Splintered Heart (30 page)

"Oh Mamma, I'm so sorry, but I have to do what's right for all of us," Marian tried to put her arms around Mamma, but Mamma turned to the wall.

"Mrs. Cooper, I think we've tired your Mother out. I think we'll give her a nice back rub and some ginger ale." Arlene came in on her rubber soles, noiselessly, like a Mother bear protecting her cub. "You let Arlene fix that nice pillow, make it all puffy. We're going to like having our own room at the Highland Home, aren't we, and isn't that a pretty name — it sounds like we're off to Scotland!"

Watching Arlene, Marian stood in the doorway thinking, "I don't think I can take much more."

"Hold all my calls, Nancy," Marian said, sitting in her own chair, behind her driftwood desk.

There was a lot correspondence piled up, waiting. Instead of attending to it, she took a sheet of paper and began her "Fun" list.

MUSIC

It was a good word to begin with. It represented many old dreams — horizons blue and shimmering — her wanting to be one of the penguin players in the orchestra at Radio City, wanting to be the conductor, wanting to fulfill all those words that her father had given her. But then, LIFE, fickle fate, and luck happened. Wasn't that how everyone's dreams got shelved?

Stephen's prescription was telling her — "Look at the shelf, see if you can blow off some of the dust!" But now that the word was on the paper, Marian wasn't sure how to proceed.

BZZZZT...Nancy buzzed.

"I thought you were going to hold all calls Nancy?"

"It's your husband Mari, I knew you'd want to take that call."

"Yes. Put him through."

In the long minute between the BZZT and hearing Ferris' voice, Marian went all the way in one direction, all the way in the other direction. She wanted to tell him what she'd found in the brown box and she wanted to tell him nothing. She wanted him to know how she'd walked the streets and lost the ring, at the same time wanted to slam down the phone and cut off from him, be severed like the connection would be severed — click! Still, waiting for him to pick up and say hello, Marian felt her heart beating, the fast pulse she always had when they were about to come together after they'd been apart.

"Hi darling." His voice came on warm, vibrant, strong — it was as if his strong hands reached across the miles of phone wire to caress her.

"Hi."

"What a day!"

"Oh?"

"It's going better even than I dared to hope. Charles is coming back on the plane today, so he'll be at the office," Ferris lowered his voice, "And out of my hair. I can't tell you how difficult he's been."

"I can imagine." Marian started doodling on the Fun List. "I took care of the incorporation papers just as you requested. Paul is finalizing them right now."

"Is something wrong Marian, you sound strange?"

That was the moment to say, "I found your love letters." To say "Why have you lied to me?" To say, "You've hurt me." To say, "I don't know who you are anymore or what I feel about us. You've made me a stranger to myself."

"No. I'm fine." Marian said, continuing to doodle.

"You sounded as if you were upset about something."

"I have a lot of things I have to handle, on my own. Elena's had some personal trouble. She's O.K. But it's been hectic."

"Ah." Ferris said. "Well, I'll be home in a week."

"She'll survive, we'll all survive, won't we? On our own, and by ourselves!" Marian replied.

The cliché of her words covered over how she was feeling, but without realizing it, Marian had planted a seed for herself. Even as the words were out, it was already growing like a Jack-and-the-bean stalk, giving Marian a feeling of coming up from where she was, back into a sense of herself in the world.

"I'll phone you every night, darling. It's a terrific opportunity for me darling. I talked a few things over with Charles — not my future plans — but I suggested he handle our other two clients, and suggested I take care of the
 
Farm
 
Kitchens
. Charles is so damn anxious
 
not
 
to travel because of Henri, I have a feeling what I suggested is what he was going to suggest to me. By the way, I told Courtney Bennett to phone you — I figured you'd present Paul's credentials in a graceful way."

"O.K." While Ferris had been explaining, she'd doodled graceful swirling G clefs. Doing all manner of things gracefully was certainly a habit! "When Courtney Bennett phones, I'll do my best."

"Marian?" He hesitated, he sensed something about her tone, but he wasn't sure what it was. "I miss you. I'm looking forward to getting home and I love you very much, my darling."

Decorated and illuminated with doodles, the Fun list looked like a page from an old bible.

In the Yellow Pages under "I
nstruction, music
," Marian picked three schools with names she more or less recognized, telling herself,
 
"
Three's a good number in a gamble — three rolls of the dice, three guesses in the guessing game, three chances in a lottery — didn't Caesar refuse the crown of Rome three times?"

Marian phoned all three schools, asked about the curriculum, asked when she could start. She was given the names of the teachers and a brief run down of their qualifications. There were three choices. She picked one at random, because the teacher's name was nice and easy to say. "David Kay".

++++++++++

Chapter 46

"Myra, there's something I want to tell you..."

"It's telepathy! Andrea, I was just this second going to phone you! We've got to have a party, we're both depressed — it'll perk us up!"

"Myra, that's not — "

"I've already ordered liquor, Fred got me some good stuff — black beauties, ludes, a little dust. I invited Royce and Pete, phoned your agent — thought that would be a strategic move — told him to bring a couple of actors, said it was a surprise party for you, so you'll have to act surprised."

"Myra, I don't think that's the kind of party — "

"
And
 
I phoned you-know-who. Charles was sweet, asked how you were, told me Ferris is still out of town. Has the bitch been phoning you?"

"Somebody has. They phone and hang up. I figured it was a school kid, playing a joke. Myra, please, I have to tell you — "

"We've been getting calls like that — I'm sure it's that fucking weirdo bitch, she must be horny. Maybe we should send her a big phallic something or other..."

Andrea persisted. "This is kind of important, Myra."

"Bet Fred would know where to get something — I'd love to send Lady Marian a dildo, parcel post. Fred is bringing three studs, not fags — he promised. And you can bring Aldo."

"Aldo and I got
 
married
 
today," Andrea said.

"Jesus, did you hear something? Is there someone on this line?" Myra heard a strange noise, and a click.

Shelley hung up quickly, dashed to the piano made a few plinks so it would sound as if she had been practicing the new scale. She was relieved to hear Mommy say, "Must be my imagination. Now, who else can we invite, darling?"

"Who else can we invite, Barbra dahling," Shelley whispered. She knew Barbra dahling was imaginary, but one time Mommy had said "how cute" and that was why Shelley kept pretending Barbra was real.

"Look Barbra," Shelley licked her finger and printed FALIC above the name "Steinway" on the piano. Then she heard her mother shriek — "Married? You're kidding?"

Shelley crawled under the piano and pulled out the lamp plug. She liked to talk to Barbra in the dark. "Aunt Andrea's balling Aldo, and it's all Lady Marian's fault, Barbra. I could just kill that Marian, she broke Aunt Andrea's heart, Barbra. But we're going to send Marian a big Falic something and — "

"Come here, Shelley," said Myra from the doorway.

"Oh Mommy, can we fix us some lunch now?" Shelley peeked out, and gave her Mommy a big-eyed innocent look.

"I said, come here!"

The tone had to be obeyed. "Me and Barbra Streisand — we were just playing house under the piano, Mommy."

"You were listening in, weren't you?"

Shelley struggled to get her arm away from Myra's grip. "I wasn't, I just wanted to use the telephone."

"What for? Who were you gonna phone? Shelley Peterson, I will ring your neck, if don't stop spying on me!" Myra grabbed Shelley's shoulders and started shaking her.

Shelley tried not to whimper though her head was being twisted and a sizzling pain was streaking from ear to ear.

"You rotten little spy — I'll murder you if you don't stop spying!" Shelley's refusal to cry out made Myra even more furious.

Finally Myra let go.

"I hate you. I hate you," the child screamed, as she ran out of the room

Oh God!" Myra threw herself on the couch, put the pillow over her head to muffle the sobs that were about to come. "What's to become of me? How could Andrea marry him? My life's in ruin!"

It was hot under the pillow. No sobs came. The pillow stank from spilled wine, cigarette smoke. She hated the pillow, the over-stuffed couch, the piano, the stupid lamp the kid had unplugged deliberately. She hated Shelley, Herb, Andrea, the landlord, lawyers, Aldo, Ferris, Marian — she stopped on Marian.

"If that bitch waits for me to speak I'll just wait longer. I don't care how long it takes, I'll make her hang up first. I'll make her suffer for what she's done. I hate her. I hate her!"

Myra threw away the pillow, dialed LE 4-3017.

++++++++++

Chapter 47

The wooden desk chair squeaked with every move of Marian's body. With a stick of chalk in his hand, the teacher printed his name on the blackboard, with exaggerated precision: "DAVID KAY."

The school-smell of paper, ink, and pencil shavings was pleasant but the humidity in the unventilated classroom was suffocating.

Marian was wearing a starched suit and blouse, a brocaded scarf that added zip and dash to the stylish outfit — it had been chosen with the California-chic Weidmans in mind. She was meeting them after class, but for the classroom room, it was all wrong. She looked ritzy and untouchable, more like the chairman of the school board than one of the students. They were all in sloppy attire, girls looking like boys and boys looking like girls and if anyone in the room was over thirty, Marian would have been very surprised.

David Kay passed out cards without bothering to call the class to order or tell anyone to put away cigarettes and candy bars. Nor did he mention the tape deck that a boy had on his desk chair — the rock beat that was escaping from the boy's headphones apparently didn't bother the teacher.

"What's this for?" A student held up the card.

"Put your name down buddy," the teacher said.

Kay looked like a starving Irish poet. Thin, pale and slouching, with wild, uncombed curly hair and five o'clock shadow on the bones of his face, he was everything Marian would have hoped
 
not
 
to find in a Professor of modern music.

"Write your name on the card, say why you're here. If you got a goal or project, put it down." The teacher lit a battered cigarette. "Anyone mind if I smoke?"

No one answered. The class was busy exchanging smart-alec remarks. Jive talk, cool talk was in the air along with the tinny tape-deck noise. Someone was snapping their fingers on the off-beat, apparently enjoying the tune.

Marian printed it out extra clearly, as if for a handwriting test:
 
"I would very much like to write a piece of classical music.
"

"O.K. wizards, let's see what you have to say for yourselves!" The teacher collected the cards, stacked them, and flipped through them so they snap-cracked like a card-shark's deck.

He read each card — the name, the goal — looked up and nodded, as each of the students acknowledged and identified himself.

"Jameson? It says here 'interested in all music?'"

"That's me, man," said a kid wearing a coal miner's lamp-cap.

"I like to be called 'Kay.'" David Kay took out the next card. "Margolies? You want to write hit tunes — am I correct?"

"Right on." Margolies was a pimple-faced youth, who had it down pat — the cool, hip demeanor of a black — only he was white and Jewish intellectual looking.

The next two were girls. "Peterson — it says here you are working on a show with Ernestine Kravitz and you want to learn to orchestrate? Very interesting. And Miss Kravitz?" The teacher looked up to identify Miss Kravitz, then read what she'd written on her card with just a slight touch of mocking humor. "I am working on a Broadway musical with Peggy Peterson, and we need some help, so we decided to take your class." David Kay looked up with his eyebrows raised.

"We've already had our first backer's audition, Professor Kay," said Ernestine, very eagerly, very proudly.

"Just plain
 
Kay
." He turned over the next card, did a double-take, "Cooper?"