Dark Plums (8 page)

“Oh, I'm glad to see you, baby!” Lucille's voice sounded strained. She pulled Adrianne inside, then shut the door. They embraced. Adrianne could feel the rise and fall of her friend's chest. Lucille kissed her on the lips, as she had so many times in the past. But Adrianne could sense that something was not right. Lucille's Chanel perfume mingled with a faint medicinal odor. She pressed against Adrianne, then abruptly pulled away, turning her back as she went towards the closet. “Honey, I haven't had anything to eat all day, and I'm starved. I thought we could have lunch in the Village.”

Her voice still sounded artificial. After rummaging a bit, Lucille found a pair of delicate leather sandals. Adrianne noticed that her friend's fingers were trembling as she slipped them on over her stockinged feet.

They took a taxi downtown and got out at Washington Square. With their arms tightly around each other, they walked along the sidewalk, passing dirt mounds where slender trees, supported by wires, grew. The sky had turned grey. A gust of wind whipped the first dead autumn leaves from the square. The wind whipped through Adrianne's legs and blew her hair up around her face. Lucille pressed against her, nuzzling her ear, caressing one of her breasts.

“Dykes!” a man yelled. Adrianne's face reddened.

She and Lucille wandered into an Italian restaurant, where they sat down at a table by the window. Lucille ordered white wine. She adjusted her neckline which had slipped down over one shoulder, then leaned forward. “I needed to get away from Barney. I didn't call you any sooner because I had to be alone for a few days. “

“What happened?”

“Barney wants a divorce. If he files, I'll take him for all he's got. That bastard!” She paused and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers on which jewels glittered. “There's more, but I haven't drunk enough to tell you! … Tell me about
you
” Lucille commanded. She blew out the match.

Adrianne proceeded to bring her friend up to date. She described her jobs and where she lived. “I've met a man,” she added. “He's an artist.”

“You know nothing about men,” Lucille said scornfully. “If he's anything like Gerald, he's bad news.”

Although she felt hurt, Adrianne ignored this remark. “I'm hungry. Let's order,” she said

Lucille's dark eyes had filled with tears, and a thin streak of mascara ran down one cheek. She dabbed her face with her napkin. “Yes, let's order. Where's the waiter? I'd like some more wine. Oh, damn, what's the use of trying to stay on top anymore?”

“What's the matter?”

“Do I mean anything to you?”

“Of course you do.”

“Now that I'm in New York, would you like to live with me?”

“I don't know,” Adrianne said hesitantly.

“Well, it was just a thought. Is your new boy friend treating you right? You've gained weight, and you look spaced out. Are you on drugs?”

“No, of course not.” Was Lucille saying these things because she was jealous?

“I'm sorry about Barney,” she said, trying to divert Lucille's attention away from herself.

“I'll sue him for everything he's got. He and his new wife can live in a goddamn shack. And I don't need your pity,” said Lucille. Her eyes blazed darker. “Where is that waiter? Hey, there, boy, we need more wine.”

The middle-aged waiter flinched and looked as if he were about to speak, but then thought better of it.

“Bring the menus, too, please,” Adrianne added. Then she blinked. Was that man standing down there at the corner really Alfredo? He was waiting for the light to change, and he stood exactly the way Alfredo did, with one shoulder slightly curved.

“I'll be back in a minute!” she cried, running out of the restaurant.

He had walked halfway down the next block before she finally caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm. “Alfredo?”

It was indeed Alfredo, and he looked startled. “Adrianne, what are you doing here?”

“I'm having lunch with my friend from Houston, and I want you to meet her. We're just a block away.”

Alfredo kept walking, but she kept pace.

“I've got an appointment,” he said.

“Please! Just to say hello, Alfredo. She's my best friend.”

“Okay, sweetheart. But just for a few minutes.”

Triumphantly, she led him back and introduced them.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Lucille asked. Her eyes glowed with a mixture of attraction and distrust.

“That's all right. I'll just have a drink.”

“You might as well order something to eat. It's my husband's money. We're getting divorced, and the faster I can spend that bastard's money the better.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said.

“What the hell do you care?” Lucille said, gazing up at him.

“God, you're gorgeous,” he said. He sat down between the two women. “Adrianne, didn't prepare me … I think I will have lunch, after all.” Apparently, he was no longer in a rush to get to his appointment.

Lucille took out a cigarette from her gold-tipped case, and Alfredo lit it for her, cradling her hand in his. He gazed into her eyes.

“How could he divorce a woman as beautiful as you are?”

“Oh, come on!” said Lucille with annoyance.

Taken aback, Alfredo began to talk about contemporary art, and for a while he draped his arm around Adrianne.

Lucille and Alfredo discussed the work of contemporary artists, weighing the merits of painters such as Kline and Rothko. Lucille knew more about the subject of art than Adrianne had imagined.

Alfredo told Lucille about his up-coming show while Adrianne, ravenous, cut her steak into small pieces. The other two had ordered veal parmigiano, and the waiter had refilled the carafe with wine.

She was feeling left out. The attraction between those two created such a current that Adrianne could almost touch it. She began to feel as if she were living through a bad dream. There had been a hint of this on that first night when Alfredo had whispered and flirted with the waitress. God, please don't let him be like Gerald, she prayed.

The waiter brought the check, and Lucille paid. While waiting for her change, she took out another cigarette, and again Alfredo lit it, leaning very close to her. Adrianne thought there was a similarity in the cast of their features.

“Let me see your palm,” said Alfredo, taking hold of Lucille's hand again. He examined her palm, stroking the lines lightly with his fingers.

“You had a difficult childhood,” he said. “You've been abused. I see violence. You've done things you'd like to keep hidden.”

She wrenched away, “Get your goddamn gigolo hands off me!”

Alfredo's expression so frightened Adrianne that, in a panic, she flung her arms around him crying, “Stop!”

He pushed her away and spoke to Lucille in a voice bristling with offended pride. “Lady, I can see why your husband wants out! You have no idea who I am.”

“Adrianne, come on, let's leave,” said Lucille.

Adrianne looked at Alfredo, silently begging forgiveness for what had just happened.

“Get out,” he said, his voice as cold as ice.

“I love you,” she whispered, but he was like stone.

“Come on,” Lucille insisted. “Let's go.”

Inside the taxi, Lucille shivered despite the heat. “Your guy is a would-be gigolo.”

“You were attracted,” whispered Adrianne.

“No, I wasn't,” said Lucille furiously.

The taxi driver braked suddenly as a car cut in front of them. The street was jammed with traffic. Adrianne became aware of the driver looking at the two of them in the rear view mirror. She wondered what he must think of the two women sitting so close to each other.

“I love him,” murmured Adrianne.

“Ask yourself what he wants from you,” said Lucille in a low voice. “He's an opportunist. I used to work the casinos in Vegas, and I met dozens of s.o.b.'s who came onto rich women the way Alfredo did to me. You have no money, and what have you got to offer? Is he with you for your brains? Your looks? Honey, be careful!”

“He loves me!” cried Adrianne. She was so offended that she was on the point of opening the taxi door and jumping out, but Lucille dug her nails into Adrianne's arm.

“I'm ill,” Lucille whispered. “I don't think I have much longer to live.”

“What kind of illness do you have?” asked Adrianne.

“I want you to stay with me,” said Lucille, evading the question.

“Can you stay with me for a little while?”

Lucille's need wrenched at Adrianne. It was Monday, and she did have the day off from her job. Furthermore, after what had just happened, there was not much chance that Alfredo would call her tonight.

“Yes, I can,” she said slowly.

Oblivious of the taxi driver, Lucille gave Adrianne a long, full, wet kiss. Then unexpectedly she announced, “I feel like shopping. Will you come with me?”

In a flat voice, Adrianne agreed to do whatever Lucille wanted.

They spent the afternoon at Bonwit's. Lucille treated herself to a silver mink jacket. For Adrianne she bought a black chiffon
dress, slender Italian high heels, and quantities of lacy underwear. In spite of herself, Adrianne luxuriated in the new clothes. Perhaps they would make her more desirable in Alfredo's eyes. Long ago the dream-mother of her childhood fantasies had clothed her in bright dresses.

Back at the hotel, Lucille collapsed on the bed, sighing with fatigue. Room Service sent up a light dinner of consomme and salad greens. After they had eaten, Adrianne dozed off while Lucille was in the bathroom. When she opened her eyes, she saw Lucille standing over her in a peach silk negligee.

“Adrianne, I have something to tell you. But let's have a nightcap first. Scotch on the rocks okay? That's all I've got.”

“I've already had too much to drink, and I'm sleepy.”

“Honey, I need a drink.”

Lucille would always be elegant, thought Adrianne as she watched Lucille walk across the room in her high-heeled slippers. She went over to a mahogany sideboard, picked up a glass, and filled it almost to the brim from a Cutty Sark bottle.

A fire siren shrilled. Lucille hobbled across the room to peer down through the blinds at 59th Street and the edge of Central Park. “It's incredible that they still have horses and carriages down there,” she said. “We had a mule back home,” she continued. “Did you know I was a farm girl? I left home when I was even younger than you—Alfredo did glom onto some things about me—I've seen too many men hurt women.” Lucille gulped down what was left in her glass. Then she looked at Adrianne strangely. “Close your eyes and count to ten.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say.”

Adrianne obeyed.

“Now, open them.”

Lucille had pulled open the negligee, revealing her chest, where the skin was pink and flat. The nipples were gone.

“My God! Lucille, what happened to you?”

“Breast cancer. They butchered me.”

Adrianne moved close to Lucille and held her. She felt roughened skin over ribs, where once Lucille's soft, full breasts had been.

“Maybe I'll find a plastic surgeon,” Lucille murmured. “But what's the use?”

“Of course you'll find a surgeon,” said Adrianne, wanting to reassure her even though she knew nothing at all about this situation.

“What kills me is how Barney could choose this time to file for divorce.”

“You're not going to die.”

“What do you know about it? You're a goddamn fool.”

“Don't talk to me like that!”

Lucille wrenched away. “You're repulsed by me, just as he is.” She flung herself onto the bed and bit into the green brocade spread as if to keep from screaming. With her cropped hair and no makeup, she looked almost like a boy.

Through the thin silk, Adrianne stroked her narrow back. “I love you, Lucille. I want to you to live,” she whispered as she took off her clothes and lay down next to her friend. They pulled back the covers and lay on top of the sheet, embracing each other.

“Adrianne, why do you give men, who are idiots, so much power over you?” Lucille chided. She licked Adrianne's ear-lobe. Then she softly kissed her eyelids, caressed her hair, her neck, and her shoulders before she lowered herself to take one of Adrianne's nipples into her mouth, sucking at it as hungrily as an infant.

If only I had milk to give you, thought Adrianne. If only I could give you back your breasts.

Lucille raised her face and buried it in the hollow beneath Adrianne's throat. Then Adrianne pulled her up and gently began to kiss her scars.

“Stop, goddamn you!”

“I'm sorry,” Adrianne whispered.

“Don't do that!”

Adrianne burst into tears.

“Don't cry. Damn you, don't cry!” Lucille bit Adrianne's lower lip, then thrust her tongue into Adrianne's mouth. The strong perfume she was wearing could not mask her sickly odor. Lucille's thighs clamped around Adrianne. Feeling

Lucille's wetness, Adrianne reached down to stroke and comfort her.

Lucille whispered, “Honey, I want to go down on you.” She shifted her body so that her head was between Adrianne's thighs. Closing her eyes, Adrianne began to let herself go, moaning a little and arching up so that Lucille's tongue could go deeper inside her. She pressed Lucille's thighs down against her face and shoulders, feeling the stubble where they had been shaved. As her own tongue penetrated Lucille's slippery, oyster-like crevice, she was almost overcome by the odor. But despite this, she gradually allowed herself to sink into pleasurable sensations.

Afterwards, the two of them lay quietly with their arms around each other. Lucille soon fell asleep.

The noise of traffic sounded outside. Adrianne felt restless and hungry, and she had a headache. Stumbling around in the darkness, she looked for something to eat, but there was nothing except for a piece of toast left over from dinner. When she dialed the luminous numbers on the phone for room service, there was just silence at the other end. Finally, she felt inside her purse and found half a dozen gum drops that were stuck to the bottom lining. She ate them.