Wild Things (5 page)

Liz was shaking her head. "And all anyone really cared about was the property."

"Precisely," I said. "Property and money. And local wars ruined only the peasants because burning their crops and homes was one way to win a war. But by the time the chivalric code was entrenched, the rules of conduct for upper class society had changed forever. This renaissance of civilized behavior was the direct result of educating a certain class of women and then leaving them alone. Men had been going off on crusade for the last fifty years, and
when they left town, the women ran things. Castellans and seneschals fortified castles and saw to harvests, but the women set the tone of governance and sometimes sat as judges in the absence of their husbands. This was the world that Eleanor was born into. She was the richest young woman in a society where women had more cultural influence than ever before, a society that saw itself as the pinnacle of civilization with the glory of God on its side. She was already so high in social class that at sixteen she took the only step up available to her — she married the king of France."

"And ended up married to the king of England — Maud's son. But her first husband didn't die, did he?"

"Oh no. Eleanor was a divorcee when divorce could only be purchased directly from the pope. At the age of twenty-seven — when I was just beginning to live an adult life after college — she evidently decided to start over with hers. She didn't want to be queen of an already complete society. She was lured by the wild thing needing to be tamed. In this case, Henry Plantagenet, Duke of Normandy and ten years her junior. He had prospects of being England's next king. To a Norman-French woman, England was a barbaric place, badly in need of refinement."

"A challenge in a dull life," Liz said. "So she divorced her boring husband and married the barbarian."

I was nodding. "Exactly. She spent a fortune buying that divorce from the pope. The abbes, who guided the naive king of France, were eager to be rid of a headstrong queen who had failed to give the crown sons. She bought the divorce and went after
Henry, the forbidden, wild thing. She gave up the Aquitaine to Henry as her dowry and had eight children, four of them boys. Her attempts to raise England to a height of political power and culture that would eclipse France shaped British history for two hundred years. But things didn't go exactly as she had planned. Henry was a far stronger man than Louis. And when it was clear to her that Henry would never give her the power she wanted, she asked for the Aquitaine back. He said no, so she raised an army against him."

"I like this woman," Liz said with a laugh. "She didn't take no from anyone, did she?"

"Her husband and sons found it frequently necessary to detain her under guard."

Liz chortled, "How priceless."

"That's the spirit I want to catch. Rather than painting her a gnat those great men had to swat at occasionally, I want to show what a monumental pain in the backside she was for them when they ignored her, both politically and personally. She saw her first son, Richard Lion-Heart, crowned king of England. She considered him unfit, that is he took other people's advice over hers, so she imprisoned him for many years and ruled in his place. He was a homosexual, too, and had no heirs. So her next living son, John, followed Richard onto the throne."

"That would be the evil Prince John of Robin Hood fame?"

"The very same. John is the also king who signed the Magna Carta, which was the culmination of the intellectual revolution that Eleanor was a part of. The rights John gave to his nobles that day were the
very rights that Eleanor, as a woman, had struggled for all her life. Foremost among them was an inalienable right to participate in the political process and seek justice above the King's word."

"I can tell I'm going to love this book," Liz said with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Well, I don't want to make Eleanor seem a feminist! Yes, she struggled for those rights, but she thought they were her due because of her social class. She hated the Magna Carta because it elevated the rabble. So I have a challenge, as you can see. It'll be about two years before
Eleanor
is in print, and only then if I get cracking. It's hard to know where to begin," I said. "I hope everyone can wait."

Liz thanked the listeners and me, then the OFF AIR sign came on.

"That was fun," I said, meaning it. "You made it very easy."

"So did you," Liz said. "I could have talked all afternoon. For once I felt like the callers were getting in the way."

Two men rushed into the studio and hustled Liz and me out. As we were herded into the corridor, Liz apologized for our peremptory removal. "I forgot that the other studio has a bad mike. Listen, I'm having a party tomorrow night and some of my local writer friends will be there, as well as a few other women notables. Would you like to come? I think you'd enjoy yourself. I know several of my friends would enjoy talking to you."

I said yes with pleasure and took down Liz's address. She assured me I didn't need to bring anything, but I made a mental note to leave enough
time in the evening to pick up some flowers or wine. I took leave of her and walked to the El station as briskly as the humid afternoon would allow.

* * * * *

On the short ride back to the university, feeling a pleasant glow from the success of the interview, I remembered James's challenge to realize that I had nothing to lose in my relationship to my parents. Perhaps that's why, as soon as I got to my office, I dialed Meg's number. She was not anathema to me, even if our relationship had had its tense moments.

Her voice was wan, and I could hear a baby crying— David, my nephew.

"Meg, it's Faith."

"Faith," she repeated. There was a long silence. Then I heard her swallow noisily and knew she was crying.

"If you had called, I would have come," I said around a tight knot in my throat. "I still can."

"No," she said, after clearing her throat. "I don't need you — not right now," she said more quietly, taking the sting out of her words.

"Tell me what I can do," I said.

"You can send me a plane ticket," Meg said. "Abe's life insurance won't pay for another two months and I had to spend what we'd saved on the funeral. I won't take money from his parents. Or Mom and Dad."

It was a small comfort that Meg would take money from me. "Where do you want to go?"

She sniffed. "I don't have any choice. I've got no
way to pay the rent and the student subsidies died with Abe. I'm coming home for a while."

"Do Mom and Dad know?"

"No, but I have a secret weapon, and that's David. They won't leave their grandson, even if he is half Jew, on the doorstep." David let out a squall as if to confirm his powers of persuasion. Meg said, "I've got to go. Will you front me some cash? I want to get out of here by Monday. I was going to call you today. I really was."

"Of course," I said. "I'll send a cashier's check by overnight mail. Meg, I'm so sorry."

David's cries were increasing in volume, but I heard her say "So am I" before she hung up.

Meg was right, my parents would never shut David out of their house. If they let him in, Meg had to come too.

Then I realized that all of us would be under the same roof again. We'd grown up, but I didn't want to fall back into childhood roles. I had a hard enough time with the adult ones.

James slipped into my office, startling me out of my daze.

"Sleeping with your eyes open again?"

"I just had the most civil conversation with my sister I've had in over two years."

"Death will do that," he said cynically. "I wouldn't take it as a predictor of future behavior."

"I won't," I said slowly. "Or maybe I will. I don't know. She's coming home..."

James snapped his fingers and I started. "You
are
alive. I thought you were an amazing simulation."

I gazed at him for a moment. "Do you get on with your parents?"

"Not in the least, he said. He fiddled with the end of his tie. "We haven't spoken since the last family funeral, as a matter of fact."

"Humph. What did it feel like, when you finally went your separate ways?"

"I remember a long, dark passage with a bright light at the end. Finally, I reached the light. Then someone slapped me on the butt."

"Be serious," I said, frowning.

He took offense. "I am
always
serious. And I've always been on my own. About eight years ago I decided not to pretend anymore. I can't say I've missed them."

"What made you an outcast?"

When he didn't say anything, I retracted the question. "Sorry, that was too personal, wasn't it?"

"Someday," he said very seriously, "I will tell you all about a lifetime of being vaguely normal. Here's my
Trib.
Dilbert's quite apropos today."

"Thanks," I said as he shrugged into his backpack with a wince. "That looks heavier than usual."

He sighed and prodded his side as if it hurt. "It's full of assistant professor type work. Something an associate professor wouldn't know anything about."

"You're not going to make me feel guilty about getting tenure. And I'm still teaching in the college, no graduate seminars or anything so exciting as that." He'd been trying to make me feel guilty since the beginning of the quarter.

"I should have chosen history. Less competition than English." He grunted as he tightened the backpack straps.

"That's a laugh. It was sheer luck it opened up and sheer luck I got it."

James favored me with a sullen glare. "If you had half an ego I'd enjoy deflating it."

"I do so have an ego," I protested.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-four, and I know where I live, thank you very much," I snapped. James could be so aggravating sometimes.

"See you on Monday," he said and I watched him stride down the corridor.

I looked down at the
Tribune
he'd left me and discovered he had folded the apartments-for-rent section so it was the first thing I'd see. The vertically-challenged interfering little so-and-so.

3

He
that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surety be put to
death.

— Exodus 21:17

Sydney hummed along with Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' Bout a Revolution" and grinned as Cheryl looked at her over her glasses. "I do get out sometimes, you know."

Cheryl raised her precisely defined eyebrows. "Yeah, boss. As if that song isn't ten years old. You want me to tell Gina to turn it down again?"

Sydney shook her head and glanced at her watch. "It's after seven. She's good enough to stay, so let her enjoy her music. Tell me we're on the last item."

"We are. Mark O Leary wants you to come to a private dinner, just twenty people or so. Next Wednesday at eight."

Sydney started to shake her head. "I've got... I suppose I can postpone the ALP dinner meeting. Or they can go ahead without me. Confirm that I'll be there."

Cheryl made a note, then looked at her over her glasses again. "Is Mark O'Leary cultivating you?"

Sydney was annoyed for a moment, then reminded herself that at least six other attorneys had tried to hire Cheryl away from her in the last year alone. "Let's just say I'm willing to be cultivated, but not plowed."

Cheryl snickered in her prim way. "Have you made up your mind? Are you really going to run? I've never been a senator's assistant."

"I haven't been given the go-ahead to run for it—"

"As if you've ever waited to be asked for anything," Cheryl said, a fond smile etching deep lines in her olive-toned skin. She smoothed her meticulously knotted scarf.

"Well, Mark O'Leary isn't opposed to the idea, which means I can at least consider it."

"He's not a nice man," Cheryl said. Nice was a virtue to Cheryl.

Sydney thought that was an understatement. "I wouldn't wear a belt around him — it would only give him a better chance of hitting you below it."

"You sure you want to go to his dinner?"

"I want him to leave me alone. I think he'll have to get to know me better to see that I really do mean it. So I'll go."

Cheryl flipped her notepad shut and neatly threaded her precisely sharpened number 2 Ticon-deroga through the wire spiral. Sydney tried not to smile. Cheryl's action signaled that as far as she was concerned, the day was over. In the morning she'd remove the pencil, resharpen it precisely, and open the pad to start the day.

"I would stay," Cheryl was saying, "but Mr. Fluffy has to have his bath tonight."

"You're the only person I know who bathes her cats. Lord knows Duchess could use one, but I wouldn't live to tell."

"She doesn't know who the human is and who the cat is," Cheryl said. Cats were a serious business to her.

"She knows full well who the cat is, she just refuses to acknowledge any change in cat status since Egypt."

"You spoil her," Cheryl said from the doorway. "See you in the morning."