Possessions

by Judith Michael

  Below them, the lights of San Francisco were coming on in the gathering dusk. Leslie watched them, drinking her wine and debating briefly with herself. "Nope. I'd like to but I can't." Because I can't trust you, she added silently. How pleasant if I could. How pleasant if you even tried to convince me I could. "Maybe some other time. Tell me about Herman. Did you sign a new contract with him?"

  He gave in gracefully—another reason Leslie liked him— and talked about the spring line of jewelry he and Mettler had agreed upon that afternoon. Listening, she admired his neat balance of art and business, and the rest of the evening was as

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  pleasant as Marc could make it when he tried. Then, because she was so tired and wanted to go home and worry quietly about meetings she'd heard the other vice-presidents had been having, excluding her, she ended the evening after dinner and once again he gave in gracefully.

  Nice, she thought, when she was alone in the blue-and-white living room of her house overlooking the Marina. Having someone who makes no demands. Although—she turned off the lights, put on a record of dreamy piano music, and sat in a window seat to watch the ghostly shapes of sailboats swaying in the harbor—it would be nice to have someone who does more than make requests and give in gracefully. It would be nice to have someone who gives a damn.

  The fu^t time Katherine had dinner with Derek, on the Saturday they spent at his vineyards, she discovered he had ordered their meal when he made the reservation. "So you don't need a menu," he said. "In fact, you can't have one. It's all taken care of."

  She protested. "I'd like to pay for my own dinner." He smileo slightly. "But when I invite you to dinner I expect to pay. Do you see a way out of this dilemma?"

  It had been a wonderful day, hot and dry, with a buzzing stillness in the vineyards that stretched between low hills beneath a canopy of cloudless sky. Leslie had taken Jennifer and Todd to the Exploratorium, and the whole day had been a special time pulled out of her everyday life, free of worry. She didn't want to ruin it by arguing over who would pay for dinner. So she met his smile with her own and said lightly, "But if I don't see the menu, how will I know what I'm missing?" "You can take it for granted that you aren't missing a thing." Since then, he had called twice a week, inviting her to dinner or a nightclub. Four times she had said yes, each time telling herself it was the last: she should spend her evenings with Jennifer and Todd, she ought to be working on her jewelry designs, she shouldn't be having a good time while Craig was missing. But she went, because Derek could make her light-hearted even after a day of Gil Lister's insults and dinner with her increasingly sulky children. She went, even if she didn't understand why he sought her out, because she was fascinated by his power and wealth, his charm and attentiveness, and the

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  way he seemed to center them all on her, making her feel young and very special. And she went because she missed being with a man, and he was the only one who was calling.

  The day before the excursion to the Napa vineyards, Leslie told Katherine she had seen Ross at Mettler's, buying one of Landau's sapphire-and-silver lapel pins. "Marvelous-looking man; too stem, but when he smiles it's a face to remember." She paused. "Why don't you call him?"

  "Because he's busy with his own life," Katherine answered. "And what would I say? 'I'm fine, though you haven't asked in a long time; the children are fine, though you haven't asked; I've heard from Craig, though you haven't asked . . .' He probably knows how we are, from his family, and if he wanted to ask me he would. So there's no reason to call."

  "I find reasons when I want to call someone," Leslie said.

  "I've never called a man. And anyway, I'm married."

  "What does that have to do with it?"

  "Probably nothing." They laughed. "But I won't call, anyway."

  So there was only Derek, introducing her to the nightlife of San Francisco. "A favorite of mine," he said one night when they went to the dimly lit Moroccan restaurant called Marrak-ech. They sat on a low sofa before a carved brass table and used chunks of bread to eat spiced shredded chicken, lamb with honey and almonds, and couscous with vegetables. After a tea girl washed their hands with rose water, they sat over fruit and tea, talking in the languorous tones of those who have eaten too much and know they cannot stir for at least an hour.

  Derek gave Katherine leisurely descriptions of the people in the restaurant whom he knew. One depended on a rich aunt to make up losses on the commodities exchange; one kept a mistress in Cancun; another wrote books for which her husband was famous as author and television personality. "And over there," Derek said, gesturing at a noisy group in the opposite comer, "are the seven dwarfs. One big happy banking family, mutually protective. They pay off irate husbands who catch Cousin Dopey in bed with their wives; they kick Cousin Sleepy under the table when he insults a hostess by snoring through the entree; they use Cousin Snoopy to spy on rival bankers; Cousin Doc tries to cure Droopy, who, as you may imagine from his name, has sexual problems—"

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  'There is no Droopy," Katherine laughed.

  'True. Grumpy is the one with those problems, but DTXx)py is more descriptive. Now there's another group, at the table just beyond the dwarfs—" And he continued around the room, with caustic, intimate dissections that embarrassed Katherine but also intrigued her, because these were some of the city's top business and professional people, whose pictures she saw in newspaper society pages. "It's my job to meet them," he said when she asked how he knew so many. "And stroke them. They control everything we need—construction permits, zoning, structural requirements, highway funds, bank loans—the lifeblood of our company." He scanned the tables. "A dull lot, but we can't survive without them. Some of my favorite characters aren't here, but we'll find them at other places, on other nights—" He broke off, watching a couple cross the far end of the room to sit at a small table. "Idiotic," he murmured. "Here, of all places—"

  Katherine followed his look. "Isn't that Melanie?" she asked.

  "None other." His voice was dry.

  "But who is she with?"

  "A young—a very young—tennis pro from the Mill Valley Country Club. A tadpole on Melanie's well-baited hook. I think it's time for us to leave. Unless you want more tea—?"

  "No. There's no room for another drop. And we've been here for hours."

  'The only way to eat here is to make it an evening." His voice was preoccupied. "Ready?"

  She stood and slipped into her jacket as he held it. "Isn't the wrong couple sneaking out before being seen?"

  He turned his dark eyes on her with the intent look he always had when she impressed him. Smiling, he took her arm. "Possibly. I'll explain it sometime." He led the way between couches and ottomans to the exit. "On Friday," he said casually as they waited for the doorman to bring his car, "a friend of mine is having a party. Do you have something formal to wear?"

  "No." It came out quickly, the dreamy languor of the evening gone in an instant. She could not afford new clothes. "Craig and I never went out very much. I didn't enjoy it."

  "You love it," he said flatly. In the car, he drove slowly for once, past Japantown and then into Golden Gate Park— the long way back. "So Craig must have been the homebody."

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  "He woriced hard," Katherine said defensively. "And he liked being home. Whenever he came back from a trip, he'd close the door behind him and say how wonderful it was to be there, safe and protected..." Her voice trailed away. They would kiss, while the children waited their turn, and Craig would tell them about his trip, and pull out littie presents, tantalizingly, one at a time, so that it was like a long, drawn-out Christmas.

  "Safe and protected," Derek repeated. "Like a womb." He turned off and stopped at the Chain of Lakes, brooding at the water in the misty light of lamps and a fragile moon. "Or Victoria's open arms. Or Ann's. After all these years, he was still looking for them."

  "Fifteen years. You don't know anything about him."


  "I know everything about him. Do you really think people change? However, I'm more interested in you. Did you—"

  "Why? Why are you interested in me? Everywhere we go we meet beautiful women whom you know—some of them you've had affairs with—"

  "Now how would you know that?"

  "It's in your voice when you talk about them. You shape your words as if they're soft clay—as if you still feel her, whoever she is, under your hands."

  "Good God." He shook his head. "Just when you seem most timid, you come out with something remarkable. How long are you going to hide under your cover? Cautious, careful, wearing dowdy clothes—"

  ^They're not dowdy!"

  "By my standards they are. And you know what I mean; you do a ftiU study of every woman in sight when we go out. Look, I have accounts at every store in town; take a day and fit yourself out properly."

  "On your charge accounts? You can't be serious. You're not keeping me, Derek; no one is. I take care of myself. If you don't like the way I dress, you can go out with someone else."

  "I do."

  "Oh." Of course. All those other nights in the week.

  "But I also expect to go out with you."

  "Whyr

  "Partly because I like women who are more complicated than they seem. The rest you'll have to figure out yourself."

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  After a moment, Katherine said, "Derek, I'd like to go home."

  He started the car and drove out of the paric, and within a few minutes pulled up before her building. Putting his hand on the back of her head, he kissed her lightly. "I'd like to help you escape from that prison Craig built. I don't think he kept the key." Reaching across her, he opened her door. "Think about some new clothes. You'll be more comfortable on Friday night."

  "I'm not... free Friday night."

  "Listen to me." Holding the door handle, he had his arm across her lap, pinning her in place. "I expect you to tell me the tnith. If you don't want to be with me on Friday, say so. If you don't want to be with me at all, say so. But I will not tolerate your behaving like an adolescent who can't handle a simple relationship."

  "This relationship," she retorted, "is no more simple than you are. It's easy for you to forget Craig—"

  "Never easy," he murmured.

  "—but I can't, and because of that I'm confused about a lot of things and none of them are simple. And I'd like you to remove your arm."

  After a moment he sat back. "Free to go."

  She pushed open the door and stepped out. "Marrakech was wonderful. Thank you."

  "And Friday night?"

  She looked at his narrow face, the hollows in his cheeks accentuated by the slanting streetlight, his mouth curved in a challenging smile. "How formal is it?"

  "Black tie for the men; a little more flexible for the women."

  Flexible. She had no money for a flexible formal dress. But as she was about to refuse, she stopped. Why shouldn't she go out with Derek? Everything about him was intriguing— even the cruel wit of his descriptions in the restaurant. And even if she was confused about Craig, missing him, worrying about him, bewildered by the money she was sure he'd sent— he had left her, after all, to fend for herself. Why shouldn't she allow herself the pleasure, and vanity, she got ft-om Derek's attention?

  But she needed a dress. I couJd ask Leslie, Katherine thought. Maybe I can find something on sale. And fix it up. I'll be

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  home on Thanksgiving; I could do it then. Why not? I like being with Derek. And I don't have to live like a prisoner while I'm waiting for Craig.

  It was only after she had agreed to Friday night, and was unlocking the door of her apartment, that she realized she had used Derek's description: living in a prison.

  Thanksgiving. Rescued, Katherine thought, by Leslie and her brother. Derek had neatly passed over it when he invited her to a Friday-night party; Victoria and Tobias had left the week before on a museum expedition to Peru. Leslie had suggested a restaurant, which had horrified Jennifer and Todd. Thanksgiving meant home.

  'Then I'll cook," Leslie said. "I should, now and then, or I'll forget how. And Bruce makes a wicked pumpkin pie. Wait till you taste it."

  Bruce McAlister, ten years younger than his sister, had flaming hair as crinkly as steel wool, matching eyebrows that shot up and down in astonished arcs, and nonstop speech. If not for Bruce, Katherine thought, and the way he distracted Jennifer and Todd from memories of Canadian Thanksgivings, the evening could have been a disaster.

  "It's bourbon that does it, I don't even measure, I just pour," he said when they all gasped at their first taste of his pumpkin pie. All through dinner, as they feasted on Leslie's stuffed turkey and Katherine's cranberry sauce and vegetables, he had entertained them with stories of his friends, who lived in an area called the Panhandle. "A few years ago, when we lived on unemployment and food stamps and love, it was a blast— good guitars, good grass, good women..."

  "Bruce," Leslie warned.

  "Shit, they know all this." His eyebrows shot up as he grinned at Jennifer and Todd. "Anyway things are different, it's depressing the way everybody's so straight all of a sudden, getting married, having kids, buying dishwashers, for Christ's sake, working steady ... Even me," he added sadly.

  Todd was transfixed by Bruce's jumping red eyebrows and gesticulating hands. "You work too?" he asked.

  "I admit it with deep embarrassment, I do indeed work from eight thirty to five five days a week and I am grossly underpaid by that posh establishment called Heath's—"

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  ^That's where Mom works!" Todd cried.

  "And my sister as well, in fact she got me the job—who else would hire me with my background?—but she spends her days on the executive top floor while your mother and I slave away in the basement."

  "I don't remember seeing you," Katherine said.

  "You wouldn't, I never stir from the computer room; do you know that I can make a computer do anything except bake a pumpkin pie?"

  And that was when he cut into his dessert and they all got their first taste of what Katherine would have sworn was a bottle of bourbon lightly flavored with pumpkin. "Bruce," Leslie laughed. "Where's the other one?"

  "Alas my sis knows me too well; I do happen to have another one." Reaching under the table, he brought forth a box. "Unfortunately, you understand, this one has only vanilla, no bourbon, no brandy, just the stuff the poor Pilgrims had, and no wonder most of them never survived the winter."

  They laughed and praised the second pie. We laughed most of the evening, Katherine thought later. Laughed and sang to Bnice's guitar playing and went home early, with smiles and leftover turkey, and even when we were alone again we didn't reminisce about Canadian Thanksgivings or our house in Vancouver. Thank God for Bruce McAlister; he got us through the day.

  On Friday, Katherine asked Gil Lister if she could leave an hour early. He adjusted the ski jacket on a mannequin and zipped it closed before saying over his shoulder, "Kiddies sickT*

  "No. I have something to do."

  "Something personal."

  "Yes. But, Gil, all the invoices are finished and last week's scenery will be ready to be shipped back by three o'clock—"

  "Katherine, we've been receiving a number of personal telephone calls at work, haven't we? And we've been having lunches that lasted over an hour—"

  "Only twice! And it's been more than a month since—"

  "And a number of times in creating a window, you were not where I expected you to be. There is a laxness, Katherine, in your behavior. If this indicates dissatisfaction, if you would

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  prefer to work elsewhere, we should part; I cannot work in an atmosphere of frowns and groans and hostility."

  "I do not groan," Katherine said tightly. "And I frown less than you do. I try to be friendly, I don't think I'm hostile, but I would be more satisfied if you let me help design windows instead of treating me like an imbecile or a coat ra
ck."

  Lister's hands paused, then moved on, buckling a ski boot. He stood and bent the mannequin's knee. "Ski poles."

  Katherine took a breath, then let it out without speaking, and handed him the poles. They finished the scene of a slalom race in silence. "Ah," Lister breathed, scanning the slope they had covered with styrofoam flakes marked by ski tracks behind the mannequins who were rounding flag-topped slalom posts. Without warning, he whipped about. "What would yow do with it?"

  "Bring it to life," she said bluntly. "It's dead." I'll get another job; I don't have to take his insults. "Use only two racers, with a third at the top, bending forward to start, and put spectators along the side, especially children and teenagers. Three-year-olds are skiing now, and Heath's has clothes for them. Put a digital time clock in that comer, and a finish line under it. A mountain background; I've seen one in the storeroom. And I'd have someone holding a trophy for the wiimer."

  "Would you indeed."

  His voice caught her up. What was the matter with her? How long might it take to get another job? "I'm sorry, Gil. The window is fme; it's simple and colorful. Do you want to put prices with them?"

  "No." He was tapping his foot and studying the four racers. "I've never skied, you know; it looks quite exciting. Get downstairs and pack up last week's scenery. Don't seal the boxes; I want to check them. You may leave half an hour early if it is a matter of life and death."

  "Thank you." She was trembling with fury. He'd let her apology lie there, unaccepted, unacknowledged. But it was my fault, she thought as she packed a box with plastic autumn leaves. I knew he'd be angry when I criticized him. Victoria was right; I jump at people. But then why does Derek say I'm timid?

  / wish I knew what I really am,

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  Exactly haJf an hour early, she left work and rushed home. Leslie had found a dress for her and was coming at eight, just before Derek arrived, to pass judgment. Dinner with Jennifer and Todd was hurried; they were going back to school for a rehearsal of the Christmas choral concert and for once did not deluge her with complaints about school or fog or how often she was away from home. "You'll wait for Annie to pick you up after rehearsal," Katherine said as they were leaving.