The Secret Keeping

by Francine Saint Marie

  “Okay, okay. In bed. You want pointers I presume?”

  “Please.”

  “Well, let’s see. What if it’s not in bed?”

  “Not in bed? Del…I don’t know.”

  “Well, never mind. We’ll say it’s in bed.”

  “But, Del, what if it’s not?”

  “Liddy! I think you’re holding back on me.”

  “No, no, no, it’s in bed. Bed, Del.”

  Delilah arched her brows. “Okay. Well, the rules are simple, Dame Beaumont. You probably already know them. Numero uno, don’t call her somebody else’s name in bed.”

  “C’mon, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Number two, don’t call her someone else’s name in the grass.”

  “Delilah Lewiston.”

  “Number three, don’t call her someone else’s name in the back seat.”

  “All right then, forget it. You’re being wise.”

  “Number four–and this is very important so listen up–don’t get her pregnant.”

  “Del, please. I was counting on you.”

  “Well, what’s there to know? It’s going to feel perfectly natural, Liddy. No one knows better how to satisfy a woman than another woman. Dwell on that. You’ll figure it out. Besides–here let’s sit down–you can always ask her for instructions.”

  They sat on a bench at a bus stop.

  “You think?”

  “She knows that you’ve never…you know?”

  “Look at me. What do you think?”

  Delilah chuckled. “Yeah, she probably knows. So be as cool as possible and simply ask her how she likes it then, for a little guidance. You’ll be fine.”

  “And I won’t seem like a…a dork doing that?”

  “A dork? You will seem like a dork if you try to screw her the way she doesn’t like.”

  Lydia groaned and put her head in her hand, contorting her body in an exaggerated show of discomfort.

  “Why, why, why? Why is it you can’t just say make love or something polite like that? Screw makes me…anxious.”

  “Well, I’m just trying to be helpful. I’m not really focusing on semantics here. Let me rephrase it. A dork?

  You will seem like a dork if you try to make love to her the way she doesn’t like.”

  Lydia sat back, quietly watching the traffic go by.

  “Liddy?”

  “Yes, Del?”

  “You’re not thinking of wearing that on Friday, are you?” A smile was creeping over her friend’s face.

  “’Cause it’s really gross. A big turnoff.” She saw Lydia getting up, laughing. “Really, Liddy, I’ve been so embarrassed tonight to be seen with you in those sweats. I feel just like–”

  “C’mon, Del, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

  “I feel just like…oh, god…just like…like a dork.”

  “You’ve been such a big help.”

  “Worse than a dork. A dink. I feel like a dink!”

  “I’m going to fall flat on my face, I’ll have you know.”

  “You won’t. Besides, it could be worse.” Delilah made a wry expression. “What if you were a man? Think how obvious that would be.”

  They stopped outside a donut shop.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Lydia whispered. “We can’t be limp.”

  “Nope. Gotta fuck us out of our brains first.”

  Lydia giggled. “You’re irreverent.”

  “Irreverent. Yeah? Well then, let’s be reverent. It time for us to give praise, Lydia. Here, repeat after me.

  Thank you, dear lord, for making me a woman.”

  Lydia grinned and joined in. “Thank you, dear lord, for making me a woman.”

  A few customers eyed them curiously on their way into the shop. The ladies ignored them, chanting and raising their arms skyward.

  “Thank you dear lord for making me a woman. Thank you dear lord for making me a woman. Thank you dear lord for making me a woman…”

  _____

  Thursday morning. “A Lydia Beaumont, Dr. Kristenson?”

  “Here?”

  “No, on the phone.”

  “Put her through. Put her through.” She dropped everything. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “I–gorgeous yourself, thank you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Look out your window.”

  Helaine turned in her chair and looked across the way where Lydia stood hand on one hip the other with a phone to her ear.

  Helaine laughed self-consciously. “I can explain this. I really can.”

  “And I want you to. I’m eager to hear all about it. Friday?”

  “Friday. I’ll pick you up at Frank’s, if that’s all right. Sevenish?”

  “I’ll be drunk by then. Is that all right?”

  “You will not. I want to seduce you sober.”

  “Mmmm…looks like you’ve already done that.”

  “Not mad about it, are you?”

  “Mad about you. It’s just that I thought this was all my idea.”

  “Hah!” Helaine placed her hand on the window. “Say it, Lydia. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I love you, Helaine Kristenson.”

  They stared at each other through their windows.

  “And it’s all your fault.”

  “Mm-hmm. I’ll make it up to you then.”

  “When?”

  “Friday night.”

  _____

  “Sharon…Sharon Chambers, Dr. Kristenson?”

  Helaine stiffened at her desk. “Put her on, Jen,” she said tautly.

  “Uhh…she’s here, doctor.”

  “Here?” Helaine dropped her chin to her chest and swore inaudibly. “In the consultation room, Jen.” She hesitated before hanging up. “If we’re not out of there in a half hour please call security.”

  Jenny escorted Sharon to the consultation room, worry clouding her face. “Dr. Kristenson will be with you shortly, Ms. Chambers,” she said without looking at the woman. The door slammed as she closed it behind her, the sound filling her with a sense of dread. She listened for the familiar thud of Helaine’s adjoining door signifying she had entered the room, and, hearing it at last, glanced at the clock on the wall to time the proceedings. It was quarter past ten.

  Sharon had reclined on the couch, one long leg draped down the front of it, a high-heeled shoe discarded on the floor nearby. It’s mate dangled precariously from an agitated foot propped up on the armrest. Helaine stood awkwardly in the center of the room and quickly evaluated the woman’s posture: insolent, defiant.

  Normally she would seat herself in the chair opposite, but this was not normal. Sharon never came to the office. This will be the last time she does, Helaine promised herself, as she walked to the window and lowered the blinds.

  “Doctor. How very nice to see you,” Sharon said, putting her arm behind her head and dropping the other shoe. “Please,” she said, indicating with a sweep of her arm that the doctor should sit. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

  Helaine reluctantly sat down. “Sharon…didn’t you get my letter?”

  “I did.”

  Helaine nodded and looked away.

  “And I went to your townhouse this morning to check things out. But...”

  (The movers! Her furniture!)

  “Top secret, huh? Couldn’t even fuck it out of them. You must pay well.”

  Helaine sighed with relief. They had done as instructed, said nothing. She sat back, checked the time.

  “My session almost up, my love? But I just got here.”

  “Sharon…what brings you here? It’s rather early for you, isn’t it?”

  Sharon ignored the remark and caressed the couch. She watched Helaine from the corner of her eye and grinned at her discomfort. “Lots of confessions on this baby, I’ll bet.”

  No reply.

  “Lots and lots of secrets. Hmm, Dr. Kristenson?”

  Helaine leaned forward in her chair and placed her hands on the armrests as if to ris
e, then thought better of it and sat back into the chair. “What is this about?”

  Sharon flashed one of her smiles. “Secrets. It’s all about secrets. I’ll show you mine, doctor,” she unzipped her blouse, “if you show me yours.”

  Helaine looked away. “I wasn’t aware that you had any secrets. Or certainly none anymore.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  “Sharon. My note…is there something you don’t understand? I have an appointment in a few minutes. I work here, you know, not entertain.”

  “My time is not up, doctor.”

  “Yes, Sharon, it is. You will need to accept that.”

  Sharon sat up suddenly. “Is it? Well you’re hot shit aren’t you, dear Dr. Kristenson? My time is up! You want to step out on me? And how will you do that, hmm? When’s the last time you actually screwed a woman, Helaine?”

  Helaine winced.

  “Huh, Love Doc, hot shit? When?”

  “You ought to know the answer to that.”

  “And it is a woman, isn’t it?”

  “Sharon…” Helaine glanced at her watch again.

  “Say two years?” Sharon waited but there was no response. “Three years?” She stood up and walked to where Helaine sat rigid in her chair.

  Yes, Helaine thought. Two, three years. “I get your point. Please go now.”

  Sharon circled her. “Doesn’t that make you a bit rusty?”

  Helaine rose up from the chair. Sharon stepped around it and blocked her escape.

  “Was that your aim, Sharon? To make me rusty?” She turned her face away. “Sharon…your shirt.”

  “Need a little practice before you take the plunge, Dr. Kristenson?”

  They stood silently for a moment.

  Helaine shook and hoped it didn’t show. “This, as you know, Ms. Chambers, is a very unbecoming way to–”

  “Ms. Chambers? Bullshit! You’re mine, Helaine. I have a right to know what–”

  “It’s over, Sharon. That’s all you need to know.” She held the door open and waited.

  Sharon put her shoes on, looking up at her as she did it, with a smirk. “No, Dr. Kristenson,” Sharon replied, as she finally stepped into the hallway, “it’s only just begun.”

  “If you come again you will be greeted by security. I’m sorry, but you’ve given me no choice.”

  Jenny listened to the hushed voices in the hallway. They were moving toward her. She heard Sharon Chambers as clear as day.

  “I love you, Helaine Kristenson, and that is all you need to know.”

  “That is of no consequence to me now. That was something I needed to know before. Please, Sharon.

  I’m asking you to go or I’ll have you removed.”

  Jenny then heard only silence. She picked up the receiver of the telephone just as the model was turning the corner and paused to take a good look at her as she flew by. She had never seen the woman before except in magazines, but she didn’t like her at all. She waited till she was sure she was gone before checking in on Helaine.

  “Dr. Kristenson?”

  Helaine had her back against the wall, her hand on her forehead. “It’s fine, Jen. Don’t worry.”

  “She told me she knew you very well, or I wouldn’t have–”

  “It’s true, Jen.” She averted her eyes. “Knew, if you understand me.”

  “Let me get you some water. You don’t look so good.”

  “Thank you. I don’t feel so good.”

  “I’ve never seen you so pale,” Jenny declared as she returned with a glass. “It’s a good thing that woman’s in the past tense, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Helaine shot her a worried glance and took the glass from her. “We hope,” was her cautious reply. She swirled the water in her mouth. She doubted water was strong enough to settle her nerves.

  “Drink that,” Jenny said, her voice laden with concern. “And I’ve ordered lunch for you. It should be here in about fifteen minutes and maybe after that you should rest. You don’t have another appointment until this afternoon.”

  “What time?”

  “One o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Jen. I need to make a phone call. Let me know when the food arrives.”

  _____

  “Dr. Kristenson here. Is the doctor in?”

  “Hey, how are you? Long time no see.”

  “Jon…good…you have five minutes?”

  “I’ll see your five and raise you ten, as long as it’s strip poker.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad I called already.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Yeeahhhuhh…not really. Pep talk. Up to it?”

  “Anytime. Shoot.”

  “Have a date. Anxiety.”

  “A date? Congratulations! Anxiety…you?”

  “Happens to everyone?”

  “Well…no. Thoughts of?”

  “Fear. Failure. Mortality.”

  “Oh, is that all? What about sex or love?”

  “Those, too.”

  “List them in order of importance, please.”

  “Let’s see. Love, sex, fear, failure, mortality.”

  “Hmmmph. Sounds healthy to me…except maybe the love.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “Take two thrills and call me in the morning.”

  She laughed in her throat. “No, really, Jon.”

  “It’s like riding a bike, Helaine. You just get on the saddle and pump your legs and it all comes back to you.”

  “Boy, you’re blunt sometimes.”

  “Whew! I even stunned myself on that one. You do know how to ride a bike?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t sound convinced. It can’t be that serious?”

  “Is.”

  “Is? Well, that’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Love. No see long time. Emotional amnesia. Sexual paralysis.”

  “Sounds fatal.”

  “Nah, it’s just a bug. You’ll get over it. LOVE is what Helaine Kristenson does. You understand me, Helaine Kristenson?”

  “Thank you, Jon. You’re very kind. Jenny’s buzzing, I think my lunch just got here. I better let you go.”

  “Yeah. I got people waiting with real problems. Hey, see you tomorrow night? I’ve got tickets.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Friday, your lecture? Eight o’clock, Dr. Kristenson. Wow! I see what you mean. Let me hear that list again.”

  She opened her date book. There it was. (Oh, no, no, no. Lydia.) “I see it. You’re right, Jon. Eight o’clock.

  Lecture at eight thirty. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night then.”

  “Good luck, Helaine. See you then. And hey…”

  “Yes?”

  “You know where to find me if…well…you know?”

  “Thanks, Jon.”

  _____

  Morally supported by Delilah, Lydia waited outside on the patio at Frank’s on Friday. It was almost seven o’clock. They were drinking their martinis and making small talk when a cab pulled up to the curb and Helaine stepped out. Delilah nudged sharply with her elbow.

  “Ouch,” Lydia blurted, not having seen Helaine yet.

  “Ouch,” Delilah said, “hot dress, over there.”

  Lydia turned in that direction.

  Dressed in dinner black, her hair down, a coat slung over her arm, a happy blond held the car door open as she searched the crowd for her date, returning the waiter’s wave with a discreet wink and smiling broadly when she finally saw Lydia approaching.

  “Ah, here is my enchantress.”

  They got in the cab.

  “Enchantress? Did you know that’s a boat that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle?”

  “Goodness, no. Are you a ghost ship, Lydia Beaumont?”

  “Where to now?” inquired the cabby. She turned her radio down.

  “No,” Lydia whispered, “I’m real.”

  The cabby’s question floated past them. “Lydia…”

 
“Where to, ladies?”

  “Oh, uptown. Drive uptown, please.”

  The cab pulled away from the curb and darted into the late day traffic.

  _____

  Lawrence Taft, armed with his digital camera, watched with ambivalence as the cab left Frank’s Place. It was kind of a pity to see Sharon Chambers right about the doctor. And by the looks of the other woman, the model had good reason to be concerned.

  He studied the image of them in his view screen, a strong sense of nostalgia creeping into his bones. He missed the finality that the whir and clack of a 35mm shutter could lend to these kind of affairs.

  Whirrrrrrrrrr…clack! It was as conclusive as the sound of the guillotine. It said “Gotcha!” in a way that modern technology just couldn’t.

  _____

  “Lydia Beaumont, I have made a gaff, tonight. I have a prior speaking engagement. At the convention center.” Helaine leaned forward and spoke to the cabby again. “The convention center by eight. And please drive slowly. Lydia? May I see you after that?”

  “See me–of course. When?”

  “Nine-thirty? I’ve been out of my mind this week. I couldn’t blame you if–”

  “My place,” Lydia interrupted. “I’m sorry…my place, Helaine,” she repeated, reaching into her breast pocket and producing her calling card. “Show that to the doorman. He’ll let you go right up. Unless…if you don’t want to…would you want to do that?”

  Helaine took the card. “Elegant,” she whispered as she slid it inside her dress. “I would want to do that,” she assured, laying the coat between them and sitting back. “That’s exactly what I would want to do.”

  “Me, too, by the way.”

  “You?”

  “Out of my mind this week.”

  “Oh…I apologize. I made you worry. I didn’t see Sha–” She stopped herself. “I didn’t go to the flat.” She squeezed Lydia’s hand and let it go quickly.

  “But you told her? I mean, she knows?”

  “She knows it’s over. It’s been that way a long time.”

  They sat back quietly, allowing the cab to toss them toward each other and away again as the vehicle wove gently through the traffic. The cabby sized them up in the mirror and confident she understood the situation, selected a CD, popping it in and turning the volume up. Good choice, she thought. (Sinatra.) It was still hot, late summer, but the days were getting short once more, the nights long and cool.