Faltering

by Jennifer Lyndon

  “No. I do not. I enjoy buying you gifts.”

  “I’m serious, Lara. It’s not appropriate.”

  “Is it appropriate when I kiss you, baby?” she asked. I swallowed hard against the tightness in my chest as she watched me. “Or when I make love to you? Do I have to stop doing that too?”

  My eyes were riveted to her mouth as a molasses slow smile spread across her lips. After a moment she moved from the doorway, making her way toward me quietly, as if I were a skittish animal she was being careful not to spook. I turned my back to her and from behind she enclosed me within her long, slender arms and held me to her.

  Sylvie,” she whispered close to my ear, “I don’t believe I’ve had an appropriate thought about you since you reached puberty. I simply can’t help myself.” I shook my head, but remained silent, unable to find the words to respond. “Are you hungry, baby?”

  I turned around in her arms and lay my head against her shoulder, allowing her to guide me over to the wardrobe. She stripped my slip from me, and covered me in a hotel bathrobe, sliding it up my shoulders and wrapping it gently around me before tying it at the waist. She then led me into the living area and over to the table by the window. I noticed a large bouquet of white tulips on the cocktail table, an explanation for the pungent floral aroma, and a banquet of food spread out on serving carts. I caught Lara’s eye and she smiled, satisfaction evident in her expression.

  “I didn’t hear anyone come in,” I began.

  “I closed the bedroom door, baby. You were sleeping so soundly. I didn’t want to disturb you,” she replied.

  I paused to assimilate the scene in front of me, guessing she’d ordered everything on the menu from the excess of dishes crowding my senses. The serving carts were set up as a buffet line, containing cut fruit and various muffins of differing colors and sizes with and without raisins, blueberries, or cranberries, as well as crepes with jams and pastry cream, waffles, and French toast, flanked by various juices, as well as coffee. Enough food for twelve people was spread out before me.

  “You must be hungry,” I managed, a little stunned.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d want so I asked for a little of everything,” was her explanation.

  “You were more decisive about the flowers, I see,” I teased. She cut her eyes over to the vase of white tulips and then back to me.

  “Actually,” she started, smiling sheepishly, “more are coming, both tulips and roses. They’re so elegant, don’t you think? I realized while I was ordering them I didn’t know what you liked best.”

  “Why all the fuss this morning?”

  “No reason,” she said, sounding almost defensive. She diverted her gaze to the view of the cityscape outside our window, and the lake. “What’s your favorite type of flower?”

  “I’ve never really considered that. No one has ever bought me flowers before. I like them all, I guess.”

  She cocked her head to the side and pinned me with those beautiful hazel eyes. “I’m sorry about last night,” she whispered. “I can’t stand fighting with you. Neither of us ever wins.”

  I looked away to the bright Chicago morning displayed outside our window. When she didn’t speak again, I stood to get a plate. She cut me off, placing her hands on my shoulders and gently turning me back toward my chair next to the window.

  “Let me take care of you, Sylvie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what I want. You’ve served me so many times. It’s my turn now.”

  “Lara,” I protested.

  “Let me. Please,” she demanded. I sat down and watched her nervously. “Are you aware that I cook?”

  “I remember you always baked cookies and desert breads back when I was your maid,” I observed. Lara chuckled.

  “That’s right, I did, but only to weaken your resolve against me. I was determined to win your affection,” she confessed. “You were so guarded against me.” She cut her eyes to mine and then returned her focus to the food beside the table. “I never liked to cook for Joe. I never liked to do anything for, or with, Joe, for obvious reasons. Anyway, I’m actually a pretty good cook. I could’ve prepared all of this myself, if I had access to a proper kitchen.” She picked up a plate and turned expectantly. “What would you like to try first?”

  “Crepes. I’d like some crepes with pastry cream and fruit, and a couple of the tiny blueberry muffins,” I said. She started preparing my plate as I waited. For herself she served French toast and jam. I watched her skeptically, all the while trying to discern her angle. She turned back to me when the plates were on the table.

  “And what will you have to drink, baby?”

  “Grapefruit juice.”

  She poured juice for me, then a cup of coffee for herself, before she sat down across from me. Her eyes scanned the room around us as if trying to find something lacking, some need to fill.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we had some music?” she observed.

  I was preparing my crepes and had to stop as a funny thought occurred to me. “Please don’t hire a violinist, or worse, an orchestra,” I said.

  “What?” Lara laughed, her eyes snapping back to mine. I took a bite of my crepe. It was really quite good. She watched as I chewed.

  “What game are we playing now, Lara?” She shook her head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you go to so much trouble?” I asked before taking another bite. Without replying, she watched me for a few minutes.

  “I don’t want you to be cross with me,” she said. “Last night, after you went to bed, I started thinking about how resistant you were to the idea of me as a mother. It made sense, your reaction, when I thought back over what you saw of me, before. You were with me after they let me out of the hospital. You saw me at my worst.”

  “Are you auditioning for me?” I asked, as the strange thought popped into my mind.

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No. There’s no need for that. It’s already been settled. The child will be mine. Still, I truly love you, and I want you to be comfortable with the decision,” she explained. “I guess I’m just trying to ease your mind.”

  “So, what are you trying to convince me of?”

  “I was a bad wife,” she said.

  “You don’t have to convince me of that,” I agreed readily. I couldn’t help but laugh at her understatement.

  “You understood how I really was, how twisted in on myself. I was so angry, and I didn’t know how to cope with it. No one else knew, not even Mother, but you saw me. I wanted him to suffer for what I’d gone through, what he’d put me through. Really, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Our disastrous marriage and my miscarriages certainly weren’t his doing. Once, when he was really angry and drunk, he told me he’d married a defective woman. And he was right, you know. I wasn’t equipped to fit into that narrow role. I wouldn’t even run the house properly.” She smiled. “I used to fire the house staff just to frustrate him, or I’d behave in such a difficult and demanding manner they’d quit. I spent time contriving little ways to upset him, for example, making sure one of every pair of his socks disappeared, or knotting his ties together, tearing the seams in his boxers and the hems of his pants. I hid his laundry so he’d never have clean clothes. I did a hundred petty little mean things. I don’t know why I hated him so much, but truly, I did.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I want you to understand. I’m not spiteful, not really. But I was a prisoner in that house. Now I’m free. I never have to be like that again.”

  “He had all the power,” I said gently. She nodded.

  “And he exercised it. He put me in Pineville,” she added. I swallowed hard, remembering the state in which I had found her after her stint in that horrific institution.

  “You fought him the only way you knew how, to keep from losing yourself,” I offered.

  “Let me take care of you, baby, the way I refused to take care of Joe. I�
�ll be good for you, not defective,” she assured me. “I want to be good to you.”

  “What are you trying so hard to convince me of, Lara?”

  “Your child will be mine as far as our families and friends are concerned, and have Joe’s name, but you’ll live with us, as her nanny.” Lara smiled.

  “You want me to work for you again?” I asked.

  “No. It won’t be like that,” she said quickly. Her eyes were pleading. “It just has to look that way, but really, I’ll take care of you. I promise, you’ll never want for anything.”

  “It would be so easy to let you have your way, but I can’t,” I replied.

  “But I need you,” she said softly.

  “I’ll go along with whatever you want until she’s born, but then it’s back to reality. You have to take her home and introduce her to her grandparents. You have to play the grieving widow again, and provide her with the perfect dead father, and the perfect life. Meanwhile, I have to go back to being who I am.”

  She pressed her lips together as irritation flickered through her eyes. “I won’t go back without you,” she said sharply. “I’m through with this masochistic self-sacrificing crap.” I shook my head.

  “Lara, that’s the only way I can agree to letting you keep her.”

  “Why?” she snapped.

  “The only way you can pass her off as yours is without me in the picture. How long do you think it would take people to put it together, if I show up there after a two year absence, playing nanny to your dark little baby?” I asked.

  “They won’t think anything. We’ll give them the appearance of respectability. That’s all anyone really wants. Besides, I truly don’t care what everyone thinks, not anymore. I just want you, baby.”

  “Be honest. You do care, Lara. Why else would you mess up the bed in the other room every night, except to make housekeeping believe that’s where I sleep? Last night you censored me about the way I was looking at you in front of the elevator attendant, and then when we were at the bar, you flirted with that stockbroker. I don’t think you’re capable of truly acknowledging what we are to each other.” I smiled to cover my discomfort. “You’re not one of those people, remember?”

  “And you are?” she snapped.

  “I don’t claim to have everything worked out,” I managed. “But I won’t pretend I’m someone I’m not. Not even for you, Lara.”

  “We’ll figure it out together, baby. Don’t you see? We finally have the freedom to figure all of it out,” she said in a plaintiff tone.

  “No. We don’t. If you want her, you have to give her what any “normal” couple would give her, stability, and a good start in life. She’s not going to be stuck in the middle of two women who don’t know what they want from each other. You can’t have it both ways, Lara. You can have the child, and a lifetime of lying about what you are, or you can choose to stay with me, and we’ll figure out how to live honestly. Those are your options,” I explained.

  “I know what I want from you, baby,” she pleaded. I shook my head as tears spilled onto my cheeks. “Sylvie, honey, please, it doesn’t have to be like this.” She was up out of her chair and kneeling next to me on the floor within seconds. “I didn’t mean to upset you. All I want is for you to be happy. I can make you happy if you’ll just let me.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and sort of rocked against me.

  “I would do almost anything for you, Lara,” I replied. She looked up at me, her eyes red, but hopeful. “I know what it’s like to grow up strange. I don’t want that for this child. She has to be protected.” Lara nodded solemnly. “We can make a go of it, just the two of us. It’s what I’ve wanted since I found you outside my door last week, no, before that, since I was a kid trying to fit into your clothes. All I’ve ever wanted is you. I want to be with you, to live with you.” Her eyes narrowed as she listened. “So it’s really up to you. Which one of us do you really want, me or…” She interrupted me, placing her hand over my mouth to stop me from finishing my ultimatum.

  “We’ve hashed this around enough for now. Nothing we decide today is irrefutable anyway. We have months to argue about it. Let’s agree to decide later. All right?” she said. I stared at her, about to argue, but her hand was still covering my mouth. Slowly, she let her hand drop from my lips, but continued to kneel in front of me on the floor, poised, as if waiting for my next move.

  “Lara, I won’t change my…” She shook her head and pressed a single finger across my lips.

  “Stop talking, baby. You’ve said enough.” I nodded. “I understand.”

  She sat still a moment, waiting, but when I didn’t try to speak again, she rocked back on her heels and stood. She took my hands in hers and gently eased me to my feet. Wordlessly, she led me around the table, away from our wasted feast, and back to the bedroom, where for the next several hours we expressed to each other what words could only inadequately convey.

  -CH 5-

  The suite at The Drake had become familiar and comfortable by the end of the second week of our stay. Lara had flowers sent often, star lilies, once I decided they were my favorites. There were vases of flowers on every available space, tables and counters, even the bureau in the bedroom, informing the air of our suite with a heady, honeyed, decadence. The rooms were large and spacious, not at all what I was used to, and every surface was soft and inviting. I was growing accustomed to the pale walls and high ceilings, as well as the broad doorways that at first had seemed austere. As I sat skimming through a fashion magazine Lara had discarded on the cocktail table, and nibbling on a blueberry muffin, I became aware of the quiet feeling inside of me, a sense of contentment. It was the first time since my childhood, living with my mother, that I actually seemed to belong somewhere. Strangely enough, it was in a hotel room. It made no sense at all to me.

  Lara had gone out that morning before I woke, leaving a note for me, and my breakfast ordered. Lazily, I had divided my attention between eating my French toast, drinking coffee, and scanning an article in that fashion magazine about a horrendous affliction called orange peel knees, and how to eliminate them. I was carefully examining my own knees for any indication I may suffer from this ghastly disorder, when I heard the key slide in the door lock. Lara stepped through in a burst of movement, rousing me from my trance as she deposited her shopping bags by the door.

  “Sylvie, we need to start packing, and I mean now.”

  “What?”

  “Hurry, baby,” she said in a feverish tone.

  She looked shaken and worried, the color rising in her cheeks as I appraised her. She couldn’t seem to stop moving. She hurried into the bedroom, where she immediately retrieved her suitcase from beside the wardrobe and opened it on the bed. I watched from the living area as she started collecting clothes from the wardrobe and piling them on the bed. Finally, I found the presence of mind to join her and offer assistance.

  I stood staring at the pile she had made. After a moment, I began folding her clothes neatly, and placing them in the suitcase. She offered a tight smile, in appreciation, and then headed for the bathroom to collect the toiletries. One of the multitudes of presents she’d bought me in the past couple of weeks was a lovely dark chocolate colored set of leather luggage with my initials embossed on the side. I went to find the set in the spare room, so I could pack my things. By the time I returned she was finished with the bathroom and had begun folding my clothes on the bed.

  “Why are we packing?” I asked, as I started to fill my suitcase.

  “Well, she has eyes you know,” Lara snapped. I stopped and looked over at her.

  “Most people do. Of whom are we speaking?” She ran her fingers through her hair, obviously exasperated by my stupidity.

  “Mother, of course. Who else?” I tangled the shirt I was folding.

  “Mrs. Elgin’s here?” She took the shirt away from me, refolded it, and began on the rest of my clothes as I stared at her.

  “If you’re not going to help me, please, just move
out of the way,” she snapped, and then she looked over at me. “Jesus Sylvie, you’re not even dressed yet. Go put some clothes on.”

  Without another word I went into the bathroom to finish dressing, while Lara packed the rest of our belongings. There wouldn’t have been much to pack for me had she not been buying clothes and gifts for me every chance she had over the past couple of weeks. As things stood, I had more clothing to pack than she did. Less than an hour later, we sat in the backseat of that big black Cadillac outside of The Drake, with our surprisingly small amount of luggage, considering Lara’s predilection for shopping, and waiting as Phil stashed it all in the trunk. We were checked out of the hotel I had begun to see as my home, and had absolutely no idea in which direction we should head. Lara glanced at me, the tightness in her forehead and around her mouth betraying a surprising level of anxiety. I could hear Phil arranging the luggage as I waited for what would come next.

  “I don’t think you should fly in your condition,” she observed.

  “Fly? Where would we fly?” I asked.

  “It could be hard on the baby. You never know. I wouldn’t even drive a car at four months for fear of…” she stopped.

  “Where are we going, Lara?”

  “What about a train?” she asked. I smiled at her and shrugged. “I don’t really want to be on a train with a bunch of strange people staring at us and asking impertinent questions. What about you?”

  “Not really. But where are we going, Lara?”

  “I think we should probably travel by car, but unfortunately we can’t take Phil with us. At least I don’t think we can.” She sat thinking quietly for a minute, obviously considering the possibility. “No. We can’t.”

  “Take Phil where?” I asked. She ran her fingers through her hair roughly as she stared past me out the window. I put my hand on her thigh to get her to focus on me. “Lara, we could just go back to my apartment until we know what we’re doing.” She shook her head and returned her gaze to me.

  “Baby, I moved you out of that disgusting hole two weeks ago. I had Phil payoff your landlady when he went over to pick up the rest of your belongings. You don’t have an apartment anymore.”