Fag Hag (Robert Rodi Essentials) (25 page)

Jennifer nodded, returned a weak smile of her own, and got back to her feet. “If you need to talk,” she said, and let her hand rest fleetingly on Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie wondered how many times she’d done that for effect in a play. It was so mannered, so rehearsed—such an obvious
gesture.

On her lunch hour she grabbed a bag of Fritos and a Coke at the cigar store in the lobby, then trotted down the steps to the little park next to the dock on the river. There was a dark corner down there where she could eat without being seen.

But it was unseasonably warm, a breath of spring before its time, and so today there were many others who had come here as well, to enjoy lunching outside after having been confined to cafeterias and fast-food joints all winter.

Natalie tried to make her way to her corner, but noticed two women from her office seated on one of the benches she’d have to pass. She didn’t want to risk having to talk to them or, worse, be invited to join them.

She turned and started to dash back up the stairs, hoping to escape before they noticed her; but she didn’t watch where she was going and ran straight into another woman, who was coming down. Natalie lost her footing and fell backward, and landed hard, knocking the wind out of her.

Suddenly people were swarming all around her, staring at her with brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?” they kept repeating in strangely far-off sounding voices. “Miss? You all right?”

Then some crouched right over her, his face blocking out the sun; she tried to focus on him.

“Natalie?” he said. “Natalie Stathis?”

She recognized his voice at once. It was Peter.

“It
is
you!” He reached behind her head and lifted it; then swiftly pulled away again. His fingers were slick with blood. “My God!”

She saw him anxiously scan the crowd, then look up; a uniformed policeman was standing on the bridge overhead. “Officer!” he cried. “We need help! Quick!”

Dizzy and confused, Natalie could only comprehend that Peter was holding fast to her arm and calling out for a cop.
“Noooo!”
she wailed, and she fainted dead away.

S
OMETHING WAS STICKING
in her, and it wouldn’t go away. The discomfort drew her out of the depths of her unconsciousness, and she awakened to find a needle taped to her arm.

The needle was connected to a tube, and the tube to an I.V. bag. Something was dripping from the bag into the tubing, and from the tubing into her.

She looked around, a little dazedly. It was a hospital room, of course. And there was Peter, seated by the bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

“Leave you alone for a few months and look what happens,” he said.

For a hazy, mind-jumbling moment, it seemed almost natural that he should be there. Everything was so strange—the muted pastel of the walls, the bulky monitoring device that loomed over her, and high above her bed the TV monitor that was tuned to the image of a large industrial clock. And the eerie quiet—that, most of all. It all pointed to some vague, barely perceived realignment in her life—some sense of a rubber band having been pulled to its limit and snapped, sending her flying into the air until gravity pulled her down again, and down hard. There was a little whirlpool of fear and excitement in her stomach, but the calm pervaded; this was something new, some fresh beginning. Of
course
Peter would be here for that.

She looked at him, at his face, so angular and aristocratic, his eyes so piercing and ethereal, like the eyes of wolves. His short haircut was still jarring to her; she hadn’t been this close to him in months—except for the robbery, when she’d had her vision partially obscured by the latex Ninja Turtle mask, and at which time she had, besides, been preoccupied with things other than Peter’s beauty.

With him at her bedside she felt a sudden onrush of confidence and reassurance; her descent into petty revenge and dangerous self-disgust no longer existed. His presence was cleansing; it washed away all the guilt and shame and anger that went before it—washed away even the memory of it. Looking at him now, the room eddying around his head like a kind of liquid halo, she couldn’t even recall why they’d been apart so long—only that the separation still grieved her.

She tried to lift her head, but felt woozy and let it drop into the pillow again. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked, but she didn’t recognize her own voice.

“Concussion, malnutrition, dehydration,” he replied. “I say insanity, too, but the doctor is reserving judgment.”

With each gulp of air, she was feeding her consciousness a little more of her present, until her memory was once again gorged on all the details of her predicament; it was a literal rude awakening. She remembered the times when, as a child, she’d dreamed of being given a perfect, perfect doll that winked and spoke and clapped its hands and even danced, only to wake up and find her arms empty and the doll a vanished wisp of fancy. It was exactly like that now, except Peter hadn’t vanished; he was still right here, but across a chasm that had suddenly yawned between them.

She rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “I thought you were having me arrested.”

“Why?”

“You were calling that policeman over.”

“No, I mean—what would I have you arrested
for?”

She tried to shift her arm to lessen the discomfort, but the needle stuck to her like a leech. “I don’t know. Guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

“Natalie, what’s wrong?” He leaned in closer. “You look like hell, you were acting like some kind of nut down by the river—it’s like you’ve gotten all weird and seedy since I last saw you. And, I mean, it hasn’t even been that long.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Peter,” she said, emotion welling up in her. “I guess it’s just—well—Carmen DeFleur died.”

He sat back and sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

Even now, she had to smile at his ingenuousness. Only Peter would immediately accept that a dog’s death was capable of bringing her to this low ebb.

“How’s your mom taking it?” he asked.

“She runs hot and cold. I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

He gave her a sympathetic grin, and they sat and stared at each other.

Finally the silence compelled her to ask what she knew she must ask, yet loathed to ask: “How’s Lloyd?” Even speaking his name was painful to her. She blamed him for this, for the hospital, for all of it.

“He’s fine,” Peter said, no trace of feeling in his voice. “I called and told him where I was. He’ll be coming down himself, a little later. I called your mom, too. She should be here any minute.”

Oh, great. The two people she most wanted to see. Thank you so much, Peter.

“Well, what’s new?” she said, trying not to fall back asleep. There must be some kind of drug in the I.V. drip.

“Nothing much,” he said.

“Oh, come on.” She was pretty sure now that he didn’t connect her in any way with the larcenous Ninja Turtle, so she felt free to prod a little.

“Well, we had kind of an upset a couple weeks ago. Lloyd was out of town, and I came home and stupidly left the front door unlocked. And someone came in and held me at gunpoint.”

“No,”
she said. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. But it was about a day later before I realized that. It was pretty heart-stopping at the time, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Guy forced me down to the floor, sat on my back, and tied my hands and feet together.”

In spite of herself, she was shocked to hear his version of the event—as if his descriptions, dispassionate as they were, were worse than anything she thought she’d done. “Did he get away with much?” she asked, trying not to let him see her lip tremble.

“Not a thing. Cop happened to be driving by, and he saw the front door hanging open and somebody walking around with a mask on, so he stopped to check. The thief actually fired a shot at him—there’s a bullet hole in the wall to prove it! But then he dropped everything—gun included—and ran off. Cop found me upstairs and untied me.”

“Honey, this is unbelievable! I feel so bad, lying here feeling sorry for myself when you’ve been through so much!” Her heart was doing flip-flops.
Tell me about the gun,
she commanded him telepathically.

But he wasn’t receiving. “It wasn’t so bad. The worst thing is, I was so afraid, I actually crapped in my pants. The police officer was really weird about that. Insisted on taking my dirty briefs as evidence.’

Natalie burst into almost convulsive laughter.

“God, I don’t think it’s funny, I think it’s
gross.
That was one skanky cop, let me tell you.”

She was laughing so hard, she got a fit of coughing. She motioned him to wait a moment, then calmed herself and said, “So what does Lloyd have to say about it?”

Peter’s face darkened. “Lloyd is pretty upset.”

She waited; surely he would expound on this.

But no. Instead he crossed his legs and said, “Oh, and guess what, I think the thief was gay!”

She was floored. “What? Whatever makes you think that?”

“He blew me a kiss as he walked out the door.” Then in spite of himself he started laughing too, and Natalie joined in.

While they were sharing this moment of perverse hilarity, Sandy dove into the room, her hair in her face and the sash of her coat trailing behind her. “Oh, Natalie, thank God you’re all right!” She fell onto the bed and clutched her daughter’s free hand. “I couldn’t bear to lose you so soon after Carmen DeFleur!”

“Gee,
thanks,
Mom,” she said, giving Peter a Do-you-believe-her? look on the sly.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She sat on the bed, still holding tight to Natalie’s hand. “What do the doctors say?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to be spayed,” said Natalie, and Peter choked down a laugh.

In that moment it almost seemed that nothing had changed; they were still Natalie and Peter, poking fun at the world in general and at Sandy in particular. Nothing mattered, nothing was to be taken seriously, and the whole of creation existed only to provide them pleasure and fun.

But then he got to his feet and said, “Now your mom’s here, kid, I’ve got to get back to work.” He bent over and kissed her forehead. “Take care, ‘kay? And eat something!” He nodded to Sandy. “‘Bye, Mrs. Stathis.”

“Goodbye, Peter, dear, and thank you for calling me.”

Then he was gone, and everything that was good was gone with him. Natalie’s face fell into a scowl.

“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Sandy asked, setting herself into the chair Peter had just vacated. She removed her coat and threw it across Natalie’s feet.

“Nothing, Mom. I’m going to be fine.”

“But you were laughing so gaily just a few minutes ago, and now you look so glum.”

“Peter told me a joke, and now it’s over, that’s all.”

She sighed. “My poor, poor baby. This is all about him, isn’t it? The not eating, the not sleeping…”

“What if it is?”

“Honey, if I could tell you how much you n—”

“Excuse me?” interrupted a voice from the door. Natalie looked up and saw Hank Bixby standing there, looking large and ineffectual. A murderous rage swept over her. She shot a glance of undiluted hatred at her mother.

“Oh, Hank,” said Sandy, turning to him; “sorry to dash up here and leave you, but I just couldn’t wait to see if Natalie was—”

“I understand,” he said, reassuring her by patting the air between them. “It’s all right. Hi, Natalie. You look good. Lost some weight, I believe.”

She didn’t answer him.

He looked uncomfortable, then jerked his thumb down the hall. “Place a few doors over where you can read magazines,” he said. “I’ll wait there for you. No hurry.”

“Thank you, Hank, dear.”

When he had gone, Natalie said, “Mom, how
dare
you?”

“How dare I what?”

“Bring that man up here to see me!”

“I didn’t bring him here to see you, honey; I asked him to drive me. I was too upset to take the wheel myself.”

“You treat him like he’s family. He has no business even knowing I’m in the hospital. I have no privacy. You blab my personal affairs to everyone.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. I don’t even know your personal affairs. And if I ask Hank to chauffeur me all the way into the city, I certainly owe him an explanation of why.”

Natalie shook her head. “You’ll never, never change,” she growled.

“Unlikely, no. And I’m beginning to think you won’t, either.” She rose from the chair and picked up her coat.

“Where are you going?” Natalie asked.

“Home, dear. Now that I’ve seen you’re well, my mind is at ease.” She pulled the coat over her shoulders.

“You came all the way out here just to sit with me for, what—ninety seconds?”

“Long enough to see you’re in no danger, sweetheart,” she said, readjusting the sash so it wouldn’t drag on the floor again. “To tell you the truth, you’re not the kind of company I care to keep anymore. I’ve given you every opportunity to return my love and respect, but for the past six months—no, the past six
years
—you’ve spurned me, time and again. And your attitude just now…well, it’s the last straw.” She headed for the door with her hands in her pockets. “You’re on your own, Natalie. I’m not going to bother you anymore.”

Natalie was too stunned to rally herself in time to have the last word. A moment later she heard Sandy call out for Hank, then Hank’s heavy feet clomping dutifully down the corridor to meet her. And then, a few seconds later, there was the dinging of the elevator.

And after that, nothing but the efficient, hive-like hum of the hospital.

Natalie felt like a trap door had opened in her stomach; something had fallen through and revealed a great emptiness in her. Nothing could have prepared her for her mother walking out on her like that—especially while she lay in a hospital bed, attached to an I.V. drip! To the contrary, she’d honestly thought Sandy might embarrass her by requesting that a cot be set up by her bed so she might stay the night with her. But to have
this
happen instead…!