“Well, Norman is a problem for your relationship.” Zelda offered.
“Only for me.” Suddenly Donna blushed guiltily. “David thought everything was fine. I treat Norman okay, don’t I?”
“Probably.” Zelda laughed. “You don’t have the balls to mistreat anyone.”
Donna tried to avoid a smile. Sally knew Donna would not want to jeopardize her marriage by laying down laws for her youngest stepson, who was seven years older than Donna. Sally did have a few opinions of her own on the subject- like not continuing a love affair with a married woman. Norman was 42 and entirely screwed up, living with his mother with no life of his own, no job, no retirement plan, no medical benefits, except his father’s wallet. David avoided even speaking Norman’s name, but Sally knew the couple went to movies with David’s pudgy son twice a week. Being around the sulking young man was surely irritating.
“Norman’s latest mantra is that nothing matters anyway.” Donna then tried to switch Zelda’s attention to a less painful subject. “I need a black dress for the funeral. Could we go shopping?”
“You have not finished your salad.” Zelda scolded. “You’re wasting good money.”“Spending David’s money always cheers me up.” Donna paid her bill with a fifty, telling the waiter to keep the change.
“Resentment’s roll of money.” Zelda picked up her 43rd purse.
“I brought my credit card wallet with all the department store cards.” Donna said as they walked to Zelda’s white Lincoln.
“Don’t you always carry them?” Zelda patted her Coach bag.
“I keep them in a separate wallet in my desk. I only use them for mad-hatter trips. I keep buying until I’m through being angry with David. Normally I only carry one big-limit card.”
“This could take several days.” Zelda laughed. “I buy a new Coach purse every time I make love.”
“To celebrate?” Sally asked. “Or, because you’re angry?”
“I always thought I spent money to congratulate myself.” Zelda looked down at her latest purse. “But, I guess you could be right. I could be getting even.”
“With whom?” Sally kidded, not expecting an answer.
“I guess I’m sticking it to myself.” Zelda sighed. “I’m the one laying down the hundred dollar bills.”
After trying on a host of outfits at Macy’s, Donna’s mood lightened. Sally knocked and opened Zelda’s changing room door to find out if she could retrace the close-packed aisles of clothing. “When did you plan to leave?”
Zelda hastily pulled the collar of a new sweater around her throat. “Oh, another half-hour.” Her nervous laughter added a bit of tension.
Sally saw the bruise. “Are you hiding a hickey?” Sally’s laughter nearly matched Zelda’s.
“It’s nothing.” Zelda was actually blushing.
“Well, I’m off for another gathering run,” Donna said. “Should I look for anything for you two?”
“A blue scarf,” Sally said, “if you pass one.”
‘Misery does love company,’ came to Sally’s mind as she loaded down her arms with a plethora of silk blouses in rainbows of color. Overspending was cut from the same cloth as other symptoms of moral decay, like drunkenness. She asked her Higher Power for help in removing this obvious defect of character. Wantonness with money was surely as immoral as other crimes against natural instincts. Watching Donna pay for her purchases with a credit card, Sally recalled the scripture verse, “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” Her daily prayers asked to be delivered from evil. Perhaps the only evil was retribution.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Stucchi’s Ice Cream Parlor
The three women decided ice cream at Stucchi’s was required before they could think about going home. Even though Zelda made sure she spent not one slim dime on the trip, the trunk of her Lincoln was filled to capacity. Most of the bags, four in fact, were Donna’s purchases.
“Last week, when I took Donna home after shopping,” Zelda said. “I wondered if she considered leaving her shopping bags in my trunk.”
“In for a penny, in for a pound.” Donna said bravely.
“That’s exactly what you said. Once inside, I insisted David approve each of your purchases. I didn’t intend to leave you in any jeopardy from the spending spree I was a party to.”
“David is not capable of even thinking about scolding me. I named people I intended to give most of the articles. One birthday and Christmas is just around the calendar’s corner.”
Zelda said. “I’ll remember the ploy for future dealings with St. Claire. Boring old David displayed no adverse reactions to the loss of his money. I even asked him, ‘Do you always let your wife get away with murdering your budget?’ But David was not in the least distressed.”
Donna mimicked John Wayne’s spaced mode of comment. “Well you did try to change harmony into discord.” Sally laughed at Donna’s antics and Donna smiled. “We have a spending agreement similar to Clinton’s policy about gays in the military. David put his arm around me, lifted my hair, and kissed the back of my neck.”
“What’s the policy?” Sally asked.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
Zelda chuckled and looked away, playing with finding her key in her Coach bag. She bought herself a new purse every time St. Claire touched her in anger. The only other time she felt his hands on her was when she was nude on her back in her own bed.
“But you didn’t find a thing to buy.” Donna noted.
“That’s okay,” Zelda said. “I do all my shopping in New York City. You should come with me next time. Scope out my gallery for your paintings.”
“New York is so jammed with people.” Donna complained. “I feel as if they’re using up all the good oxygen.”
“Ridiculous!” Zelda raised her voice. After taking Sally and Donna back to Sally’s Mustang, Zelda pointed her Lincoln toward the condominium she called home. No good there she remembered, touching the bruise Sally spied as well as the one on the other side of her neck. St. Claire insisted physically she wasn’t trying hard enough to become a confidant of Donna’s.
“Use some of your New York chutzpa.” St. Claire clamped his cold hands on her throat as he pushed her back through the connecting door of their apartments. “Find out about David’s plans, now!”
Zelda could report nothing to St. Claire except David became more distracted before he died. He’d removed himself from Donna’s world. St. Claire’s demands were becoming increasingly difficult to meet. His dominance invaded more and more of her life. When she first met Paul St. Claire in Maui, she chased him with all the womanly and financial ploys at her disposal. His intelligence and academic charm hid his insecurities and anger at the world. Ten years later, and a half-a-million spent out of her daddy’s Pan Am trust fund, Zelda felt as far away from claiming his affection as the first day she paid for his Kailua and Cream.
Why she continued to shop and prepare gourmet meals, clean his apartment, wash his clothes, pick up his cleaning, and shine his shoes was the real question. St. Claire promised to become a millionaire on his own without referring to the amounts she invested in their relationship. Any questioning on financial subjects was met with open hostility if not outright violence. It didn’t matter, or it did, especially with her recent financial-market losses affecting her future security. She knew where she stood. She was St. Claire’s punching bag for all the irritations he encountered in the world.
Time to call Dr. Quincy again. Her therapist would prescribe mood elevators to see her through this latest spell of St. Claire’s exasperation with her. With no family to report to, Dr. Quincy was her only friend, rented at $200 an hour. So far, Dr. Quincy seemed interested in really helping her. He insisted she memorize the phone number of the Safe House for abused women. He salved her feelings by explaining the guilt of spending her father’s unearned inheritance fed her low self-image. He promised to alleviate those guilt feelings.
However, Zelda didn’t really feel any guilt, onl
y confusion. St. Claire’s claim on her seemed the only real element in her crazy life. The pills helped. They stayed the nagging voices about her ridiculous premise; she loved Professor Paul St. Claire. Surely, the man would return her love -- someday.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Third Saturday in November
Donna could not believe how much time passed when she focused on the studio’s wall clock. 2:00 o’clock in the morning! She stretched her arms before realizing one hand still held a paint-laden brush. A glob of blue fell on a white farmhouse on the canvas. She dipped a ragged cloth into turpentine and lifted out the blue mistake. As if awakening from a long sleep, she regarded her finished work. Not a glamorous piece, but neatly done and pleasant enough. She wiped her brush of most of the paint and then immersed it into the crowded mason jar filled with brushes soaking in soap. She re-promised herself to clean the brushes.
When she turned off the four tall lamps facing her canvas, she saw sharp splinters of lightning outside. The thunder was low, continuous. David wouldn’t be there when she slipped into bed. Donna ran her hand over his side of the bed. She asked him the night before, “Why are you not sleeping? Are you upset about something?”
“I’m not unhappy because you were painting,” David said. “My research may not be going anywhere. I may have wasted ten years.”
“That can’t be.” Donna said softly, close to his ear. “Didn’t you tell me, negative results are worth the effort because other experimentalists can skip the false paths in their search for solutions?” She wound her leg across David’s. “Have you wasted the fourteen years you spent with me?”
“You’re a good wife, Donna. Very mature for a girl of nineteen, from the first day we married.” David kissed her. “Roll over and let me rub your shoulders. I’m sure they’re knotted up after working so late.”
Even without her husband’s massage, Donna drifted off into a perfect dream landscape of her canvas farmland. She smelled the golden straw, watched the wind move the heavy heads of oats into patterns not unlike the surf breaking onto a peaceful beach. She reached out her hand to feel the heat of the dream’s summer day only to find David’s side of the bed empty and cold. Donna tried to avoid thinking of the misery living without David would entail. He was her foundation, the steady plank in reason’s sway. What happened?
A steady rain blew at the window.
Sleeping was not David’s strong point. He rose at 5:00 o’clock every morning as if released from a Jack-in-the-Box. Sensing the house was too quiet, Donna rolled out of bed and flung her bathrobe over her shoulder as she ran down the stairs.
She was alone.
Sally stayed with Donna the entire first night of widowhood, but Friday night Donna refused. Her bedside digital read, “2:30 am.” Sleep appeared part of Donna’s lost world with David, a thing remembered but unknown now. She placed a call to Sally at 5:30 on Saturday morning. “When will they let Harry go home?”
“I’m sure he’s at home,” Sally said. “I left him a message, but it was too late for him to call back.”
“I should let you go.”
“It’s all right. The police won’t harm Harry.”
“My brother, Steve, and his wife, will arrive this morning.” Donna felt as if she were talking to her friend from a far off distance. “I feel as if I’m drugged.”
“Well, you’re not.” Sally comforted her. “Sleeplessness must be your way of grieving. No one knows how they will deal with grief until it happens to them.”
“But, I want to think. My mind keeps mulling over the last time David was here. When another person is in the house, I feel more sane. I’ll make you a cup of coffee, if you and John will come over.”
“We’ll be right over. Your body hasn’t absorbed the facts yet.”
Donna cringed at her own unjust marital complaints aired with Zelda. Even David heard her censure before he died. Oblivion seemed a preferred option. “I wish we’d died together.”
“No you don’t. It’s a healthy sign you don’t want to feel the pain of grieving.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
John and Sally were on their second cup of coffee before Donna made a supreme effort to form a normal question. “Have you been in the studio?”
Sally smiled as if she appreciated the exertion required to carry on a normal conversation. “Did you paint instead of sleeping last night?”
“You’re going to get curiouser and curiouser, if you don’t run up and look.” Donna produced a weak smile.
Sally returned from the studio after only a moment’s lapse. She clapped her hands in excitement. “Marvelous work, yards above the caliber of your regular paintings.” Sally accepted a sweet roll from John. “Emotions do rule expression.”
Donna tried to explain. “I dreamt I was in the peaceful painting. I wondered how it would feel to live on a farm. I was guilty about shopping with Zelda. In the past, I threw money around until I wasn’t angry, which is not a very constructive option for grief. The terror of living alone without David surfaced somewhere between owning up to my spending addiction and planning my next shopping trip. Then I became paranoid. Do you think Zelda encouraged me to shop in order to share in my budget debauchery?” Donna placed her hand over her mouth.
She felt released from whatever spell kept her catatonic at the table. Perhaps the need to appear rational in front of Sally and John, while facing the gross reality of her husband’s death kept her tethered. She stood and pushed her chair under the table. “I need to paint.”
She couldn’t vomit anymore, couldn’t sleep and needed some activity to relieve the longing for David’s return. She walked Sally and John to the door.
Upstairs, a fresh canvas stared back at her.
She spread black into all four corners, letting the forms create billowing folds of purple darkness. Halfway down Donna spread a yellow sea crashing into a granite-strewn coast. The heavens she painted white with one, then two trailing clouds of blue rain. In the foreground, she positioned one red and bleeding heart, folded over the edge of a rock like Dali’s pocket watch. She added finishing blue tints to a black crow’s feathers, who busied itself with the meat of the painting’s heart.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Donna’s phone rang.
“Has your brother arrived?” Sally asked. “It’s past noon.”
“No.” Donna took the brush from her hand. “Not yet. I finished another painting.”
“I’ll be right over. John’s busy at the yacht club hotel.”
When, Sally arrived and absorbed the new painting’s message, she sat down on the floor of the studio, bowed her head and wept.
Donna squatted next to her and stroked the older woman’s white hair. “Don’t cry for me. I’ll be all right.” She helped a calmer Sally to her feet. “Time for lunch. Come and keep me company.” She followed Sally down to the dining room. She felt as if a zombie claimed her soul during the long morning.
Zelda and Professor Paul St. Claire, David’s advisor, were talking quietly at the dining room table when Sally and Donna entered. “Professor, is Harry home yet?”
“I’m not sure.” Professor St. Clair rose and embraced her, kissing the air on both sides of her head. “I’m so sorry to hear about David’s fall.”
“Yes, but not from grace.”
“What?” St. Claire asked.
“I apologize. I haven’t slept much since the police told me what happened.”
Sally prepared eggs and bacon for the group. Zelda helped by making a ton of toasted English muffins. “Zelda,” Sally said. “Ask Donna if you can go up and see her latest paintings.”
“No.” Donna said before Zelda could think about it. “I better rest after lunch. Sorry, I’ll show you the paintings very soon, but not now.” Donna wasn’t sure what she thought about her new paintings. She definitely did not want to deal with others knowing the state of her soul. If they compared the angry painting from the previous night with the peaceful farm and the grief-driven on
e, they might misjudge her. She was sure of one thing; she would never be fully restored after losing David.
At least Donna noticed her taste buds resurrected their heads long enough for her to enjoy the salty bacon. She spread a coating of honey on half of a muffin.
“Not too good for you.” Professor St. Claire commented.
“Neither is losing a mate.” Donna then apologized for the second time. “Sorry. Not thinking clearly this morning.”
“Understandable.” Professor St. Claire said. Zelda and St. Claire exchanged a glance and then said their good-byes.
“How close is Zelda to Professor St. Claire?” Sally asked after they left.
Donna wondered if her suddenly single status helped her realize the nature of the couple’s relationship. “Zelda watches every move St. Claire makes. I do know their condominiums are next door to each other.”
“I’d want a connecting door.” Sally almost giggled. Donna laughed, then covered her mouth, embarrassed by their levity. “Donna?” Sally scolded. “Give me a break here.”
“Neither of them would have to haul their asses out into the rain to go home.”
“See.” Sally smiled. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
“Humor is a savior of mankind.”
“One of them.” Sally agreed.
Then they heard the front doorbell. “That must be Steve.” Instead, Donna escorted John into the dining room. “Have you had lunch? We might be out of eggs.”
“Plenty of eggs.” Sally got busy with the frying pan. “I do need to review the case with John.”
“The case?” Donna asked.
“You don’t think Harry could harm David, do you?” Sally only knew the short professor by sight. “I’ve not said more than two words to the man, but he doesn’t seem to own a mean bone in his body.”
“I know he didn’t harm David,” Donna said. “I wish I could talk to him to hear how the accident happened.”
John rubbed his baldness as if friction on the outside would make his brain come up with something significant. “Maybe Professor Terkle did try to stop the fall.”
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 01 - The Legitimate Way Page 16
