Splintered Heart (8 page)

"If I'm in charge, why can't I do it my way?"

"You will, but let's plan it together, the way we always do."

Marian tried to participate but there wasn't much place for her in one of their planning sessions and as the dinner progressed, it became very clear, a planning session was what the two men were having.

The men were politely disagreeing more and more and noticing her less and less, so she ate every drop on her plate and felt guilty. Guilt always sat at the table with Marian — all through girlhood she'd been told "finish everything on your plate, dear!" and now, leaving something on the plate was one of her cardinal rules. But what else was there to do? She even had "seconds."

After dessert they moved to Ferris' study for the cognac. The men had another cognac as they began to argue about the budgets. Marian's mood progressed from feeling left out to being downright bored. Every once in a while she managed to move the discussion off business and onto another subject, but generally it was Ferris who led the talk right back to
Soup
— the artistic concepts of script, stage set, and casting. The presentation wasn't going to be for at least a month, but Ferris seemed intent on settling all the details tonight.

When Marian found a moment to gracefully suggest it might be time to bring the evening to an end, Ferris suggested one more round of drinks. Goblets in hand, they moved to the living room, and on to the problem of how the presentation should be conducted. Charles wanted to make a deluxe, one-inch scale model of the stage set, Ferris thought a quarter-inch model would be sufficient and considerably less expensive.

"But Ferris, you did story boards, sample scripts and photo-stills for your Florida client. Why do I have to pinch pennies over soup cans!"

"
Soup
won't pay us as much as the
Oranges
— the orange people want an extravaganza, the soup people want an inexpensive commercial."

Back and forth they went with budgets and concepts. Charles mentioned he was getting tired but suddenly there was a photo in a magazine, Ferris wasn't certain which magazine but he insisted on locating it in order to show Charles a picture of a kitchen that might be the ideal stage setting.

Finally, at last, Charles got his coat and was at the door. The two men were going to see each other the very next morning, but Ferris seemed to feel he needed to re-capitulate the budget, which re-inspired Charles, then Ferris, and the whole argument flared up again.

Standing in the foyer, the hostess waited with hand on the doorknob, as all the issues were reviewed one more time.

"Ah my feet," Marian groaned in mock anguish. She slipped out of her heels as Ferris was locking up. "It's nice to be alone at last!" As Marian bent to pick up her shoes, Ferris was picking up the
Wall Street Journal
, settling into a chair.

"I've been home thirty-six hours," Marian perched herself on the arm. "And I feel as if I haven't stopped traveling!"

"I know what you need," Ferris looked up from the financial pages.

"Hmm," Marian chuckled, "What do I need?"

"A warm bath, that'll relax you."

"I had a bath this afternoon. You haven't whistled yet, you know."

"What?" Ferris' mind was on the page.

"You always whistle when I wear this."

"Mmm."

"Oh darling, I wish we'd had our dinner alone, we have so much to talk about... Charles is giving you a hard time, isn't he...? You and he are incompatible when it comes to certain artistic areas..." Marian left pauses between sentences, expecting Ferris to pick up the conversation but Ferris said nothing except "Yes," and "Mmm."

It wasn't clear why their homecoming evening, their honeymoon dinner had to have been shared with Ferris' business partner but Marian rationalized away her irritation — in his business as well as hers, socializing was sometimes extremely important.

The telephone rang at two a.m.

The door between bathroom and bedroom was open. Marian could see Ferris opening his dresser drawer.

She heard Ferris say "Hello", after a moment say, "You have the wrong number, why don't you check with information?" Then, she heard him hang up.

"We certainly have been getting quite a few wrong numbers lately!" Marian wanted to tell Ferris about her fears of yesterday but decided to wait until they were in each other's arms.

"Have I told you how much I missed you, how glad I am to be home my darling?" Marian said, preparing the mouthwash. It was the third time she had told him how much she missed him, how glad she was to be home.

She attempted to muffle the crudeness of the gargling. As a result swallowed a mouthful of mouthwash and gagged. "Heavens Marian, he's heard you gargle a thousand times," she scolded herself for being embarrassed.

Taking one final check in the mirror, the satin ribbons on the shoulder straps of the negligee seemed too fussy. Suddenly the ruffle, the hand embroidered lace, the transparency all seemed too much. For a second, she wondered if the gown shouldn't be saved for another night, but then she snapped off the bathroom light. This was their first real night together in three and a half long, celibate weeks.

"Ready or not I'm coming," Marian sang out softly, as she entered the bedroom.

The reading lamp was on. Ferris was lying on his side of the bed on his stomach, sound asleep.

++++++++++

Chapter
9

After Ferris left for the office, Marian dutifully began. It was a task she did not particularly enjoy but she took the hamper and dumped the contents in a heap on the bathroom floor.

With two fingers, she picked up a sock and put it to one side to make a sock pile. She put a pair of shorts aside to make a pile for shorts. She was trying to figure out what was wrong, what was making her so nervous.

...It's as if he's avoiding me — he was up and around before the alarm, by the time I got to the kitchen he was finishing his coffee, and then he rushed off to his shower and shave routine. When I came back to the bedroom he was already out of the towel and getting in to his clothes...

Marian dropped another sock into the sock pile, started a pile for shirts, and put her striped blouse aside to create a pile for Felipe's wife that required more delicate handling.

...And while he was combing his hair he was so tense. What's worrying him, he seems depressed? But I'm the one who ought to be depressed, I'm the one who has jet lag! And when I asked him if he wanted a fresh bath towel, why was he so annoyed? He seemed annoyed because I asked him to tell me the name of his new client...

Marian put two more shirts in the shirt pile.

...And then he said he couldn't remember the name! But that's ridiculous, Ferris always remembers names. Why was he so aggravated
…?

Marian opened the cabinet, took out the bottle of aspirin. The light was on and bright white daylight was flooding in from the small window. Her eyes had dark rings. The H lines were definitely there. When she forced herself to smile so that the H was eradicated, the twigs at the corners of her eyes seemed deeper than ever. The woman in the mirror looked grim and unappetizing. Marian bit off a hangnail, felt it prick her tongue. Examined her gums.

"God you are a sight Marian," she said to her reflection. "No wonder Ferris hasn't wanted to make love!"

The thought was out. She had let it rise up from that place where miscellaneous fears resided, given it words, shape, form, said it loud and clear and there was no turning back from it.

The telephone rang.

Certain it was Ferris phoning from the office to apologize for being so brusk, Marian answered with a perky, "Darling?"

There was no immediate response.

Then a woman said, "Is this LE 4-3017?"

"LE 4-3017?" Marian repeated, "Yes it is. Who is this? To whom do you wish to speak?"

There was a very long pause.

"Oh," said a woman's voice. "I must have the wrong number."

The disconnect was abrupt.

"What a stupid, rude person," thought Marian, returning to her task.

She began tossing the soiled clothes into the piles as quickly as possible, not counting, no longer sorting. That was when, in the midst of the soiled laundry Marian found a black-lace half-slip, not her own.

It was the roller coaster. The thud of the trunk falling. An elevator dropping. She sat there, holding the garment, sweat breaking out all over.

...Shiny cheap black nylon, black lace trim — $10.00 maybe, small size, it could fit anyone who was about five feet-two, three, four. The elastic at the waist was stretchy, it would pass over the head and shoulders without messing the hair, black hair — the bobby pins were black — the black cloth was nylon that stretched easily over shoulders, arms, breasts...

Marian's fingers gripped the cloth, dug into the palm of her hand. Her heart beat wildly; the veins in her forehead swelled, her teeth clenched down to stifle a sob. She closed her eyes. Ribbons of light streaked the blindness. She felt as if she had stopped breathing.

...I am dead...

The thought was air. Marian breathed a greedy breath. There had to be an explanation.

...It belongs to Felipe's wife...

But she knew the wife of Felipe had no reason to come there. She knew Felipe took the laundry home to his wife, they had five children — the wife was fat — couldn't possibly fit into the slip.

...Then it's a slip belong to one of our friends, a client's wife — Felipe found it when the men were cleaning up! Where else would you put a slip but in the hamper, how else could a slip get into our laundry hamper, who else could have put it there...

Asking questions, answering the questions, explaining, denying — no matter what Marian tried to say to herself, the answer was the woman of the black bobby pins, black hair. Marian wanted to be choking her, twisting, twining, knotting the black nylon slip tighter and tighter around her neck, so that the black haired head above ballooned, bulged, split open like plastic.

...Oh God, don't let me think these thoughts, don't let this be happening to me, stop me from thinking these thoughts! Dear Father in heaven, help me — I cannot take this — help me...

She wanted to vomit, to scream, to destroy it, rip it apart —to shove her fingers into her ears so that all thoughts would be shut off. She wanted to be blind, not to see it laying there. She wanted to take the slip, stuff it into her mouth, be gagged, permanently silenced.

She kept repeating it, "Help me, help me."

The extremes of her emotion were unfamiliar, the pain, the passion and violence of her feelings became embarrassing.

...Fool, silly woman, stupid vile idiot! There is no other woman! There is a simple reasonable explanation. You are acting like a typical housewife, worse than Aunt Paula would act if something like this happened in her family. You've been reading nonsense in novels, watching it on T.V., you have no basis, no reason at all to think Ferris would ever seriously look at another woman, much less be unfaithful...

Even in thought, the word "unfaithful" was painful to form.

"Oh Ferris, forgive me for having these thoughts," she cried out to the room. "Please God, I want Ferris just to love me. Make him, make him make love to me! Oh God, please make him sleep with me," Marian prayed, standing over socks and shirts and underwear, tears streaming.

Then she stopped — stopped crying, stopped praying because what she was praying for was unfitting, inappropriate for a graceful, poised and in control, grown-up woman. Also, Marian knew that what she prayed for, she would not get.

Marian blew her nose, threw cold water on her face, washed away all the traces of tears.

She folded the black lace half-slip, put it away carefully underneath her own slips in the bottom of her dresser drawer. The rest of the laundry was then put in the laundry bag to be given to Felipe next week.

Despite the icy wind from the street, Marian opened the living room window wide, left it open to air out the stale smell which was still lingering. She straightened up the records in her record collection that had gotten out of alphabetical order. She puffed up the couch cushions.

In the kitchen she loaded the dishwasher with the dishes that had been left in the sink from the night before; she took all the leftovers from the honeymoon dinner, and even though the casserole could have been reheated, she disposed of everything.

Marian filled the kettle. Before getting to work on the next job on her schedule which was "thank you notes", she wanted some strong hot tea. She got a cup and a tea bag, sat down at the breakfast nook table to wait for the water to boil.

The telephone rang.

She thought it might be Ferris, knew it was probably Mamma. They had not spoken yet today. She fixed her tea quickly, before answering.

"Hello?" Marian put as much energy and cheer in her voice as she could muster. It helped Mamma if Marian was peppy.

"Is…uh…Ferris Cooper there?"

It was a woman's voice again.

"Ferris Cooper?" Marian repeated, surprised.