A Sorority of Angels (27 page)

Alise hurt.

She never hurt more. Kabani was yesterday, and yesterday she performed her best theatrical act and display for Kabani then left with her shattered dreams.

Alise performed driven to spite Ali, her way of striking back, being paid another. Alise wept during her paid performance. Kabani, in his own sphere of pleasure, never noticed.

She mourned for her dignity; for her rejection; for the demeaning position Ali had placed her; for his lack of respect; for her love for him; for her baby; for her future; for Ali’s disregard and contempt for her feelings.

Ali treated her as recycled garbage.

She mourned for her, or was it for her weakness?

Alise knew two things the next morning after a torturous night with a pack of cigarettes; she won’t feel sorry for herself or wallow in his aftermath, not anymore. She tired crying; everyday, it seemed. She also swore to stop smoking to protect the baby.

At eleven o’clock looking her best, she headed for the office. Today was payday, a reason to pick up her check. What if she saw Ali? What would she say? How would she act?

On this clear blue-sky morning making the city sparkling fresh, she was a loser, a shitty day.

From now on, Ali was strictly an employer, nine to five. The baby was hers, to decide her child’s destiny without him, and continue her job in spite having to look at Ali. If she had to return to Syria, so be it.

Six hundred dollars equaled good part-time pay. Kabani would receive his reward as promised if he held up his end of the bargain. She would know if he did. Ali would phone her, turn into a raving lunatic, and call her an idiot for telling Kabani he fathered her child. Was she crazy or something trying to destroy his career? You crazy bitch!

That argument would continue away from the office.
He won’t pollute his professional atmosphere.
She looked forward to the phone call.

How sweet revenge felt.

The paycheck waited on her desk, Ali in his office. She girded on how to act elevating energies for another performance. She bounced into his office bubbling full of life and smiles.

“Good morning.”

Ali looked awkward at a loss for words. Why was she happy? Did something go wrong last night?

“Hi,” he mumbled. He remained behind his desk hiding in the security of professional posture.

She closed the door, kissed his cheek then sat in the visitor’s chair. The Syrian flag draped improperly to her satisfaction, made adjustments and sat again, a delaying tactic.

“What happened to you last night?”

“Well, I…I felt sick on the way back and didn’t want Kabani to see me in that condition. I decided to go home. I’m sorry.”

“I worried about you. Then we forgot you because we got drunk as hell. When you answered, I assumed something happened to make you go home. I didn’t say anything because my speech would slur. You might have gotten mad at me for that condition with him. Right after, Kabani passed out. I left him sleeping on the floor and left. I wish you had called.” Silence was his best defense. “What’s wrong? You look pale. Maybe you should take the day off.”

“I’m tired.”

Good Alise, lull him into quiet security. When Kabani tells him, the impact will be much greater.

“You won’t mind if I take the day off will you? Two friends, Jasmine and Asmir, rented a house in the Catskills for the season and I’m going with them for the weekend. I may stay until Tuesday. Since Kabani won’t be here you don’t need me on Monday.” He had yet to answer when she leaped to her feet and kissed him again on the cheek. “Thanks, you’re a doll. Bye. See you next week. I’ll call tonight or tomorrow and give you the number. Maybe I can persuade my friends to let us use the secluded house to have a super orgy with nature. Won’t you love that?” Her eyes smiled, teasing with hate behind them.

“Do I have a choice about your taking off?”

“I deserve a vacation don’t you think after Kabani night and day? Besides, I need to get away with my friends. It should be fun.”

“You deserve a vacation. I’ll miss you.”

“Good. When I return you can show me how much you missed me. Oh, damn…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Be a sweetheart and lend me a few dollars until next week. I need to pay my share of the weekend and have extra. My friends are meeting me downstairs and have no time to get to the bank.”

“How much do you need?”

“I don’t know. Two-fifty. Three hundred?”

He extracted his wallet. “Here’s three hundred.”

“Fine. I’ll pay you back as soon as.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bye, Ali. I’ll call you.” She left.

Alise wasn’t going anywhere with Jasmine and Asmir, although they did rent a house in the Catskills for two months on free weekends. She wanted the three hundred dollars, spite money. When giving her money, he never expected repayment. She wanted the dollars as another down payment for abandoning her last night.

She planned to stay home this weekend and go with Laura and me to Jasmine and Asmir’s UN party. She needed Monday and Tuesday off to be out of the office on Monday when Ali heard the good news from Kabani.

Alise had her excuse for avoiding the office. After cashing her check, she returned home to plan on how to grab her future by the horns.

That evening Alise sat and totaled her assets exempting her paycheck: three hundred dollars from Ali today, six hundred dollars from Kabani, five hundred dollars from Ali for the abortion, now profit.

She had eight thousand and seventy-two dollars in a money market account, sixteen hundred dollars in a checking account, about fourteen thousand dollars in jewelry, fifty thousand dollars in a bank in Syria, and no major expenses other than the rent; twelve hundred a month. She could save a majority portion of future paychecks by cutting back on expensive clothes.

Baby clothes, crib, and miscellaneous should be about two thousand. Maybe she could do part-time modeling or a second job in the evenings as a waiter or perform the art of belly dancing in nightclubs and socials. Alternatives were available. She was a survivor. She had forgotten.

Impressed with her modest assets, far from poverty, she felt secure providing excitement and a decent night’s sleep.

Alise ‘buried’ Ali, emotionally gone from her life, surprised at the sudden change. Further surprising, how she could hate him as deep as she once loved.

On Saturday, Alise decided to get out and do for herself, spending the day at the Cloisters. In the evening, escorted by Laura and me, she attended the Achilles Heart-UN party. Alise looked good as when I first met her. She acted happy and normal, a delight to be with.

Sunday, Alise bought
The New York Times
,
New York Daily News
and magazines on babies and maternity styles, a day for reading and entering the world of maternity, making a note to call a gynecologist within days. Pregnancy and baby soared in her senses – an exciting high.

If a penis had value, this was it.

Monday, D-Day. Kabani’s assault on Ali’s senses should take place about noon. At noon as she watched the atomic clock in her kitchen, Alise felt her victory – elation.

Alise considered herself non-vindictive but cherished the capability.

Ali knew she was out of town. At two o’clock, without the answering machine, the phone rang ten times, and every hour on the hour until eleven at night. Before four, she lowered the ring level – each ring to torment Ali, each ring a pleasure to Alise.

He must be crazed. Out of his mind.

Tuesday. The phone rang at seven in the morning, waking her then again at eight. Ten. Twelve. Two. Four – all ten rings.

The phone should ring again at five.

She should be back from her false itinerary and decided to answer the next call.

The phone rang at five. She let it ring eight times to extend the torture. “Hello,” she answered with a cheery voice.

“How could you do this to me?”

“Do what?”

“You know damn well what.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“How could you tell Kabani about us? You ruined me with him, ruined me. All he did was preach to me. Never shit where you eat. He was outraged at your pro-Israeli remarks. Outraged!”

“Do you know what he stands for? Do you want war?”

“I’m his ambassador and helping to set up his policies. How do you think he felt when someone who works for me speaks treason?”

“Treason?”

“Then you slept with him. And had the audacity to charge him six hundred dollars. Are you crazy?”

“You told him I was a prostitute and I don’t give free samples. That doesn’t upset you does it?” She made the sarcastic seem innocent. “I never thought that warmongering bastard would tell you. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Get friendly with him to benefit your career? I sacrificed for you. Your perspective is all wrong.”

“I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. I’m coming over.”

“No. The only time we see each other is at the office. Nine to five.”

“I made a mistake. I apologize. I was desperate. I love you, Alise.”

“It’s late for that.”

“Look, I’m no good at apologizing over the phone. If it’s to be goodbye let’s face each other. Let’s not separate like this over the phone, too impersonal and inappropriate. I deserve better from you.”

You deserve shit!

She weakened, far from weakness or feeling sorry for him, wanting to see his face when he groveled; to savor his wounded face; to watch his wounded ego; to see him leave in defeat, beaten, rejected, and unwanted as he made her feel repeatedly.

“All right,” she conceded. “We owe each other that. When?”

“Now.”

“I’ll be here.”

She hung up and surveyed her habitat for neatness. She pulled a suitcase from the closet placing it by the door to simulate a return from travel, tired to unpack. She poured a glass of cranberry juice, sat on the sofa, and waited. Cool. Calm. Thoughts gathered.

Would she weaken when she sees him? Forgive him like before? She wanted him out. To continue with him would be masochistic. She decided to change into jeans, more suitable to casual travel. She slid into them. They pinched at the waist as her body expanded normally.

What could he say to change her mind and take him back? Nothing could justify that direction. Forgive him?

Never.

Telling Kabani her past then leaving her like a sacrificial lamb reached the heights of insult and lack of respect, an ugly and despicable act. Nothing could erase his betrayal from her memory, and no absolution, not an inch.

The doorbell rang followed by a soft knock. She set the juice on the table, adjusted her mental posture, and opened the door.

He looked dismal, humble, defeated. Neither spoke. Alise opened the door wider and he came in. Alise, with a hidden smile of triumph, closed the door and turned to follow him into the room. To her surprise, he waited.

“Go ahead in,” she urged.

Then she saw his rage rising. He swung his right hand and slammed it across her face sending her reeling back to the door with a thud. He attacked and hit again.

Alise was stunned to speak, to yell out. He beat her to the floor then lifted and shoved her hard into the living room sprawling to the floor. Her head hit the cocktail table upsetting the juice. He pounced on her like a hungry animal after prey slapping the reddened, stinging face, deaf to her cries for him to stop.

“You whore! How dare you!” He punched with each statement. “How dare you pull that shit on me? Get up!” He stood over her.

Alise cried, screaming hysterical for him to stop.

“Get up you miserable bitch!”

Ali kicked her hard in the stomach. Alise screamed nearly passing out from the pain. He kicked again.

She rushed in urgency to get her words out. “My baby! Please stop!” He kicked her again.

Alise writhed in pain doubled up, arms trying to protect her baby, the pain stifling her throat.

“You and your goddamn baby!”

She screamed through the crying. He lifted her leg and kicked her groin repeatedly and harder. She nearly passed out again. He lifted her by the hair and punched her with all his might. She slammed to the floor.

Blood flowed from her nose and mouth. Alise squirmed in pain, nearly unconscious, groggy, her vision doubled, seeing two Ali’s; right arm flaying at the wrong Ali.

Then he screamed elongating the word, “Whoo-errre!”

Ali grabbed her hair again and punched her to release all his venom and hatred. Alise slammed to the floor again. He breathed violence, a crazed look in his eyes, and through with her after another punch. She shook from the blow moaning and struggling to maintain consciousness.

Ali sneered at her with disdain, his raging hate satisfied – his vengeance complete. He left.

Blood flowed faster from her nose and mouth; body smothered in agony. Severe pain throbbed in her abdomen as she clutched it with both hands. She crawled and turned in erratic motions to ease the jabbing pain. Blood stained her jeans spreading from the crotch.

Pain turned to hysteria, eyes flowing.

Desperate, she crawled to the phone with distorted vision, her swollen face running with blood and tears. The phone slipped out of her hand to the floor then she struggled to dial with blurred vision, blinking desperately to focus the numbers. Blood stained the phone.

A horrified Laura listened to the moaning and crying before she recognized Alise’s pleading voice.

“Help me. Please help me, Laura. Please come and help me.”

Silence.