Five Women (4 page)

She was in love with someone else. His name was Luke, he was handsome and funny, and he lived in California. She hadn't mentioned him to her mother because he wasn't Jewish, and she knew her mother would say he would never marry her, and that if, unfortunately, he did marry her, they would forever after fight over the children's religion. Gara didn't want to marry him because she considered herself too young to know whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, but she was in love with him all the same, and they had as much sex as they could, as often as they could, without going all the way, although they had talked about that, too. She was going to be a senior in the fall, and the thought of choosing her own lover, without even the mandatory ring, was beginning to seem quite tantalizing.

But in the meantime it was spring vacation, Luke was with his family in California, and Marvin Wink was here in the suburbs of New York. He called Gara constantly, and finally, because he had gotten theater tickets and her mother was nagging her, Gara said yes.

She started to worry immediately. She didn't much like him, he made her nervous, and after spending all that money for a Broadway musical and taking her to dinner and driving in and having to drive back again, she knew he was going to try to kiss her goodnight, and she was expected to let him do so even though he made her feel sick. She felt manipulated and twelve years old.

What would be so terrible if he put his warm, possibly wet mouth on hers? She didn't know. All she knew was that she couldn't, she just couldn't, and she was going to have to. When Marvin picked her up she could barely be civil to him, and her father had to make all the conversation until they finally left for the show. They would eat afterward at Sardi's, where there were supposed to be celebrities to look at.

Their seats were in the mezzanine. Gara didn't even know what she was seeing. The lights seemed too bright on the stage, the colors too garish. She began to feel lightheaded, and nausea rolled through her.

“I'm going to faint,” she whispered to him. She put her head down on her lap because she had heard that if you did you wouldn't black out. Marvin was frightened. “Are you?”

She supposed she had fainted, because when the lights went up after the first act she noticed everyone near them was staring at her. People were murmuring with concern. She's sick. Are you all right? Is she all right?

“I have to leave,” Gara said.

“G-g-g-Gary, what's wrong?”

“I don't know.” She hoped she wouldn't throw up.

“Do you have a doctor?”

“It's the middle of the night. I'll be all right. I just need to go home. I'm sorry I spoiled your evening.”

“No,” Marvin said. “I'm taking you home with me. My father's a d-doctor. He'll look at you. You're very pale.”

“I'm always pale.”

“I'll take care of you.” At least since she was sick he wouldn't try to kiss her. She let him lead her to his car and drive her to the suburbs, to his parents, while she half-dozed.

She hardly knew his parents and was ill at ease. By the time they got there she wasn't feeling faint anymore. His parents were so tiny—how did they have such a big marshmallow of a son? His mother, who had unreal-looking dyed black hair, glared at her. His father was concerned and kind.

“Polio,” his father said.

“Polio?” That was absolutely ridiculous; she'd had a shot. People didn't get polio anymore.

“You never know,” his father said.

Gara wondered why, if she had such a contagious disease, none of them was avoiding her. She decided that his father would have diagnosed her with the Black Death rather than think that she just didn't like his son.

“We'll take you home now,” his father said, “and tomorrow you get your mother to take you to your own doctor.”

His father insisted on driving the two of them back to New York so he could keep Marvin company on the return trip, and feeling protected by her “polio” and the presence of his father, she actually had a pleasant time.

The next day her mother took her to their family doctor, and waited outside while she was being examined. Dr. Spear was a kindly, middle-aged man with thick white hair. He looked like an actor playing a wise doctor on TV. Blood pressure, temperature, heart, lungs, blood. There was a nurse. Then he asked for the speculum and gave Gara the first pelvic examination she'd ever had in her life. Girls had them only if they were going to be married. She wondered if Dr. Spear thought she had fainted because she was pregnant.

“Are you in love with this boy?” he asked.

“In love? No!” She was insulted that he could even think it. “I'm in love with someone else.”

“So why were you out with this one?”

“My mother made me.”

She got dressed and met him in his office. “There's nothing wrong with you except that you have low blood pressure,” Dr. Spear said. “Under stress it's possible to feel faint. Do you often go out with people you don't like?”

“When my mother makes me,” Gara said. She wondered what he must be thinking of a girl so dominated.

“Well, tell her you won't. Go out in a group if she wants you to go out. You work hard at college, and when you socialize you should have fun.”

What a nice man he was, and so understanding. She wished she had a father like him. “Thank you, Dr. Spear,” Gara said.

Her mother was alone in the waiting room, looking anxious. “I'm fine,” Gara told her. “He said I have low blood pressure and I shouldn't go out with anyone I don't like.” But she knew the truth was that she had fainted from fear.

“What did the doctor do?”

“A complete exam. A gynecological exam, too.”

“He didn't break the hymen?” her mother asked, her voice rising with alarm.

She hated her mother for caring about her virginity more than anything else about her. She felt, again, as if she were for sale.
No, he just pushed it aside, the way the boys do at college
, Gara wanted to say, but instead she said, “No.” She had no idea if she even still had one.

They went home. “His parents are going to think you're sick,” her mother said. “They think there's something wrong with you. You have to go out with him again and not faint.”

“I can't do that!” Gara cried.

“You have to. His mother is a big bitch. She'll tell everybody you're not well and then no nice boy will take you out.”

“I can't,” Gara said.

“You will.”

Her mother gave her a bottle of smelling salts that smelled pungently of ammonia and lavender, and so a week later Gara found herself having lunch on a banquette at an expensive French restaurant, with Marvin at her side and the little bottle of smelling salts under her napkin. Her head was reeling, and every few moments she sniffed at the smelling salts and wondered what he must be thinking about this strange behavior. She hoped he thought she only had a cold.

Cut, chew, and swallow. Talk a little when you have to. Don't faint. Soon it will be over. She wondered what would happen if she did faint; would she have to go out with Marvin Wink over and over until she didn't? Probably. Her mother was crazy. Who cared what his mother told her friends? If she was such a big bitch why did her mother care at all what she thought or what she said? Her friends couldn't have been anyone she'd want to know.

What could Marvin's mother say? That Gara was frail and prone to collapsing, the victim of some mysterious disease, possibly fatal, that would make her the wrong choice for the wife of their sons and the mother of their sons' children? May had often told Gara that she, and not the boy, had to be the one to call it quits. No matter how boring he was, how unsuitable, you had to make a good impression so that he asked you out again, and then you could refuse to go. What people thought of you was everything. You had to be perfect.

Was that true? Were people so judgmental and cruel? Gara supposed so. It was what she had been hearing, in one way or another, all of her life.

Chapter Four

F
ELICITY FELT SAFE
at Yellowbird with Gara. Without being conscious of the progression she had begun to think of Gara as her “good mother” as opposed to the one she had actually grown up with. Gara was only fifteen years older than she was, but it wasn't an age thing; it was Gara's protective attitude and willingness to listen and to give good advice. She loved that Gara was a therapist—it was like having an extra free one of her own. On the sound system Minnie Riperton was singing “Perfect Angel” in her sweet, high, trilling voice like a streak of silver.

“Oh, sing it, Minnie,” Billie said, at the bar.

“Perfect,” Gara said, “is a word I never want to hear again.”

“Who wants anything to be perfect?” Kathryn said. “That would be boring.”

“Or any
one
,” Gara said.

“I'm perfect,” Eve said. She said things like that, and then she got a belligerent look on her face waiting for you to disagree. The other three women just turned and stared at her. “We're all potentially perfect,” Eve explained. “It's how you feel about yourself. When I give myself the power, I have it.”

“The wit and wisdom of Eve Bader,” Gara said dryly. Eve smiled.

“I don't allow negative vibes,” Eve went on. “This audition I did today, I knew I was in control because I was psyched up to
be
the person they wanted . . .”

Felicity tuned out and allowed herself to obsess about her lover, Jason. He was tall and black and handsome, he was a successful suspense novelist, he was intelligent and interesting, and he was a wonderful lover. They had a chemistry together that was obviously destiny. Why hadn't he called for a whole week? She had left him two E-mail messages in their private code and that was enough begging; he had to be the one to call now.
Master, please instruct your slave.
She knew how sick that sounded, but she also knew she was an emotional masochist, if not a physical one. That was just the way she was.

Jason went along with it and liked it. He would never hurt her body—physical pain was not her thing, it revolted her—but he tortured her mind. She didn't know when he would turn up next and when he would disappear. He was aware that she suffered when he stayed away, but he had no idea how terrible it was for her. It was as if everything they'd had together that was loving and good had simply vanished, with no explanation and no trace. She felt like a lost child. He couldn't imagine the depth of her fear . . . or maybe he could.

It had been so passionate and wonderful last week; maybe that was why he hadn't called. They had brought in lunch to their secret pied à terre and hardly touched it. She had closed the curtains and lit candles, and they had smoked a joint together, had a glass of wine. They'd had sex on the bed and in the bathtub, and she'd had three orgasms, leaving her exhausted and euphoric. He had finally said he loved her. How could she be so stupid? Of course he would never call her again; he was married and couldn't afford to fall in love.

Felicity knew there were tears in her eyes and tried not to cry at the table in front of her friends who were having a good time. Gara had said Jason always called eventually, but Gara was just trying to be encouraging. Love was the fatal word, and he would never see her again. He would find another woman to take her place, one who wouldn't threaten him by making him have emotions.

Or maybe it was just that he was tired of her and had found the other woman already. He could have been lying when he said he loved her. Maybe she'd been deluding herself and he had been seeing the two of them all along.

Felicity turned all the possibilities of abandonment over and over in her mind and tried to dismiss each one methodically, logically, as if she were laying out a case. Jason would never find sex with another woman that was as hot and good as what he had with her. He had told her that many times. And yes, she believed he did love her and that she had finally gotten to him. His face had seemed so pure, so clear, so sweet when he admitted it. She knew his marriage was not much better than hers, so she had never worried that he would give her up for his wife. But what would she do if he kept avoiding her and never came back? How could she survive her own arid marriage without him? The concept of being alone with Russell forever, of having him be the only man she leaned on, the only friend, was inconceivable. She felt so lonely when she was with him, and she had no idea why.

Kathryn snapped her fingers. “Wake up, Felicity, you're in dreamland. Here come the two cute guys I met at the bar.”

Felicity looked up at the two white men approaching, not knowing what to expect because Kathryn was so friendly that she liked everybody. One of the men had a nice, craggy face and was well dressed, but he was way too old; and the other was wearing baggy clothes from J. Crew and looked like a nerd, but when he got closer she saw that he was quite attractive and looked about her own age. In a way his very casual clothes were charming; he seemed almost boyish, or perhaps it was the way he carried himself.

“The older one's in oil,” Kathryn whispered cheerfully. “He's from Texas. He's the one I want.” She gave them both a big smile.

Felicity glanced at Gara. She had her arms crossed over her chest as if she were protecting herself. Eve's hot eyes were bulging, and steam was practically coming out of her nostrils. She was probably psyching herself up with her power, sending them her magical vibes. As for herself, she sat back quietly and watched.

“Pull up chairs, you two,” Kathryn said. “This is Stanley Stapleton, from Texas, and Eben Mars. Gara Whiteman, Felicity Johnson, Eve Bader, and you know me.” Everyone said hello and the men got chairs from an empty table.

“What are you ladies drinking?” the oil man asked. He looked at the label on their empty wine bottle. “Another of those all right?”

“It's just fine,” Kathryn said. He waved at the waiter.

“We've met before,” Eve said to the younger one, leaning forward. “Do you remember? At a poetry reading at the Y last September. You were there alone. We talked. Do you remember?”

“I think so,” he said.

“You'd just had your book of poems published,” Eve said.

“Who published it?” Felicity asked, getting interested.

“Merlin Press. It's very small, and so was my advance.”

“I've heard of them,” she said. “I'm a literary lawyer, among other things.”

“Are you! Well, then you know I have to do something else to survive, so I make my real living as a potato farmer.” He smiled at her, and although meeting another man was not on her mind, she couldn't help noticing he had a very appealing smile.

“A potato farmer!” Kathryn said. “In Idaho or Maine?”

“In East Hampton.”

“I can't believe you've never heard of Eben Mars,” Eve said. She already had her hand on his arm, laying her claim to him. “He was very famous in mergers and acquisitions in the eighties, made a killing and got out when he was forty.”

“Forty-two,” Eben said. Felicity was surprised; he looked much younger.

“He was legendary. Now he's a gentleman farmer and a poet.”

“Not exactly a
gentleman
farmer,” he said. “Sometimes I actually get down in the earth and dig. But you might say I am: I do make a living in potatoes, but I don't need to.”

“That's what I like,” Kathryn said. She laughed happily, and turned to her oil man. “Now, Stanley, tell us about your life.”

And he was telling them, total strangers. He'd been divorced twice, he had two grown daughters, a third had killed herself in a mental hospital when she was sixteen, back in the seventies, drugs. The four women gasped, but he went right on with his story, obviously used to gasps. He had been seeing a woman in Dallas, he said, but they had broken up recently, because she had wanted him to marry her but he realized she was not the one. It was not that he would never remarry, he said, but he didn't want a woman who wanted to have a baby with him. He didn't want to go through all that again, it was too late, he wanted peace. All this private information came pouring out of him, and Felicity realized that it was Kathryn he was telling, that this was his donation, his courtship.

“I never want peace,” Eve said. “I wouldn't know what to do with it.”

“Do you have children?”

“One,” Eve said. “A daughter.”

“Me too,” Eben said. His face softened at the thought.

Oh, how I crave a daughter, Felicity thought. A little me. I'd be a good mother, not like mine was. It would be like making up, somehow. And she should have a father whose face gets all soft when he thinks about her.

“So who else at this table is divorced?” Kathryn asked. “I am, Stanley is, Eve is, Gara is . . .”

“I am,” Eben said.

“I'm the only one who's not,” Felicity said brightly, “but I wish I was.”

They all laughed.

“Marriage is a great institution,” Kathryn said. “That's why we keep trying. It's the people we marry who aren't so great.”

Gara looked at her watch. “I have to go home,” she said. She signaled the waiter for the check. She seemed depressed.

“Why are you going?” Eve asked. “It's early.”

“I have patients tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I'm not leaving,” Kathryn said. “I'm going to finish this nice wine with Stanley.”

“That's what it's here for,” he said, looking pleased. He poured her another glass and smiled at her.

Eve tugged at Eben's arm. “I want to go dancing.”

“I don't dance,” he said.

“I'll teach you.”

“I don't think so.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Then let's listen to music. You can sit. We'll go to the Café Carlyle.”

He thought for a moment. “I guess I could do that,” he said, finally. “Anybody else want to come? Felicity?”

“I have to go home to my husband,” Felicity said.

The waiter came with two checks, one for the table and one for Eve. “What's this?” Eve asked. “My own check?”

“Well, you came late,” Felicity lied. Eve shrugged. They all slapped their credit cards down as if they were in a card game, and Eve told the waiter she wanted to take the rest of her chicken with her, and to throw in a couple of biscuits while he was at it. It didn't matter if she was going to a nightclub or going to get laid, she never forgot her leftovers.

“Felicity, we can share a cab and I'll drop you off,” Gara said.

They stopped at the bar on the way out to say goodnight to Billie. “Thanks for coming,” she said in her strange, hoarse voice, and gave a little wave. If she seemed to notice Eve's fast work she didn't show it. Nothing ever surprised Billie.

“So do you think she's going to tie him up tonight?” Gara asked in the cab. They shrieked with laughter.

“They're not going to let him in the Carlyle in those clothes,” Felicity said.

“She knows that.”

“They won't even be able to get in without a reservation.”

“She knows that, too.”

“So I guess they have to go to her apartment to hear music.”

“Or his.”

“If he's that rich he must have a place in New York; he wouldn't commute to the potatoes.” She wondered what his apartment was like.

“How did she nail him that fast?” Gara said. “I didn't even notice what he looked like and she was already pulling him out.”

“Because you're not looking for a man.”

Gara sighed. “I guess not.”

“When you want one you'll get one,” Felicity said. “But you're lucky you don't care. You have no idea how difficult it is to need a man like I do. You don't know the half of it. You should be thankful every day that you're not me.”