Pam of Babylon (30 page)

Pam shut the door after Sandra. She peaked into the kitchen; Nelda wasn’t there. Maybe she had gone to lie down in Marie’s room. Pam wasn’t going to investigate. She needed to recover from what she had just learned. She also wasn’t sure that anything more needed to be done about it.
What would be the point of uncovering such horrible facts, if they were true?
Harold and Jack were dead. Bill, if he had been abused as well, had to make the decision for himself if anything could or should be done. It would mean revealing something so painful. And then, of course, there was Bernice.
Was it fair to her?
She understood something of what Bernice had been through. If you so choose, you can remain oblivious to anything that goes on under your roof.

The thought of her children, of Lisa especially crossed her mind. Beginning with her birth, Jack was mesmerized by her. He didn’t like to be alone with the children when they were infants, clearly terrified by their size and how fragile they appeared. He never changed a diaper. He didn’t have any trouble cleaning up poop from accidents, just not off their bodies. She wondered now if it wasn’t an attempt to avoid contact with their genitals. And with Brent, there was almost a reverence about him. Jack was stern with his children, but there was such love there, almost worship. No, she couldn’t imagine him ever touching either of their kids inappropriately. Instead, he had taken whatever it was out on Marie.

Pam remembered the first time they got ready to go to the beach when they had rented a house in The Hamptons. Marie wasn’t more than a child. She came out of the kid’s bedroom wearing a tiny little bikini. She was completely undeveloped, the bathing suit like two bandanas wrapped around a pole. Jack was appalled. He took Pam in the pantry and admonished her for allowing her sister to walk on a public beach showing her body. Pam looked at him like he was nuts. There was nothing to see. So to keep peace, she asked her to put a T-shirt on. Now she wondered,
Was he acting like a father would act? Or was he trying to protect himself from too much stimulation?

She couldn’t help herself now; her imagination had taken off like a bird in flight. Marie’s accusations swirled around her. She really believed that her sister provoked Jack. It was still wrong, that much she knew. And not seeing her sister as a seductress didn’t mean a thing. Only a man could really know what tempted him.

She walked out to the edge of their walkway. The beach was crowded. School was out, and that meant that the season could start in earnest. Unless it rained, every day would be like this, a mass of colorful umbrellas, the smell of suntan lotion, soft music from someone’s radio. She loved living at the beach. Walking back toward the veranda gave her a fresh perspective. She remembered the file folder of information about Jack’s real dad in the apartment in the city. She was sorry that she hadn’t given the key to the apartment to Sandra. She’d give her a few more minutes to get home and then call her.

Sandra had to stop by the office before she went home, which meant getting another train downtown. It was only during hectic days like this, days where she ran all over the city and back, that her pregnancy was evident to her. She was exhausted. She did what needed be done at work and then got a train back uptown. It was hot on the train, but she was sitting down and was close to the air-conditioning vent.
Eight months of this. How am I going to do it?

She walked from the station to her apartment instead of getting a cab, hoping the walk would revive her. At the last minute, she stopped in a Zabar’s and got something for dinner that she could heat up in the microwave. There was no way she was cooking, and she hadn’t eaten all day. She saw him when she turned the corner on 82
^nd
. Bill Smith. Remembering him from the funeral, she was surprised how unlike Jack he looked. But of course, she knew why; they were halfbrothers. Sandra wondered if Bill knew. She was not in the mood for any confrontations and could feel her anger building. She’d stay cool, unless he crossed her. But she wanted someone to know she was there, just in case. She got out her cell phone and keyed in Pam’s number. She didn’t answer, but when the voice message came on, Sandra simply left the message that Bill Smith had come to her home, and she wanted Pam to know that information. She hung up. He was tall like Jack, but there the similarity ended. Where Jack was handsome in a dignified, graying at the temples way, Bill was dark, more muscular. He was intimidating. But if he thought he would intimidate Sandra, he was in for a surprise.

Bill was waiting for her at the end of the walkway to her apartment. He’d gone to the office to see her and found out she was on her way to Jack’s house. A few keystrokes on the computer and he found her address. Not sure what he was going to say to her, he just wanted her to know that not everyone in his family would tolerate her shenanigans. As she got closer to the apartment, he started to get a little nervous. He remembered her from the funeral now.
Of course, she couldn’t be missed. She was beautiful.
But if she thought her beauty would allow her to get away with ruining his family, she was wrong. He stood up straighter the closer she got. She was tall by comparison to Pam, who was so short. Tall and dark. Her legs were long. He imagined them wrapped around his brother’s waist. He felt some heat in his groin. It pissed him off. He wanted to frighten her a little, but he felt like smiling at her. And so he smiled as she approached him. He walked a few steps toward her, hand outstretched to take hers, but she ignored it.

“I’ve had a really long day. Can’t this wait?” If he thought he could show up on her doorstep and push her around, he was wrong. She opened her purse to get her keys out and then fumbled with the lock. He was following her close behind, like a dog.

“I won’t take up your time, but I need to talk to you.” She turned around to look at him.

“I don’t even know you! Why should I let you into my apartment?” He dug in his back pocket for his wallet. He was going to get his license out. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. But she did take it out of his hand and examined it. Handing it back to him, she had to force herself not to stamp her foot. “Let’s get it over with then.” She led the way to the back of the hallway. Thankfully, her apartment was clean. He stepped through her doorway and was surprised. It was cool and dark in there. Simply decorated. The furniture was, well, just useful furniture. There wasn’t a lot of clutter, knick-knacks, or artwork.

“I can see why Jack liked it here,” he said.

“Jack was never here,” she said. “Nor did I ever go to his place.” Suddenly, defeated, she couldn’t take anymore. She dropped into a kitchen chair, letting her purse hit the floor. “Please, please, leave me alone. I’m not going to cause any trouble for you. I don’t know what you think I am going to do.” Even in this posture, with her head in her hands, begging him, she was in charge.

“Can I sit down?” He had his hand on the back of a chair, ready to pull it out.

Was this guy kidding?
She looked up at him through her fingers and shrugged her shoulders.

“Do whatever you want,” she said. He sat down across from her. Neither said a word for a few minutes. Sandra needed tea and she needed something to eat. Pulling together what little energy she had left, she got up and went to the kitchen.

“I’m going to make some tea. Do you want a cup?” She had old instant coffee, but there was no way she was making it for him.

“Okay, that sounds good.” He was clearly comfortable.
This was such an imposition
, Sandra thought. She did her best not to bang things around and slam doors; it took all her willpower not to.

“This is a great apartment,” he yelled. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “How long have you lived here?”

Clenching her jaws, she pretty much growled the answer. “Four years.” She walked out of the kitchen. “Look,” she suddenly was unable to say his name, “Jack’s brother, or whoever you are, I am not in the mood for small talk. Why can’t you just tell me what you want and leave?” He looked at her with his dark eyes and smiled, friendly, unthreatening. Totally the opposite of what he had been planning.

“It might be easier if you were sitting down,” he said. “Not because it is going to make you faint or anything, but because we need to be eye to eye.”

“Well, I am starving and need tea.” She turned back to the kitchen and prepared the tea. She took her premade Zabar’s meal out of the paper bag and put it in the microwave. She needed to eat. When the water was hot enough, she poured it into the pot, threw two tea bags in, got mugs and spoons, and put everything on a tray. “You’ll just have to excuse me. I am eating this now because I
am
about ready to faint. If I knew you were going to be here, I would have bought one for you, too.” Preparing her own tea, she pushed the extra mug toward Bill.

He seemed happy and relaxed, in spite of being angrier than he had been in a long, long time just a few hours ago. Sitting in this tidy, cool, comfortable place, across from this gorgeous, self-assured, intelligent woman, he couldn’t stay mad.
No wonder his brother had messed around on his wife. Sandra was worth it!

He picked up his tea. It was hot, but didn’t have much taste. He was not a tea drinker, but to be in her company, he’d drink whatever she offered him.

35

N
elda got up from her nap and didn’t know where she was. The room was completely unfamiliar to her. She pushed the shade aside to look out the window, but the view of a fence with plantings in front of it didn’t register. She went to the closet and opened it. It was empty, except for a robe and a garment bag. There was an attached bathroom; that also didn’t provide any clues. The mirror above the bathroom sink reflected an old woman with brown-dyed hair, grey eyes, and too much makeup.
Is that my face staring back at me? When had my skin gotten so wrinkled, the creases of the pillowcase still evident on my cheek?
Her eyes, once large and hazel, had gotten so much smaller, old eyes that had shrunk.
That nose was the nose of a clown!
Long and bulbous, her little upturned pixie nose was gone as well. Slowly, as she examined herself in the mirror, her place in the world was returning to her. She was a wife, or had been a wife, and a mother. Her children were all successful, every one of them. Susan was a dentist in Connecticut, Sharon a physical therapist in New Jersey, Marie an editor in Manhattan, and Pam—Pam went to school to be an art teacher. But although she never taught, she married rich.

This was Pam’s house. It was a big house—a cape, they called it. It was wooden shingled, painted white, and had green shutters.
The furniture was nondescript
, Nelda thought. Marie one time tried to explain to her mother that the furniture was called cottage style. It was overstuffed and comfortable. The dining furniture had six styles of chairs, all painted white. The only room that appeared to have been thoughtfully furnished was Jack’s office.

Nelda walked back to the bed and straightened the spread.
This was Marie’s room.
Pam asked her to stay there until they could shop for new bedding for the guest quarters. Their conversation of the day was coming back to her. She sat on the bed. What had she agreed to? It was still foggy, bits and pieces of information returning, but nowhere complete. She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of her slacks.
I should have taken them off.
Walking to the door, she turned around one last time and looked at the room. It still looked strange to her.

Pam was sitting on the veranda drinking coffee, looking out over the ocean. Nelda was proud of the way her daughter had lived her life, but now wondered if she wasn’t the dumbest of her four girls. The news of the day flooded over her—Jack’s indiscretion, the baby, moving to the beach, putting the Brooklyn house up for sale. She felt a little shaky. Pam turned around when she heard her mother’s footsteps in the kitchen.

“Hi, sleepy head! I was just thinking about dinner. Did you have a good rest?” Nelda walked through the french doors and sat down next to her daughter. She lowered herself into the chair.

“It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. I wasn’t sure where the heck I was when I woke up.” She was surprised at her need to reveal this to Pam. Usually, she’d rather not admit to her failing memory. But that had gotten her into trouble. This was a new beginning. She didn’t mind leaving that house in Brooklyn. It was lonely there, memories of her dead husband no longer comforting. She thought of his mother and father, especially her mother-in-law, Genoa. She’d loved her more than her own mother, but had never told her so. Regrets. Now she was here with Pam. She trusted her daughter to protect her, but she would have to be honest about what was happening to her.

“Are you okay now?’ Pam asked, concerned for her mother. Maybe the apartment above the garage was too far away for safety if she was feeling confused right across the hallway in Marie’s room.