Dee stepped to a display of hors d’oeuvres on a sideboard next to the hearth and plucked an enormous bottle of champagne from a golden ice bucket. She tipped the magnum, pouring a frothy golden stream into a delicate, gold-rimmed flute. “If you’d like a snack,” she said, “we’ve got a very nice brie we can serve with crackers. You might also want to try these olives stuffed with goat cheese--the olives are hand-picked Kalamatas from Greece.”
“Do you have anything sweet?” Vickie said.
“We’ve got a scrumptious chocolate and cherry thingie our chef flames with cognac,” Dee said.
“Yes,” Vickie said. She took a tentative sip of the champagne. “I recognize this from the bubbles,” she said. “It’s your Pierre Jourdan Brut, isn’t it?”
“It’s the only champagne I serve,” Dee said. “There’s just no reason to serve champagne unless it has a lot of bubbles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn you over to Scotia--she’s got some bubbles of a different kind for you--she’s going to help you with your bath, and do your nails.”
Chapter 19
Scotia, a diminutive, freckle-faced young woman with wide gray eyes and an untidy mop of shiny auburn curls, waif-like in a little black dress, ushered Vickie through a heavily engraved, copper-clad doorway which opened onto a spacious bath, wherein a six-foot-long Jacuzzi tub steamed and bubbled in a cedar nook opposite an imposing marble countertop loaded with heavy towels, intriguing bottles of oil and lotions, and stacks of colorful glycerin soaps which perfumed the air. A trio of huge vanilla candles on an antique brass candle stand cast a spirited luminescence across a ceiling hung with a dozen baskets brimming with heavy-headed, golden Dahlias.
“Oh my gosh,” Vickie said. “I had a strange feeling when I first saw this trailer that this night wasn’t going to go well. I couldn’t imagine preparing for my wedding in a trailer in a parking lot. I can see that I underestimated Dee’s talents.”
“You can thank your stars you met Dee,” Scotia said. “Dee is a real hidden treasure.”
“Well she certainly has got my undivided attention,” Vickie said. “I feel like I walked into the Sultan’s harem.”
“Vickie,” Scotia said, “Dee filled everybody in on your condition, and I want you to know that if you need a friend to talk to, I’m all ears.”
“Thank you,” Vickie said. “I guess it must show on my face--my fear, I mean. Here I am, right in the middle of a life-and-death situation, and all I can think is, Why me?”
“I believe I know what you mean,” Scotia said. “We lost my brother to leukemia when he was only fourteen. It was a lesson for all of us. The day he died, I was in his room, and I asked him if there was anything I could do for him, and he smiled at me and said that all he wanted was a kiss and a dish of lime Jell-O. I pecked him on the cheek and went down to the kitchen to get the Jell-O. By the time I got back, he was gone.”
The sound of an ambulance siren approaching from afar underscored the true reality of where they were and what they were about--the preparation for marriage of a dying woman. The siren died with a whirping bwirp as it neared the emergency room dock with a cargo of somebody in a heap of trouble.
“Ask not for whom the siren blares,” Vickie said, making the sign of the cross.
“You can toss your clothes into this big wicker basket here,” Scotia said.
“To be taken out and burned, I suppose,” Vickie said.
“Oh no,” Scotia said, laughing. “We don’t burn designer labels around here. We’ll have everything fresh and clean for you after you return here from the ceremony. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your flaming chocolate and cherries.”
Vickie, alone, surveyed her image in the mirror. Her endless day of blood, sweat and tears, which had started out with angry pain, had finally come to an end at the apex of these ceremonial preparations. Scotia returned and caught her looking at herself.
“What do you feel when you look in the mirror?” Scotia said.
“I feel sad,” Vickie said.
“Well, girl,” Scotia said, “you’ve come too far to turn back now.”
“I was kind of hoping I’d feel more like a bride,” Vickie said, “You know, with the pre-wedding jitters and all.”
“Vickie,” Scotia said, “you need to get into your bath.”
“It’s now or never,” Vickie said, draining her flute and slipping into the surging waters of the tub.
“I’ll feed you,” Scotia said, spooning up some warm, glazed cherries covered in chocolate.
“Gosh, I feel like a baby,” Vickie said. “Mmm! That’s good!”
The combination of whirlpool and chocolate brought Vickie to a point of relaxation she hadn’t experienced in days.
“Scotia,” she said, “you probably think I’m from another planet. Who else would get married to a guy right before he goes under the knife for a bypass?”
“Lots of us would for the right man,” Scotia said. “So tell me, where are you going for your cancer treatments?”
“Nowhere,” Vickie said. “The truth is, I panicked when I got the news. I’m supposed to be thinking it over for a few days. My doctor is waiting for me to call. But I’m never going back there.”
Scotia continued feeding Vickie. After the chocolate, she unbraided Vickie’s baby braids before massaging in a generous dollop of shampoo, working up the suds with gentle fingers. Her probing located a spot at the back of Vickie’s neck and she began a gentle kneading.
“Oh, that feels good,” Vickie said.
“Your medulla oblongata,” Scotia said. “You’ve got a lot of overall stiffness in your scalp and neck. It’s one of the few safe places for me to apply massage pressure to help you relax.”
“Safe places?” Vickie said.
“In the presence of cancer, we have to be careful not to do any deep tissue work near the major organs--it might encourage the cancer cells to move somewhere else. That’s why I don’t have a massage table set up in here. But I can do your neck and shoulders.”
“Oh,” Vickie said. “Will it never end?”
“Eventually it will end for all of us,” Scotia said. “You happened to receive a little advance notice. So tell me, since you’re refusing treatment, are you planning to die at home, or in a hospice?”
“How dare you!”
“Excuse me,” Scotia said. “I forgot we’re supposed to be pretending that you’re going to get married and live happily ever after.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“Hearing what,” Scotia said, “the truth?”
“You have no right!
“In only a few short hours,” Scotia said, “you’ll be standing before God, taking a vow to love someone whether or not they’re in sickness or in health. But how can you make such a vow if you can’t do the same for yourself. How can you stand in front of God and lie like that?”
“Because God let me down!” Vickie shrieked. “He chose me to die by inches from a horrible disease--I hate God!”
The words took a moment to sink in. Staring down at the suds, Vickie slowly returned to reality. “Rinse my hair,” she said. The two women went without speaking for awhile as Scotia gently rinsed out Vickie’s hair.
“That took a lot of guts,” Vickie said. “To confront me like that.”
“I work part time in a hospice,” Scotia said. “That’s why Dee called me in. I’ve learned a lot about the dying. In your case, I decided to risk confronting you when I saw the way you were looking at yourself in the mirror. I could tell by the look on your face that you were caught up in something really deep and dark. When I saw that, I decided to try and get you back to the surface.”
“I don’t know where you came from, Scotia,” Vickie said, “but you’ve got some gift. You’re right. What I’m caught up in is, I don’t want to live anymore. I want out.”
“So why are you getting married then?”
“I don’t really know anymore,” Vickie said. “My priest thinks it
’s partly from selfishness. I was telling myself I’m going through with it to help a man who’s been in love with me for decades. The truth is, I’m probably using him--I don’t want to die alone.”
“You’re going to marry him,” Scotia said, “but my guess is, afterwards, when you realize he can’t give you the comfort you’re seeking, you’re going to kill yourself in a fit of self-pity.”
“And what if I do? It’s too hard living. I’ve spent the day wrapping up most of my affairs. At least I won’t be a burden to anybody else.”
Scotia held a hand mirror in front of Vickie’s face. “I want you to look at the woman in this mirror,” she said. “What you see is a woman dying of cancer. A woman who has rejected her body. A woman who has lost all her inner confidence. A woman who’s thinking only of herself.”
“You know what I fear most?” Vickie said. “The loss of my hair. I don’t think I could stand it if it all fell out. And I don’t know where I’m going. The truth is, I’m scared to death. Day after day, my body is going to become more and more helpless and useless to me--it’s like the space around me is shrinking smaller and smaller, and the darkness is growing larger.”
“You fear passing over into dementia,” Scotia said.
“Yes,” Vickie said. “What will become of me if I simply drift away in my mind? I’ll have nothing to hold on to. I also fear the pain.”
“The fear of pain increases pain itself,” Scotia said.
“It’s a world of horror and hopelessness,” Vickie said. “You’ll never guess what else I fear.”
“What?” Scotia said.
“The smell. I fear the smell more than anything. I learned to fear it when my mother was dying of cancer. It’s a sour odor full of decay and medicine. You know the one I mean. It’s why everybody always sends flowers--they hope the smell of the flowers will cover it up, but it never does. I never want to smell like that--never!”
“So tell me about killing yourself,” Scotia said. “Do you have a plan?”
“I do,” Vickie said, “but you’ll never believe how I plan to do it--I’ve got this really fast car, and I’m simply going to go out one dark night and take it up to about a hundred and sixty miles per hour and drive it straight into a bridge abutment.”
“That’s hardly original,” Scotia said. “Actually, that’s not how I had you figured. I thought you might use pills or something. A bridge abutment, huh? Remind me never to go driving anywhere with you.”
“I can’t go through with this wedding,” Vickie said. “You’re right. The thing would be a lie. I mean, I love my fiancee and everything, but it’s not fair to him. I can’t marry him knowing what I’m planning to do if he can’t comfort me adequately. Help me out of this tub. I’m going to get dressed and get out of here. Maybe my last unselfish act will be setting him free.”
“No, wait,” Scotia said. “Maybe you should get married. Maybe it’s time you allowed yourself to be the center of attention. What would it hurt? I mean, if you’re going to kill yourself, you can do that anytime. What’s the hurry?”
“What do you mean about being the center of attention?” Vickie said.
“It’s just that I think women don’t face their own death well,” Scotia said. “And who can blame us? For most of our lives, we’re responsible for providing security and comfort for those around us--our families, our friends, people at our church and in our neighborhoods. So when it’s time for us to die, it’s like, we don’t know what to do. The people around us can’t help us because they’re too busy wringing their hands over the loss of the person who’s always taken care of them. There’s no rituals in our world for dealing with the death of a woman--they wait for us to die and then try to get us buried as quickly as possible and get it over with.”
“Oh,” Vickie said. “This whole thing caught me by surprise. One month I was living my life and the next thing I know, there’s this raging sense of urgency--it was like suddenly I found myself facing a hundred different doors to open and I had only a moment to open them. Today I accepted a marriage proposal, bought a house and car for my brother, and found him a woman to marry. In two hours, I’m supposed to be giving myself to my new husband in marriage. This is crazy.”
“You’re the one who’s dying,” Scotia said, “and yet here you are, still trying to take care of everybody else, right up to the end.”
“Oh, you’re right!” Vickie said. “And let me tell you, when somebody tells you you’re dying, you realize right then and there that you can’t handle it. It’s not something you learn in college. There’s so much I don’t understand--it’s all zooming way over my head.”
“That’s why you want to go a hundred and sixty miles per hour,” Scotia said. “You think you can outrun the fear long enough to work up the courage to check yourself out of the planet. When I saw you standing in front of the mirror, I knew that you were a woman who was a stranger to herself. The fact that you’re going to kill yourself proves it. It’s easy to kill somebody you don’t know. But it’s hard to kill someone you love.”
“Help me,” Vickie said.
“There’s still time,” Scotia said. “There’s still time to push back the darkness. But you’ll have to start really getting to know yourself. You’ll have to learn to look in the mirror without judging what you see.”
“It’s too late,” Vickie said.
“Nothing’s ever too late as long as you’re still alive,” Scotia said. “That’s the paradox. You’ve got to slow down even though you feel as though you’re running out of time. There’s something inside you trying to kill you, and you’re letting it. You’ve got to stop and listen to yourself and find out why. Cancer is a messenger. You need to find out what the message is.”
“Oooh!” Vickie cried.
“Are you having pain now?” Scotia said.
Vickie nodded.
“Where’s your medication?”
“No,” Vickie said. “I’m going to wait.”
“Are you sure?” Scotia said.
“Help me out of this tub,” Vickie said. “And tell your hair guy I’m ready. I’ve decided to go through with the wedding. Selfish motives or not--I’m getting married tonight--and then I’m going to take your advice and find out what exactly is going on.”
Scotia pulled Vickie from the waters. “You can have everything again,” she said.
“Thank you,” Vickie said. “For your courage. Perhaps it was no coincidence that we met tonight. But I have to ask you, what made you take the chance to confront me? I’m nobody to you.”
“When they told me my brother had passed on,” Scotia said, “I was standing in the hospital hallway with his dish of lime Jell-O. That’s when I understood what he’d done. He was trying to show me that if ever I came across someone who was dying, I was supposed to give them his Jell-O. The first person I gave his Jell-O to was myself--now I’m passing it along, in spirit, to you.”
“I’ll never forget your kindness,” Vickie said. She smothered her face in her towel and came forth with huge, gulping sobs, certain that her words were true--for what remained of her life, she knew she would never would forget the waif in the black dress whose delight in life was to carry lime Jell-O to lost souls and dying ladies.
Chapter 20
“Let me get this straight,” Vickie said. “You want to cut all my hair off.”
“I want to enhance your sense of enclosure,” Vito said. “It’s a part of the bridal mystique--you appear in the world and yet at the same time are covered behind your veil, enclosed and private. Too much hair sticking out from beneath the veil suggests to the world that you are somehow a bit more available than the veil suggests.”
Vito the hairdresser, a forties-something slim quick man in T-shirt, jeans and Reeboks, himself crowned with an artful tussle of curly blond locks, had Vickie hostage in his “hair mobile”--a small cubicle at the opposite end of the trailer from the bath--the cubicle draped in black to accentuate the sense of impending artistry--in the
middle of which cubicle she sat, herself draped likewise in black, her head illumined in a pool of light cast from a single overhead spotlight, such that her head seemed to float by itself in mid-air.
“It’s a powerful statement,” Vito said. “I can understand your reluctance. As we get older, we’re more inclined to try to create a platform for ourselves where we can feel safe and secure...it’s as though once we’ve made it past thirty, our thirst for risk-taking vanishes. But yes, to answer your question, I think with your foxy face and voluptuous figure, going short would be nothing short of spectacular.”
“You’re very strange,” Vickie said. “And your assistant, Scotia, is really off the dial.”
“Scotia has a lot of inner power,” Vito said. “She thrives on truth.”
“And what do you thrive on?” Vickie said. “Taking scalps?”
“I’m enthusiastic about hair,” Vito said. “Each time I create a new look, I can’t help but get excited--I suppose I am a bit overbearing in my desire to have everybody see what I see.”
“I’m at wits end,” Vickie said. “A few minutes ago, I thought I’d lost it. I was going to walk out of this trailer and never look back.”
“A common reaction,” Vito said. “You’re a beautiful woman who knows her limits. Apparently, Scotia and I have pushed too hard and gone out of bounds.”
“No,” Vickie said. “I’m really appreciative of all this attention you’re lavishing on me. I guess the problem is, I’m losing control and I don’t like the feeling. I’m supposed to know where I’m going with this marriage--but I don’t. I’ve never felt more weak and vulnerable in my life.”
“That’s a great place to be,” Vito said. “It’s real. You’re stopping to listen to your pain. You’re taking stock.”
“The news of my tumor brought everything to a screeching halt,” Vickie said. “I guess before I got the news, I spent my time in a state of hope for what the future would bring. It was like I was always waiting for things that weren’t coming. Yesterday, I found out what was coming--an ugly death. Suddenly I had no future and nothing further to wait for. That’s probably why I’m getting married on such short notice. I’m starting to realize that the world isn’t going to turn into something other than what it really is, so I better quit waiting and start doing.”
A Small Matter Page 10
