Fever Dreams

by Laura Resnick

  “Ah.” Madeleine sipped her drink, doubting that anyone would miss her sister's husband. She had never particularly liked him, and now she fully suspected that he was cheating on Charlotte. It was none of Madeleine's business, of course, but it didn't endear him to her. Besides, there was something about his manner toward Charlotte that always set Madeleine's teeth on edge.

  She listened with half an ear as her mother continued to talk. Beyond saying, “How are you, dear?” her mother never asked Madeleine about herself. And Madeleine always responded that she was fine, busy at work (or, in previous years, at school), and looking forward to this or that event. For over twenty years, that had been the sum total of her relationship with her mother, and her mother clearly resented anyone who distracted her with more complicated behavior—the way both of Madeleine's sisters did. Rebellious Caroline with her radical affiliations, protests, sit-ins, and outrageous behavior. Sad Charlotte, with her uncertain health, extreme weight fluctuations, and psychotherapists. Madeleine shook her head and wondered how one couple had produced three such different daughters.

  Still trying to distract herself from the growing panic she felt over going back to Montedora with Ransom tomorrow, Madeleine studied Preston as her mother continued to chatter. He was standing by the fireplace, talking with her father. He glanced at Madeleine from time to time. When their eyes met, she tried to bring some warmth into her expression. He was a good man, an attractive man, and he wanted to marry her. She suddenly, desperately wanted to feel something besides a mild fondness for him. She wanted to love and trust and need him. She wanted to want him to protect and cherish and adore her. She wanted to want his passion.

  “Ah, they're here,” Thackery Barrington said with a pleased smile, interrupting Madeleine's thoughts. His love for his daughters softened him, but his devotion to his grandchildren turned this driven, focused man into mush.

  Jeff and Hazel Randall raced pell-mell into the room, followed slowly by their mother. The children flung themselves upon the aged golden retriever dog sleeping near the fireplace, then flung themselves at their grandfather. They ignored Preston, hugged Madeleine, and greeted their grandmother with an excited recitation of their day. Then they returned to the blinking dog and lavished their affection upon him. His tail thumped and he presented an ear for scratching.

  Madeleine willfully controlled her expression as she embraced her sister. Charlotte looked emaciated. Having re-gained the weight she had lost after bearing two children in a row, she had been dieting again this past year. But she had taken it too far. Madeleine had thought Charlotte a little too thin when she'd last seen her about six weeks ago. Now her sister looked gaunt, hollow-cheeked, withered, and unwell. Madeleine had never seen her so thin, not even during that terrible phase in Charlotte's adolescence.

  As Charlotte moved on to greet their mother, Eleanore caught Madeleine's eye. Madeleine read the message there and realized she would be expected to talk to Charlotte. She nodded and resigned herself to the inevitable.

  Caroline arrived a few minutes later, flushed, dishevelled, and as stunningly, unconsciously pretty as ever. Her faded jeans hugged her trim hips and long legs, her embroidered shirt was wrinkled, and she probably hadn't brushed her long, tangled hair since that morning. But that just-got-out-of-bed look suited her healthy, vibrant looks and uninhibited personality, and she always looked lovely. So much so that Charlotte's husband, Richard, had once tried to seduce her. But Madeleine was the only other person in the world who knew about that.

  Eleanore went to the kitchen to check on the cook's progress. Upon learning that dinner was ready and waiting, she led the family into the formal dining room, and dinner was served.

  An excellent hostess, Eleanore Barrington kept the conversation going throughout dinner, avoiding many unpleasant topics—including Caroline's recent arrest—with a skill borne of long practice. Madeleine had to admire her mother's ability, even as some alien impulse inside of her longed to silence the ceaseless social chatter. Her father was totally absorbed in his two grandchildren, Charlotte was as quiet and self-effacing as usual, and Caroline seemed as determined as ever to start a huge row with her parents. Madeleine herself was distracted and unusually quiet. Trying to banish her thoughts and fears about Ransom was using up all of her mental energy. So it fell to poor Preston to help Eleanore keep the chatter going, course after course.

  Madeleine noticed that Charlotte scarcely touched her food. A bit of salad with no dressing, a few steamed vegetables, a single bite of bread. On the other hand, Madeleine was doing little better, pushing food around her plate with a distinct lack of appetite.

  Would Ransom really talk? Would he really humiliate her, or was he bluffing? If he didn't want money or anything else from her, then why hadn't he spoken frankly in front of her father and Preston? Maybe, she thought with desperate hope, he was just angry and trying to shake her up. Maybe he had no more intention of telling other people about that bawdy night than she did.

  But how would she spend the next week or so with that man, when every time she looked into his eyes she remembered that night and saw that he did, too? And he enjoyed reminding her! Oh, yes, whether or not he ever spoke to anyone else about it, he fully intended to keep taunting her with it, reminding her of how much she had wanted him, of how she had hungered for him and everything they did together, of how shameless and needy and eager she had been. And he liked reminding her in the crudest language possible, too, knowing that it bothered her.

  You fucked me and forgot me.

  How she had tried to forget! But she couldn't.

  What could a poor slob like me have that a Barrington woman could possibly want? Besides a hard-on, I mean.

  Stop it.

  It sure seemed like enough for you at the time.

  Well, it wasn't enough. There would never be enough...

  “That's enough!” Hazel cried.

  Madeleine's gaze flew to her niece's face. The girl was telling her grandfather, most emphatically, not to put any more peas on her plate.

  “Aren't you hungry, dear?” Madeleine's mother asked her a moment later.

  “Hmmm?” Madeleine looked down at her plate and saw that she had smeared her souffle into a pulpy mess. “Oh, uh, not really. Nervous, you know.”

  “Yes, quite. I'm sure I don't know why your father insists on sending his own daughter back to that dreadful place,” Eleanore said with some asperity.

  “He didn't insist, Mother.”

  “Madeleine knows her responsibilities and takes them seriously,” Thackery interjected. “And there's no one I'd trust in her place.”

  “And Mother tells me you're going to stay with Veracruz?” Caroline asked. When Madeleine nodded, she shook her head, sending long blond tresses flying everywhere. “I can't believe it! I mean, I can't believe you, Madeleine! How could you accept hospitality from that thieving, murdering, fornicating dictator?”

  “Don't say ‘fornicating’ at the table, dear,” said Eleanore.

  “Do you have any idea how many political prisoners Veracruz and his buddy Escalante have locked up? Do you know how many people are arrested without charge under their regime?”

  “Caroline, dear—” Eleanore began.

  “Arrested, beaten, tortured and—if they're not executed—locked up in some dank, rat-infested cell and forgotten about! Veracruz has levelled crippling taxes on everyone but his wealthy friends, then stolen from his own treasury. He has let Escalante and his secret police violate every—”

  “I'm going to Montedora to sell the ranch, Caroline,” Madeleine said smoothly. “The ranch you have always been ashamed of the family for owning. You've told me a dozen times this year how glad you are that I'm selling it.”

  “I didn't know you'd have to hold hands with Veracruz to do it!”

  “With the escalation of crime in Montedora, particularly since last month's riots, I am fortunate to be offered the President's protection,” Madeleine said. Involved in arguing with her si
ster, she momentarily forgot her mother's presence and blurted out, “Are you aware that rebel bands killed a journalist in the countryside two weeks ago, or that an agricultural consultant was robbed and murdered right in the lobby of the Hotel Conquistadore four days ago?”

  “Oh, my Lord!” Eleanore cried, clutching the delicate pearls she wore. “Madeleine!”

  Realizing her mistake, Madeleine said quickly, “Veracruz has just completed major security improvements at the Presidential Palace. It's the safest place in the country right now.”

  “I'm going to be ill,” Eleanore threatened.

  “And the security improvements were all specifically advised,” Madeleine added for her mother's benefit, “by Mr. Ransom, the man who will accompany me.”

  Eleanore glared at her husband. “Well, you certainly left out a few things when you told me Madeleine was going back to Montedora for a business trip.”

  “I didn't want to worry you.”

  “Really, Mother, Mr. Ransom is very capable. There's nothing to wor—”

  “I think I need to lie down,” Eleanore sighed,

  “Yes, of course. Shall I help you up to your room?”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Madeleine escorted her mother up to the elegant master bedroom suite her parents had shared for so many years, then called down to the kitchen and asked for some chamomile tea to be brought up. She got her mother calmed down and settled comfortably after about twenty minutes, then went back downstairs to join the rest of the family. They had already adjourned to the library for coffee. Madeleine poured herself a cup and sat with her sisters while her father, Preston, and the grandchildren disappeared into an adjoining room to indulge in noisy games.

  “How's Mother? Still having the vapors?” Caroline asked.

  “Sleeping by now. I hope,” Madeleine replied.

  “Don't look at me like that,” Caroline said. “It's not my fault. You're the one who's going to Montedora.”

  Madeleine studied her sister for a moment and then said, “Were you really arrested last week at Randall Cosmetics headquarters?”

  “She handcuffed herself to the lobby doors,” Charlotte said. “Richard told me about it.”

  Her lips trembled uncertainly for a moment. Then all three women started laughing. Their hilarity was partially a release from the tension which always pervaded family gatherings, but the image of Richard confronting his wild-eyed sister-in-law as she handcuffed herself to his company's elegant glass doors made Madeleine laugh until her eyes watered.

  “It's not funny!” Caroline insisted, laughing as hard as her sisters. “Oh, stop it!”

  “Four years of college, and a master's degree, so you could go around chaining yourself to buildings,” Madeleine choked out.

  “Poor Richard!” Charlotte wheezed. “He was apoplectic about it for days!”

  Pulling herself together at last, Madeleine asked on a sigh, “What on earth made you do it?”

  “It was a protest against animal testing. No one can convince me that thousands of rabbits need to be blinded so that I can have yet another new, improved brand of eyeshadow or mascara. I don't believe that it's complex or many-sided or controversial, Madeleine. It's just wrong.” She glanced at Charlotte and added, “And Richard is a fool not to put a stop to it.”

  “You know Richard doesn't talk to me about business,” Charlotte said quietly.

  “You gave Mother the vapors that day, too,” Madeleine said to Caroline. “Are you trying to give her a heart attack?”

  “She just needs a life,” Caroline said with a shrug. “And she needs to let me get on with mine.”

  “Tonight wasn't Caroline's fault,” Charlotte said.

  “Thank you! You see?” Caroline looked triumphantly at Madeleine. “I'm not the one about to get shot by Montedoran rebels.”

  “It wasn't Madeleine's fault either,” Charlotte insisted. She hesitated before saying quietly, “That little fit at the table was just Mother's way of ensuring that everyone's attention remained focused on her.”

  Caroline shrugged. Madeleine nodded and stared at her coffee. There was a long silence before Caroline finally said, “Will you really be safe down there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Preston doesn't seem very convinced that this man—Ransom?—knows what he's doing. He told me the guy was a real smartass.”

  “Surely Preston didn't say that?”

  “No, he said something like: impertinent to the point of belligerence.”

  “Ah. Well, yes, Mr. Ransom is a little abrasive, and he and Preston didn't hit it off. But Dad has every confidence in him.”

  “Do you?”

  Madeleine blinked in surprise as she considered the question. She had been so busy worrying about her secret connection with Ransom that she hadn't even considered the very real issue of her personal safety until now.

  “Yes,” she said at last. “I do. He's not ... I mean, I don't like the man, but he strikes me as extremely capable.” That much, at least, was true. Whatever her personal problems with Ransom, he had seemed to her—from the very first moment—to be a dangerous, able-bodied, quick-witted man. If anyone could protect her, it would be him.

  To her relief, the conversation shifted away from her bodyguard. Caroline talked about her job, and Charlotte talked about the children. Madeleine finally brought up the subject of Charlotte's weight, only to be put off by the other woman.

  “Come on, Madeleine, you know the saying: you can never be too rich or too thin,” Charlotte said.

  “Bullshit,” Caroline said succinctly.

  Madeleine gave Caroline a retiring look, then asked Charlotte, “You're not still dieting, are you?”

  Charlotte patted her stomach. “I still have some flabby parts I'm trying to get rid of.”

  “Charlotte, everyone woman's got some extra flesh on her. It's supposed to be there.”

  “Look, I take my vitamins. I know what I'm doing.”

  “Are you sure? You look very tired. In fact, I think you look too thin,” Madeleine said gently.

  Mingled hurt and anger flared in Charlotte's eyes. Her mouth tightened in her gaunt face as she said, “Thanks so much for sharing your opinion, Madeleine. Ever the perfect sister. Perfect daughter, perfect career woman. It must get awfully boring being so perfect!”

  Madeleine blinked, taken aback. “Charlotte, I—”

  “Just lay off, Madeleine! Do I hand out free advice on your life?”

  “I'm sorry, I didn't—”

  “Didn't you?”

  “No, of course—”

  “Leave it, Madeleine,” Caroline advised. “The truth is, Charlotte, you look like death warmed over.”

  Madeleine glared at her. “Really, Caroline, that's—”

  “And you,” Caroline continued, turning to Madeleine, “should stop being so damn perfect. I agree with Charlotte on that. God, just once in your life I'd love to see you let your hair down and act like a mere mortal.”

  The three sisters all stared at each other, not sure where to go from here. Madeleine's mind was flooded with images from a shabby hotel room in Montedora City. She swallowed and wondered what on earth she should say to her sisters. She had always tried to be dependable and understanding. She had always wanted to be a role model for them. She had tried to shield them from all the pressures that inevitably made Charlotte crack and Caroline explode. And somehow, all her good intentions had only made them resent her.

  The thick silence of the room was broken a moment later by the entrance of the children, who tore through the doorway at top speed, shrieking wildly. Preston and Madeleine's father joined the group a moment later, and the atmosphere lightened as everyone's conversation focused on children and toys and games.

  Needing something to do, Madeleine rose from her chair and walked to the far end of the room to pour herself another cup of coffee. Her father joined her there.

  “I trust everything is in order for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Dad,
” she answered.

  “No problems?”

  She avoided his probing gaze. “No. None.”

  “And Mr. Ransom. He meets with your approval?”

  “I thought the point was that he meets with your approval,” she said, stirring her coffee.

  “He does, but...” He seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “I rather had the impression that you've met before.”

  Madeleine's belly clenched. “Did he say that?”

  “No.” He waited a moment, then added shrewdly, “And neither, apparently, will you.”

  “He's abrasive, but his credentials are good,” she said, still avoiding both his question and his gaze.

  “I've never seen you take such an apparent dislike to someone so quickly.”

  “Haven't you?” she murmured.

  “He's a good man, Madeleine.”

  Sheer surprise made her meet his gaze at last. “You like him!”

  “Yes. His behavior was rather appalling today, but I like him.” He shrugged. “Call it instinct. He's a man who can be trusted and counted on.”

  She considered her father's words carefully. “And that's why...”

  He nodded. “I wouldn't force unwanted company upon you, Madeleine, but I am more concerned than I have admitted to you.”

  “Or to Mother?”

  “Quite.” He added a shallow spoonful of sugar to his coffee. “Ransom says he can protect you, and I believe him.”

  Her father's concern affected Madeleine. He had always been the first to push her toward new challenges. If he was worried about her safety, then she should be, too.

  “I will follow his instructions to the letter, Dad,” she said at last, privately wondering how safe she was from Ransom himself. Well, he had said he never intended to touch her again, didn't he? The thought did nothing to improve her mood.

  “I think I'd better get going,” she said decisively, wanting to escape before the evening slid even further downhill. “It's getting late and we've still got to drive back to the city.”

  “Yes, of course. I'll ask Eva to bring your coats.”