Splintered Heart (34 page)

Marian met Doctor DeLisio outside Ralph's room at University Hospital.

"You've made the right decision, my dear," DeLisio said. "Statistically Ralph is the right age. He's a trifle overweight, but I don't anticipate any complications. The surgery will be next week. I'll make all the arrangements. My nurse will phone you and give you the day and time."

"I better give you my new number." Marian dug in her purse for the slip on which she'd written it down. "I want to be here. How long does the operation take?"

"It's a four-hour procedure. Afterwards there's a few hours in the recovery room. You won't be able to see your brother until noon at the earliest, my dear. You made the right decision," DeLisio patted Marian's hand.

It was a semi-private room, but the other bed was empty. Marian stood looking down on her brother.

He needed a shave, his hair could have used a trim. Asleep, he looked like an ordinary man of thirty-nine — someone with a wife or a girlfriend, who went to work, watched television, made love, worried about his weight, his hairline — had the all the worries and problems that other normal men had.

She was thinking of Ferris. Then Ralph stirred in his sleep.

Marian did an uncharacteristic thing. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands and prayed. "Dear God," she said, "let him have a few more years."

++++++++++

Chapter 55

Marian doodled a row of meaningless eighth notes on the music paper.

On the blackboard, David Kay printed out
 
ELECTRONIC MUSIC
 
— the subject of the lesson, but Marian wasn't in the mood for a lecture on Physics and Electricity — that's what the title on the blackboard implied — cold, inhuman, ersatz sound, one more computer that was taking over the world.

She doodled her new unlisted telephone number.

...
I've got the postcards, our friends have to be given the new number. Ferris' plane gets in around ten, addressing cards will fill the time — I've got to figure out what I'm going to say to Ferris...

"I've arranged for a demo…" Kay was saying. "If a couple of you wizards will lend a hand, I'll get this plugged in so we can listen." He indicated a small piano-style instrument. The keyboard was visible, the rest of it was covered with a plastic sheet. "What about you, Mrs. Cooper? Won't you join us, honey," Kay said in a facetious drawl, jostling Marian out of her reverie, "Mrs. Cooper is on another planet this evening, I suspect."

The class had moved forward into an informal circle; some were sitting on the floor, some were standing. Everyone looked at Marian.

"Ring modulator, ADSR generators, L.F.O., sign waves, square and saw- tooth waves…" Kay pointed out the parts, showed them how oscillators adjusted, how the dials on the panel above the keyboard could, by lengthening or shortening, dividing or separating sound frequencies, change the color and adjust the rhythmic intervals of the notes.

"I just wanted to give you an idea of what it's about. I'm not promoting the synthesizer. But since most of you are in class because you want to write music for bands and combos, it's just an option you need to know about. Could be that synthesized music is the future. The symphony orchestra might be obsolescent in a couple of years."

There were of grunts of approval, affirmative nods, "right on" and "yeah man" from the students, all except Marian who was shaking her head, hating the idea that the blips and howling noises they'd just heard were going to be the future of music.

Dave Kay zeroed in on Marian's negative reaction. "The
 
Classical Lady
 
doesn't agree. Well, a lot of folks don't agree but since I'm the teacher you'll have to indulge me. We're going to do a little experiment. I want you to write me a 32 bar improv. Think orchestrally — what do you want for your melody, an oboe? A trumpet with bass? Or twenty-two strings and percussion? I'll give you ten minutes. Beethoven had to wait five years till someone got around to playing his first symphony. You wizards get to hear it now." He patted the synthesizer, "This baby is going to be our orchestra."

Marian went back to her chair, and turned over the music paper that she'd doodled on. The la-la-la in her head was not for a spinster concerto. The notes reflected the two-way pull she felt about Ferris — wanting to say "I love you," wanting to cut him off and never see him again.

"Don't illustrate words that are in your head," said mind-reader Kay. "That's song writing. Believe me there's a difference."

"Prof is writing a big time Broadway show, he ought to know!" The student nearest to Marian announced to the room in general. It seemed to be the habit of her fellow students, never to whisper but to express whatever was on their minds at full volume. Yet, babble and the tinny noise from the tape deck didn't bother Marian.

Kay collected their papers. "I'll just have time to do a couple of these today."

The class gathered around the synthesizer as Kay took a paper from the stack and started turning the dials. "That's cool," one of the students commented when a sound like a feisty bull frog came out of the loudspeakers.

"Wow, that's like really intense," said another.

"Whacked out, man," one of the boys remarked though he was still plugged into his portable radio. "Serious man! Gets me where I live," said his girl friend as a musical phrase began to emerge.

From that point on, there was no more doodling. Marian was astounded. When the bell rang, signifying class was over, she was part of the unison moan from the group.

Dave Kay gathered up the improvs. "If I hear anything great, I'll dub it and bring it in."

"Aw Prof, don't stop now."

"Gee, I'd like to hear how my stuff sounds."

"You need any help Mr. Kay? We could come over to your place and help you go over the papers," volunteered Ernestine Kravitz.

Dave Kay put up a hand to indicate that he wanted everyone to quiet down. "We'll listen together next Thursday."

"You
 
sure
 
you couldn't use any help, Prof?" Ernestine was very anxious to help. "Let me give you my phone number, just in case."

"Don't call me, I'll call you," said Kay, and class was adjourned.

Ferris phoned from the airport to tell Marian he'd be home in about forty minutes. "Good thing you gave me the new number otherwise I couldn't have phoned to tell you to put some champagne on ice, honey."

Marian put aside the postcards she'd been addressing.

She stood at the door to his study with her hand on the knob.

...Damn him and his champagne on ice...

She couldn't go in. She knew he'd see the letters. He'd know she knew about his other women. And then?

...Then it's up to him...

Marian went back to the postcards.

At exactly ten-forty, she heard his key in the lock, heard the door open, then close. Ten-forty-one, he called out to her in the usual way, "Any-bo-dy ho-ome?"

Marian heard him drop his keys in the dish. She kept expecting her muscles to respond, but they didn't. She couldn't call out the usual cheery greeting, rush out of the maid's room and race down the hall and be in his arms.

When Ferris walked in, Marian was stacking the cards as if she'd been playing a game of Solitaire.

"Honey, I'm home! What's wrong? Didn't you hear me?" Ferris put his arms around Marian and lifted her up from the desk chair to kiss her.

Marian opened her mouth to say something, but she wasn't sure what she wanted to say, so his kiss was accepted by her lips.

"I'm bushed. Let's go to bed." Ferris said. He took his wife by the hand, and led her to the bedroom.

He undressed. She undressed. He put on his robe, she put on her nightgown. He wanted to know about Mamma and Ralph, and her work. He talked about the new blue walls in the maid's room. "I like the color. It's soothing. It's pretty, like you, my darling."

Marian sat on the edge of their bed, brushing her hair.

Ferris slid under the quilt, puffed up her pillow, folded back the quilt on her side. "Come to bed darling, your hair is beautiful. God, I've missed you."

Marian continued brushing, asking about O.A. The contract. About
 
Ferris Cooper Inc.
 
— all the legal details. When he patted her pillow and said "Why don't you relax now darling, we can go over this at breakfast," she asked about
Cooper- Riche
— how Ferris planned to handle the dissolution of their partnership.

Though Ferris was yawning, the subject was of the utmost importance to him. Her meticulously accurate questions required him to review his plans step by step, stage by stage.

Marian put in "But why?" or "Oh?" or an "Ah" every once in a while so that the conversation went on and on.

"I guess we're not going to have our champagne tonight are we, darling?" Ferris murmured sleepily, when she went off to brush her teeth and gargle. When she returned, he'd rolled onto his side and was asleep.

Marian tiptoed to the study.

Looking down at the letters, she had a dialogue with herself.

...
Do I want a divorce...?

...Are the old girl friends the reason...

...What about now...?

She couldn't answer about now, because what was happening tonight, tomorrow and the day after was 'now'. But right at that moment, the letters seemed like papers that belonged with the warranties and Christmas card collection, so she put them away, went to the kitchen and fixed herself a sandwich and a cup of tea.

+++++++++

Chapter 56

"Henri, how nice to see you?" Ferris looked up from the desk.

"Chaz is not here? I am to meet him now."

Ferris looked at his watch. "We were supposed to having a meeting."

"This evening we are to decorate the new apartment," Henri paused. "Ferris is O.K. I speak with you a moment perhaps?" With a turn, a graceful lift of a leg, Henri straddled a chair. "I am hoping a long time for a talk with you private."

Ferris liked Henri. "Go ahead, speak freely." Ferris realized that Henri was worried about something.

"Ferris, I will tomorrow sign a contract. It is for Texas. For Premier Danseur. For new regional ballet, the town of Austin. It is very exciting for me."

"Congratulations, that's very good news Henri."

"Oui. I think this is good news for Henri, but is not so good for other persons. Charles does not know about Austin. Very soon there will be difficulty with Chaz. He is very temperamental." Henri made circular gestures around his ears, pantomiming craziness. "Comprenez vous? My English is clear?"

Ferris nodded. "I imagine Charles will be extremely disappointed."

They both looked around, hearing the sound of the elevator.

"It is for you also that I worry Ferris," Henri was talking very fast. "Chaz is having talks with important law person that the rich lady, Mrs. Myra, she arranges."

"You mean Myra Peterson, Andrea's friend?" Ferris could hear Charles, obviously in a rambunctious mood, singing one of his Puccini arias.

"Oui, they speak of making a law — suit? a jacket? I make myself clear? Is that how you say it?" Henri whispered nervously.

"You are saying it very well and very clear. Thanks, Henri."

"Thanks for what?" Charles entered the office like a swashbuckling operatic hero. Obviously, he'd bought curtains. He grabbed a curtain rod that was bursting out of one of the shopping bags and made a flamboyant parry and thrust at Henri, then Ferris. "Take that, traitor, and that you villain!"

Henri ducked. Ferris got up — the rod was at his eye, too close for comfort. "Jesus, take it easy."

"A man must defend his honor!" Charles snarled, actorishly. Then he tittered, patted Henri affectionately. "I'm terribly sorry to be late, luv. About our conference Ferris — Henri and I have a million domestic things to do — could we postpone?"

"It can certainly wait till tomorrow, Charles."

Charles gave Henri the bulky packages to carry, took up the bag with the rods. "Tomorrow we'll all be in a much better frame of mind!" he sang, as they went out.

++++++++++

Chapter 57

"Could I come over, talk with you for a few minutes?" the man's voice asked.

"Did Charles cancel out again, Ferris?" Ever since the no-champagne-night, Ferris had been calling home or office at least twice a day.

"It's not Ferris. It's me, Dave."

"But…how on earth did you get my number?"

"It's on this piece of music paper I'm staring at. You doodle, Marian," Kay said. "I want to talk to you about this junk you write. It's not junk, Marian. I don't want to talk to you about it in front of the class. So what about now? Can I come over?"

"Well, I suppose if it's urgent."

"I got the address, see you in twenty-minutes!"

It made Marian tense, but ever since Ferris had returned she'd been tense. It was flattering that David Kay thought enough about her music to phone and want to see her urgently. Still, it made her jittery.