The Deep End (7 page)

The last play she had seen had been a revival of
Come Blow Your Horn
at the Burt Reynolds Dinner Theater in Jupiter, Florida, where she and Paul had vacationed briefly the previous year. Perhaps what Paul wanted was a woman more interested in the cultural scene, a wife who made it a point to acquire tickets to all the latest theatrical events. Yet if that were the case, he had only to say so.

She thought of the evening they had spent at the theater in Florida. Paul seemed happy enough then, relaxed, as he always appeared when he had a tan. They had enjoyed both the production and a pleasant dinner, and at the evening’s conclusion, Paul had bought her a T-shirt as a souvenir. It was red with bold white letters across its front proclaiming
I SPENT THE NIGHT WITH BURT REYNOLDS
… Only when the T-shirt was turned onto its back did it continue …
AT THE BURT REYNOLDS DINNER THEATER.

She had never worn it, Joanne realized. She should have worn it. Paul had bought it for her; he must have intended that she wear it.

She was on her third cup of coffee when Lulu shuffled sleepily into the kitchen in her babydoll pajamas and floppy slippers. “It’s raining,” she announced as if it were somehow her mother’s fault.

“Maybe it won’t last,” Joanne replied hopefully. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“French toast?” Lulu asked, plopping down into one of the kitchen chairs as her mother poured her a large glass
of orange juice. With one hand Joanne cracked some eggs into a bowl, quickly adding milk, vanilla, and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked. Lulu only shrugged, flipping absently through the morning paper. “I thought maybe we could see a play this week,” Joanne offered. “Is there anything that you want to see?” Lulu shook her head indifferently. “What about that new Neil Simon play?”

“That would be nice,” Lulu agreed, a smile creeping into her half-closed eyes. She stared into the backyard. “When are they going to be finished out there?”

“Soon, I hope.” Joanne flipped two slices of soggy bread into the frying pan.

“Will Daddy come to the play with us?”

Joanne’s hand began to tremble. “I don’t think so,” she answered, struggling to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“Can we ask him?”

Joanne hesitated. “I thought it was something the three of us could do. You know, kind of a girls’ night out.”

“I’d like to ask Daddy,” Lulu persisted. “Can I?”

“Sure,” Joanne agreed, hoping this would end the conversation. “If you’d like.”

“Why did Daddy leave?” the child asked abruptly.

Joanne aimed another piece of bread at the frying pan but it missed and landed on the counter, splattering its sticky coating across the front of Joanne’s housecoat. Joanne picked the errant slice up again, watching as it came apart against the sharp prongs of the fork. “I’m not sure,” she said, trying to keep her voice even as she maneuvered the crumbling piece of bread into the pan and flipped over the other two. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“He said he needed time alone.”

“That’s about what he said to me.”

“To think things through. What things? Why can’t he think at home?” Lulu continued accusingly.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Joanne told her honestly, flipping the browned toast onto a plate and bringing it to her daughter at the table. “Those are questions you’ll have to ask your dad.”

She watched as Lulu scooped a great glob of butter onto each piece of French toast before drowning her plate in maple syrup. “Good?” Joanne asked as Lulu began stuffing the pieces into her mouth with almost manic determination, careful to avoid her mother’s eyes.

“Is it because of me?” the child asked finally, unable any longer to keep the tears out of her voice or away from Joanne. “Because I’m not doing very well in school?”

It took a minute for Joanne to connect this thought to Paul’s departure. “Oh no, sweetheart,” she rushed to assure her. “Daddy’s leaving has nothing to do with you.” And everything to do with me, she almost added. “Besides,” she said instead, smoothing Lulu’s hair away from her face, “you’re doing fine in school. There’s nothing wrong with your marks.”

“They’re not as good as Robin’s.”

“Who told you that?”

“Robin.”

“Figures.”

“Robin’s been acting very peculiar lately,” Lulu sidestepped. “Have you noticed?”

“More peculiar than usual?” Joanne asked and Lulu smiled. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about your marks. Robin is a different type of student. She never has any
trouble memorizing facts. She’s a bit like Eve, who still doesn’t know her left hand from her right, but she can memorize anything you put in front of her. It doesn’t mean that Robin is any smarter than you are. You just have different ways of showing how smart you are.”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture,” Lulu sulked and left the room.

The phone rang as Joanne was rinsing the syrup off Lulu’s plate. Warily, she checked the time. It was exactly eleven o’clock. “Hello,” she answered, glancing toward the New York
Times
on the kitchen table.

“You’ll never guess who’s going to be a movie star!” came the excited exclamation from the other end of the line.

“Warren?” Joanne exclaimed, barely recognizing her brother’s voice. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“They want to make your baby brother a star. Steven Spielberg, no less. Wait—Gloria will tell you all about it.”

“Gloria, what’s happened to my brother?” Joanne laughed as her brother’s wife came on the phone.

“It’s true,” Gloria announced, her deep voice sounding even huskier than usual. “Can you imagine? I slave in this business for years and where do I get? Your brother delivers some star’s baby and gets introduced to Steven Spielberg, who’s been looking for a gynecologist to act as a consultant for his new picture. He takes one look at Warren’s baby blues and decides to give him a small part. They shoot in August. I’m so jealous, I could kill.”

In the background, Joanne could hear high-pitched yelling.

“What’s that?”

“The girls are fighting, as usual,” Gloria told her. “It never stops. Kate hates Laurie. She really hates her.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does. But it’s all right. I understand. I hate her too. How’s everything on the East Coast, and when are you all going to come to your senses and join us here in Fantasyland?”

“Everything’s fine here,” Joanne lied, understanding that reality had no place in the world of fantasies. Besides, why upset her brother and his wife? What could they do from three thousand miles away? “I’ll let you talk to your brother,” Gloria was saying.

Joanne and Warren spent the next five minutes in pleasant, if essentially mundane, conversation, Warren filling his sister in on the more important events of the past week, Joanne leaving them out.

“You’re sure everything’s all right?” her brother asked as the conversation wound to a close.

“What could be wrong?” Joanne asked before she hung up.

Robin was standing in the doorway.

“Uncle Warren sends his love,” Joanne told her as Robin flopped into the chair her sister had previously occupied and yawned loudly. “I’m surprised you’re up this early. You were out very late last night.” She watched her daughter’s shoulders stiffen exactly the way Paul’s always did when faced with something he didn’t wish to discuss. “After three, wasn’t it?” She placed a glass of orange juice on the table. Robin immediately drank it down.

“I didn’t notice the time.”

“Well, I did, and I don’t want you coming in that late again,” Joanne stated simply, without harshness. “Is that clear?”

Robin nodded.

“Was it a good party?” Joanne continued gently.

“Not very.”

“So why’d you stay so late?” Joanne was aware that her question skirted the delicate balance between interest and interference.

“We didn’t.”

“Who’s we?”

“Scott and me.”

“Who’s this Scott?”

“Just a guy.” Robin regarded her mother shyly. “He’s real nice. You’d like him.”

“I’d like to meet him. The next time you go out with him, why don’t you bring him around to say hello?”

“Sure,” Robin agreed quickly.

“You’ve never mentioned Scott before,” Joanne persisted. “Is he in your class?”

“No,” Robin said, aware her mother was waiting for further elaboration. “He doesn’t go to school.”

“He doesn’t go to school? What
does
he do?”

“He plays guitar in a rock group.” Robin shifted uneasily in her chair.

“He plays guitar in a rock group,” Joanne repeated, hearing traces of Eve’s mother in her voice. “How old is he?”

Robin shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

“That’s too old for you,” Joanne stated flatly.

“He is not too old for me,” Robin argued. “Boys my age are babies.”

“So are you.”

Robin’s eyes glared instant daggers.

“I’m sorry,” Joanne apologized. “You’re not a baby. But twenty is still too old for you. What else does he do but … rock?” she asked. Again her daughter only shrugged.

“It takes time to build a career,” Robin explained.

“I take it he doesn’t go to college?”

“They don’t give degrees in rock groups at college.”

“No, but they do give degrees in music,” Joanne reminded her.

“Scott says he doesn’t need a degree.”

“Everybody needs an education.”

“Mo … ther!”

Joanne bit down on her lower lip. “Where did you meet this Scott?”

“A party at somebody’s house.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. A month ago maybe.”

“You’re very vague.”

“I don’t mean to be. Look, I said I’d bring him around the next time I saw him. What more do you want?”

Joanne stared hard at the wood grain of the kitchen table as if it could provide her with a suitable reply. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked instead.

Robin shook her head. “I promised I’d help Lulu study for her history test.”

Joanne nodded wordlessly as Robin departed.

The phone rang just as a loud fight between the sisters erupted upstairs. “Girls, please,” Joanne shouted up at them as she reached for the phone. If they heard her at all, which she doubted, they ignored her. “Hello,” she said, closing the kitchen door to block out the sound of their squabbling.

“Mrs. Hunter …”

Joanne recognized the strange voice immediately. “Yes?” she asked, afraid again though she wasn’t sure why.

“Did you read page thirteen of the morning paper?”

“Yes I did,” she replied, feeling foolish. Why was she talking to someone she didn’t know? “But I think you’ve made a mistake, or you’ve got the wrong Mrs. Hunter …”

“You’re next,” the voice said simply and then was gone.

“Hello? Hello,” Joanne repeated. “Really, I think you’ve made a mistake.” She hung up the phone, her eyes returning slowly to the kitchen table. The morning paper was lying across it in roughly the same position that she had discarded it earlier. Slowly, the strange voice, like an invisible magnet, pulled her back across the room until her fingers were brushing against the rough edges of the newspaper. Nervously, but with increasing determination, she flipped through the pages until she once again found page thirteen. With growing uneasiness, her eyes retraced the columns, skimming over the possible strike by garment workers, reading more carefully the report of the roominghouse fire, finally coming to rest on the story of the housewife who had been hacked to pieces in her home in nearby Saddle Rock Estates. Without warning, Joanne felt an invisible presence standing beside her, bending close to whisper in her ear.

“You’re next,” he said.

“F
or God’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Eve Stanley was pacing back and forth across Joanne’s living room.

Joanne was sitting in one of two cream-colored swivel chairs situated on either side of the black marble fireplace at the far end of the oblong room. “I tried last weekend,” she said softly, feeling vaguely guilty and not sure why, except that she was feeling guilty about everything these days. “But you weren’t feeling very well, and your mother was there … The rest of the week kind of got away from me.”

“Yeah, well, I can understand that,” Eve admitted, falling into the other cream-colored chair and twisting it nervously back and forth. “Actually, it was Brian who mentioned that he hadn’t seen Paul’s car all week. I didn’t even notice, I’ve been so busy with my aches and pains. Include my mother on that list. Anyway,” she continued in one breath, as if to erase the earlier remark, “when I came home this afternoon, I saw Lulu sitting outside. She didn’t look very happy, by the way …”

“She failed her history test.”

“… and I asked her if Paul was out of town, and she told me the news. Needless to say, I almost fainted dead away.”

“I’m sorry. I should have called. I’m not functioning very well lately.”

“And no wonder. I can’t believe Paul would do such a thing, the bastard, may he rot in hell.”

Joanne smiled. “I knew you’d cheer me up.”

“What exactly did the asshole have to say?”

“He said he wasn’t happy,” Joanne laughed, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep the laugh from becoming the cry it was aching to be.

“He has no right to be happy. I hope he gets a toothache every time he smiles. Did he give you any examples?”

Joanne took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I think it was a general malaise more than anything specific.”

“Malaise,” Eve repeated, savoring the sound. “It should only have been malaria. Do you think he has somebody else?”

Joanne shook her head. “He says no. He says he’s never been unfaithful to me.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I always have.”

“You believe everyone,” Eve stated flatly.

“Do
you
think he has someone else?” Joanne asked.

“No,” Eve replied truthfully.

“I think he just stopped loving me,” Joanne said simply.

“I think he’s an asshole,” Eve repeated. “Come on, it can’t be that vague. People don’t just stop loving other people for no reason. It
has
to be something more specific. How was your sex life?”