The Tao of Pam: Pam of Babylon Book # 6

by Suzanne Jenkins

  Ashton used to imagine he was more like the Pams of the world: pretty, stylish, poised. But having met Deborah, he changed his mind. He’d be a free spirit, wild, organic and happy. He thought of the night Natalie, a larger version of Deborah, took her clothes off in front of him, how her breasts mesmerized him. He longed to touch them because he wanted to have a set himself, not because they aroused him. She’d grasped the edge of her nightgown and pulled it off her body. He looked away when her crotch was exposed; there was something tantalizing about it, covered in black, he wanted to ask her to lie back on the sofa so he could take a closer look. He’d always known he was gay, so there were no forays into dating women like Ted had had. And he was totally ignorant of the workings of their bodies.

  Once, years and years ago, when he knew Jack had been with a girl for the first time, Ashton begged him to tell him about it, but he refused. “I’m not giving you any ammunition for fantasies,” he’d said. “Go find someone and do it yourself. I highly recommend it.”

  “But why?” Ashton begged. “I don’t want to know the hows. Just the whys.”

  “It’s different, that’s all,” Jack said. “They’re soft. They have softer skin. I don’t want to talk about it because I’ll get hot and have to go out again and find one to fuck.”

  “Give me an example of what it’s like. Give me something I can compare it to.”

  Jack just laughed. “Trust me, Ash, there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s like it’s lined with warm, moist, elastic velvet.”

  Ashton shuddered. It did sound wonderful. But he would feign distaste. “Ew. That’s awful.”

  Jack moved away from him. “You’ll never know until you try it.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” Ashton said, whining.

  Ted’s horrible expression, his face set in a grimace and flushed, moving in short, jerky motion, brought Ashton back to the present. He knew he was in trouble. He’d had it so easy with Ted, who’d demanded nothing of him. Ted was like a docile dog; give him a steak bone to gnaw on and the remote control and he was content. Why couldn’t it have stayed like that? Ashton’s attitude was what ultimately got them into hot water. He couldn’t let Ted lead the way with the women, letting Natalie take charge or allowing Deborah to find her pace. No, he had to jump right in, planning weekend family gatherings, forcing get-togethers on Ted, trying to remake them into one big, happy family.

  “Get it out, why don’t you? Instead of glaring at me,” Ashton said, a sob in his voice.

  “I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop,” Ted said. “Your behavior this afternoon was over the top, even for you. I don’t know what to say to you. Right now I wish I could leave.”

  “I’m glad you said you,” Ashton said. “Since this is my place.”

  Ted looked at him and shook his head. “Yours, mine. My daughter. Your place. I hope you’re satisfied that you hurt Deborah’s feelings.”

  Putting the problem into words, living words that lingered in the air long after he spoke them, brought Ashton to his knees, and he yelled out, wailing, “I didn’t want to hurt her. That was the last thing I set out to do. I felt backed into a corner. Everyone was going their own way, and I felt left out. It wasn’t what we planned for the weekend.”

  “So like a little boy, instead of throwing yourself into the activity, you take shots and pout. I’m so tired of it, Ashton; I wonder how much more I can take. Imagine! Instead of rejoicing for Natalie that the poor woman finally gets a date, you’re jealous! I hardly know what to say to you.”

  Ashton didn’t know either. He was suicidal. Or homicidal. “What should I do?”

  Ted looked at him, frowning. “Why ask me? Why do you suddenly care what I think? I’m going to go call my daughter and apologize to her. Then, I think I’ll get my suitcase, take the train downtown, and spend the night in my office. You’re correct when you say this is your place. I don’t feel comfortable here.”

  “I’ll stay in the guest room,” Ashton said.

  “Not on my account you won’t,” Ted answered. “I want to be away from you right now before we do or say anything rash. The only thing I am happy about is that my only flesh and blood is safe up in the cabin.”

  “Ted, that’s an awful thing to say. I would never hurt her.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Ted said, looking directly at him. “I don’t think I trust you anymore.”

  Ashton fought the impulse to stamp his foot. Ted picked up his suitcase and briefcase and left the apartment. They hadn’t been home for longer than twenty minutes.

  Ashton started crying again. He’d unpack, wiping away any hint of the weekend. He never wanted to see Ted or Natalie or Deborah again. He marched into their shared bedroom. It would be so easy to eliminate any trace of Ted. He didn’t have a very commanding presence in either his physical being or belongings.

  Ashton sat on the bed and started to cry again. Poor Ted. Ashton saw to it that his impact on the apartment was minimal, and now that was glaring. Except for his clothes, he had no mementos or treasures in the room. Ashton walked into the guest room to see if there was anything in there. It, too, was devoid of the essence of Ted. In the den were two shelves of books and few family photos belonging to Ted. Had he left anything he valued in his office? He’d traded the cabin for his apartment downtown. What did Ted do with all his stuff when he made the switch? Ashton started going through closets, getting up on a ladder to see the very top, and couldn’t find anything. There were only clothes hanging neatly, and minimal at that. He jumped down and went to Ted’s dresser. Opening drawers, he made a discovery that caused his heart to pound violently in his chest. Ted must have been secreting his clothes out of the apartment, because the drawers were almost empty.

  Ashton went to the phone and dialed Ted’s number. It went to voice mail, so he hung up without leaving a message. The last thing he wanted to do was get divorced. He loved Ted, as much as he was capable of loving someone other than Jack. There was a shrine of Jack pictures in the hallway; Ted never mentioned them or asked Ashton to take them down. Lined up in matching frames were sepia prints of Jack dating from the ’70s. Jack in a tuxedo, Jack in the village with a group of musicians, Jack golfing, Jack’s wedding, Jack in tennis clothes, sprawled in a chair on the terrace of the Columbus Avenue mansion. Ashton fell into a chair and started to sob.

  “Jack, damn you,” he cried. “Damn you!”

  Ted got off the train at City Hall and took a cab to Battery Park. He’d hole up in his office until he could get in touch with Natalie about camping out at her place. It was going to be empty all summer anyway, and unless he’d read her wrong, she’d be happy to have him there. He was so sure that this was the right thing to do. He’d had it with Ashton, and it was more than just the usual ups and downs of a relationship. Ashton was psycho, and Ted was worried for his daughter. And for Natalie and himself.

  He got out of the cab and dragged his suitcase into the building, the doorman smiling at him. “Rough weekend?”

  Ted laughed and nodded. “You could say that.”

  He’d slept on the couch in his office plenty of times; there was a closet where he was stashing his clothes. As he slowly emptied Ashton’s apartment of his belongings, which were few to begin with, they were finding a place in his office. The rest of his things and those of his aunt Dale were resting in a storage facility in the Bronx. Ashton had tried to convince him to use one of his many warehouses, where the tools of his trade, real estate staging, were housed. But Ted subconsciously wondered if this day would come, or else why would he have refused? Now he was just happy that his stuff was out of the apartment. He thought of a few things that were still there, books and toiletries, and decided he’d just take his chances they wouldn’t end up in the river. He had his laptop and his briefcase. What more did he need? He picked up the phone and dialed his favorite pizza place and got a large pizza with meat and extra cheese. He was going to spend the rest of the Memorial Day weekend holed up
in a downtown office building and order as much take-out as he could stuff in his mouth.

  Chapter 14

  Pam

  Tomorrow is finally Memorial Day, thank God. This year’s picnic is modest compared to the last one Jack hosted. I am so tired of the distribution of that disgusting video that makes my picnic appear to be a lavish gala given by a wealthy sheik. Jack insisted on renting all of those potted palms in urns and dozens of white umbrellas. He said his motive was to keep people outside. It worked, but I was embarrassed in front of the neighbors; it was so ostentatious. The uniformed waiters walking around in tuxedos in the heat was a little over the top. The spectrum of fashion was from thong bikini to long evening gown, golf shorts to black tie. I was never sure where the formal theme originated, unless those guests were attending another party that evening.

  This year I invited my family come for the entire weekend so they could spend time with Miranda and get a chance to see little Megan. Then I forgot to ask Tom and Sandra to come early. In the past, the house was always full of people for the long weekend. Well, it’s just too much. I’m getting too old for it. Gladys Ford has helped as much as she could, but even with the food catered, I haven’t had a minute to myself all weekend.

  I’m hiding out in my bedroom. It’s nine at night, and Jeff Babcock is out on the veranda with Dan. I can hear their laughter; Jeff’s boyfriend had too much to drink, and his voice is echoing out over the ocean. His behavior is beyond raucous. Someone is going to have a vicious headache in the morning. My sister Susan is out there with the men, doing shots with Jeff. She’d give him a shot at more than alcohol if he was interested in women. I peeked out, and both Jeff and Dan were staring while she did a seductive version of the cha cha. Watching Dan take interest surprised me and disappointed me. He’s just like any man, taking a mighty tumble off his pedestal tonight. Her husband disappeared right after dinner. Last year, he drove to Atlantic City and didn’t come home until the next day, long after lunch. I had to lend them money to get home. I wonder if he’s gambling again.

  Of course, you know about Ed by now. Honest to God, I had no idea when Dan said he’d exposed himself that it meant, well you know! Are you kidding me? My daughter just confides in me that her husband has lost interest in sex, and two days later, he’s in my car at the Taco Bell, doing that. Lisa told me what he was doing. I went right to Dan and accused him of treating me like a child instead of telling me what really happened.

  “Why would I tell you something so awful? I didn’t want you to think the worst of your son-in-law. The next thing I’d know, you’d want to sell your car because of it,” he said.

  “I do want to sell it! It’s disgusting. It has to be disinfected now, no matter what.”

  “Jack bought that car for you,” Dan said gently. “I’ll have it detailed, but I don’t think you should sell it.” He was right, of course. Jack did buy me that car. One thing about Dan, he has no jealousy at all about Jack. He’s said that he enjoys the fruits of the man’s labor enough; he’d be a jerk to be jealous. I wonder if that’s a warning bell?

  I miss Jack so much. My life revolved around the man for thirty years. Did I really expect to get over his death in a matter of a few years? Lately, I feel that I’m on the edge emotionally, but if Ed’s shenanigans didn’t push me over, I think I’ll be okay. There is no one to talk with since Marie died, and I had to measure my words with her. Now that Lisa has Ed’s problems to deal with, I really don’t want to burden her. The sadness runs its course. And then something will remind me, and I’ll miss him again.

  To get back to Ed, he says he has a mental illness. The laundry list of symptoms is long. My daughter is as big a pushover than I was. Or is it something about our psychological makeup that predisposes us to look the other way? Lisa is at her wits’ end, worrying about Ed’s job and the anticipation of having to live with a mentally ill man.

  Lisa came to me a while ago and said she couldn’t find Ed; it’s possible he went to Atlantic City with Susan’s husband. I can’t picture them together. My brother-in-law is a jocular guy, loud and obnoxious, the polar opposite of Ed.

  Brent arrived from Los Angeles; I didn’t tell him that Julie had been in contact with me. He and Lisa have been lying on her bed in the same position talking for the past six hours, only coming out for food and drink. Lisa texted me a while ago, saying that Brent mentioned coming back to Babylon for good, to live here at the beach, with me. I’m fine with it. I never wanted him to stay away in the first place. I’m a little nervous thinking that possibly he wants to live here and not work, because that would be unacceptable. So who knows what is going to happen. I might have both children here after all.

  Marie would be so happy.

  Chapter 15

  Monday at dawn, Pam woke up in the middle of a dream about Marie. She tried to go back to sleep to see if it would continue, it was that interesting. Marie was with her in the den during a winter snowstorm. They were sitting in the leather chairs facing the mullioned windows that looked out over the ocean, and darkness was just beginning to fall. The snow was coming down heavily, and Marie was worried that they wouldn’t be safe at the beach.

  “There’s no one here to protect us,” she said.

  Ashton was putting wood logs in the gas fireplace. “I’ll protect you,” he said.

  “How can you?” Marie asked. “You don’t even know how gas logs work.”

  “Jack will tell me how,” Ashton said.

  “Jack’s dead,” Pam said gently, knowing Ashton would be sad.

  “I’m dead, too,” Ashton replied.

  “Ashton?” Pam woke up, startled. “Why in god’s name did I dream of that maniac?” Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to go back to sleep, hoping to shed light on what the meaning of the dream was. But nothing was revealed as she meditated, so she got up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she moved the drapes to look out. It was overcast and a little gray. “Oh, please, let the weather be nice for the day.” They were expecting almost one hundred people by noon.

  “What’s it look like?” Dan mumbled from the other side of the bed.

  “Cloudy,” she replied. “This is the last time. If we’re still together, I am asking you to hold me to it. The world-famous Memorial Day picnic will be no more.”

  “You’ll change your mind next year,” Dan said, sitting up. “And what do you mean, if we’re still together. Of course, we’ll still be together. And you’ll have a picnic next year.”

  “Like heck I will,” Pam said. “Next year, I want to be working on the farm. I’ve always wanted to plant vegetables. Now’s my chance.”

  “You don’t need to devote every waking minute to it,” Dan said. “You can have a garden and a party. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Besides, my sisters would never forgive you. Evidently, Agnes’ stature at the hospital has improved since her photo appeared in the New York Times Style Section at last year’s party,” Dan said, laughing into his pillow.

  “Oh great, now Agnes is a snob,” Pam said, moaning. She wanted to run away and hide and be left alone. “Did you tell Catherine I wanted to work in the kitchen? I’m basing my summer on Lisa and I doing farmworker breakfast.”

  “No, I forgot. You can tell her yourself today.” He frowned at her, but kept his back turned. Pam Smith and her daughter would not like serving breakfast at the farm, no matter how altruistic they were feeling. It wasn’t possible. But he didn’t say anything. Agnes would use just the right words.

  “Well, I guess I better get up and face the hordes. I don’t smell coffee brewing or bacon frying. I miss my sister most on days like this. My mother, too, before she got old. Nelda was always up getting breakfast together on picnic day.”

  “She’s used to being waited on now,” Dan said, stretching. “What can I do to help you?”

  “You can mingle,” Pam said, finally moving toward her closet. “I better pull myself together. Sandra and Tom
said they’d be here first thing with little Miranda.”

  A car honked; Dan looked out the window. “Crap. The band is here already,” he said, pulling sweat pants on. He’d show them the temporary stage set up outside of the veranda. The party was moving forward whether they liked it or not.

  Judge Fredrick was among the first guests to arrive, and he and Pam were in the vestibule talking when Dan’s sisters came to the door. The hired butler let them in, and Pam went to greet them.

  “I am so glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve looked forward to visiting with you all week.”

  They gave each other pecks on the cheeks, while the women looked around for Dan. Pam didn’t seem aware of the awkward moment of silence, standing with her hands folded, smiling at the pair. They were as unlike as three women could be. Pam had on a pale blue sleeveless linen dress that ended just above the knee, showing her toned calves and arms. Dan’s sisters, both in capris and summer tops, looked at her admiringly. If she could do it, couldn’t they?

  “Dan tells me you’re looking for someone to take over the kitchen at the farm,” Pam said.

  Catherine squeezed her arm. “That’s right, but hold the thought. I need to use the ladies’ room,” she said, scurrying off to the powder room.

  “I think I would love to do it.” Pam continued talking to Agnes. “I love to cook, and my specialty has always been quantity cooking. It’s like I can’t make enough or big enough portions. Since the children have gone, I don’t enjoy it like I used to, but when Dan mentioned the opportunity; I knew right away I wanted to do it.”

  Agnes looked at Pam, trying to keep her expression neutral, wishing she didn’t know the woman had AIDS. Although she knew it would be safe to have Pam working in the kitchen, her having AIDS would make a huge difference to Catherine, who wasn’t as broad minded as Agnes was.