her hand tight, and said gently, "When we finally make love, I want it to mean something very special."

  Denise didn't know what to say. Did he mean that they would make love in the future? Was he just backing out gracefully? He never answered the questions that her eyes asked. He simply kissed her gently on the lips and drove her home.

  ***

  That weekend, Denise pondered Gary's words. Would their relationship continue? Did he mean to take it to the next level, or dissolve it completely? And what did he mean by wanting it to 'mean something very special'? Wasn't her love for him special enough? Never had a man told her they should wait. She had always been the one to say that and then the guy would drop her cold. Now, she was on the other side and she didn't know whether to be pleased that he cared enough to wait, or insulted that he said no. She knew one thing for certain, she didn't want this man to get away. So, she decided to do everything in her power to let him know she was ready to take the plunge, and she wouldn't give up until they did.

  ***

  Katherine spent the weekend in her office replaying the conversation with her editor over and over in her head, and fuming about it. "Keep trying, Kathy. You'll come up with something good, eventually," she mouthed angrily. "I did come up with something good. AIDS is important, even for this pissy little town. Especially in this pissy little town." As she fumed, she stared at the piles of information she'd gathered on the subject waiting to be organized in
to articles. She'd even spoken to the director of the AIDS fundraising group she'd told Earl about, and he was more than willing to be interviewed about their organization.

  "What a waste," she complained, staring at the hours of research piled on her desk. "What a terrible, terrible waste."

  But as she stared at the information in front of her, the writer in her told her it wasn't a waste. Her idea was a good one, no matter what Earl said. Slowly, she began forming topics for a series of articles in her mind on the different aspects of AIDS. AIDS funding for patients, support groups, medication updates, and how it affects family members. There was an abundance of material that just had to be written into articles.

  "Forget Earl," she said aloud to the empty room. "Let him write about pet shows and sewage. He doesn't have the only paper around here." And with iron determination, she began typing.

  ***

  Sunday afternoon, Darla sat on her bed staring at the phone beside her. She was worn out, chilled, and a little nauseous from her medication. Her mouth had broken out in sores that burned every time she ate or drank. She felt like crap. But worse, her conscience was working overtime for the first time in her life. It had bothered her all weekend. It was bothering her right now. She knew what she had to do, yet dreaded the thought of doing it. She was a woman who never backed down from confrontation, who always told it like it was, and was proud of it. But everything she'd ever done before paled in comparison to this. She was playing with people's lives now, and it scared her. She knew they had to know. She knew telling them was the right thing to do. Slowly, she picked up the receiver and began making the first of the most difficult phone calls of her life.

  Chapter Ten

  Darla stood in the television station's makeup room carefully laying out an outfit for the host of the local political talk show. She was worn out from vomiting several times that morning and the sores in her mouth made it difficult to eat or drink anything to keep up her strength. Although she continued taking her medication, her last T-cell count had shown a drop, and her viral load had risen. And to make matters worse, she'd quit smoking that week. The taste and smell had become unbearable for her sensitive stomach, yet her body craved the nicotine, making her even more irritable. Her breathing had been tight all morning, and a fit of coughing erupted from her as a shadow appeared in the doorway.

  Jerry Whiting, the assistant news anchor, stepped into the room and dropped his body into one of the three chairs lined in front of the lighted mirror. He eyed Darla's reflection suspiciously.

  "Hello, Darla," he greeted in a controlled voice. "Have you seen Carrie around? She's supposed to do my makeup and hair."

  Darla wiped her mouth with a tissue and stared at Jerry in the mirror. She hadn't failed to notice the business tone of his voice, a voice that used to tease while he copped a feel every time she did his makeup and hair. Now his eyes stared at her with suspicious overtones as he waited for an answer.

  "Carrie went home with the flu," Darla said, turning back to the woman's suit hanging on the rack and pinning a gold leaf pin on the lapel.

  "Well then, where's Barbara? I'm on the air in half an hour."

  Darla turned around. "Cripes, Jerry. I can get you ready. I'm not doing anything important right now." She stepped up to him and lifted a hairbrush, but Jerry's quick swivel of the chair made her stop short.

  "No thanks. I'll wait for Barbara," he said bluntly.

  "This is crazy. Just because I've been sick doesn't mean I don't know how to do hair and makeup anymore. And if I remember right," she added with teasing eyebrows, "you used to like having me do you."

  Jerry jumped out of the chair as if it was on fire before Darla could make a move to touch him. "I said I'll wait!" he blurted out loudly.

  Darla's eyes burned from their pale sockets. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she screamed. "I'm not going to fuck you. I'm just going to brush your hair!"

  "What's going on in here?" Allen Kents, the station manager, appeared in the doorway. "What's all the yelling about, Darla?"

  Jerry slithered past Darla and squeezed by Allen out into the hallway. "I don't want her touching me, you understand?" he told Allen, his finger wagging in his face. Throwing one last disgusted look at Darla, he strode off down the hall.

  Darla's eyes narrowed. "What's going on around here?"

  The station manager stepped into the room and closed the door. He was younger than Darla, and not much taller than her. His crisp shirt sleeves wrinkled as he crossed his arms and stared at her with serious blue eyes. "I think you should just stick to the wardrobe room from now on. Okay, Darla?" Their eyes met and locked. Both understood each other completely.

  "How does he know? How do any of you know?" Darla seethed.

  Allen sighed and shook his head. "Things get said, that's all. You can't stop people from spreading rumors."

  "This is personal, Al. My medical records are nobody's business but my own. Carcia told everyone, didn't she? She handles the medical insurance, she must have told."

  "No sense pointing fingers, Darla. What's done is done. You just have to accept the fact that, with a disease like yours," he hesitated, "well, no one wants you touching them."

  Darla stared contemptuously at Allen. The tension in the room grasped them both, and he shifted his feet while settling his eyes on everything except her. Unable to stand the silence any longer, Allen cleared his throat.

  "Listen, Darla, I'm on your side. You've been a fine worker here over the years. Many of the employees protested you coming back to work, but I kept you on despite that. The only difference now is you can't do your old job. Just stick to wardrobe, okay?"

  "You kept me on because it's illegal to fire a person because they have AIDS," she said steadily. "So don't act like you're doing me some great favor."

  Allen eyed her a moment, his stance still firm. He spoke quietly. "Darla, we could have let you go because of all the time you missed. And quite frankly, if you continue to miss work, we might have to do that."

  Darla's adrenaline was flowing, sparked by her anger, but it caused her lungs to tighten and another fit of coughing hit her. Allen tentatively handed her a tissue, pulling away quickly when she accepted it as if afraid to touch the hand she'd been coughing in.

  "You know, Darla, you might want to consider leaving on you own and going on disability for a while. You really don't look, or sound, well enough to work."

  Speechless, and burning with anger, Darla threw the hairbrush on the floor and left the room.

  ***

  Katherine pulled her van into the driveway, grabbed her notebook of City Council meeting notes, and stepped out into the April sunshine. Pulling the mail from the mailbox, she absently sifted through it as she stepped through the kitchen door. The usual bills, magazines, and junk mail stared up at her, along with another dreaded manila envelope. Dropping her notebook and the mail on the table, she slowly contemplated the envelope. Another rejection from another agent, she surmised, feeling the thickness of the packet. It didn't matter how many times she revised the manuscript, the book would never be accepted.

  Sighing, she stepped out through the swinging door into the living room, the unopened envelope still in hand. The view of the Sound was lovely today with the sun glistening off the pale blue water extending its golden arm of light as an invitation for her to join it. She accepted, still grasping the envelope, and stepped out the front door, heading to the steps that descended down to the beach below. As she carefully picked her way down the old, wooden steps, she gloried at the feel of the sun on her face and the salt breeze brushing through her hair. It made her feel more alive than she had in months, and she silently vowed to spend more time down at the water's edge this summer.

  Once she stepped on the beach, however, she noted she was not alone. A figure sat on a pile of rocks up ahead but she was unable to tell who it was because of the heavy jacket covering most of the body. Then the person turned to face her and she instantly recognized Darla.
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  "I thought you were at work," Katherine said as she approached the bundled up figure. She was still mad at Darla for taunting Denise the other night about Gary. "So, are you and lover-boy doing it yet?" Darla had blurted out as the three of them watched a movie. When Denise didn't answer her, Darla laughed and said, "I didn't think so," and had left the room, cackling. She may be sick, Katherine thought, but that was no excuse for being a bitch.

  Darla looked up at her from her huddled position on the warm rocks. The temperature was far too warm to be wearing a down coat, but she clasped it tightly around her.

  "I quit today," she announced.

  "What?" Katherine could hardly believe she'd heard right.

  "I quit. They didn't want me there and I didn't want to be there."

  Katherine sat on the rocks beside Darla. "They can't make you quit, you know. It's against the law."

  "Yeah, I know, but I didn't want to stay there anymore. Ever since that night I went out with Carcia and the others, things just haven't been the same. The word got around that I have AIDS, and everyone treats me like shit. You'd think I was a leper or something, the way they back away from me. I've had enough of it. Besides," she added, "it has been a real pain going to work every day. I feel so awful all the time. Maybe if I take some time to rest, I'll feel better."

  Katherine nodded and they both studied the water for a while. "You could sign up for disability payments," she suggested tentatively. "You qualify for them, and it might help to have some money coming in."

  Darla nodded. Normally she'd fight against taking money she hadn't earned. She was strongly independent when it came to money. She'd always made her way alone since leaving home, but she was too tired to fight anymore. Besides, she needed the money to help pay for her medical insurance. The cost of the pills she was taking totaled over two-thousand dollars a month, and then there were the viral load tests and doctor bills. She couldn't afford not to have insurance.