Splintered Heart (31 page)

Marian put up her hand, not very high.

David Kay mouthed each word with excruciatingly emphasis: "'I very much want to write a beautiful piece of classical music.'" He looked around the room. "Cooper, show yourself."

Marian wiggled three fingers and put her hand down quickly.

With a crooked grin and eyebrows up, Kay said, "Yes ma'am!"

The class laughed. He went on with the deck. Marian quietly started to gather up her things.

"O.K. wizards, here's where it's at," said David Kay, putting down the cards. "I could give you a lot of book talk but that's not my way. My way is action. Go home. Write me some music. No point in hanging around here rapping till I look at what you do. Then, I'll tell you if it stinks, or what you need to do to make it better."

One of the students muttered, "Yeah, how do we know that you know?"

"You don't. Maybe I'm a lemon, maybe I'm the greatest. Look buddy, I'm just a music freak trying to earn a living so I can go home to my
 
Arp
 
and do my own thing. The school pays me by the hour plus a percentage for each head that's enrolled. Give it a try, I need the dough so I can buy a digital synthesizer. What can you lose?" Kay turned to the blackboard and wrote. "Assignment: One page of music, any style."

Marian noticed a rip in his shirt, his pants looked like they'd been through a war.

"O.K. We meet a week from today. On your way out, help yourself — " he pointed to a stack of music sheets. "As of today, all your old musical ideas are out of date and old fashioned. Please folks, try to write something new, fresh, off the top of your head. It's harder than you think."

He wasn't looking at Marian but she sensed that his words were for her ears.

At the Plaza lounge, shifting into "Mari", Marian felt as if David Kay were watching with those raised eyebrows and crooked grin.

While Beth Weidman was talking about the
 
Caucus Club
, while the Senator was talking about politics, Marian was deliberately disobeying the teacher's injunctions. It was hardly the time and place to be working on music, but that's what Marian was doing — constructing a chord structure, a form and theme for her beautiful "Spinster Concerto." She made appropriate responses to the Senator, made suggestions to Beth about the luncheon, at the same time hearing a melody in her mind, as if she were reading the notes from the sheets of music paper on which it had been written.

It wasn't beautiful. It was out of date. It was corny.

"O.K., wizard," she said to the scrawny poet teacher in her mind while the dates for her California trip were being discussed. "You can collect the percentage for my head. I've got plenty of fresh ideas, more than enough to fill your little page of music paper. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but you could certainly use a shave and a haircut!"

++++++++++

Chapter 48

Shelley lit a match. It was hot in the closet, it was hard to breathe. She leaned back to rest against Herb's tennis racquet. A lot of guests had arrived without umbrellas so the coats were damp. The closet smelled of wet galoshes and Herb's old sneakers that were on the shelf with his junk.

The match burnt her fingers and went out.

In the dark, Shelley sipped the smoke the way Mommy did when she was turning on. "Isn't it heaven, Barbra, super stuff — makes me wild!"

A cough was tickling, pushing out. "Blauugh!" Shelley sneezed, barking out the smoke, dropping matches and Aunt Andrea's Marlboros as she batted at the soggy coats to find one on which to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

"You die if you mix stuff, Barbra, especially with Vodka!" Shelley could see herself laid out on a bier with candles and wreathes of flowers, dressed in a white lace wedding dress and Mommy wringing her hands and shrieking "Oh my darling sweet baby, she's dead!"

Shelley opened the closet door a crack to let in some air. It was a forest of trousers and men's shoes. Guys were dancing with each other, two guys were lying in the corner on some pillows.

"Stewed to the gills, Barbra," Shelley said in her Herb voice, rolling onto her stomach to watch the guys on the pillows who were kissing.

The closet door opened. Somebody reached in.

Shelley rolled to the back and crossed her fingers, hoping they wouldn't see her.

"Let's just blow the joint, Andrea."

"I can't stand all the smoke," Aunt Andrea said.

"Everybody's stoned, hon."

"And gay. Myra and I are the only females around. Aldo, do we have to say goodnight to her?"

"I wouldn't worry about Myra — she's flying!"

Aldo closed the door and it was dark again. The rubber and wet wool smell made Shelley sleepy.

"Weeee! Lookie what I found in the closet!" Trouser legs appeared in the door.

"Are you a little boy or a girl? Who do you belong to sweetie?" The man kneeled and started pulling Shelley's legs, making kiss noises at her.

Shelley bit his hand as hard as she could and scooted out, made for the bathroom but the door was locked. She could hear the sound of a man peeing.

"Mommy?" In the kitchen there was a bunch of men playing target with popcorn, tossing it into each other's mouths, letting it fall like snow all over the floor. A man tapped Shelley's shoulder. "Hey, where's the beer? Hey, don't run away, I wanna ask you a question!"

Shelley raced down the hallway, dodged the man who was staggering out of the bathroom, opened the door to her bedroom. A man was lying across her bed, snoring like a train on its way out of the station.

"Mommy are you in there," Shelley called softly at her Mommy's bedroom door. When Shelley peeked in, she saw Charles and French Henri, Mommy and Royce all mixed up with the coats on the bed. "Oh Chaz, you're so wicky-wicked," Mommy was saying, passing the joint to French Henri.

Under the piano, Shelley unplugged the lamp. Nobody noticed when the light went out. The guys on the pillows were gone. There were only five people and they were paying attention to each other, making tiny sand piles of the powder that was on the silver tea tray, getting ready to sniff it. Tugging at the piano shawl so that the fringes came down a little lower, Shelley made herself private silk house where she could hide.

What woke Shelley was Mommy making terrible noises.

Mommy was lying on the couch with her legs up in the air. She looked like a bug on its back. French Henri was on top of her, his behind was naked. The couch was shaking, they were bouncing and making poo poo grunt noises, while Mommy cried "Oh yes, oh now!"

Shelley put her hands over her ears. "Dirty Falic faggot fucker!" she chanted, trying to say every bad word, forbidden word she could think of — "Bingo, prick, dildo, fucking weirdo, bitch Marian." Saying it over and over made Shelley feel better.

++++++++++

Chapter 49

When Courtney Bennett phoned and said "Why don't you join us for cocktails," Marian immediately said "Yes!"

"That's what I like, a woman who knows her own mind," Courtney said. He gave her the Park avenue address. "The apartment is P # 3. Ask the door man to show you which elevator to take."

"It isn't formal is it?"

"Come as you are, baby doll."

Marian's hair was loose, she was in sneakers, culottes, a cardigan with frayed button holes and patched elbows. Courtney was Mr. Elegant. She couldn't possibly arrive at a cocktail party the way she was attired.

"I mean it,
 
exactly
 
as you are." Courtney repeated. "How soon can we expect you?"

Marian arrived at Courtney Bennett's penthouse exactly twenty-five minutes later.

The Doorman asked, "What name shall I announce, Miss?"

"Mrs. Marian Cooper." His uniform was elegant, the building was elegant. As he led her around the corner, Marian regretted that she hadn't changed.

They almost collided with an auburn-haired beauty — she was in a startlingly form-fitting, sequin-trimmed body suit. She was being led by an auburn haired poodle on a rhinestone studded leash.

"Have a pleasant walk, Mz. Crystal," said the Doorman, tipped his hat as he pressed a buzzer. After the matching twosome had disappeared, the beauty's musky perfume was a ping in Marian's mind — Mz. Crystal certainly did not look like your average Park Avenue tenant, walking the dog.

The elevator door opened. "Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Cooper," said the doorman with the same tip of his hat that he'd given the poodle and Miss Crystal.

There was only one button to press. Marian sat on a bench that was shaped like a saddle, idly wondering if Ferris ever worried about her and other men. She was remembering the screening party — Mr. Elegant's glances at her plum velvet décolletage, while across the room Ferris' black velvet Andrea had been watching.

Just as the elevator was stopping, the beauty and poodle came to mind — there had been no other doors in the corridor. Had they emerged from Courtney's private elevator?

"Baby doll! How nice you look!" Courtney Bennett exclaimed.

The way he stood looking her up and down was unnerving, also the decor — horses everywhere — wall paper, pictures, statuary — even the books were propped up by horse-head bookends and the light switch was a horses tail.

"You're just in time, baby." Courtney took her through an archway out onto a huge penthouse porch. "Take a look," he indicated a telescope. Through its view-finder, Marian saw a magnified window. Moving the telescope slightly, suddenly she was looking at a very fat lady who was either putting on or taking off her underwear.

"Magnificent, isn't it." Courtney was disappearing through another archway, "I'm fixing you a drink. From the penthouse porch, the sky was spectacular. The air was a spring breeze. It was a perfect night for a penthouse party. The only thing that wasn't perfect was what she was wearing, but hopefully other guests would also be informal.

Courtney handed Marian something brown on the rocks and re-adjusted the telescope. Instead of a sip, Marian took a gulp. A faint sound of music seemed to be coming from somewhere inside. Marian wondered if she was supposed to go in and introduce herself to the others. It was awkward to stand around watching while her host was playing engineer or maybe Peeping Tom, but then Courtney announced, "I've got it!" and took her by the elbow, through yet another archway.

She found herself lurching. They were on white carpet, so thickly padded that it was like walking through a snowdrift as she made her way to the couch — it bracketed a fish tank Disney world of bubbling toys and goldfish. The couch upholstery was an optical design of wavy lines that seemed to be changing directions or was it the rug? or perhaps the drink that was making her feel as if she were trapped in the lobby of a Miami beach hotel.

"Make yourself comfy. Be back in a jiff." Courtney vanished again and Marian had to obey. The archways were confusing. She wasn't "comfy." the couch made her uneasy. Her host's vocabulary — comfy, jiff, 'baby doll' — his adjectives seemed incongruously out-of-date, but having been cloistered within a marriage for nine years, Marian couldn't be sure. Perhaps the slang was back in vogue? According to Ferris, Courtney moved in the
 
with it
 
crowds.

...
And where were they? the crowd that was supposed to be at Courtney's party...?

From the couch, Marian could see three archways. One was the kitchen. Another seemed to be the party — music was emanating from it and flickering colored lights.

Almost as suddenly as he'd disappeared, Courtney reappeared. "I brought you a fresh drink. I want your opinion."

"Paul Sheldon is a very excellent lawyer — " she started to explain, but Courtney handed her a tray with a stack of prints and negatives on it. He obviously wanted her reaction to them, not Paul.

The first few pictures seemed to be exactly identical views, but after looking through them again, Marian realized there were subtle differences. One print emphasized the window sill, another the bricks around the window frame, the other was focused a pane of glass. Courtney's obsession was not fat ladies, but windows!

It was beginning to seem ridiculous — that she'd rushed to a
 
come as you are
 
party where the host was more concerned with photography than party guests.

But Courtney seemed quite concerned with her. "That one is my favorite," he said, nestling in close. "I don't like fat ladies." He put an arm around her shoulder.

When Marian moved away, politely pretending she was adjusting the sleeves of her cardigan, her elbow bumped a statue on the end table. "Oh my goodness," she gasped. "Excuse me!"

The statue was a nude, nubile, ebony wood African Girl about to be mounted by a rearing, flying-maned, erected stallion.

"Does it turn you on? I picked her up for a song when I was in Africa. Come on, baby doll, we don't have too much time," Courtney put an arm around her waist and guided her through the archway with the flickering colored lights.

Though Marian had two strong drinks, she knew where they were heading.