"No. It's just two days. I know you love drama, but you can wait that long. All right, see you then!"
"Okay? See you!"
Chelsea hit the end button and put the phone back in her purse while keeping her eyes on the road. Behind those sapphire-blue eyes, fears and hopes crowded, forming a riotous melee, each fighting for their turn. Sometimes hope won, but fear was the most frequent victor, raging and cruel, its piercing lancet raised high in triumph.
Corona
Kate lay curled up on her side in bed, staring at the shadows and shapes of early afternoon sunlight that played on the pale blue walls of their bedroom. She knew she should get up. She had to get up. Get up! This was just supposed to be a nap! But her body was leaden and weak, her mind not much help either. Tears filled her eyes again and she wept silently.
She was supposed to be at her job at the nursery school, the job Bianca worked so hard to get for her, but she couldn't bear it. She'd gone the first day she'd been allowed to get back to life after the miscarriage, a mere single day of rest and recuperation the doctor in the emergency room recommended. She had hoped that she could escape from her misery at work. Instead, being around all of her small pupils heightened it and she went home early, complaining about cramping pain to Wren, who had been kind and sympathetic and completely unable to help Kate.
No one was able to help her, not even Grant who was in his own pain, soldiering woodenly along and saying they would get pregnant again as if it was an incantation. She had to help herself, she knew that. And yet, she called in sick every day since, prompting a concerned visit from Pastor Grimes and a colorful finger-painted "Get Well" banner from her class. Three weeks had passed this way and she knew what she had to do. She had to give it up, her favorite job ever, because now it was the most agonizing job ever. Those children, happy or sad or mad, quietly playing or crying hysterically or laughing with delight, they were alive and her baby was dead.
Just then, the phone jangled on the bedside table. Kate jerked a little, wanting to curl up tighter like a little centipede and hide. Instead, she laboriously pushed herself up with one arm, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and reached to pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Kate? It's Sharon."
"Sharon...oh, it's so nice to hear your voice."
"Oh sweetie, you sound so sad. And you have every right to be."
"Thank you so much for the chicken noodle soup you made. I didn't know that you cooked? That was so nice."
"Yeah, I'm a pretty basic kind of cook: chicken soup, meatloaf, mac and cheese. Nothing like Lucie. I'm really psyched to try her food at Bianca's. You and Grant are still coming, right?"
"Uh huh. I guess. I don't want to let Lucie and Bianca down."
"Listen, any chance you want to come out on Thursday? Just for a quick drink at a very lowbrow place I know? Me and some of the other girls are going. It would be good for you to get out? Are you back at work? Wait, I guess I know that answer: you're home right now and this is when you'd be at school. Anyway...come? Please?"
Kate smiled and it felt strange, as if she was contorting her face. "Oh? Okay?"
"Yes! All right, let me give you the deets. It's in Darien, near your house. Know where O'Malley's is?"
"That little shack place?"
"That's it!"
They agreed to meet at six and Sharon checked for the millionth time to see if Kate needed anything and Kate, for the millionth time, said she was fine. Kate said goodbye and hung up. The facts hadn't changed: she still had to help herself. Looking at the phone with trepidation, she took a deep breath and picked it back up. Now or never.
Fifteen minutes later, Pastor Grimes' sorrowful voice ringing in her ear, she hung up for the second time, this time without feeling of mild happiness she'd had after the first call. No, this was sadness and regret that she felt. But she had done it, freed them to go and hire another teacher. Maybe someday Kate would teach again, but not right now. Thinking of teaching made her think of David and their endlessly repeated lessons together. She had to make that call, too, find out how he was doing, but it would have to wait. She could only manage one heartrending call a day. Soon, maybe later this week. At least things hadn't gotten worse or she would have heard from her parents.
Propelled by the forward-motion of her call to Pastor Grimes, Kate got up, straightened the bed and went downstairs, averting her eyes as she passed the nursery. She would clean the house, which had gotten dusty and dingy due to her malaise even though Grant took a swipe at it here and there over the last few weeks. She would even steel herself and dust and vacuum the nursery. Even if she had to cry the whole time, she would do it.
Then, assuming the garage called and told her that her car was ready in time for her to run to the store, she would make a nice wholesome dinner for Grant. Sharon's mention of homey meatloaf had inspired her: Grant's favorite meal was stuffed pork chops, mashed potatoes with gravy, and peas. She would surprise him tonight with dinner, candlelight, and a genuine, though tremulous, smile. Tomorrow, she would go back to the office and get things straightened out there too. They wouldn't need Tiffany anymore with Kate back full-time, but the girl would have a glowing reference and some severance pay. Everything had to get back to normal sometime and that time was now.
Kate was in the utility room pulling out her dust rags when she thought she saw someone pass the window leading into the back yard. It was just a fleeting shadow. Was someone there? She walked around to the kitchen and looked out over the back yard, leaning over the sink. Someone's dark-haired head was below the window, almost pressed against the house. It looked like the person was wearing all black, like a ninja.
Alarmed, Kate stepped back from the sink. Who was that? Was it a burglar? She looked over at the cordless phone sitting in its charger on the counter, picked it up and was about to dial when it occurred to her it could be a teenager in the neighborhood, some kid playing around. She should check first.
She crept through the back of the house to the small sunroom that was lined with windows. It would be a perfect place to be able to see the entirety of the stranger in their yard as it jutted out next to the kitchen. The only problem was that it had a flimsy screen door whose lock was questionable, so if the person was dangerous and he saw her, she would have to rush to close and lock the door that led to the sunroom before calling the police.
Kate peered around the doorframe and out through the glass. She screamed, jerking back. The person was right there, outside the window! Looking right at her!
It was Bianca, her hair in a severe bun and wearing a black blouse with black slacks. Bianca's always-sleepy eyes flew wide open, terrified by Kate's scream.
As soon as Kate realized, she started nervously laughing and rushed to open the screen door.
"Bianca! Oh, my God? You scared me?"
"I scared you? I think my hair's turned white," Bianca said, looking visibly shaken.
"No? No, it's still black? Oh? I saw you and I didn't know who it was? I thought you were a burglar?"
Bianca shook her head, her color returning. "No, I'm no burglar. I was just...stopping by for a visit."
"Oh? That's nice! How sweet of you?" Kate flashed back to the dark head below her kitchen window. What was Bianca doing back there? Why hadn't she rung the front doorbell the way she always did? Well, there had to be some reason, but Kate wasn't going to make things worse than they already were by making a big deal out of it. "Come in? We can have tea. Or I have coffee? Or we've got tons of soup! Thanks again?"
Sharon wasn't the only one who'd brought over soup. Bianca had given them some fancy soups from a gourmet shop in Greenwich and Lucie had dropped off a huge container of a delicious vegetable soup Lucie called "soup au pistou" as well as a chicken dish with a silky rich sauce. They had so much soup their freezer was packed solid with it.
Bianca smiled and said, "I'd love some coffee if you feel like making it. And I'm glad you liked the soups. I love their pea soup with
oysters and Pernod. Wasn't that one to die for?"
Kate, leading them into the house, said, "I haven't had that one yet, there was so much food everyone brought and the soups were the easiest to freeze. I can't wait, though? I love shellfish? But I can never have any?"
"Why not? You're not allergic, are you? But no, you had mussels at Ibiza."
"No, I'm not allergic? It's Grant. He's really allergic. He would, like, die, if he had any? So, no shellfish!"
There was silence behind her, and Kate turned back to look at Bianca, who had stopped, as if thunderstruck, in the middle of the den. "What?" Kate asked.
Blinking, Bianca smiled again, "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. Let's get that coffee and we can have a little chat. I'm so glad you're home. I was thinking you might be back at work at the nursery school and I would miss you. I do miss you? I hope you're doing all right?"
Kate cringed a little, realizing how neglectful she'd been of their friendship and also knowing she would have to tell Bianca the truth about her decision to quit her job, the job Bianca had so selflessly gotten for her. Kate turned and led her friend into the kitchen, wishing she could fast forward through the next half hour and Bianca's disappointment.
Mojito
"Bye, Bianca! Thanks so much?" Kate said, standing in her front yard.
"Toodles, darling!" Bianca waved gaily at Kate as she pulled away in John's black Mercedes, her wide smile turning into a rage-filled grimace as soon as she was out of sight. Stupid mouse! She still couldn't believe it, Kate leaving her dream job and destroying part two of Bianca's plan. She was even going to let Tiffany go, who had turned into a perfect little mole, reporting faithfully to Bianca about everything that took place in the office.
From checking the garage for cars to peeping in the windows of the Palmer's house on their ideally quiet street, Bianca had been careful as always. She'd driven John's Mercedes, his less-favorite car as he preferred to show off in his silver Porsche Boxster. The Mercedes was a commonplace car in Darien, and therefore barely visible. She parked on the street in front of the house so it looked like a legitimate visit by some bland-looking woman in all black. At least that's what the neighbors would have noticed, if anything. She even, luckily, followed her own rule and left the "evidence" - Polaroid photos of her breasts and her freshly-waxed vulva that she was planning to plant in the house - sitting in a gift bag in the car until she'd confirmed the house was empty.
Everything went wrong anyway. Where was Kate's car? Bianca wasn't going to ask and reveal her investigation and Kate never said. But could Kate scream! Bianca now knew she'd gotten too comfortable waltzing into the Palmer's house through the back door, spritzing perfume in the air and smearing lipstick on Grant's clothes and going through their personal things looking for something she could use.
In all her searching she'd found nothing, and then today Kate opened her mouse-mouth and gave Bianca the solution she'd been looking for. Seafood! Shellfish, to be exact, would be her way to get everyone else sick at the dinner party and not Grant. She'd demand some kind of gourmet fish stew from Lucie; she was the hostess after all, and it was due to her generosity that Edie, who'd accepted the invitation, would be sampling Lucie's cooking. A handful of rotten raw oysters should do the trick and would be barely detectable with all the seasoning and other seafood mixed in. Grant would have to have something else during that course.
Grant would also have a roofie, dissolved in his drink. Then she'd get him alone. She realized now that his good-guy act was a shield and she had to break through it by force. Once on the other side, their love consummated, he would be hers. In fact, she probably didn't need to plant those photos after all, and even if she'd been successful, Kate was so stupid she'd probably think of some excuse that would clear Grant of any suspicion. She was remarkably stubborn about that, surprisingly so.
Bianca smiled then, steering the car down the lovely tree-lined streets of Darien and remembering her favorite color smeared all over the floor of The Vault, footprints of red stark on ebony. Kate might desperately cling to her idealistic view of her husband, but she wasn't able to hold on to that baby. It really would have been Bianca's most successful scheme ever if it wasn't for Sharon. Bianca's smile faded. Had Sharon seen? Or just suspected? Bianca had held Sharon's gaze a second too long, she knew that.
Bianca had turned and ran down the stairs, as if to help, all the while wondering if her act was for naught. But she hadn't heard a thing, not a peep from Sharon or any of the girls suggesting that she had anything to do with Kate's fall. And Bianca had certainly worked hard to look innocent, even hanging around the emergency room and making all the usual sad faces and sounds with Sharon and Chelsea. That was why she was so shocked at Grant's treatment of her, back then before she understood what she had to do.
"Grant!" Bianca had stood up so that he could see her as he strode into reception. Now they would be united. He would see how good she was, angelic as Kate. Yes, tonight he would finally see Bianca, his eyes open at last, and then lust and need would follow.
He glanced over and did a double-take, pausing. "Oh, hi. Um, I have to...," he said, vaguely pointing in the direction of the reception desk. Then he just walked away.
Bianca startled and stared after him. Where was it? Their moment that she knew would happen now? Kate was useless, washed up, broken goods. He wouldn't want her anymore. And here Bianca was, gorgeous and sympathetic, her arms outreached.
She realized that they were, in fact, outreached, and put them down at her sides. Then she sat down again and watched jealously as Grant talked to the woman at the desk and then was ushered away, back through the doors and into the inner sanctum of the emergency room. She ground her teeth slowly, imagining Grant and Kate's reunion. What was wrong with this man? Why wasn't he lusting after her like all men? What was he made of? It drove her mad. She felt a tickling, a crawling black bug, in her throat and swallowed it angrily down.
Worse, she had to stay and watch Grant and Kate made goo-goo eyes at each other when they came back out, Grant pushing a diminished waif-like Kate in a wheelchair, because the rest of them were still waiting for Lucie. Grant didn't even look at Bianca then, his gaze reserved for his wife, and the pair left swiftly. To add insult to injury, Bianca had to sit through an hour more of pretending she gave a shit and an introduction to Lucie's loser boyfriend, Ryan, a scruffy guy who had both ears pierced, making Bianca wonder if he was bisexual.
Bianca drove John's Mercedes to Cos Cob and then through town and down narrow back roads to the Pinetum. Well, at least now she could release some of her frustration while she practiced. She drove through the nature preserve's entrance and parked in a shaded corner in the emptiest end of the parking lot. Opening the car's glove compartment, she pulled out a .45 pistol and then a silencer, which extended the gun too much to fit it in the glove compartment when assembled.
Screwing the silencer onto the gun lovingly, she remembered the conversation she'd had with Marco all those years ago. When was that? She was just out of college, so she had to be twenty-two. She'd thought at the time that she might like to be a mobster's wife. That was until she realized how boring that would be, hanging around with the other wives and being tacky together. No thanks.
But Marco was before she knew that and he was a big burly Italian who liked to flash his money around, money earned through dealing cocaine, she found out later. Which wasn't bad news; she didn't mind the freebies, that was for sure. She always had a baggie in her purse those days, as well as a little mirrored Chanel compact and a ready-rolled and lightly taped fifty dollar bill. Yes, Marco was free with the coke, but not with the gun. She had to fight for that.
She waited until right before they had sex, when he was horny and ready to go, to ask. He was begging for a threesome lately, and she didn't mind doing it. Luckily, he didn't know that.
"Oh, baby, just think of you and me and some babe? Wouldn't that be fuckin' hot?" he asked, running his hands down her body and then grabbing her
buttocks and thrusting his pelvis against hers. They were still standing, half-dressed, almost there, the bed inches away.
"Oh, Marco. I don't know. It's just-"
"Aw, come on, baby? You know I love you. I won't leave you for her. I just want to have it, just once. Two women at the same time," he said, panting in her ear.
"Well...on one condition."
"What? You name it, you got it."
"A gun."
"What?" he said, pulling away and looking at her.
"A gun. I need one. For protection."
"But you got me, sweetie. You don't need no gun. Come on, what do you really want? Clothes? Jewelry?"
"A gun. That's all I want. You give it to me, one that's clean, unregistered, and I'll give you your greatest dream come true," she said, reaching down and stroking the steel-like hardness in his jeans.
"Uhhhh, stop. No. You don't need no gun!"
Bianca took her hand away. "Fine. You don't need a threesome. We're even."
"No! Come on! There's gotta be something else."
"I think we've reached stalemate here. I'm not playing if you're not."
He shook his head, staring at her. "Really? It matters that much to you?"
"Yes. It does."
"Well, I'll think about it."
"Good. I'll think about it, too."
He tried to wheedle some more but it went nowhere. Bianca stayed strong. In the end, it was Marco who caved, got her the gun and collected his reward using a red-headed tramp they met at a nightclub one night. Bianca, as she suspected, was fine with it. She didn't enjoy it that much, she preferred men, but it was worth it to get her gun. The silencer was another battle that she won, this time more easily, saying that the gun's noise bothered her ears and didn't he say she should practice what she'd learned from him by shooting in the woods, that a gun was no good unless you knew how to use it?
Cocktail Hour Page 31
