Blackberry Winter

by Maryanne Fischler

  She had been running behind her precise schedule all day that October 29th and had refused all offers of help from Brian, even though the meal was being prepared in his kitchen. Emily was not at all confident in her abilities as a cook, since she had never learned the art as a youth, and had had no occasion to practice it. For most of her adult life, she had eaten alone. It was easy to be intimidated when cooking for Brian and Paul, since both were practiced veterans of many Sunday feasts. These were men who took food seriously, and could eat prodigious amounts when the cuisine was good. Added pressure was involved in making a special meal for a birthday; she wanted everything to be just perfect. The more behind she perceived herself to be, the more frazzled she felt, and the more frazzled she looked, too. So it was when the doorbell rang, and she heard Brian greeting the guests.

  Audrey Malone looked very much like the kind of woman who is never frazzled. She was tall—in a different age she would have been described as statuesque—and carried herself with smooth grace and obvious self-confidence. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion, her hair was a striking auburn, and even more striking were the vivid green eyes that seemed almost feline in their shimmering. Her coloring was the perfect complement to Paul’s mahogany skin. She was wearing a royal blue silk blouse that perfectly set off her ecru slacks. Wearing them doesn’t begin to describe the effect—her figure was such that it seemed as if the outfit had been stitched around her. Emily was awe-struck. “We don’t see too many like that in the library,” she thought. She couldn’t remember ever being in the same room with someone who so obviously personified what is meant by the word glamorous. “Come to think of it, though, Paul is glamorous too in his own way. Dashing I guess is the best word for him,” she thought.

  Paul performed the introductions, Emily took their coats, and Brian mixed drinks. When everyone was comfortably settled in the living room, Paul presented his birthday offering, a beautifully bound book of color plates of impressionist art. This led to a prolonged conversation about Monet that Emily couldn’t really follow, but enjoyed listening to.

  “What do you think of Monet, Emily?” Audrey asked.

  Emily felt a little awkward as she replied, “I don’t know too much about art, but I like the colors in Monet, especially the lavender. It seems so serene.” While saying this, she was inwardly castigating herself, “Why don’t you just put a sign on your back that says ‘hayseed’!” She immediately excused herself to check on dinner.

  Brian had made very specific requests for the menu for his birthday meal. He had developed a fondness for a pork dish that Emily made from an old North Carolina recipe. It was one of those foods that seemed to always be served with particular side dishes, much the way that leg of lamb is always served with mint jelly. For this meal to be complete by North Carolina tradition, it had to include cole slaw, corn bread, and black eye peas. Emily did forgo turnip greens in favor of a spinach salad, but otherwise the meal was strictly according to Old North State standards.

  When everyone was seated and the dishes were served, Audrey asked about the main course, “It smells marvelous, but what is it?”

  Emily answered, “Barbecue.”

  “Barbecued what?”

  Emily smiled, “Just barbecue.” Audrey had obviously not been in the South very long. Emily then regaled her with a description of how true barbecue is supposed to be made, explaining that the first step in the recipe is to start twenty-four hours ahead of time and dig yourself a pit. “Then you fill the pit with hickory wood and put the pig—the whole pig—on it and cook it all night long, tending it carefully. Of course, mostly the men do that part,” she explained. “It’s a male-bonding thing, accompanied, so I am told, by rude noises, locker room humor, and a great deal of beer. They use all of the pig except for the squeal, as they say. They chop up the meat, and pour gallons of vinegar on it, which probably kills a lot of the germs.”

  Audrey followed this account as if she were listening to a travelogue about visiting the natives of Bora-Bora for a pagan ritual of some sort. She seemed reluctant to eat any of the barbecue until Emily explained that she had made do with fixing it in a regular oven.

  The best part of a birthday meal is supposed to be the cake, and when Emily brought it in she could tell that they were impressed. It was a four layer chocolate cake with fudge frosting which Emily had decorated in a fall theme. There was a vine festooning the edges of the cake and small leaves of all colors seemed to grow from it, all of it made of frosting with the obligatory “Happy Birthday Brian” written in the center. The best thing of all was that it tasted as good as it looked. Brian complimented her on everything. “You amaze me sometimes.”

  When they were back in the great room and a fire was warming them, Emily figured the hard part of the evening was over. Her plan was to sit back and let the conversation be somebody else’s job. She had yet to see a circumstance where Paul Lawrence couldn’t get a conversation moving, so she relaxed. But not for long.

  “So Emily, how did you and Brian meet?” Audrey asked, as if fishing for a subject that even an art illiterate could talk about.

  “I was in a car accident in the big snow storm last winter, and Brian came along and rescued me.”

  “Oh, how romantic!” Audrey exclaimed.

  Paul interjected, “I don’t know how romantic it was. You were in pretty rough shape, weren’t you, Emily?”

  “Oh, it could have been a lot worse. I think the boredom in the hospital would have been what killed me had Brian not come and visited every day.” She smiled in his direction and continued, “And now he’s learned the lesson that no good deed goes unpunished.”

  Audrey said, “I always think it’s interesting how people meet. How did you and Brian meet, Paul?” Emily experienced that unreasoning anger that says within, “You couldn’t possibly have known what a stupid thing that was to say, but why didn’t you keep your big mouth shut anyway!” She was sitting on a stool in front of Brian’s chair, and her hand resting on his right leg felt it stiffen suddenly.

  After the briefest of pauses, Paul said smoothly, “We were at the same hospital in Pennsylvania.”

  “So tell me, Audrey,” Emily asked with just a trace of forced cheerfulness, “What do you do?”

  “I’m in cosmetics, I’m a distributor for Lady Laurel.”

  The tone in which this was said implied that everybody knew what Lady Laurel was. Emily’s experience with cosmetics consisted of a tube of lipstick which she didn’t wear because it gave her indigestion, a blob of purple eyeshadow, and a tube of mascara.

  “Oh, that’s interesting. I should have known someone as pretty as you would do something glamorous. Do you do a lot of traveling?”

  “Back and forth to New York, mostly. It gets pretty tedious really. I forget what Paul told me you do, something in government, wasn’t it?”

  “I work for the County Library. I’ll bet it beats traveling to New York into the ground for tedious.” With this Emily gave Paul an expressive look. He knew her well enough to know that what she was expressing was, “I’ve done my bit, now you keep her busy for a while.”

  He dutifully picked up a new thread of conversation, “Brian, what do you hear about that Alzheimer’s grant? I understand that your proposal was very impressive.”

  This began a dialogue about grants and federal funding cutbacks for research and other topics that Emily considered safe. She was fascinated by the subject of Brian’s work, but she could never convince him of that—he always assumed that any layman who expressed an interest in pathology was just being polite.

  And then there was Audrey. “You’re a pathologist, aren’t you, Brian? How do you stand dealing with death all the time?” she asked with a shudder.

  Emily was astounded that a person could be so gifted at throwing oil on the waters of conversation. Brian was smiling his patient smile at this point, as if he finally decided there was nothing for it but to humor her and hope she would go away. “Actually, I spend most of my time
looking at things under a microscope. I do an occasional autopsy, but I don’t ‘deal with death all the time.’”

  At this juncture Paul took the rudder of the conversation more firmly in hand and negotiated the rest of the evening safely. At about ten he began a series of choreographed yawns that signaled that the shore was in sight. By ten-thirty, the last of the compliments on dinner and the birthday wishes were done, and they were gone.

  It was one of those situations where no one wants to point out the obvious, so they sort of waltzed around it for a while.

  “Audrey certainly is beautiful. What a gorgeous head of hair,” Emily observed.

  “Well, I suppose so. Of course, it doesn’t come out of her head that color.”

  Emily looked at him intently, asking, “How on earth do you know that?”

  “When you do autopsies, you learn how to tell.”

  “She seemed to know a lot about art.”

  “Actually, your comment about Monet was more insightful than anything she said.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it; the most intelligent things I ever say I always say by accident.” After a pause, she asked, “How serious do you suppose Paul is about her?”

  “Don’t worry—if I know Paul, this too shall pass.”

  “I’m sure she has many fine qualities,” Emily said in a rather doubtful voice.

  With that, they both laughed. Brian said, “I suppose so. I’ve gathered over the years that the qualities Paul looks for are largely those which are the most obvious. I have noticed a propensity toward woman of certain, uh...”

  “What you are striving to say is that he likes them well built?”

  “Yes,” Brian said, chuckling, “Something like that.”

  “Well, Audrey was certainly every bit of that. At the side of the barbecue pit they would say that she was built ‘like a brick outhouse.’ Didn’t you think she was attractive?”

  “I suppose so. She’s not my type.”

  “Oh, really,” she said, moving into his arms. “And what is your type?”

  “Well, I like them about five feet four, brown shoulder length hair, gorgeous blue eyes, not a lot of make-up, and cute knees. It also helps if they have a brain.”

  Emily decided this was a good time to give her present. It was a very handsome flannel robe. She pointed out the plaid was Stuart, to match Brian’s middle name. He admired it and thanked her.

  “I like my present, and I liked my dinner. You went to a lot of trouble, and I appreciate it.”

  With that he kissed her and noticed that her fingers were stroking his chest.

  “You know, Brian, you don’t look any older. How do you feel?”

  “As a matter of fact, when you touch me like that, I feel quite a bit younger.”

  The sound of the phone ringing made Emily jump like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  Brian answered it with a slightly curt hello. The voice on the other end put him on edge, and Emily was certain she knew who the caller was.

  “Yes, I’m fine....No, not too much....It’s still pretty warm here in the day time....Yes, Emily’s fine...”

  She knew this was the standard conversation between Brian and his parents, so she was surprised to see that he seemed concerned.

  “Dad, is everything all right there?...Mom’s all right?...Good... Yes, it was nice to talk to you, too, Dad...Yes, thanks.”

  “What’s the matter? Did he say something upsetting?”

  “No, but I can’t figure out why he called. My mother called this afternoon and we did the standard ‘I can’t believe it’s been forty-seven years’ routine.”

  “I’m sure he just wanted to add his good wishes. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” But as Emily knew from her own vast experience as a world class worrier, it’s hard to stop once you start.

  Brian said, almost to himself, “It’s just so odd for him to call himself.”

  Election Day found Brian and Emily on the same side of the political spectrum, but in different voter precincts. They decided to converge at Brian’s after casting their ballots at their respective polling places to have dinner and watch election results on television.

  When Emily arrived she found Brian hard at work creating one of his culinary masterpieces. She had never seen the dish he was assembling before.

  “Those are the tiniest chickens I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed.

  Brian smiled. “They’re not chickens, they’re squab. We used to eat these all the time when I was a kid. I found them at that specialty market over near the fancy bakery. You don’t see them very often around here.” As he spoke, he was stuffing the tiny birds with wild rice. When the phone rang, he said, “Get that for me, will you, sweetheart? I’ve got to wash this stuff off.”

  Emily’s hello was met with a deep female voice asking for Brian.

  “May I tell him who’s calling?” Emily asked, feeling very curious.

  “Vera Lawrence,” the caller said.

  Holding out the phone to Brian, Emily simply said with a shrug of the shoulders that made it clear that this name didn’t ring any bells, “It’s a lady named Vera Lawrence. Do you want some privacy?”

  Shaking his head in answer to her question while at the same time sporting a slight frown, he took the phone. “Hello, Vera... I’m fine, how about yourself?...Yes, same old thing...He may be here a little later, he said something about stopping in to watch the election results...Yes, well if I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him...At the Sheraton, I’ll tell him...Yes, you too. Bye.”

  Emily figured it must be one of Paul’s relatives, and hoped it was not some bad news. “Was that someone from Paul’s family? It’s not something wrong is it?”

  “I hope not,” Brian said with a terse tone that seemed to close off the topic of conversation quite firmly.

  The dinner was delicious and they had just settled down in front of the television when Paul arrived. As he made himself comfortable in the arm chair, he asked facetiously, “What’s the score?”

  Brian grinned and responded, “I’m not sure where the score stands, but it’s going to be tight either way.” After a pause, he continued, “There was a call here for you. Vera wanted you to know she’s in town for a couple of days and would like to see you. She says she called your place and left a message, but she thought you might be here. I told her I’d pass the word along.”

  Emily felt the tension level in the room peak suddenly, and became very curious as to what was going on, but she knew better than to stick her nose into Paul’s business. She didn’t have his brass when it came to asking people nosy questions.

  After a long pause, Paul asked, “Where is she staying?”

  Brian answered, “The Sheraton.”

  “Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow,” was the clipped reply. At that moment Paul caught Emily’s eye as she was moving her gaze back and forth between the two men nervously, and with obvious curiosity. “Vera is my ex-wife,” he explained.

  Emily wore a startled expression as she said, “I didn’t know you had an ex-wife.”

  “We were married and divorced a long time ago. I haven’t seen her in over a year, so I guess I should have expected this. She can’t seem to go for very long without bothering me. She’s not one of my favorite people.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said.

  Paul smiled and said, “You’re sorry for the Crimean War, too, I’ll bet. What are you apologizing for?”

  Emily blushed, “Well, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “You weren’t nosy. It’s no big secret. For a fairly lousy three years I was married to an attractive, intelligent woman who was absolutely the last person on earth I should have married. When I finally realized the latter fact, we were divorced. She makes occasional attempts to wander back into my life, and Brian here has to remind me of all the good reasons why I left her in the first place.”

  Emily glanced in Brian’s direction with a troubled look. She was hoping that he
would find some graceful way of extricating her from the faux pas that she was sure she would commit if the subject of conversation didn’t change at once. Instead he simply said, “It’s not hard; she’s not one of my favorite people either.”

  Finally deciding that she had given them ample opportunity to change the subject if they wanted to, Emily threw in the towel and came right out with a blunt question. “Well, what’s the matter with her?”

  Paul seemed amused by her sudden forthrightness. “Mostly our divorce was just a result of the fact that she liked being married to a doctor, but she wasn’t too crazy about being married to me. If there was anything the matter with her it would probably be that she was overly concerned with money and material things.”

  Brian interjected, “Paul is a very charitable person. What he says is correct as far as it goes, but the truth is that that woman has a temper like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  This remark prompted the two men to begin recounting stories of the escapades Vera had been involved in during the time she and Paul were married. As Emily heard of scenes thrown in restaurants, temper tantrums in the hospital lobby, and other acutely embarrassing situations into which his wife’s fury had thrust Paul, she marveled that he could now recount them with such calm and equanimity. Something of this marvel must have shown on her face, because Paul looked in her direction and said, “You see, I knew the best weapon to fight that kind of temper in a supposedly adult person was to walk away from her. If she started a scene in a restaurant, I quietly paid the bill and left. The average two-year-old can tell you that tantrums only serve their purpose as long as mommy and daddy stick around to see them. When she got tired of performing her little dramas to an empty house, she went out and found new audiences. That’s when I knew it was over, time to go.”

  Emily looked profoundly sad when she asked, “If you know all that, why does Brian have to remind you of all the good reasons you left her when she tries to wander back into your life?”

  There was a silence in the room that remained intact until Brian smiled and said to Paul, “Just remember, you’re the one who taught her to think like that; she was just a naive librarian until she met you.”