“Is everything all right?” Dorothy Wilson called from behind her desk across the way. She was the loan officer, and Charley once told me she admired me. She thought I reminded her of Tony Perkins.
Suddenly what might be going on occurred to me. Mr. Kasofsky called Dr. Turner after I called him. He asked him how things were at the Oberman house. Everyone knew what had happened. I could just imagine the stories that had been circulating since. He wanted to know if it were all right for me to come back to work. He probably said something like, “I don’t mean to pry, but for the sake of the bank I have to know some personal things. To begin with, after what has happened and what Michael Oberman’s gone through and is going through, is he stable enough to handle a position of some responsibility again?” That would be the type of question I would ask.
Oh, and I could just see and hear Dr. Turner’s response. “Just a moment,” he would say and hit his intercom button. “Mrs. Greenstreet, can you step in here a moment?” He would be sitting back when she came in, and he’d have the receiver on his shoulder. Very casual, very suave, very Dr. Turner. “Remember Michael Oberman the other day?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How did he strike you? I mean—”
“Oh I know what you mean, Dr. Turner. He was very high strung, insistent on seeing you. He seemed unusually aggressive. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”
“Thank you. Yes, Mr. Kasofsky. Sorry to keep you waiting. To put it simply, I would let him work, but I would watch him closely. See what the tension does to him. He’s been under quite a strain for a long while now, as you know.”
“Thank you. We’ll do just that,” Kasofsky said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.”
He’d be discreet, but he would just mention to a few of those who work closely with me to keep an eye on me and report any unusual behavior. That was all he had to say, and they all observed me like I was some sort of mentally deranged creature. I just knew it. That was why they were so attentive now. Why else would Charley Tooey come butting in?
“Nothing’s going on,” I said to Kasofsky. “I just made a phone call, a simple phone call.”
“Then let’s get back to our duties,” he said.
“Yes, let’s,” I added, glaring back at all of them, at each and every one of them, even customers. All avoided my eyes. I had learned something from Mrs. Randolph.
Needless to say, I was upset when I left work that day. I drove fast and recklessly, almost causing two accidents. I thought a policeman would pull me over before I made the turn off the main highway to Wildwood Drive, but no one stopped me and soon there was barely any traffic.
It was still quite light out when I arrived at the house. I looked up and saw that the curtains had been changed in Lillian’s room. They were the bright yellow ones we had stored in the attic Why had they done that now? I wondered. I just knew there were going to be more changes every day, none of them making any sense to me.
The moment I opened the car door, I heard the dog barking. He sounded frantic. It was a high-pitched yelp. So I went around back first and found him tangled around the doghouse. I saw that he had been fed, but what, I thought, what is the point of this? Freed from its entanglement, the animal ran in idiotic circles around me and began barking again as soon as it realized I was leaving it.
As soon as I got to the front door, I smelled the odors of roast beef and baked potatoes. I could even detect a pie in the oven. Mrs. Randolph hadn’t been kidding when she said they had already planned our dinner. It was going to be the best one Miriam had made in the last six months.
I stopped at the living room doorway. Everything had been changed around so that the television set was not the centerpiece. All of the furniture, even some of the paintings that had hung in the same place for as long as I could remember, had been switched about. I didn’t like it. It made me feel like a stranger in my own home.
“Hi,” Miriam said. She stood in the hallway by the kitchen, a large mixing spoon in her hand. She wore a full blue and white polka dot apron over what looked to be one of her older dresses, an out of style, frilly, sleeved thing that she had hung in the attic along with other old garments years ago.
“What’s going on here? The living room—”
“Yes, doesn’t it look better? Mrs. Randolph suggested it.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t look better.”
“Oh, Michael, you’re just saying that because you’re not used to it. Mrs. Randolph told me that would be your response. Men always react that way when the patterns of their lives are disturbed,” she added. They were obviously not her words.
“Where is Mrs. Randolph?”
“Meditating before supper. It helps the digestion. I already did it.”
“Meditating, meditating.”
“My, you’re uptight. You should do meditation. What is it, the job?” She was practically singing her words. She seemed high on something. I became suspicious. She giggled and shook the spoon at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Making the salad,” she said, pronouncing each word slowly and definitely. “Go wash and change. We’re having dinner by candlelight in the dining room. Mrs. Randolph helped me fix it up. And wait until you see the changes in Lillian’s room. It’s brighter than ever!”
“I saw the new curtains when I drove up.”
“Go look at the rest,” she said and went back into the kitchen before I could say another word. I cursed under my breath and hurried up the steps.
The door to Mrs. Randolph’s room was shut. I imagined she was into her meditation, just as Miriam had said. I went hesitantly to Lillian’s room, wondering what were the other changes. As always now, the door was partially open. I touched the handle and moved the door further.
They had found Lillian’s old bedspread in the attic, the spread that matched the curtains. The dressers had been moved, and the bed had been turned so the headboard faced the right wall instead of the door. I could just imagine that Mrs. Randolph told Miriam Lillian would be able to look out the window now.
The chimes still hung in the same spot, but her toy chest had been moved closer to the bed. There were dolls and stuffed animals on the bed, lying about as if a child had just finished playing with them. The small desk and chair had been moved closer to the right window, and the walls were now peppered with many of Lillian’s old drawings.
These changes did give the room a more lived-in appearance. Before it had been more of a shrine. Now it looked used, even a little messy. For a moment it gave me the chills. I felt Lillian might come running up behind me and push past me into the room. I could almost hear her giggling.
“Clean this place up,” I would say. After all, toys had been left deliberately on the floor. A dresser drawer was partially open with the sleeve of a blouse sticking out. I even saw a streak of crayon on the wallpaper near the desk.
Such attention to detail, I thought. It’s terrifying. Why was she doing this? What possible purpose could it serve? I turned around, annoyed and surprised enough to demand answers. We would have our first head to head confrontation, the nurse and I. I was determined, regardless of what Dr. Turner had said. I went to her door.
For a moment I just stood there listening. Maybe she would hear me and open it up herself. Nothing happened and I heard nothing. I tapped gently and waited. There wasn’t a sound, and there was no movement.
“Mrs. Randolph?” Nothing. I looked at the stairway. Could she have gone down while I was in Lillian’s room? “Mrs. Randolph?” I raised my voice and waited. Nothing.
Slowly, timidly, I reached for the knob. Before I turned it, I knocked again, this time a great deal harder. I waited, but there was still no sound and no movement from within so I turned the knob until I felt the click. I waited and then pushed the door forward in little jerks.
I saw her large dresser first and her window with the curtains waving in the breeze. I called again, waited, and opened the door a lot further. My hea
rt was beating fast, and I was holding my breath. I don’t know why I was filled with such anxiety, but my hand was practically shaking on the doorknob.
At first I didn’t see her. She wasn’t on the bed, and she wasn’t sitting at the vanity table. The closet door was closed, and there was no sound of her right behind the door.
Then I saw her. She was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed between it and the wall. She was in the lotus position and she was completely naked. From my angle I gazed on her right profile. Her back was straight, the spinal curve nearly perfect. With her shoulders up, her full breasts were firm. Her skin was smooth and tight, the curve of her waist sharp, but feminine. There were no layers of fat, no bulges.
She was so unmoving she looked poured from a mold. Some sculptor with the talent to create lifelike figures had chipped her out of marble. I could run my hand down her spine and feel the coolness of smooth stone. That’s how still she appeared. She didn’t turn her head toward me; she didn’t move a limb or shift her weight. She simply continued to stare forward, her concentration unbroken.
I had stood there for only a few fleeting seconds, unsure of how to make a graceful retreat. I was drawn into conflict: I didn’t want to stop looking at her—she had a beautiful body and my sexual arousement was most welcome and most exciting. She seemed unaware of my intrusion, and I could back out without being discovered. There would be no embarrassment and no explanations.
I closed the door softly. I was sure my face was flushed. I lay my hands against my cheeks and felt the heat. My legs were weak and unsteady, yet I was tempted to peek in again. I had never seen such a deep self-hypnotic trance. I thought I could even walk right up to her and touch her without realizing it. The idea was fascinating.
I heard Miriam turn on the stereo downstairs, and I came back to reality. I retreated from the nurse’s doorway as though within lived every evil temptation since time began. Speed seemed to help. I practically tore the clothes off myself and got into the shower. For a while I simply let the cold water beat down on my chest and face, but the pulsations that had hardened my erection stubbornly remained, demanding some satisfaction. I was afraid to scrub myself.
But every other moment another fantasy appeared. When I stepped out of the shower, I imagined walking naked to her door, entering, and sitting beside her on the floor. Without touching, we would meditate until we joined on the same mental highway and coupled in an ecstasy beyond mere physical passion. Our orgasm would be total, reaching deeply into the essence of one another, our sex exploding throughout our entire beings. Afterward, we would part almost without the realization that we had been together. It was the perfection of lovemaking.
When I heard her door open and close, I realized that I had left my bedroom door open. I stood there naked with the towel against my stomach. Would she come to the doorway to complain about my entering her room? I stood frozen until I heard her footsteps on the stairway. Then I went to the bed and sat as though I had just come out of a daze.
Why had I reacted like this? Surely it was because of my own sexual frustration. I had been living like a monk. I might as well have been sleeping with myself these past months, and now, to have the buxom nurse .... The image of her nude body was a torment.
When I looked in the mirror to brush my hair and I saw that the flush remained in my face, I realized I was still excited. Would the nurse see it when I sat down to eat with Miriam? Being an expert on the human body, she would understand. Would she then say something about my opening the door?
Before, I had been aggressive and strong enough to want to challenge any medical theories. I wanted to demand things from her and from Dr. Turner. I wanted to treat her as my servant, my employee. But now I couldn’t imagine doing it.
She had taken control of Miriam in a way that made me jealous. What was she doing to me?
For the first time I sensed that I, personally, felt threatened.
5
* * *
THE CANDLES WERE LIT; THE MUSIC WAS SOFT, AND the lights had been dimmed in the dining room. I heard both of them in the kitchen. There was that high school girl giggling and then quiet, and then the giggling again.
“Hey,” I called. “What’s all this?” Miriam peeked in.
“Make yourself a cocktail, Michael. Mrs. Randolph and I already have ours,” she said, and she pulled her head back out of view.
“I can see that,” I said, but I’m sure she didn’t hear me. I looked over the table. Miriam had one of our finer tablecloths on it and our best china and silverware in place. I hadn’t seen the table set like this for at least a year. The last time was either our anniversary or Lillian’s birthday.
I made my drink and then fiddled with the stereo, adjusting the tone and the volume. I didn’t know where Miriam found the records. They came from an album entitled Music for Special Occasions. What was so special about this occasion? I wondered. A few minutes later Miriam called for me to come to the table.
They were both already seated. I stood somewhat in awe. Mrs. Randolph was not in uniform. She wore what I recognized to be one of Miriam’s evening dresses, the blue one with a revealing V-neck. Miriam had always been very timid about wearing it. It was a little tight on Mrs. Randolph, especially around the shoulders and bodice. She had on Miriam’s sapphire necklace and matching earrings, and when she lifted her left hand to her face, I saw the slim gold watch I had bought Miriam for her birthday two years ago.
Out of uniform, Mrs. Randolph seemed vulnerable, human, one of us. It could have been from the whiskey she had already drunk or perhaps the lighting, but there was more color in her cheeks. Although the shade was very light, she wore lipstick, too. The necklace and the earrings highlighted the blue in her eyes. I realized I was staring intently and turned quickly to Miriam.
She had removed her apron. There were new things about her that caught my interest as well. Maybe it was because I remembered how old that frilly white dress was, or maybe it was because I recalled when she wore it last, but in any event, she looked younger and more vibrant. I was thrown back to earlier days and almost felt as though I should go back into the living room to get my father and remind him dinner was being served.
Certainly the subdued lighting and the glow of the candles did much toward making the scene ethereal and unreal. The very walls of the room looked different. When I stepped in, I crossed over some mystical boundary. I had entered someone else’s dream, someone else’s illusion. Everything about me immediately adjusted. I could speak only in low, soft tones. I moved gracefully, carefully. My hearing changed; the music became softer. Even the tinkle of the china and the silverware was melodic.
There were two bottles of wine on the table and a shrimp cocktail appetizer on everyone’s plate. From the moment I entered to the moment I sat down, both women watched me eagerly, anxiously. I lifted the fancy monogrammed napkin and smiled.
Mrs. Randolph’s eyes were deep and tempting. Although she looked at Miriam almost as much as she looked at me, I was drawn to her sensuality. I thought I could see the beat of her heart in the pulsation of her blood through tiny veins at the base of her throat. There was a redness at the crown of her bosom. It emanated from somewhere deep within her cleavage. My fingers tingled. I envisioned them following the dark crevice down to the peaks of her breasts and over the almond-colored nipples. I didn’t look at her long, but I quickly became self-conscious. Miriam giggled.
I found her in direct contrast to Mrs. Randolph’s maturity. The frilly dress, her face already flushed from the whiskey, and her innocent eyes made her childlike. It was as though the thin membrane of what was left of her sanity had given way and she had fallen into some imaginary, farcical state. She had become Alice in Wonderland. She wasn’t really with us; she was moving on another level in another dimension. We met infrequently at short intervals, and then she traveled again on her own highway.
“This is ... beautiful, dear,” I said.
“Welcome to the celebration,” Miri
am said, and she nodded to Mrs. Randolph, who began to pour the wine into our goblets. “Celebration of what?”
“Your first day back at the job, Michael. Congratulations!”
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Randolph said handing me a glass of wine. Our eyes locked, but her gaze was not threatening or intimidating. There was a look of amusement in her eyes. She was encouraging me to go along with it all.
“It’s our surprise,” Miriam said. “We were planning it all day. Every time you called, you interrupted us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Randolph really planned out the menu. She’s a gourmet. Wait until you see what I made for dessert.”
“Mrs. Randolph is many things,” I said raising my glass to her. She smiled and raised hers as well. We all sipped our wine and then began to eat our appetizers.
Miriam talked incessantly, describing almost every moment of her day. Her monologue was made of the most insignificant details, punctuated here and there with references to Lillian.
Neither Mrs. Randolph nor I interrupted her. I thought Mrs. Randolph overdid her attentiveness. She looked enraptured. I did think that her eyes were filled with more sympathy and understanding than I had yet seen in them. It made me more tolerant. And the meal was fantastic.
We didn’t just have roast beef; we had beef Wellington. All of the vegetables were sautéed. There was homemade bread and baked potatoes with cream. Every item on the menu drew compliments. The meal became an orgy. We savored the flavors; we remarked about textures. We watched each other chew and drink and swallow. There was a great deal of laughter and more wine. A third and fourth bottle were opened. I ate more than I ever imagined I could. I let myself go. I relaxed, felt free and unafraid. And Mrs. Randolph? Mrs. Randolph fanned the flames.
If Miriam stumbled on a word, Mrs. Randolph repeated it the way Miriam had said it and we all laughed. She encouraged me to joke and do imitations. I described some of my customers, some that I had that day and some that I had in the past. Then Miriam got up and imitated me coming home from work.
Tender Loving Care Page 8
