Five Women (7 page)

She had gotten to the parade route early to secure a good place to stand in the front just behind the wooden barricades so she could see everything. People were wearing green carnations in their lapels, green hats with white shamrocks on them, green clothes, and waving small Irish flags they had bought from street vendors. The big brass horns went
oompah
, the drums were banged loudly, the bagpipes wailed, and the onlookers raised their voices again and again in cheers as they saw people they knew in the parade. The police in their uniforms marched proudly in thick and formal lines, each group carrying a banner that announced the district it represented. It was very raw and chilly out, and the young drum majorettes who pranced in their short pleated skirts had bare legs, their knees red from the cold. Kathie didn't know how they could stand it. She herself was all bundled up. She waved at her friend Mary and several other friends from school, a few yards down the line on the barricade, who were watching with their families. Everyone was out on the parade route; parents had even brought their babies. Kathie was sorry her mother wasn't there for the fun, but her mother was too tired and had too much work to do at home.

“Your father,” Mary mouthed, pointing. Kathie rolled her eyes. Since her father's suspension he could not, of course, march with the police officers, but he was marching with his social club, an organization he only attended because it was another place he could drink. She could see Brendan was drunk already.

Suddenly her smiling father scooped a baby from its mother's arms and held it aloft, taking the infant with him as he marched. The mother screamed. The baby, astonished, wailed. Kathie's stomach turned over. The crowd of onlookers: Her neighbors, her friends from school, total strangers, did not at first seem to know what to think. Brendan, benevolently bouncing this child in the air, seemed only to be in good spirits, perhaps even exuberantly affectionate. But Kathie knew better. He could go crazy in an instant.

“Hey, there,” a man cried out to her father. “Don't drop that kid, there.”

The baby's mother, white faced, had ducked under the wooden barricade and was running to catch up with Brendan and save her child. “Stop!” she screamed.

Kathie's father was no longer bouncing the baby the way a normal person might; he was tossing it in the air like a ball. The crowd watching him had gone abruptly quiet now, realizing that something was not right. Kathie screwed her eyes shut, afraid to look.

Aaah
 . . . A collective sigh. Then the laughter of relief. Kathie opened her eyes and saw that the mother had snatched her frightened child from Brendan's arms and was holding it again, comforting it. The laughter trickled away. People were murmuring uncomfortably among themselves because it was very clear that the infant's mother was sobbing. Then friends and relatives reached out to her and she was drawn back into the crowd, and Brendan's lodge had gone by, and it was all over. Except for Kathie, who was left with rage at her happy day being spoiled and humiliation because everyone—not just a few neighbors and school friends—but
everyone
had seen. She hated him.

When she went home Kathie told her mother about the latest incident. “Someday that bastard is going to kill somebody,” Kathie said.

“Just be careful it's not you,” her mother said quietly.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Kill
her
? She couldn't believe it. When she had said her father would kill somebody, she had only meant it would be by accident, and she had never thought it would be herself. Maybe she was stupid, but he had never touched her. She was his favorite, she was charmed and safe.

That night he came home drunk and caught her smoking, just as she was grinding out her forbidden cigarette on the sidewalk in front of the house. “You stink from cigarettes,” he said.

“And you stink from booze.” The minute she had blurted it out, she knew it was a mistake.

“What did you say to me?”

“Everybody in Boston saw you throwing that baby around today,” Kathie said. “When are you going to stop embarrassing me in front of my friends?”

He hit her on the side of the head with a force she had never imagined in her life. Her ear was ringing from the brunt of the blow, and she tasted blood in her mouth where her tooth had cut the inside of her cheek. In that one instant the bubble of safety in which she had spent her childhood suddenly burst, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She was not Kathie anymore, the Kathie who could handle everything: She was someone she hardly knew. As her father raised his fist to hit her again, she screamed and ran.

She ran until she was in an entirely different neighborhood, a place of warehouses and abandoned buildings and rats and possible murderers. She stayed there for an hour until she was more afraid to be there than at home with her family and then she went back. Her father had drunk himself unconscious. Her mother took one look at her face and started to cry.

And so it was that in the middle of the spring semester, by dint of a special dispensation for the emergency of the situation and her own good marks, Kathie found herself being driven by her mother in the family car from Boston to the Lancaster School for Girls in Little River, Vermont, where she would live and study for the next four years, except for vacations. It was night when they finally arrived there, to a lawn and a stand of trees, and an ugly gray cement building that looked like an air raid shelter, where you would hide if someone dropped the atom bomb.

Kathie's mother helped her take her suitcases out of the car. As soon as her mother had seen the depressing building, she had started crying again.

“Don't forget to say your prayers,” she kept saying, as if that would protect her. It was obvious her mother didn't want to leave her there, but she had no choice. This safe haven was what she had really been saving her money for, all those years inspecting fabric at the factory at night.

Kathie had known about the Lancaster School for years. Not being a Catholic school, it would never have been her mother's first choice, but it was the only one that would take Kathie at such short notice. It was where the spoiled, rich girls went. They were the ones with the nice clothes and parents who could easily afford an expensive education. She was a little apprehensive, but not scared. She had never dreamed she would be here in such a fancy place. She was thrilled and excited and happy, and she could hardly wait for her new life.

Chapter Seven

“H
APPINESS
!” F
ELICITY SAID
, raising her glass of wine. They were in Yellowbird and everybody was glad to be there.

“Happiness,” they all agreed, toasting to what they wanted or, in Kathryn's case at least, what they already had. It was crowded in Yellowbird tonight, with many of the regulars plus one large table of people they had never seen before. Billie seemed in a good mood; she loved money. On the sound system Janis was singing.
“Down on me, down on me . . .”

“Oh, I wish,” Felicity said, laughing, and they all laughed.

Gara knew Felicity was bubbly tonight because she had seen her “friend.” Tomorrow he would call to tell her how wonderful their meeting had been, and then she would have another week in which to obsess and imagine he had forgotten her. As for herself, she was glad to unwind after what had been a depressing day. She felt she should always be on the patients' side, since they trusted her, but sometimes it was hard.

She thought about the attractive young man, Conrad, who had been her last patient of the evening. For two years he had been trying to figure out why he couldn't find a woman he liked enough, and he had finally thought he'd found the right one. She was thirty (three years younger than he was), she was beautiful, bright, interesting, warm, had a great job in his own field . . . he was in love. They hadn't even been to bed together yet; he had spent time getting to know her, which was progress for him; but the sparks had definitely been there from the beginning. He had decided he wanted to marry her.

“At last,” he told Gara.

He had taken her to dinner at a romantic restaurant. That would be the night he would make love to her, he would tell her he loved her, and then afterwards he would propose. He invited her to his apartment and they both knew what that meant. But in the restaurant she said she had something she had to tell him before they went any further. She'd had cancer, she told him; she was fully recovered, but she had a colostomy bag. He laughed so hard when he told Gara that it took a few moments for him to control himself.

“Wasn't that just my luck?” he said. “And I loved her!”

“Loved?”

“Well, obviously I can never see her again.”

She hated that he was laughing. It was tragic; that poor girl, so young, in a marriage market that was so competitive that it was almost hopeless for the women with only ordinary flaws. With none! What would happen to her? Gara knew she shouldn't be thinking this way; she should feel what he felt, and of course she did, something like that was hard to take, she didn't blame him for being squeamish; but she identified desperately with the young woman too, having to reveal her secret and be rejected. She wondered how often she had been rejected and thought it had been a lot.

“Why were you laughing?” Gara asked.

“It's so funny.”

“Why is it funny?”

“Just my luck.”

“Just hers, too.”

“You don't expect me to have to deal with that. It's disgusting.”

“It's tragic,” Gara said.

“Are you blaming me?”

“Of course not. It's just a comment on our lives.”

“That's what I've said all along,” Conrad said. “There's nobody out there. It's a tragedy.”

“So you'll have to start looking again.”

“I know. I have six blind dates lined up for this coming week. I'm going to throw myself into it. No time to get depressed.”

“That's a good idea.”

Gara sighed and looked at her friends at the table in Yellowbird. It was a good thing she'd given up on men. She was middle-aged, she'd had her life. That young woman would find someone some day, she decided, and hoped that in the meantime she was as happy as she was just to be healthy and alive.

“Tell us about your evening with Eben,” Kathryn said to Eve.

Eve gave a self-satisfied smile. She was wearing a short, tight skirt and a see-through sweater with no bra, although it was a little late for her to get away with that. Since her surgery Gara had found herself obsessed with breasts; she looked at other women all the time, on the street, everywhere. She looked at the size and shape of their breasts, amazed at what a variety there were. She wondered if their owners were properly enjoying them, and wondered, when she looked at opulent, sexy breasts bouncing along on the chests of young women who were a little bit self-conscious, a little too aware, if sometime in the future they would lose them. But she was much less obsessive than she had been at the beginning when she had not even looked at their faces. She was getting better.

“
Two
evenings,” Eve said. “There's nothing like a young, stiff prick.”

“Women who are getting laid dress sexier than they did when they weren't,” Gara said dryly.

“Is that true?” Felicity asked with some alarm.

“Well, you don't have to worry,” Kathryn said. “You're married.”

“I hardly ever have sex with my husband,” Felicity said. “I hate him.” She opened her cell phone. “I'd better call him.”

“Eben Mars is very interesting and very rich,” Eve said. “I like him. He's crazy, though. The second time he called me up at the last minute, said he was on my corner with his portable phone and said: ‘Do you want to fuck?'”

“And did you?” Kathryn asked.

“Why not?”

“Doesn't anybody use a regular phone anymore?” Gara said.

“Nope.”

“All those antennas sticking up out of people's ears, like bugs.”

“Hello, Slugger,” Felicity cooed into her phone. “Whatcha doing?” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and made a face. “As if I didn't know.”

Gara listened to Felicity talking to her husband in that soft, wheedling voice, and knew Felicity had an ambivalence she might not yet be aware of. She wanted to get away from Russell but she still called him constantly, as if she needed him as much as he needed her. She said she hated him, but she loved him, too. Gara knew Felicity had been in therapy for a few years, and wondered if she would ever get to the point where she would either change her life or resign herself to it.

Felicity clicked off and folded her phone. “I
hate
him,” she said.

“What did he do?” Eve asked, excited at the prospect of hearing something bad.

“Nothing. He was very nice for a change. He's probably glad I'm not there.”

“If you can't stand him, why did you talk to him for a good five minutes?” Gara asked.

Felicity shrugged.

“You know,” Gara said, “there are women who would be very satisfied to have a rich husband for the lifestyle and a sexy, discreet lover for the passion.”

“And they all live in Europe,” Felicity said.

“No they don't,” Kathryn said cheerfully. “You should hear some of the stories I hear when I'm having lunch and playing tennis and going to the gym.”

“I'm sure,” Gara said.

“I don't want a rich husband or any other kind,” Eve said. “I'm never going to get married again. I didn't even want to get married in the first place.”

“Neither did I,” Kathryn said.

“Then why did you?”

“I was young and dumb,” Kathryn said. “What about you?”

“I was pregnant. You remember what it was like in the sixties. Abortion was illegal so you married him. I was still in high school.”

“Ah,” they all said, sympathizing.

“But I threw him out after the baby was born, and divorced him and forbade him to have anything to do with me,” Eve said. “I wouldn't take a penny from him. He was not a person I wanted to have in my life. He was just a cute guy who walked me home from school and carried my books. He was a lousy husband.”

“What did you expect from a kid?” Gara said. “Did your daughter still see him?”

“Sometimes. She can if she wants to. That one mistake ruined everything for me.” She sounded very bitter.

“But you have your beautiful daughter,” Felicity said. “I only met Nicole once, that time you brought her here, but I loved her.”

“Yeah?” said Eve. “Sometimes I'd like to go to my daughter's funeral.”

There was a stunned silence. “Well, I married for love,” Felicity said finally. “That shows how much anyone knows about anything. I thought Russell was a god.”

“I married for love, too,” Gara said.

Their food arrived: the usual broiled chicken and salad, except for Eve, who had ordered the chicken fried steak. She had a metabolism in high gear and could eat anything. All that anger must burn calories, Gara thought. Too bad mine doesn't.

“Another bottle of wine?” Felicity asked.

“I don't know . . .” Gara said.

“Oh, come on,” Kathryn said. “If we don't drink it, Eve can take it home.”

They ordered the wine. “I tried to leave my husband once,” Felicity said. “I hadn't met my friend yet; I was still a good wife. I came home late from the office with wine on my breath because my colleague and I had had a drink when we got through working. Russell slammed me against the wall and hit me three times, and when I got away from him he locked the door and stood in front of it so I couldn't get out. I was screaming; I thought he was going to kill me. He kept asking: ‘Who were you with tonight?' He called me a slut. I had never cheated on him, never. The next morning I looked so bad I was ashamed to go to work, but I did because I wanted to talk to the divorce lawyer in our firm. He took photos of me with my bruises and said I had a good case. I made the mistake of telling my mother.”

“And . . . ?”

“She looked at the photos of me all beaten up, and she said: ‘What did you do to deserve it?'”

“Oh, no!” Kathryn said.

“She said I had to go back to him. She said without Russell I'd have nothing.”

“But you know that's not true,” Gara said.

“She said she'd lived in an unhappy marriage and so could I,” Felicity said. Russell swore he'd never hit me again, so . . .”

“And did he?” Kathryn asked.

“Once. About a year later. By that time I had my friend, but he didn't know it. He was just jealous, as usual.”

“So your husband really pushed you into your affair,” Eve said.

“Yes, but not the way you think.” Felicity sipped her wine. “Let's not talk about him anymore. I'm too happy right now.”

“But you can still divorce him now if you want,” Eve said. “Do you still have the pictures?”

“Oh, sure. In my safe deposit box at the bank. But they won't do any good. The statute of limitations has run out. So Kathryn, we never asked you what happened with you and that oil man you met last week.”

“Oh, yes, what was his name?” Kathryn said. “Stanley. Was it Stanley? I'm getting middle-aged and forgetful.”

“There's no more middle age,” Eve said. “You're young and then you're youthful.” The others laughed and Eve looked pleased.

“He called me every day, so I went to dinner with him one night last week and he was obnoxious,” Kathryn said cheerfully. “So I told him to buzz off.”

“Next!” they all said in unison, and laughed.

“Cute,” Kathryn said, looking across the room. They turned to see Little Billie walking through the crowded restaurant to talk to his mother, who was sitting at the bar. Hands reached out from tables to pat him, women cooed at him, trying to get his attention, all of them admirers in the presence of such nonchalant beauty. He said hello to the people he knew well and ignored the rest.

“He looks like an angel,” Felicity said. “I wish I had one like that. A little darker. I wouldn't keep him in a bar at night. I'd keep him home with me.”

“He is with his mother,” Gara said, although she wondered how much longer Little Billie would put up with a life that was so different from the lives of his friends.

She glanced over at the bar. Little Billie's posture was stubborn, and Billie was shaking her head no, looking annoyed. Then he went back to his booth, sulking, and after a moment or two in reverie, Billie came over to their table and sat down.

“How many of you have kids?” she asked.

Kathryn and Eve raised their hands, and after considering whether her former stepsons counted, Gara did too.

“Pain in the ass sometimes, huh?” Billie said.

“For sure,” Kathryn said.

“He's in my face about going home,” Billie said. “We live in a high rise, the kids play in the halls. He wants to be with them. This is a new, unpleasant development.”

“Well,” Gara said, “a nine-year-old kid wants friends his own age.”

“He has them in the daytime,” Billie said. “This is a school night, and children stay at home with their parents, wherever home might be. You're a therapist, Gara; what do you think?”

“I think that's a good point,” Gara said.

“You're a
feminist
, Billie,” Eve contributed brightly. “This is where you work, and you have your child in the workplace. That's acceptable.”

“Who asked you?” Billie said, annoyed.

Felicity and Gara slid their glances at one another and tried not to laugh. Billie didn't like Eve; they were both surprised she had come to sit with them when Eve was there. Billie must really be upset about this, Gara thought.

“He's such a good kid most of the time,” Billie said.

They looked at Little Billie in his booth, his chin propped on his hands, giving his mother the evil eye. But then he stifled a smile. It was obvious he couldn't stay angry at her for too long.

“A darling face like that,” Billie said, “it makes you want to bite his nose.” She smiled at him and he looked away. “Hey, Pete,” she said to the waiter. “Bring Little Billie a hot fudge sundae. He likes it with vanilla.”

“You're a good mother,” Felicity said. Apparently she had changed her mind.