Timothy

by Greg Herren

  I took Minette for a walk, glad for any excuse to escape the madness of the house. Workers were everywhere, decorating and moving furniture, and deliveries were coming and going, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. Carlo had taken refuge in his room after breakfast, and I grabbed Minette’s leash and headed next door.

  “It’s so strange to have the ball without Timothy being there,” Nell said after a long silence while we watched the dogs playing. “He is so associated with this party in my head—and so many others, I’m sure…it must be very strange for Carlo.” She fixed her eyes on me. “You do know most people are coming tonight more out of curiosity than anything else.”

  “Yes, I kind of figured that. And Carlo’s holding up just fine,” I replied, looking her right in the eye. It wasn’t true—Carlo had returned from Buenos Aires a few days earlier in a very strange mood, and his moodiness had increased with each day. He hadn’t come to my suite since he’d returned, and rather than our usual evenings of watching black-and-white movies, every night after dinner he excused himself and went up to his rooms.

  I knew the party was triggering memories for him. The last time the ball had been given at Spindrift, Timothy had been the host. I’d found the pictures—Timothy had come as Michael Phelps, the Olympic swimmer, in a very skimpy stars and stripes Speedo with faux Olympic medals around his neck. One of them had been real, though—the gold medal Taylor had asked me about.

  But rather than allowing my insecurities to come to the fore again, I reminded myself that it was only natural he’d be haunted by his memories. This was the first time the ball had been held since Timothy died, and it was an essential part of the healing process. Once Carlo made it through the ball this time, it would be easier the next. I was determined to make sure we had a wonderful time—so the new memories could crowd out the old.

  I was finished with being jealous of a dead man. I was focusing on the positive and moving forward—and leaving Timothy’s shadow far behind us.

  “I’m sorry—it must bother you to have me bring him up,” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “That’s why I haven’t since that first time you stopped by here, you know. I could see that it upset you.”

  “It’s fine, Nell, really.” I insisted. “I can’t pretend like he never existed. He did, and Carlo loved him. But he’s dead, and I’m alive. That’s what I hold on to now.”

  “He was murdered, you know,” she said in a quiet voice. “But he deserved to be killed. What he was doing to Carlo was unforgivable.” She looked off into the distance. “I used to see him from the widow’s walk. There was”—she shook her head—“there was a time when I was having trouble sleeping every night. I didn’t want pills—my sister had a problem with sleeping pills, you know, and I was already taking enough pills as it was, so I said no thank you, I’m not taking more—and so I used to go up to the widow’s walk to sit and breathe the night air and listen to the sea until I got sleepy. And of course from up there I could see everything that went on over at Spindrift—I have a clear view of his studio.” Her lips compressed tightly together. “Studio, he called it.” She sniffed disdainfully. “He’d have his men meet him out there. I used to see him waiting for them…and poor Carlo had no idea. One of them killed him, I’d be willing to bet on that.”

  “You’re so certain he was murdered,” I said after a moment.

  “Someone took the Rhiannon out that night,” she replied.

  At first I didn’t know what she was talking about—but then I remembered the Rhiannon was the yacht in the boathouse. It was sitting there in dry dock, unused. I’d asked about it once, and Carlo simply replied he’d lost interest in boating. I’d let it go.

  “I was up on the roof,” she went on, her hands shaking as she put her glass of tea down, “and I saw it leave. I didn’t think anything of it, of course, but I had a very clear view of the beach—and there wasn’t anything there, like they said there was, later. No towel, no bag, nothing. I did think it was an odd time for the boat to go out—it was almost dusk—but it was none of my business, and if Carlo or whoever wanted to take the boat out at that time of day, it didn’t matter to me. I went down into the house and didn’t see it come back.” She looked at me, her eyes wet. “And then, of course, the next morning I heard about Timothy…and then I wondered if maybe it did matter after all.”

  We sat there in silence, the only sounds the waves in the distance and the dogs playing. She wiped at her eyes.

  When I spoke again, my voice was unsteady. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “We don’t talk to the police, don’t you know that by now?” She stood up. “And have to testify in court, and be fodder for the gossip columnists and the tabloids and those horrible programs on television? No, we don’t talk to the police, my friend.” She whistled for her dogs. They came on the run, their tongues out, barking and yapping around. “I’d best be getting inside.” She smiled at me. “I may not be coming tonight after all—I’m not so sure I’m up to it. Give Carlo and Joyce my regrets.”

  “Nell—”

  The door shut behind her. I sat there for a moment, petting Minette, my mind racing.

  Someone had taken the boat out that night.

  But the autopsy showed Timothy had drowned—he had sea water in his lungs. And he was a strong swimmer—surely if someone had tried to drown him…

  I stood up, a little shaky, and walked Minette back to the madness at Spindrift.

  I put everything Nell had said out of my mind. I pitched in and helped a crazed Joyce with the finishing touches on the house before she left to go put on her own costume. Carlo was in a remarkably good mood, teasing me about my mysterious costume, and I was relieved to see it. He seemed like his old self again—as though he’d managed to put his painful memories behind him and wanted to enjoy himself.

  My plan to help him forget was clearly working.

  I was still in my afternoon clothing when Frank and Joyce arrived, several hours early. They were staying overnight—I’d had Olivia prepare the Lavender Suite for them—and I had suggested they just come early and get dressed at Spindrift. But Joyce wouldn’t hear of it—and I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing when they came through the front doors—Joyce was dressed as Little Bo Peep, complete with thick pancake makeup, thick mascara, and rouged cheeks.

  Frank was one of her sheep.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Frank groused at me. “I need a drink.” He stormed off to where a bar had been set up in the formal dining room.

  “Frank, I’m sorry,” I called after him. “I love your costume, really!”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Joyce said rather crossly. “He always complains about his costumes. I always tell him if he hates the costumes I come up with so much he’s more than welcome to come up with his own ideas—but he won’t do that. He just likes to complain. Where’s Carlo?”

  “Getting dressed,” I replied, and was pleased to see Frank returning with a drink, a twinkle in his eye.

  He handed Joyce a rather large martini. “Not sure how I’m supposed to go to the bathroom in this stupid outfit, so there just might be an accident later.” He winked at me and took a big drink from his own glass.

  Joyce gave him a dirty look and turned to me. “Don’t you think you should be getting dressed yourself?” she groused as Frank handed her a glass of red wine.

  “All right, I was just waiting for you two to arrive in case someone showed up early.” I bowed and dashed up the grand staircase.

  My costume had been delivered that morning, and I had immediately hidden it inside my closet. As I unzipped the big bag, I gasped in pleasure at the sight of the wings. Ruth had done a great job on them—the real white feathers were soft and beautiful, and the halo itself was round and covered with gold glitter that caught the light and reflected it beautifully. I took my shower and shaved, and after drying myself I walked back into the bedroom. I pulled the pure white trunks on and looked at myself in the mirror. They fit snu
gly, like a second skin. They were also a little briefer than I would have liked, but it was too late to do anything about it now. I stared at my reflection. I turned and checked out my backside. The trunks delineated the crack of my ass—and I hesitated for a second. Maybe it’s too much? Too risqué?

  Don’t be ridiculous, I reminded myself. New experiences, and confidence. You can pull this outfit off.

  I faced myself again in the mirror and smiled. My body looked good—I wasn’t Timothy, but that hadn’t been the idea anyway. No matter how much I worked I would never be that. But my muscles looked nice, my skin was nicely tanned, and the white of the trunks made my tan look even deeper than it really was. I put on a pair of socks and laced up the white leather boots that reached my knees. Once again, with the laces tied tightly, I examined myself in the mirror.

  I looked really good. Better than I could have hoped for.

  Carlo is going to be speechless, I thought with a big grin.

  I slipped my arms through the harness and snapped everything together in the front. The wings looked beautiful, and I slipped the halo on the top of my head.

  I looked—beautiful.

  “Wow,” I said out loud, reaching out and touching the mirror’s surface.

  I put my other hand over my mouth and felt tears forming in my eyes.

  All those years of loneliness, of being nobody, of being a shy, quiet person, of being ignored and looked over were in the past.

  I was now married to a great man who loved me, and I lived in a castle. And I looked amazing—and tonight I was going to be the belle of the ball.

  I felt like Cinderella.

  I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror.

  This was going to be the greatest night of my life.

  I felt like I could fly, if I really wanted to.

  There was a knock on the door, and Olivia poked her head in. “Sir, the guests are starting to arrive and Mr. Carlo—oh.” She stopped talking and her eyes goggled in her head.

  “How do I look, Olivia?” I spun around for her, the wings rustling.

  She’d gone pale, and she stammered out, “You look really good.”

  “Then why are you acting like you’ve seen a ghost?”

  “They’re waiting for you downstairs,” she gasped out, and hurried away.

  That was certainly odd, I thought as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. I closed my door and started walking down the hallway. I was going to make a grand entrance down the grand staircase, debuting my wonderful costume and my amazing new look. I could already imagine the looks on their faces when they saw me… The thought brought a grin to my face, and a delighted laugh burst out of me. I could hear car doors shutting outside, and I started hurrying even faster. I wanted everyone who walked in through the front door to see me, I wanted them to look at me and think, Why, he’s not Timothy, of course, but I don’t know why everyone was saying he was so plain, he’s rather attractive, and that costume looks wonderful on him. I wanted to see the lusty gleam in Carlo’s eyes as he looked me up and down and for the first time could truly see how my body had changed, how different I was from that little Mouse he’d met in Miami.

  I looked like someone who belonged at Spindrift now.

  I reached the stairs and placed my left hand on the banister and majestically started walking down the steps. I could hear the feathers rustling softly and feel them brushing gently against the skin of my back. My smile was so big my cheeks were starting to ache. I paused when I reached the landing, and took a deep breath. Prepare yourselves for a big surprise, I thought.

  I went around the corner of the landing and could see them all standing there, just inside the front door.

  I cleared my throat and they all looked up.

  They all gasped at the same time.

  I smiled and, holding my head high, gracefully glided down the stairs.

  “What do you think?” I said when I reached them. I turned around for them. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  It was then, and only then, that I saw the looks on their faces—and they weren’t what I’d been hoping to see.

  Frank looked embarrassed, Joyce mortified. Carlo’s face was red, his eyebrows knit together, and a muscle in his jaw was jumping.

  No one said anything.

  And it was at that inopportune moment that some guests arrived. They greeted Frank and Joyce and a wooden Carlo and were introduced to me, but I was so worried and concerned I didn’t catch their names or what they were saying to me. All I could think was Carlo was angry, somehow I’d done something wrong, maybe the costume was too revealing or I didn’t look good in it.

  The woman was smiling at me—she was dressed as Cleopatra, and she was saying something about how good I looked in my costume, and then she and her husband were gone, on their way to the bar.

  Carlo strode off without a word.

  Helplessly, I turned back to Joyce and Frank.

  And I heard Cleopatra saying to her husband in a loud whisper she surely intended for me to hear, ‘What incredibly poor taste! Can you believe he had the nerve to wear the costume Timothy was going to wear last year? He’s certainly no Timothy, that’s for sure.”

  I felt like throwing up.

  I turned to Joyce, who had tears in her eyes, her hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t know,” I whispered, and turned and ran up the stairs as quickly as I could.

  And when I reached the top of the stairs, there stood Carson, a smirk on his face.

  Without a word, he turned and walked noiselessly down the hall.

  Chapter Twelve

  I staggered along the upstairs hallway, my eyes filled with tears of humiliation. I couldn’t get the look on Carlo’s face out of my mind—or the contempt and barely controlled anger in his voice. I started fumbling with the buckle on the front of the harness. I kept my eyes on the floor—the faces in the paintings on the walls all seemed to viewing me with scorn and contempt. Outside, I heard the music playing—I vaguely remembered Joyce telling me he was the hottest deejay in the gay clubs of the city—and wondered how I was ever going to be able to go downstairs again and face our guests.

  Somehow, I had to. I had to summon up the courage from somewhere and go down there and pretend like nothing was wrong—even though what I wanted to do was get dressed, pack a bag, and run as far away from Spindrift as I could.

  I laughed at myself contemptuously. You don’t have a way to leave if you had the guts to walk out—you don’t have a car, you don’t even know how to drive. What are you going to do, walk to the nearest train station?

  And what would it ultimately prove, anyway? That everyone who thought Carlo made a mistake in marrying me was right?

  I opened the door to my room and closed it behind me. I finished unbuckling the harness and shrugged the straps off my shoulders. They fell to the floor and I picked them up, tossing them into the corner. Some of the feathers bent or broke, but what did it matter? I was never going to wear them again.

  I resisted the urge to set them on fire.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and started untying and unlacing the boots. My hands were shaking and the tears finally started flowing out of my eyes. My nose started running, but I kept unlacing the boots, trying to focus; focusing on the task at hand was what was keeping me together. Once the boots were unlaced, I yanked them off and threw them into the same corner as the wings.

  Minette shoved her head under my hand and gave me such a sad, mournful look that my heart broke. Her tail thumped against the bed, and she climbed into lap and tried to lick my face.

  That was the final straw. The dam broke and the misery completely overwhelmed me. I hugged her, burying my face in her neck and let go, giving way to the sobs.

  I don’t know how long I cried—but it seemed like hours passed before I was all cried out. I gently pushed Minette out of my lap and walked into the bathroom.

  I stared at my tearstained face and turned on the hot water spigot.

&
nbsp; Let me just get through this damned party, I said to my reflection as the mirror started to steam up, and I’ll go away. Tomorrow, when my head is clearer, I’ll figure out what to do. I’ll pack some things, and maybe—maybe Carlo will help me get started somewhere far away from here. He owes me that, at the least. It isn’t my fault he doesn’t love me.

  That thought brought the tears back, but I splashed hot water on my face and got hold of myself. I washed my face thoroughly, and a terrible calm seemed to settle over me.

  Of course Carlo will help me. It takes two to make a marriage fail, and I did my best, didn’t I? I won’t go back to New York—too many memories, and I am not going to go back to work for Valerie, but maybe he can help me find a job in Chicago or New Orleans or somewhere. He has to have connections in publishing, right?

  I smiled at the mirror. My eyes were red, but other than that I looked okay. I could pull it off, I could go downstairs and smile and play host and be gracious. No one would have the slightest idea that anything was wrong. I was numb and deadened inside.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door, and I called, “Come in!” I turned off the spigot and walked back in the bedroom just as Joyce opened the door.

  “Are YOU all right, dear?” Despite the ridiculous pancake makeup on her face I could see she was concerned. “I came up as QUICKLY as I could—I am SO sorry.” She crossed the room and grabbed both of my hands, peering into my face. “I don’t know WHY Carlo can’t control that TEMPER of his—he NEVER could, even when we were KIDS. PLEASE forget how BEASTLY he was to you and come back to the party.”

  “No need to worry, Joyce, I’m not going to give the gossips any fodder. As soon as I put on something else, I’ll be down to pretend like everything’s just marvelous,” I said bitterly. I grabbed a pair of underwear out of my dresser and walked into my walk-in closet. I grabbed my white linen suit and placed it across the chair. I left the closet door ajar so we could still talk. “I won’t shame the family name, Joyce.” I peeled the tight trunks off, wadded them up into a ball, and tossed them in the little wicker garbage can—no need to keep them. I’d never wear them again. I pulled on the underwear and pulled out a dark blue silk shirt.