Splintered Heart (36 page)

"Poor Ralph. He's better off now," Paula said, right on schedule. "You'll be over for Sunday dinner? Breast of capon — I've just hired a new cook. Marian darling, are you sure you'll be all right if I'm not there?"

Marian made an appropriate murmer.

Ferris phoned as Marian was getting dressed.

"Are you OK? I'm waiting for a few minutes more. If Charles doesn't show up I'll just lock up, put on the answering service."

"Ferris, maybe you ought not to come."

"I want to be with you, Marian."

"Are you expecting an important call?"

"O.A. is supposed to phone. I'm worried that Charles going to make trouble."

"You better stay. Someone has to be there."

"Oh darling, I can't let you handle this alone..."

"I'll be fine!" She said it with energy, but actually wished he would come.

Marian wore a navy blue dress and navy blue hat, not black. She put on large gold circle earrings — the kind that Mamma liked to wear for Ralph. No one would see them. But it was a way of having something of Mamma present. Last minute, Marian took along sunglasses.

It was a gloriously sunny day — green decorating all the trees, the street bursting with gay colors, people on bikes and roller skates — a day for a picnic, not for a funeral.

When Marian arrived at the Funeral Parlor, Paul Sheldon was there as expected, with Dave Kay, which was a surprise — she'd only mentioned the date and time in passing. Dave had shaved, and even more surprising — he was wearing a jacket, shirt, and tie.

Mr. Bauman came into the waiting room briefly. "We'll be proceeding. Would anyone care to use our chapel?"

"No thank you Mr. Bauman. Just proceed as planned," Marian said, avoiding Dave's look of curious concern.

Dave listened while Paul chatted in hushed tones about treasury bonds and interest rates.

The earrings were hurting. Marian took them off, remembering Mamma and the photograph.

...She'd been just seven-years-old, standing next to Mamma when Mamma clicked the shutter. She hadn't understood why Mamma wouldn't let her pose with the two men. "But Marian dear, it's a Father and Son picture — the son is the one that carries on your father's name," Mamma had said, with a love pat and the usual "You'll understand someday when you're older"...

After thirty-minutes, Mr. Bauman returned with a form for Marian to fill out — name, address, and mailing instructions. He handed Marian an envelope. "The certificate, Mrs. Cooper. You'll be getting the package in approximately ten days."

"My car is outside. Can I give either of you a lift?" Paul asked.

"We'll walk," Dave said.

Paul gripped Marian's hand. "You're a good daughter. Your father Anatol wanted his children to succeed, and you've done it. You've made something good to remember about poor Ralph, by God." Paul smiled gravely. "It's a sad occasion my dear, but life goes on. You've got to march on!" Then Paul put his hat back on, squared his shoulders as if his own words had given him renewed purpose, and marched out to the waiting car.

Dave and Marian walked without speaking.

"I'm O.K. Changed. It changes things for me," Marian said when they were at the awning entrance to her building.

Dave raised both eyebrows.

"It's a strange feeling. I was always my father's daughter
 
and
 
his son. I've always been so busy marching, do you know what I mean?"

"Sure. Now you don't have to do double duty. You can be yourself from now on," Dave said.

Suddenly Marian's eyes were wet. "I'll phone you Dave, when I get back from California."

"O.K." Dave was off to the subway.

The tears were rolling down her cheeks but she didn't put on the sunglasses. She ignored the looks she got from neighbors in the lobby, from Jimmy in the elevator. They were the tears she hadn't shed all day, mixed up with tears from months ago, and she just let them roll.

++++++++++

Chapter 61

On the day that Marian was leaving for California, Elena appeared at the office.

It was a new Elena. Her hair was short, curly, a red blonde. The scars were still visible, but they gave credence to the story Elena told.

"I was mugged, I almost died, but here I am — my goodness — I missed you all! Now tell me how
 
you
 
are?"

It was a spectacular comeback, and back Elena was — jumping in, helping out, pitching in, taking over — everyone was better off with Elena back, including Mari. By mid-morning, Elena was in Marian's office with a report.

"I organized the California schedule — set up your press conference for after the style show Mari, not before. Before the lunch you'll want to be meeting people but after lunch, toward the end of the style show when the models do the finale — a Miss Scott will escort you out. You'll miss the evening gowns, but you certainly don't want to miss the swim suits — they'll be wild!"

"That's true."

"I got a staff photographer on the
 
Los Angeles Times
 
to arrange for school kids to be with you for the pictures. It's better psychology if you're photographed with children, not club ladies, don't you think?"

"Right."

"I phoned Beth Weidman and suggested Howard get the Governor and his wife to be guests of honor. It's a good tactical move for Howard. And if he doesn't get re-elected we'll need the Governor's support, right?"

"That's good thinking, Elena."

"Just seed planting Mari, like you've taught me."

"Right."

"Mari, I'm so sorry I can't do the trip for you, but Alexy says my accident may help me resolve some of my neuroses... Everything turns out for the best doesn't it?" Marian made no response, so Elena went on. "I've been through the current correspondence. I'm getting reports from Bernice and Sandy on
 
Biological Surveys
, and I've got Edna on
 
Somerset
."

"Mmm." Elena's accomplishments were impressive, but Marian was not sure how she was feeling about having Elena back in the old groove and second in command.

"Everybody flipped over my hair," Elena giggled. "Is Ferris going to be joining you in L.A.?"

"Maybe."

"Are you going to take Beth up on her invitation to stay at her place?"

"We'll see."

"You're still annoyed with me, aren't you?"

Elena's question caught Marian off guard. "Who said I was annoyed?"

"Mari, I know you didn't want to make this trip. You're going, because of my accident. Subconsciously you're probably very resentful. We need to confront these things, Mari. I'm just 'putting it on the table' like Mac says."

"Mac says" was the clue. It explained the latest changes. "You mean Dr. MacGregor, I presume?"

Elena grinned. "Yes. I've been seeing him."

"Seeing him?" Elena's grin implied more than therapy.

"He's wonderful, the way he's expanding my mind."

"Mmm."

"I just wish I could make the trip for you. Mac is going to be out there, you know, for a big psychoanalytic convention."

"If I bump into him, I'll certainly give him your love," Marian gathered her things.

"Mari, please say you forgive me?"

Behind Elena, a panorama of the city was sparkling in the mid-day sun. It was a faraway fairyland — no ugliness, dirt, street noises or heat, just a kaleidoscopic pattern of people on the busy streets below.

Elena's plea for forgiveness belonged in fairyland.

"Accidents can happen to any one, Elena dear. I just wish you weren't quite so accident prone."

"Ferris, what are you doing home at this hour?" Marian was surprised to find him in his lounge chair, reading the
 
Wall Street Journal
.

"I took the rest of the day off. I wanted to drive out to the airport with you, darling."

"How thoughtful. But you really don't have to."

"I thought you could use some help. There's about a hundred things we need to talk about..." Ferris followed her into the bedroom.

"Everything's packed. I've already said goodbye to Mamma. I just have to put my toothbrush and makeup in my bag. So, tell me — what's been happening with Charles? How is he taking it — the news about Henri? Has he said anything about your new corporation?"

"Honey, slow down — you're going a mile a minute." Ferris stretched out on the bed, kicked off his shoes.

"All right. I'm slowing down." Marian turned, faced him.

"We haven't made love in a long time, Marian."

"No." She didn't know what to say. He'd never ever said anything like that before. "We haven't."

"At first I thought it was me. I've been getting in late. I've been distracted."

"Yes" was all she could muster.

"But it's not just me. It's you too, Marian. I know you've been through a very sad time because of Ralph, but that's not the problem, is it? You've been very gracefully unavailable, Marian."

She didn't say anything — what he was saying was true.

"I had a long talk with Courtney about you." Ferris smiled, folded his hands behind his head, crossed his legs and looked at her.

She felt herself stiffen.

"You like Courtney Bennett, don't you Marian?"

"He's an attractive person." Marian turned to the dressing table.

"Courtney said you came to a party at his penthouse."

Marian began taking the pins out of her hair. "You told me to put in a good word for Paul, so when Courtney phoned, naturally I accepted his invitation."

"I'm surprised you didn't mention it to me, Marian."

She picked up her lipstick as if it were a piece of broken glass. "There isn't much to report. It wasn't a very interesting party. I put in a few good words about Paul."

"Is there something going on between you and Courtney that I don't know about?"

Many times Marian had thought about this moment, considered — would she, could she, should she tell Ferris about her one-night stand?

...I'd feel better if he knew, but he'd feel worse. Is that what I want...?

"Is there?" Ferris repeated.

Marian carefully adjusted the lipstick. "No." In terms of the way he'd worded the question, it was the truth.

"Was there?"

"Is there, was there what?" She remembered her questions to him about Andrea.

"A love affair? You know what I mean? Why are you avoiding answering my question?"

"Oh Ferris, you're grilling me — you sound just like me when I was grilling you. This is crazy!" She had to laugh despite the seriousness of the moment.

Ferris laughed too.

"It is crazy — damn Courtney, he's such a devil with the ladies and he acted so damn innocent about it — it made me wonder. I'm sorry. I apologize."

Marian turned to the mirror, put on her lipstick.

Ferris watched.

After awhile he spoke. "I love you Marian. I know I've hurt you. I know a part of you can't forgive me for hurting you. You've changed because of me, I know that. But I want you to give me another chance."

She kept brushing. She felt strange, as if she'd just learned a new fact of life, and she wasn't even sure what the fact of life was.

"I can't make guarantees, Marian. Things happen. Sometimes things happen that you don't intend."

"Accidents? Is that what you mean, Ferris?" Marian continued brushing. She couldn't risk looking at him, just at that moment.

"Just for the record, I want you to know that I do not intend for there to be any more accidents. I'd like to feel that you believe me. Do you?"

"I don't know."

"We belong together, Marian. We like the same things. We share a lot. We speak the same language. And we're both polite people."

..."And graceful and tidy"...
she was thinking.

"And we don't like fighting and squabbling and — "

"And putting it all on the table."

"That's not our style. But we fit together. Marian, let's not lose all the good things, all the time and effort and love that we've already invested in this marriage. Let's not lose each other, Marian."

"Ferris, suppose I had said yes, about Courtney. Would you have forgiven me?"

"Gosh Marian, I don't know. God Almighty, I know I sure would try!"

He got up from the bed, touched her hair with the tips of his fingers, "Honey, you've already brushed your hair about two-hundred strokes and it looks great. Do you know anybody named Delmonte?"

"Delmonte? No. Why do you ask?"

"We got a note under the door. I asked Jimmy and Pete if they knew the name." Ferris dug out the note and showed it to Marian.

It was in pencil, decorated with a carefully drawn border of stiff little flowers.

Beware of M.

Measles are contagious.

London Bridge is Falling.

Look out for bugs below.

Stand up straight or die of Cancer.

Delmonte is watching for posterity.

"Very strange." Marian shivered. The flowers were like her own doodles.

"It's probably just some crazy kid who lives in the building. We better get going, you're going to miss your plane."

Nothing was resolved. Together they closed her suitcase. During the cab ride, they discussed a few more of those hundred things that they shared.

+++++++++

Chapter 62

"How's our friend, Elena?" Beth asked, as they were speeding toward Los Angeles in her convertible.

Marian was trying to protect what was left of her hair-do, trying to jot down notes on her purse schedule. "As good as new and maybe better."

"Howard says Elena's got a perfect mentality for business." Beth's eyes left the road for a second as she gave Marian a knowing look. "For funny business if you ask me!"

With a hand on the wheel and the other hand indicating Marian's schedule, Beth went on. "We planned a breakfast at 8 a.m. Your hostess is Sally Blackman, just an intimate group, some of the girls — sort of a reward."

As Marian wrote down 'Sally Blackman,' Beth zipped into the passing lane. Marian felt herself clutching an imaginary steering wheel and pressing down on an imaginary brake.

"You'll love Sally." Beth stopped with screeching brakes for a traffic light. "I found Elena's phone number in Howard's personal address book. She probably volunteered her services as a speech writer. God, I hate these California groupies volunteering to do political work. They're all nymphos!"

Beth turned off the freeway and back onto the subject. "Joe VanSant...Put him down on your list. Joe's important, he might just give us a fat check." Beth looked away from the road at Marian. "Did Elena ever say anything to you about Howard?"

"Just that she was thrilled to meet a Senator."

"I check Howard's address book periodically for new numbers. I phone the numbers and pretend I'm doing a survey. You'd be amazed at how easy it is. Women will tell you everything — age, income, work, marital status, even private details about their sex lives if you lay on the medical terms. I hired a secretary for Howard. Scotty keeps me posted on his fan mail. Fans in this part of the country are the worst. Hollywood's the breeding ground."

They were stuck behind a slow-moving car that was lugging a horse-trailer. The road was marked with a double solid "No passing" line, but Beth was looking for a chance to try. Marian was keeping an uneasy eye on the winding roadway while observing the extent of Beth's madness.

"How do you stand it, Mari?" Beth asked.

"How do
 
I
 
stand it?" Marian wondered how Beth could stand it — nympho volunteers, fans, groupies — Beth was dealing with her black thoughts on a round-the-clock basis.

"Leaving your man back east while you're out here. New York swingers are worse than California swingers. I'd be worried sick!"

"Oh Beth, I can't live my life day to day, if I'm going to worry about what Ferris is doing when I'm not around!" The words just came out. "I
 
refuse
 
to worry!"

"But Mari dear," Beth's voice was full of pity. "If you want to hold on to your man, you've got to worry. You have to watch everything, and everybody. It's a full-time job."

"But I have a full-time job, Beth."

"The traffic is awful in this area." It took a second for Beth to maneuver herself onto the parking shoulder, where she proceeded to bypass a line of cars. "I know we've given you a heavy schedule, but we'll squeeze in a little fun."

"I don't mind the schedule, it's all part of the job."

"We'll have dinner at my home, day after tomorrow — Daiquiris by the pool, a swim, the hot tub — and the day after that, we'll do a herbal wrap and some shopping. I've got it all planned."

"Sounds like a vacation. I'm supposed to be working for you."

"This is California, honey. We've got different definitions out here. The luncheon tomorrow is work! You've got two pool parties and a brunch meeting — that's work! We've got to run up to Sacramento next week for tea with the Governor's wife. I consider that
 
hard
 
work!"

They were pulling up at the hotel. "We're already late for the pool party, Mari. It's just an informal gathering — mingling, drinks, snacks — you did have something to eat on the plane, didn't you?"

The "little informal gathering" by the pool was three dizzying, hectic hours of top level, full out, non-stop functioning. At nine p.m., a very tired, hungry traveler was back at her hotel, getting her key.

"Room 1822, please. Is it always like this around here?" The lobby was teeming with activity. It seemed like an extension of the garden party except that instead of women, it was business men. They were filling every available couch, chair, and palm-treed corner.

"Conventions — we got three this week!" said the harassed room-clerk. "But one of them finishes tonight so it won't be so bad tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening."

After a shower, wrapped in a bath towel, Marian moved about the carpeted suite inspecting it's deluxe modernisms — whirlpool bath, foot-warming tiles, over-head tanning light, digital clock radio, and the coffee kitchenette. She read the Dial-For-Service wheel on the phone, ordered far more from Room Service than she could possibly eat, and tuned in the television.

Onto the screen came a field of oranges, then a white sand beach with four bikini-clad, smiling girls, brunette, blond, redhead, and there SHE was — black hair and the jack O'Lantern smile. Then the image divided itself like a germ under the microscope, into four-times-four-faces and infinity. "Bye, bye, Andrea," Marian laughed out loud. The cell-dividing T.V. screen process seemed a suitable fate.

The buzzer buzzed. With one quick "Oh well, I'm covered" check in a mirror, Marian unlocked the door to let Room Service in.

It wasn't room service. It was Dr. Stephen MacGregor.

After "What on earth! How did you find me! What are you doing here? Isn't it amazing!" while they were standing in the doorway, Marian invited him in.

"Did you have dinner?" They said, simultaneously.

"I'm expecting room service. You look different in a business suit," she said.

"You look marvelous in that towel," he said.

"Maybe we should go for a swim," she said.

"I'm not going anywhere until we eat your dinner," he said.

"You're right, I'm starving."

"After we eat your dinner, we'll order another." He took off his jacket. "I'm making myself comfortable."

"I think I'll make myself a little more decent."

"No, you look perfectly decent. You look — " He scrutinized Marian, eyes first, forehead to see if she was wrinkling her brow, then skimmed down the towel to bare toes and back up to her eyes. "Different. What makes you different tonight?"

The door buzzed, startling them both.

"I may be different, but I am going to find a safety pin for my towel. Stephen, you answer the door please."

After room service had rolled in the table, set up dinner for one and departed, they opened the half-bottle of wine that Marian had ordered, toasted each other — he with the wine glass, she with a plastic glass from the bathroom.

"To Lane Elena Ortega," Stephen said solemnly.

"Long live Lena Dortszynski!" Marian clinked her wine glass with his. "Why are we toasting Lena?"

"If it weren't for Lena, I wouldn't be here."

"Is that how you found out I was staying here? But what are you doing here?"

"I'm at a medical convention and I gather you're here to make a speech someplace?"

"Yes I am. When I saw Elena this morning she mentioned you were going to be... This morning seems like years ago, doesn't it? Where was I?" Two sips of wine and Marian was already feeling tipsy.

"Ah ha, so Laney
 
did
 
go back to work this morning!" Stephen took on his doctor's demeanor. "At least Lane told the truth on that point. The reason I signed the girl out of the hospital is that she said
 
you
 
needed her on the job while you were in California."

"Well, Elena's back and quoting a bunch of her darling Doctor Mac's aphorisms. But how did you know which hotel — did she — she didn't phone you did she?" His grin was answering the question. "She did! What have you done to the girl, bewitched her Stephen?"

"Honey, she's fantasized me into father-brother-lover. You're her mother-sister."

"You're beginning to sound like Dr. Alex." Marian could see that Stephen wasn't really listening to her. Like Alex, he was involved with the patient's problem. "Elena fascinates you, doesn't she?"

"I think she's going to get out of this phony-baloney phase, and grow up into a good solid citizen one of these days!"

Marian put the plate in front of him. "Here's your half of the salad. I'm bored with Elena. Tell me about your convention." With the steak knife she divided the salad down the middle. They ate it from the same plate.

They ate the steak, baked potato with sour cream, asparagus hollandaise, chocolate mousse dessert — same plate, same fork, spoon, knife and napkin.

They shared the long ago past, the recent past, the present; they divvied up every last bite of the dinner for one. Then they sat back, and looked at each other.

"What are you thinking Marian, you have a very special smile on your face right now?" Stephen asked.

Marian was remembering the night they'd had their one hundred kisses. "I'm not going to tell."

"Mischief...that's what you're thinking, I'll bet. You look like a thirteen-year-old."

"I've got a breakfast meeting at eight a.m. Stephen."

"I've got to be at my meeting at eight-thirty a.m. You're telling me it's time for me to get out of here, aren't you?"