Authors: Tessa Saks
Later that evening,
Ellen sat in the library reading, enjoying the heat and crackle of the
fireplace. The library was another favorite room, with its dark mahogany
paneling and floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with leather-bound classics and
popular novels overwrapped in color-coordinated covers. Over the years, she had
spent many an evening curled up with a good book and a roaring fire. Many
evenings had also been spent with Jonathan reading near her or playing chess or
cards together. She looked up at the bronze clock on the mantel. Jonathan had
been in his study for a few hours now, working and making calls. His voice rose
at times, but she couldn’t make out the words. After several minutes, his
footsteps echoed as he walked across the marble toward the library.
“Damn it Ellen!” His
voice bellowed as he stood in the doorway. “How could you be reduced to this?”
“What are you
talking about? I—”
“Did you hire a
detective?” Jonathan stepped closer, his hands on his hips.
Ellen felt her face
turn crimson. “Of course not. Well—”
“Did you? Never mind
lying, I know all about it.”
“Let me explain—”
“No! Stop! I listen
to you, all day—every day I listen. Not this time—I don’t care what your reason
is. This is so appalling—quite frankly, I’m stunned.” He paced the room. “No,
worse, I am gravely disappointed.”
“But Jonathan—”
Ellen closed her book and set it down on the side table.
“Ellen, for once I
will do the talking. If you think this action will bring us closer, clearly
you’re mentally unstable. I thought you had problems. Now I
know
you
have problems—only an unbalanced person would do this.” Jonathan shook his
head. “How could you? This just shows me how much faith you have in me. This
just demonstrates what I have felt all along—you need to control
everything
—there
isn’t one, tiny, minuscule part of my life that’s mine anymore. You have to be
in all of it.”
“Darling, I don’t
understand why you are this upset—” Ellen couldn’t think fast enough.
“Damn you, I’ve had
it with you.” He stepped closer, his gray eyes piercing through her.
He continued his
tirade, an onslaught of anger Ellen no longer heard. The pressure in her head
intensified. She stood and lost her balance, falling on her weak hip.
“Don’t play the
victim now.” Jonathan stood motionless and watched as she grabbed the armrest
of the sofa and pulled herself up. “Your tears don’t work on me anymore.”
She reached to
steady herself. She pushed past him toward the door, using the desk for
balance, then walked slowly, with an unbalanced gait toward her room.
As she climbed the
stairs, she felt anger resurface, but this time she did not try to resist. This
time she allowed it to expand and grow into something useful, something to
replace the pain. She locked her bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, with
thoughts of revenge. Images of destroying that evil tramp filled her head and
heart, calming her, comforting her
…
eventually
lulling her into a deep sleep.
***
The next morning,
Ellen opened her eyes to cheerful slats of light, stretching across the floor
and onto the walls. The house was quiet except for the tick of the clock on her
dresser and the distant hum of mowers outside. She lay on her back and pulled
the sheet closer.
As she dressed, she
decided to call Dr. Morrow. Perhaps he could shed light on why this trivial
matter upset Jonathan so much. The walk down the stairs and through the hallway
seemed much longer with her injured hip. She stopped in the kitchen, poured a
glass of juice and took the plate with her bagel and lox from the fridge.
A voice called out
as she walked toward the morning room.
“Ellen?”
“Good morning dear,
feeling better?” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“What in the hell
are you doing, hiring a private detective?” Jonathan demanded as he stood in
the entrance. “Checking on Sam,” he continued, “he’s checking out Samantha,
isn’t he?”
Ellen pushed past
him, setting the glass and plate on the table. She hesitated, then turned to
face him. “Yes, he is,” she said. “And oddly enough, there were pictures of you
together just two weeks ago. How’s that for lying, appalling
…
and what else? Oh yes, very
disappointing.”
“Goddamn it, Ellen!
What the devil were you thinking? You’ve got her all upset.”
“I certainly don’t
care about her being upset.”
“Well, it’s got me
upset and you should care about my being upset.”
“I don’t see why it
should upset you this much.” Ellen turned away from him and sat down, pulling
her chair in.
Jonathan moved
closer, crossing his arms. “Because it upsets her, damn it!”
“Why?” Ellen opened
her napkin, smoothing across her lap. “Why does it upset her—something to hide,
perhaps?”
“Why?” Jonathan
pulled Ellen’s chair out to face her directly. He leaned forward. “Why, you
ask? Try invasion of privacy, for starters.”
“Privacy?” Ellen
laughed. “She’s hooked up with you, the famous JW Horvath II. Nothing is
private anymore. Honestly, Jonathan, consider this a favor.”
“A favor?” He made
his hand into a fist and slammed the table.
“Yes, a favor,”
Ellen said, as she calmly cut into her lox. “If there is anything dirty, you’ll
know it first. You
really
should have done this yourself.”
“There isn’t
anything, damn it,” Jonathan yelled, his fist hitting the table again.
“Isn’t there? Don’t
be too sure.” Ellen smiled before taking a bite. She wished Morty had found something
good to throw at him.
“No. She’s assured
me, there’s nothing.”
Ellen took a small
bite. “My, she seems awfully upset over nothing.”
“It’s wrong Ellen
…
and quite frankly, I’m surprised at
you. You know better.”
“Do I?” She said,
raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Yes, you are a
God-fearing woman, a respectable lady. This is a pretty low thing to do.”
“As low as cheating
on your wife?” Ellen set her silver knife and fork down and glared at him. “As
low as pretending to work on fixing your marriage? As low as leading me to
believe that you were trying, when all along—?”
“Ellen, that is
entirely different—”
“No, it’s not.”
Ellen’s gaze returned to her plate. “I just wanted to know who I am up against.
I think I’m entitled that much.” She picked up her cutlery again.
“You are not
entitled to go messing around in someone else’s life.”
“Oh, but she is!”
Ellen threw her cutlery onto the plate with a crash. “She’s entitled to go and
destroy my life, your children’s lives—destroy the happiness we have, and I—I
can’t do
anything
?” Ellen tossed her napkin aside and pushed herself
from the table. “Honestly, Jonathan, I’m surprised at you, I thought you might
want to know what you are getting into.”
“I do. I know
enough.”
“Do you? Do you
really?”
“Yes, damn it. Is
there something I should?”
“Yes, Jonathan there
is. There’s a lot you should know, but you close your eyes to all of it.”
“What are you
talking about?”
“You will see.”
Ellen stood and picked up her plate and glass. “It will all become clear and
you will see.” Ellen turned and walked into the kitchen. Jonathan followed her,
grabbing her arm and spinning her around. The glass slipped and crashed onto
the floor, scattering shards of crystal in all directions.
“Are you
threatening me?” he yelled as he grabbed her other arm. His grip tightened
around her arms, hurting her as the plate smashed to the floor.
“Jonathan, no! Let
go of me!” Ellen tried to wrestle out of his hold. His grip tightened. “You’re
hurting me—”
“You better not be
threatening me or doing something to fix things behind my back.” He shook her
with a forceful rage.
“Dad! Stop! Let go
of her.”
Jonathan turned to
see Brianna. The color in his face faded to chalk. He released his grip.
“Dad, what’s wrong
with you?” Brianna cried.
“Give it up, Ellen.
You can’t win,” he said before he turned and walked away.
Brianna put her arm
around her mother and gave her a comforting hug, as the door to Jonathan’s den
slammed with a loud bang. Ellen stroked her daughter’s face, wiping the tears.
It was curious that it took an act of violence to bring out a loving display
from her daughter.
No matter,
she thought.
I’m just glad to have some
love from her—however it arrived.
***
Ellen stood in the
middle of Ferragamo on Fifth Avenue, staring at the shoes on display. She
turned toward Patty, who had slipped her foot into a red snakeskin slingback.
“Patty, I’m
desperate. I don’t know what to do; it seems the more I try, the further away
he seems. I have only to think of poor Betty, how she now lives. I will not let
that happen—not to me. I will not fall into an abyss of despair and pity,
reduced to a common life, and all the while, watching some other woman step
into my position, the position I earned. The position I helped create and
sacrificed for—no, over my dead body.” As Ellen spoke these words, she wondered
how far she would go to ensure her position. “I can’t tell if any of this is
working.”
“I thought Dr.
Morris was fixing everything. Didn’t he tell you not to worry?”
“Yes, but after the
big blowout over the private investigator last week, I feel like Jonathan’s
pulled away from me again.”
“What incident?”
Ellen relayed the
details of the scene with Brianna and Jonathan’s anger.
“Well, he’s damn
lucky you are looking out for him—for both of you. She might be a criminal, a
call girl, or a lunatic. What’s wrong with him? Doesn’t he use that brain of
his?”
“I honestly wish I
knew. One minute I think everything is back to normal—in fact, I was convinced
of it—and then in the next, I doubt he’s even trying. It swings from one
extreme to the other and I am in the middle trying to guess where I stand. I
can’t live with this uncertainty. I need to know he’s forgotten her, that she’s
completely out of the picture and everything is right again. I don’t know what
to do.”
Patty stood, placing
her hand on Ellen’s arm. “Darling, that’s what friends are for.”
“But what can you
do?”
“I can fix things,”
Patty said with a wink as she rested her chin on her hand.
“Fix things?” Ellen
looked at her friend, hoping she had a miracle to share.
“Yes, remember at
the Valentine’s gala? I told you about what the other women in your situation
have done?”
“What did they do
that I haven’t done? I’ve tried everything.”
Patty set the shoe
back on the shelf and faced Ellen. “Get sick.”
“But I’m not—not
yet, anyway. If he leaves me
…
oh,
if he leaves
…
I would fall
apart, and then I’d really be sick. Right now, it’s just nerves, but I have
anxiety pills for that.”
“It has to be worse
than that, my dear. Far, far worse,” Patty said, tapping the shelf in front of
her for emphasis.
“Like what?”
“Like cancer,” Patty
whispered as she leaned closer. “Nothing works like the death threat of
cancer.” She paused for effect and slowly uttered, “Nothing.”
“But honestly,
Patty, no one could ever actually get cancer just to—”
“Yes. And yes they
do.” Patty nodded, her eyes squinting to emphasize the significance of her
knowledge.
“But they couldn’t
really—”
“Well, not
really
.
But they make it look very real, real enough to fool everyone. Chemo, hair
loss, you name it. There are drugs to make you appear horribly sick, lose
weight, hair fall out, throw up—you know—the whole shebang.”
Ellen frowned,
unable to comprehend anyone bothering with such horror or being that pathetic
to try something so ridiculous. “That’s absurd. And it seems
…
well
…
it sounds sordid.”
“Sordid? Sordid is
that he’s leaving you.” Patty grabbed a pair of strappy heels and shook them at
Ellen. “
That
, my dear is sordid.”
“Yes, but to go
through all that illness, I can’t imagine.”
“Look, either you
pretend to get sick, or shall I say,
appear
to be sick, or he leaves and
hurts you so bad that you actually are sick, only it’s too late because he’s
already gone.”
“And what if it
doesn’t work?”
“Then you are in no
better position than before, a little skinnier perhaps and with a collection of
great wigs.”
“Patty!” Ellen
scolded.
“Come on, I’m
kidding.” Patty smiled. “But it isn’t a simple thing. It looks and feels like
the real thing, like you really have cancer. At first, the doctor starts by
giving you the symptoms, then he increases your pills to make you look
progressively sicker, thinner, and weaker
…
and then after the official cancer diagnosis, he starts the
treatments
.”
“I don’t understand
how anyone could stoop to that level—how could they?”
“If they’re
desperate enough and if it’s important enough. How desperate are you?” Patty
raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, the shoe still in her hands.
“Well, apparently
not quite that desperate. I was thinking more along the lines of changing my
counselor.” Ellen touched a fur-trimmed boot, stroking the soft mink.
“But it works; it
works miraculously. Don’t fault it for getting results.” Patty looked both
directions before leaning closer and whispering, “It worked for Melissa
…
and Wendy.”
“No. They didn’t.
They couldn’t—”