AT LAST

A Novel

by

Aliyat Lecky

Copyright  2009 by Aliyat Lecky

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from publisher.

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are, either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the Unites States of America

First Edition

Cover Design by Dorothy Ronhovde

ISBN:  078-0-9767558-9-0

Dedication page

Braimah and Abiba, God given narratives in my story.

DK, thanks for being a sounding board throughout this process.

Marian, my binary, who I will always thank.

Joyce, my mother, thanks for it all.

PROLOGUE – VERNAL EQUINOX

Noami loved that time of year when everything was fresh and new, and the potential of life, which sails upon the crisp wind of spring, galvanizes the weary, left sluggish from a long winter’s hibernation.  Spring, she felt, presented the opportunity to begin anew, which was precisely what she needed after an uncomfortable break-up.  The concluding stage of the discordant relationship was exigent, rendering the previous remarkably harsh winter all the more bleak and severe.  That year’s spring in particular had been slow in coming.  The seasonal battle waged against winter had proven to be long and drawn out, as though the thaw would never take hold.  Nevertheless, as always, spring (against mighty winter) persevered, and came through splendidly green and plenteous.

Noami sat back comfortably in her chair, breathing in the fragrant air, perfectly content simply to be out in the day.  She looked again from the photo to the woman.  She did not really need to.  The act was mostly out of habit, a desire to capture her subject honestly.  It was not as though she did not know her almost intimately, at least on a superficial level, having never met or spoken to the woman.  That was not uncommon.  She always connected with her clients; after all, it was difficult to follow someone around, sketching bits of their life on the pad she was never without, and not learn something about them.  It was her way of discovering enough to capture their personality in her art, but she never really came to know the people she followed around town.  Yet this job was atypical, unlike any others.  Her new subject had affected her differently.  She elicited a desire to create beauty more than any other had before.  Noami felt invested somehow.  For instance, the woman was seated with her back to Noami, yet she knew precisely the expression her face held, almost to the point of knowing what she was thinking as she pondered over her morning coffee.  That job was different, because somehow, without crossing the line of professionalism, Noami was more involved with her subject.

Noami rubbed chalk grit from the heel of her hand, watching the woman’s friend’s arrival.  She was certain the friend was always aware of her presence.  In fact, there were times when she seemed to search for Noami, as if she expected to find her there.  That was often the case when the family enlisted the help of someone close to the subject to assure accessibility and cooperation.

Now, as the friend approached, she checked all about her until her eyes fell upon Noami sitting a little over twenty feet away.  She smiled.  Noami was sure of the smile, just barely perceptible, accompanied by the slightest nod of the head.  Then she said something to the woman, and they switched seats, so that the new arrival sat where her friend had been sitting, and the woman sat facing Noami.  Was the friend assisting Noami?  Of course she was.  Noami blew her hands clean, hoping to avoid black prints on her favorite jeans.  She sighed, pushing the charcoal dust off her pant legs.  Chalk on the pants was simply inevitable.

She glanced again at her subject.  After following her for weeks, she would miss her; taking in the way she carried herself, as though she was always aware of her audience; the slightest gesture, her various expressions; restless behavior and quirky habits—such as the way she bit the lip of her cup when she appeared to be concentrating on a thought or idea that seemed to be just out of reach, or the way she pulled hard on handfuls of the hair at the nape of her neck when she seemed to stumble upon what clearly seemed to be an exceptionally good idea.  Noami enjoyed this gesture immensely.  There was a sexual power that hid beneath the unconscious body language.

In fact, Noami had been able to mine quite a lot about the woman during the time she shadowed her.  After all, she had been following her for weeks.  She had come to really like her.  Noami was unaware of the world carrying on about her as she clicked off in her head what she learned, allowing the data to inform her strokes as she listened to the chalk scratch across the soft paper, the black lines creating life on the page.  She writes for a living; or at least, writing is a great hobby.  She seems to paint, often frequenting a local supply store.  She loves art of all kinds, often visiting galleries with her friend or daughter.  She loves to take in the sights of downtown Minneapolis, and is never without her camera.  She abhors cigarette smoke to the point where she does not allow anyone to smoke in her presence.  She has many friends.  She’s full of life.  She’s approaching the winter of her life—and is sexy as hell.

Noami had to remind herself a few times that the lady before her was the wife of just another patron, just another job, just another bank deposit, just another portrait that needed to be completed on time—despite the sly smile and suggestive eyes that peered up at her from her very own sketches.  Did she capture the mischievous expression, or was the look of her own design?

Noami looked again to face her subject.  For the first time in a long time, Noami felt disappointed that, save her name, she in truth knew very little about Helen Dahl.

ONE

Every now and again, life settles itself on the unaware so stealthily, that before we realize what has happened, life has plotted a path that we look back on with great interest, but do not necessarily recognize.  There, in that moment when we find ourselves at a crossroads where recognition fails us, we begin to wonder where life has gone.  We discover that if we choose to, we have the option to shake the dust of time and habit out of our heavily hooded eyes, and see for ourselves what has truly transpired.  We may see a life elapsed dully by the passage of time and our own inaction, and are forced to take stock of the personal sacrifice, which life has forced upon us.  Then, even after our reflection is done, we are ready again to acquiesce and follow once more.  Life is there with us, standing sharply to the right, anxious to carry on as if we were the lesser participant in this fraudulent partnership.

Helen found that as she gazed below from what felt like a double-paned prison, she had arrived at such a crossroads.  She looked down at the terrain sliding away below, and wondered if there was any place on earth where no man had been before.  If so, she would like to be there now, away from family, commitment, from life, from junctions and defining moments.  This mood was not so sudden as to take her by surprise.  She had been feeling uneasy for a while.  She felt haunted by something unidentifiable, an idea that lingered just out of reach—perhaps a phantom, which she could not turn to face, yet was sure she bargained for with life at some point to acquire.

Mistakenly, others believed she had the perfect life.  She knew better.  They witnessed only what she allowed them to view—the perfect American family that lived in their perfect American home located in the heart of the heartland in Hidden Oaks, Minnesota.  They saw only beauty.  They observed only her literary success, and the lifestyle that success afforded her.  They noticed the style and grace by which she seemed to approach life as a local superstar gaining national notoriety of the highest caliber, one who was literate.  As these observers of her life—these people, these fans, these theys—superficially scrutinized the beauty of her life further, they also took special note of her generosity and philanthropy to the community, even though often in anonymity.  They adored her.  And had she not even allowed the public to meet her very own children, Sydney and David?  Her husband, of course, they all knew well, even before they knew Helen.  However, she allowed them only so much entry into her life.

The lightness, she shared—an example of a little slice of Minnesota heaven for all to enjoy, even emulate.  The rest, she kept to herself—a lesson she had learned very early in her youth.  Other lessons taken from her youth defined for her the good life, and dictated that it was to be sought after at all cost and projected outward—even at risk of finding herself after decades of living at a crossroads, looking back on a life that seemed nothing like she envisaged for herself.  Such lessons, she had to admit to herself, she had no hope of recalling—half-hidden truths guarded by foggy ambiguity guided her decades later.

She turned again to inspect the land thousands of feet below.  Yes, the rest she would keep to herself.  She had been so successful thus far keeping private matters private.  What others did not know—not even her family—was that as lives go, hers was far from perfect.  Helen was skilled at making her life reflect just what she wanted.  She was, after all, a writer of fiction—romantic fiction, the best type for those wanting to create romantic allusion.  What others did not perceive was that Helen Dahl’s perfect life did not come without great sacrifice.

Helen repositioned uncomfortably in her generous seat.  She hated to fly.  The confinement of a plane always made her feel restless.  There was never enough on the flight to distract her from the musings she wished to avoid, not even her writing.  Her work would not save her from feelings that had been plaguing her for months.  She felt overcome by a growing sensation of being trapped.  She looked around at the other passengers who were shut in with her, held in the air by tons of metal and innovation.  She smiled, despite herself.  She could not help but think of the plane as a metaphor.  She would use it later in her novel writing, though maybe she would morph the plane into a private jet.  That was more sensational—romantic, even.  Her new heroine would be whisked away on a leer jet to a tropical paradise, yet would be resistant to her love because she felt trapped.  No.  Too contrived.

Helen deleted the last paragraph she had written, and closed her laptop for the umpteenth time.  She pushed the call button.  The flight attendant was at her side in seconds.  Helen did love first class.

“How may I help you?”

“Yes, a drink please.  A Mojito.”  She was feeling a little south of the border.

When the flight attendant returned with the drink, Helen inquired as to the arrival time.  A full hour before landing was just enough time to take a look at her latest work in progress.  She settled in her seat, computer reopened, Mojito at the ready.

She began typing once again.  “Charlotte wondered if she would ever be free of her sisters…”  She stared at the words, willing them to develop into a new chapter.  Concentration was at minimum.  There was no use.  Her head filled with thoughts of everything but Charlotte.  Most pressing was her deadline.  Charlotte’s escapades had to be ready in less than a month.  There seemed to be too much getting in the way of Charlotte being fully realized—the task lists, the family obligations, the meetings, and other commitments that had to be kept.  Then there was her looming, unavoidable birthday.  It was not that she minded aging.  Helen was of the mind that each year granted her more wisdom and security.  She felt great, looked great, and had never been healthier, and she dared anyone to suggest that she had lost any luster, even after nearly six decades of living.  What plagued her were the activities surrounding her birthday.  Those damn yearly celebrations.  Her preference was to spend a quiet dinner with her family and closest friend, Angie.

Richard had always insisted on a large party—a large gathering—to show off his wife, who at her age was still considered quite a trophy.  The wives of other men Richard’s age wished they were still as stunning as Helen was—even those wives who were actually their husband’s second or third wife.  In truth, Helen enjoyed knowing this.  She was a starter wife Richard could be proud of.  He was.  He trotted her out at every opportunity, including her own birthday celebrations—especially her birthdays.  They, in particular, emphasized what a prize he possessed; another year had passed.  So obvious.  It was as though Richard were saying, “Look at my wife.  She is smart, beautiful, talented, and has a set of tits a twenty-year-old would die for.”  Helen’s birthday parties were a local event where both his political connections and business partners alike could come to see how prosperous the “lucky bastard” had become.

Helen shifted irritably.  She had no outward reason to expect a house full of people hidden in her home, ready to spring out and yell, “Surprise!”  She had not really had any reason to expect a party all the years prior.  Each year, she informed her husband she did not want a party.  Nor had Richard ever indicated he was planning a bash.  Yet she knew when she stepped though the door that a hundred or more party guests would be there waiting.  She would then be whisked up to her room to change while the party raged below her.  Helen checked her reflection in her compact.  Make-up.  Check.

Throwing a party would be just the thing Richard would do, too—despite the constant requests to do otherwise.  She had reminded him several times before she left about her deadline.  He knew she was working on borrowed time.  Helen wondered if he listened to her anymore.  He certainly did not behave as though he listened.  As a consequence, she would have to spend days following the party away from her work in order to get her home back in order, not to mention the “thank you” cards she would have to write.  The lucky bastard, indeed.  He, of course, would go off to the office, thinking nothing of the inconveniences he caused.

He used to be so considerate.  That was one of the things Helen found so appealing about him.  He was not simply open-the-door-for-the-lady considerate.  Richard was naturally solicitous, as in a way of life considerate.  He made it his mission to make sure his family was cared for and content.  That was before his company transitioned from home to commercial construction and way before he won his current seat in the state legislature.  She could not say, however, that it was politics that had changed him.  He was working for a politician as an aide when he met Helen.  Money had not changed him, either.  He had grown up with old money.  Yet something in her marriage was different.  Somewhere along the way, a divergence in the way she regarded him transpired.

Helen twisted the band on her left hand absentmindedly.  All things considered, Richard was a good husband.  He did not cheat.  He allowed her to work and travel without ever complaining.  While she was away, he took over her part of the familial responsibility regarding the children and household.  At least he made sure all was taken care of properly, if not by his own hands.  He was a busy man, after all.  Richard never let Helen down—ever—at least not when it really mattered.  Most importantly, he loved her unconditionally.  She was sure of that.  He told her daily.  He called her more than once a day to tell her so.  He sent flowers and held her as long as she needed after making love.  He seemed to need and enjoy the closeness as much as she did.  He believed he was fortunate to have her.

Nonetheless, something continued to wedge between them.  Helen could not name it, but was sure of its presence.  She sipped the last of her Mojito before ordering another.  The drink was cool, crisp, and seemed to give her the audacity to explore further her marriage in a way that she had not before.  Helen could not escape the idea that her marriage was changing.  Perhaps an element of her marriage was indeed different—Richard, herself, their relationship.  She could not pinpoint what, but something was changing.

Helen considered her relationship with her husband in general terms.  As a matter of fact, little had changed in the past twenty-six years.  Her marriage was routine.  She liked routine.  Richard, then?  Richard had remained the constant through the years.  Before they were married, he was a charmer who doted on her.  After they married, he doted on his family.  That was perfectly acceptable, even admirable.  The only time he seemed at all less interested in Helen, was when they brought home their first child—a daughter, Sydney Rose.  That was reasonable, even enviable.

Helen twisted against a developing headache.  Before she had a chance to use the call button, her elbow was pushed from its resting place by the attention of a flight attendant next to her seat.

“Ma’am?  How can I make you more comfortable?”

Her initial response was a naughty one.  She elected, however, not to risk causing the woman any discomfort on her job.

“Something for a headache, please.”  Then after reading her nametag, added, “And, Carla, would you please bring me another pillow?”  The attendant retreated with a nod.  Helen watched as the flight attendant made her way down the aisle, her hips a pendulum balancing the sway of her hourglass figure.

She was always amused by how attentive the flight attendants were in first class, and plentiful.  Nearly one for every two or three passengers, not like in coach where they were lucky to get three attendants to serve roughly two hundred people.  The flight attendants in first class all seemed so good-looking, too.  She supposed they were just as pretty in coach, but there was something special about the flight attendants who served in the front of the plane.  When Carla returned with the aspirin, Helen sized her up.  She was fine as flight attendants go.  Carla was handsome and poised, not overtly sexy.  The red hair she worked as a prop enhanced her appeal.  Helen watched the woman in admiration as she attempted to make her more comfortable.  She smelled beautiful.  Helen was surprised that she was able to wear perfume, given that so many passengers were allergic or asthmatic.

Carla continued to check on patrons, tossing her red tresses as she made her way back to her station to retrieve a pillow.  Helen followed her progress with great interest.  She was beautifully built.  Helen could tell that, despite the unflattering uniform.  The one-button jacket cinched in at an optimum area of her waistline enhanced her upper torso.  Helen shocked herself by trying to guess Carla’s cup size.  A D cup, easily.  Her legs hosed in sheer nylons were stunningly long.  Helen leaned over her aisle armrest to examine more thoroughly their length.  She did have nice legs.

Suddenly surprised by her own musings, Helen sat up straight in her seat.  All women admired body parts of other women.  She was only thinking she wished she had those legs.  All women did that.  Unlike men, women were simply wired that way.  Women were able to look at aspects of another woman’s person, admiring a body that they themselves did not possess.  There was no cause for alarm, Helen told herself.  Probably every woman on the flight envied the flight attendant’s flawless figure.

“Women do that, don’t we?”

“Pardon me?”  Carla returned with the aspirin and pillow.

“Err, yes, thank you.”  Helen’s voice was a little above a whisper.  She propped the small pillow in place and settled back in the seat with her scattered thoughts of red tresses and theatrical props.

Those memories we recall without trying are often loosened, quite by surprise, from the sticky recesses where our unattended reminiscences hide.  The trigger that brings them back from the muddled past to present mind is often quite insignificant, and go unnoticed until we are shocked into attention by the forgotten remembrance.

Margaret, or “Maggie the Cat,” as she liked to be called, a name she claimed, taken from a beloved heroine of her favorite playwright, was the president of the Radcliffe Dramatic Society.  Helen felt immediately drawn to Maggie.  She was an artist so completely, opposite to what Helen was accustomed.  Helen’s mother, Helena, for whom she was named, a dancer, was elegant and carried herself with an air of lissome aloofness, which made her appear as if her life was a dance, her every moment part of an elaborate choreography.  Her father was an artist as well, a sculptor, whose talent and renown outshined any other contemporary, known also for his style and intellect.  Her parents were quiet, thoughtful artists.

Maggie, who likened herself to the southern female protagonist, envisioned herself as a tenacious, devouring femme fatal.  She was brash, vocal, and her every utterance was politically charged or pregnant with sexual innuendo.  Everything about her was intense.  From her overly labored walk, to her fiery red locks, her life spoke of drama.  Maggie was, foremost, a performer.  She invested all of herself in the slightest of gestures.  A conversation with her was a theatrical event, an intense argument, unbearable.  As a wide-eyed freshman, Helen loved her the moment she saw her standing at the dorm’s entrance, handing out leaflets for some silly performance to the school’s first years as they ambled shyly past to locate their new residences in the freshman dorms.  Maggie and Helen only exchanged a brief glance, yet the moment that passed between them was stirring.

Two months would pass before Helen would notice her again.  Helen was marching across the quad when she spotted Maggie standing by the library.  Her red mane contrasted violently with the drabness of the building’s dulled brick and ivy exterior.  She seemed oddly out of place standing there midday, surrounded by admirers, both men and women, making each feel as though they were in her favor.  Helen felt Maggie’s attention on her as she passed the group only seconds before she spoke to her.

“You.  Tell me your name.  You look like someone I know.”

Helen paused, unsure.  “Helen.  Helen Dahl.”

She was pleased to have an audience.  “Do you dance?”  Maggie trod out of the confines of her theatrical set, pushing aside any chance for Helen to escape.  “Are you a performer?”

Helen received Maggie’s hand on her shoulder without tensing.  She felt wholly intimidated.  Her eyes were stunning.  They were an intense sea green, and held on with a power pointed with promise.  One would believe anything Maggie said.  Maggie guided Helen down the path toward the library as she disbanded her entourage with a simple nod over her shoulder.

“No.  My mother is a dancer.  Father is an artist as well...”

“Helena Dahl?”

“Yes, I was named after her, but I don’t dance.”  Maggie’s recognition of her parent gave Helen a bit more confidence.  A little surer of herself, she added, “I write.”

Maggie became positively electric.  She stepped directly in front of Helen, blocking the path, placed her mouth close to Helen’s, and breathed deeply.  Helen did not know how to respond.  She was afraid Maggie was going to kiss her—just as afraid that she would not.  Instead, Maggie pulled her into a close embrace, and did the next best thing.

“Helen, I love you, can you feel it?”

Helen was not sure she understood what Maggie meant, but from that moment on, throughout Helen’s freshman year, despite the age difference—Maggie being in her senior year—she and Maggie were inseparable.  At Maggie’s urging, Helen joined the Dramatic Society.  While she held no desire to perform on the stage, she was always a major contributor to the backstage effort, committing hours to set design, make-up, and lighting, so that Maggie’s performances were flawless.  When Maggie was not on stage, the two could be spotted, often sans Maggie’s adoring clique, all over campus and in the surrounding town, Maggie emoting about almost everything to her little shadow, while Helen was always happy to be present in the dramatic beauty that was Maggie the Cat.

**

A bump of air turbulence jolted her out of the memory.  She had not thought of Maggie for such a long time; the feelings evoked by memories of her first year washed over her, an unrelenting storm.  Helen was not sure why she had been thinking of a life so many years past.  She had been thinking of Carla, the flight attendant, when Maggie’s charm swept through her thoughts like a spring storm.  Helen shook loose from the emotional thoughts the memory had brought out in her; she pushed away the idea of Maggie altogether.  Save being redheaded and having great legs, the attendant looked nothing like her.

Helen began to speculate about the direction of her thoughts.  She was not generally one prone to reminiscing.  Once she left, a stage of her life behind, that was it.  She did not dwell on her past, particularly when rummaging around in a time in her life proved pointless and painful.  Certainly, her first year in college yielded great fun, and was quite an adventure, in spite of the fact that the year ended with great regret for Helen, a disappointment she did not care to relive.  No, that time in her life, which featured Maggie, was long gone.  Yet she knew intuitively that there was raison d’être behind the feeling she was experiencing, something deeper she would later be forced to excavate as she mined though her own thoughts to discard the foggy mental state set upon her by reminiscences she would rather forget.

She had been thinking a great deal about her birthday—not in the sense that she was putting another year of life behind her; rather, she was thinking that this birthday ushered in a great deal of change, a new stage of life.  The greatest change, and the most difficult to accept, was the fact that David, her youngest, was in the process of moving out.  Helen and Richard would soon become empty nesters, though later in life than most.  She did not have David until she was in her early forties.  Even at her age, she was not looking forward to the day when both her children would be gone.

The day David announced he was moving out, Helen experienced a myriad of emotions.  She vacillated between feeling an absolute sense of remorse to an awareness of great accomplishments, and wanting to celebrate her new freedom.  David’s decision did not come without feelings of trepidation.  However, her reservations were less about David’s leave-taking, having more to do with what his absence would represent.  After all, she had been wife, mother, mentor, caregiver, writer for so long.  Each part was so intricately entwined, that she no longer felt she knew how to be the rest without all the parts of who she had become.  Moreover, the mother-share was the element of her, which seemed to seal the rest together so tightly.

David’s leave-taking affected Helen in ways she had yet to realize.  Without David to focus on, Helen would have to begin focusing on herself, and that frightened her.  She had already begun to sense that something was missing in her life.  There were too many sacrifices she would now have time to acknowledge.  Helen did not want to be one of those mothers who felt unfulfilled because her children moved away; the type who regretted her emancipation; the type who invented problems or issues to deal with because the luxury of meddling in the readily available lives of her children was no longer an option.  She did not want to think about this new stage of her life with a sense of dread or longing.  Yet the feeling was there, staring back at her from her own reflection in the double-paned window.

TWO

As Helen stepped out into the humid day, the sodden air outside beat back the air-conditioned environment of the terminal.  Before she had completely passed through the automatic doors, Helen felt the oppression of an unusually hot Minnesota spring day.  The thickly saturated atmosphere caused her to catch her breath before venturing further to the sidewalk.  The level of humidity was stifling; the heat, obnoxious, especially after three hours in the cool, controlled environment of the plane ride.  Helen turned her face to meet the cool air she felt flowing around her.  Despite the breeze, she found no comfort.  Any light wind moving around her was simply replacing thick air.  No cool breeze.  No relief.

She stood back on the curb to avoid getting wet as she watched the cars complete the cycle of the airport in the curtain of rain just beyond the overhang.  She removed her outer sweater while watching for her ride.  The rain fell in heavy bog-water drops, warm and smelly.  She would never get used to the swampy rain of Minnesota.  The precipitation in Seattle, where she spent most of her early youth, was light and refreshing, and the air, which carried the ever-present drizzle, cool and crisp.  In New England, where she spent most of her young adult years, the rain mirrored the lifestyle—weighted with history.  The rain in Massachusetts arrived in a heavy downpour, as if it could not be bothered with distributing itself equitably throughout the course of the day.  When the shower ended, it was over as suddenly as it began, and with the exception of wet pavement, left no indication of its presence.  The rain in Minnesota was just rain.  No romance.

The instant she saw Angie’s cream Mercedes come to a stop opposite her, Helen remembered that Richard had phoned her at the hotel the evening before to say he would not be able to pick her up from the airport.

“I’ve just got so much on my schedule.  You know meetings I have no way of getting out of.”  He paused.  He was never a good liar, though ever the politician.  She knew he was waiting for any opposition.  “Why don’t you call Sydney?”  Richard tried to voice the suggestion as a question.  He did not want to appear too obvious.  However, Helen knew by the certainty in his voice that it was a done deal.  He had already contacted Sydney and arranged for her to retrieve her mother from the airport.

“No, Rich, I’m sure she has her hands full with the girls.  Maybe I’ll just call Angie, or call for a car.”  She saw no reason not to play along with his game.  She knew full well the reason he was too busy.  She smiled at her husband through the receiver.  “You know, I’m actually a bit worn out by this trip.  I’d like to just get home and spend the evening in bed,” she teased.

“Anything wrong?”

Helen could just make out the panic in his voice.  “No.  Well, not really, dear.  I’m just a bit tired.  I think I may have let Marsha put too much in this trip.  Too many stops.  San Francisco was crazy, and today over… hell, I couldn’t tell you how many books I signed today.”  Richard was silent, but she could just hear his wheels turning.  “Besides, Richard, it would be nice to spend my birthday home alone with my favorite fellow.”

“Right.  Well, look, honey, get some rest, and we’ll make plans for the evening when you arrive.  Don’t worry about making any more calls tonight.  I’ll call Sydney for you.  Love you.”

“Right.  Love you.”  Helen waited exactly twenty minutes before calling Sydney to say she did not need a ride home.

Angie had not bothered to pull up to the curb.  She opted instead to straddle the two inside lanes.  Ignoring the honks and call from other drivers, she sprang from her seat to help with the luggage.  Her dressy attire was Helen’s first confirmation that she had assumed correctly about the surprise party that would be waiting for her when she arrived home.

“You pack way too much,” she teased with a quick kiss on Helen’s cheek.  “How was the trip?  Marsha’s called twice, just ecstatic about your numbers.”

Helen chose to ignore her best friend’s second-hand commentary.  She opted instead for her own agenda.  “Nice dress.”  She eyed Angie’s ensemble with feigned suspicion.  Angie was a real pill, and she loved her for it.

Angie laughed, throwing her head back, and her stick into second gear.  She was wearing a new designer.  Grey silk, low cut, nearly absent back.  She was pushing the back age-wise, but both knew she had the ass to pull it off.

“Thanks.  I was planning to wear my new Michal Thomas, beige satin, but as I had to pick you up, I didn’t want the creases, and you’re wearing muted beige…”  She smiled openly at Helen’s immediate reaction of her curiosity.

“Well?”

“Formal.  It’s absolutely stunning.  Richard has excellent taste.”

“More.”

Angie sighed at her friend’s unwillingness to be teased.  “Two piece, full-length skirt, tight around the hips and ass.  That was my idea, of course, but he liked it.  Charmeuse.  You’ll love it.  It’s divine.  Very sexy.  The top is Jersey with a loose charmeuse collar.  Richard wanted long sleeves and to add charmeuse cuffs, but I put the kibosh on that.  Three quarter length sleeves, no cuffs.  You may thank me later.  You don’t get to show any boobies tonight, though I know you like to show the girls off.”

Helen rolled her eyes.  “Sounds nice.  What else is new?”  Helen relaxed into the suppleness of the leather seat.  She closed her eyes, an effort to fend off a returning headache.  She really did wish Richard had asked just this once if she wanted to have a birthday party.  She was simply not up to it that evening.  “Damn.”

Angie looked over briefly between swerving left to pass yet another speeder.  “Helen?”

“Damn.”  Helen had meant the first to be nonverbal.  “Nothing.  I’m just not sure I’m in the party mood.  Slow down.”

“Can’t.”  Ignoring the other’s annoyance, she depressed the gas further, breaking the speed limit enough to assure arrest as well as a ticket.

“You know the highway patrol lives on this stretch of 35W.”

Angie shrugged away any concern.  “So, I’ve got a state senator’s wife in the car.  I’ll get off.”

“Yes, but they’ll pull you over before they discover me.  Besides, I am also an author…”

“Authoress.”

“Right…Won’t I get any points for that?”

“Depends.  How many units do you think your next title will move?”

“Good question.”  Helen nodded, thinking of her approaching deadline.  “Angie, slow down.”

“Can’t.  Orlando promised Richard I’d have you back by 7:30.  You arrive; 7:30 mingle, welcome for fifteen, then up to your room to dress.  Sydney will go up with to make sure you don’t take more than thirty, then back down to party.  Buffet.”  Angie teased.  “You didn’t ask.”  She looked again, across to her friend and mentor.  “Really, are you okay?”

“Yes.  No.  I don’t know.  I’m feeling a little off, I guess.  I’ve got a headache coming on, you know?”  Pause.  “Forget it.  Is Marsha there?”  She scooted down in her seat to avoid further examination.

“Yes, of course; has our agent ever missed a chance to network or get a free drink?”  Angie looked again at her friend.  “Helen?”

“Angie.  Drive.”

“It’s just a party.”  She thought for a moment.  “Richard has outdone himself again.”

“It’s just a party.”  The knot in Helen’s stomach slackened a little.  Richard had outdone himself again.  This news did not surprise her in the least.  Richard was a successful businessman and politician; if he could do nothing else, he could entertain.

Helen suddenly felt relieved that her husband was too involved to pick her up from the airport.  She did not want face him just yet.  There was something she needed to talk to him about.  She was not sure what that something was, but she felt some urgency about it.  The party would give her time to sort out whatever it was.

The two women sat in silence.  Helen knew that while Angie appeared to be concentrating on the road, she was actually thinking of a way to persuade Helen to explore further her “off” mood.  They almost never sat together in silence.  Even when there was nothing significant to say, one of them had something clever to say, especially Angie.  She was certainly an extravert.  She liked to talk.  Angie also liked to listen.

Helen looked adoringly at her best friend, ten years her junior.  Angie had always been a good and honest friend, and there for her.  When they had first met, Angie approached Helen as a fan of her writing.  She informed Helen that she, too, wanted to be a writer and get into the business.  Helen dismissed her in the beginning; Angie’s confidence misled her into thinking Angie was a little too much All About Eve.  Helen assumed she meant to enter into the romance game.  Angie quickly clarified that her aspiration was, in fact, to write, but an entirely different genre.  She had aspirations of being a successful writer of Urban Fiction.  Decades, and over a dozen volumes later, Angie was just that.

The sound of her own chuckle surprised Helen.

“Helen, what are you giggling at?”

“Do you know what birthday this is for me?”

“Yes,” Angie knew where this was going.  She hit one of Helen’s peeves.

“Giggle.  I do not giggle.  Teenagers and tender dryads giggle.”

“Romance writers.  So dramatic.”  She exaggerated a sigh.  “What are you chuckling at?  Or are you too old to chuckle, too?”

“I was just thinking—only you would come to pick a person up for a surprise birthday party, dressed for the party.”

Angie’s eyes rolled back to the stretch of wet road before her.

Helen peered into the darkening sky, absorbed in trying to recover an eluding thought; a vague impression left from long ago, triggered somehow by the distorted gray landscape streaking past the speeding car.  The rainy night elicited a sense of the familiar that Helen could not quite bring to the surface, the smell of the wet air outside the vehicle, or perhaps the disappointment of life taking over, which threatened to envelope her.  Helen focused on the windshield and the view it offered, at last remembering similar rain-blurred scenery through the window of another car on another rainy evening, a lifetime, and a continent away.  That was the season she learned to regret.

**

When she first arrived uninvited to Maggie’s wedding, the day was bright and clear, yet the clouds on the horizon seemed to be moving in quickly towards the extravagant gala.  The garden reception was set up under tents to accommodate the more than one hundred guests.  She arrived a little late with a group of the bride’s theater friends, so the absence of Helen’s name on the list went unnoticed.  None of them, after all, warranted admission to the wedding ceremony itself.  That privilege was given only to family and closest friends.  So, it was no surprise to the doorman, who was distracted by their outlandish appearance, when the odd group of young people showed up to gain entrance to the stylish affair, and their number did not match the number of names on the guest list.

Maggie was seated on the dais, her vibrant red curls trained straight beneath her ivory veil.  The handsome man she was seated next to, presumably her groom, was a complete stranger to Helen—a point she would have considered completely bizarre, given the amount of time she and Maggie spent together, had she not been concentrating on getting over the shock that the woman she considered her best friend and confidant had just pulled off a wedding of great grandeur, inviting half the “who’s who” of New England without giving her the vaguest clue.

Helen waited until all the toasts were over and the party seemed to be going at full tilt before making her presence known to Maggie.  The bride was standing with her groom, receiving compliments and well wishes from a group of straight-laced people who, judging by their appearance, Helen guessed could only be guests of the groom.  Maggie’s friends, even in their most conservative dress, out-colored and out-dressed all the others present, save the cardinal, who glowed red.

Maggie turned to Helen without any hint of surprise, ever the consummate actress, as though she fully expected her to suddenly appear before her, eyes wide with utter confusion without being asked to be present, completely resentful at being handled so coldly about the affair and being conspicuously left from the wedding party.  Before Helen could speak, Maggie excused herself from her adoring groom, and guided her speechless little friend away from prying eyes and ears.

As clouds heavy with the threat of rain darkened the skies outside the tent, Helen stood opposite Maggie, watching the weather change over Maggie’s lace-covered shoulders.  Helen stared outside the tent, focusing on the grey and cold—anything other than Maggie’s beautiful face.  Better, the falling rain.

“Helen, you have to go,” was all she said.  Maggie offered no reason, gave no explanation as to why, without any warning, both women would find themselves standing calmly together, face to face, in any year of our Lord, at the entrance of a bridal tent festooned with flower garlands, which matched perfectly the orange and cream roses of Maggie’s bridal bouquet.  Helen noticed that Maggie also appeared to be absent of any remorse as she turned away—most likely blessing whoever had suggested during the planning to use tents—back to her guests, leaving Helen standing alone just out of the rain, hating her, and wondering quite frankly how she had come to be standing alone on the edge of this pop-up scene from one of Maggie’s dramas.

By the time, Helen hailed a cab some two to three blocks away, she was drenched.  She shivered the entire cab ride home.  She rode back to the dorms, oblivious to any of the sights or sounds that continued to blur around the speeding cab.  She concentrated on the fall of the rain against the taxi’s dirt-smudged windows.  The drops distorted the real world about her, so that all existence outside the cab mirrored her own sense of reality.  No straight lines, no true color.  Only peach and cream distinction.

That ride took place many years ago when Helen was still a girl, so young.  Yet she had grown so much in a matter of hours that dreary afternoon.  On that cold day, decades ago, Helen abandoned fantasy and operatic musings, for determination.  As Helen discarded her wet clothes on the floor, she changed completely her value of life.  It was then that she discovered that life was not simply the discovery of how it is to be filled with beauty, as her parents had taught her.

**

Helen looked over at her beautiful, true friend, dressed just for her, then focused on the rain-soaked world about her.  She sat quietly watching the patterns of the warm rain fall against the immaculately detailed car etch its way easily down the cool clean glass, creating an art and wisdom she failed to recognize decades earlier, which reflected the neon of the city evening, and sent it back to its purpose.  No wonder stars were invisible from the city streets.  The stars themselves dim their own brilliance to watch the show of inorganic light.  Helen looked about her, past the rain, into the night.  If only she had the nerve to simply, ask Maggie his name.

“Happy birthday!”

Helen smiled graciously at her guests as she tried to locate Richard in the crowd, making her best effort not to allow annoyance to register on her face.  She spotted Richard where he stood on the left side of the open room by the staircase, his arms ready to receive his gleeful bride.  Wrong.  Instead of heading toward her husband, Helen surrendered herself into the tide of hugs and back pats from scores of people, many of whom she failed to recognize.  She allowed herself to be tossed about, as long as she was not carried towards Richard.  Finally, after greeting the majority of her guests, she was rescued suddenly from the sea of bodies on the opposite side of the area.  There, she was fished out by the strong grip of her son, David.  She landed next to him, warm and clammy, and quite out of sorts.

“Happy birthday, mother.”  David pulled her in for a full hug and kiss on her cheek.

“David.  Honey.”

“You looked like you could use a little help getting out of that.  Dad is over there.”  David pointed out the obvious.

“Yes.”  Helen pushed the hair out of her eyes before yelling over the increasing din of revelers.  “Where’s Sydney?  Are the girls here?”

“I don’t know where.  She’s here somewhere.  Dad’s trying to get your attention.”

“Oh?”  Helen chose to ignore her husband for the second time.

“Mom?”  David looked carefully at his mother.  “Did you…?  Did you know about tonight?  Dad told Syd and me that you were okay with a big bash.”

Helen’s face softened.  She had not meant to put her son off.  He was a worrier.

“Don’t worry so much.  I’m just fine.”  She placed a reassuring peck on his forehead.  “I just need to shower and change.  Look, enjoy.  Tell your father I’ll be back down when I’m dressed.  I’ll just be a minute.  Have you eaten?  Get something to eat.  When you see Sydney, tell her I’ll be right down.  There’s no need to come up.”

By the time she made her way back, Richard had given up his post by the stairs.  Helen waved, shook hands, and hugged faceless bodies on her way up to her room.  Just as she reached the foot of the stairs, she reached out and grabbed the back of Angie’s dress, impeding her progress in the opposite direction.

“Angie, you promised me you’d come up with me to get dressed.”

“I’m hungry, hell.  You’re a big girl.”

“Damn it, Angie.”

“No, Hells.”

“And bring a bottle of Champagne.”

“I’ll bring two.”

When Helen descended the stairs nearly thirty minutes later, still buzzing from the drinks she and Angie shared while she dressed, the foyer was vacant.  Before appearing at the top of the wide curved staircase, she listened for voices.  She had little desire to make a grand entrance in her eveningwear.  She felt a little obvious in her attire.  The dress itself was beautiful.  The top clinging, accentuating soft curves, fit snuggly to her svelte waist.  The skirt hugged her hips and bottom, enhancing her hourglass figure.  The neckline, a tease, just low enough to hint at an interesting little peek, was high enough to be respectable.  Still, Helen felt a little obvious.  Richard obviously knew her body, and the dress, clearly designed to show off every attractive womanly feature, was proof of it.

Helen followed the noise out into the backyard.  The white stretch of canvas caught her off guard.  She groaned.  A tented party.  That meant the likelihood of the guests being chased off by mosquitoes was pretty slim.  With a tent for shelter, they could be at it all night.

She stopped just outside the tent to get her bearings before entering.  “Not this one.  I am not going to be out here all night.”  They were defiant words spoken to no one in particular as she entered the celebration in search of a drink.  Before she had the chance to disappear into the crowd, she ran into what’s-her-name, a passing acquaintance she met once or twice at Richard’s office.  She knew she had seen the woman enough to know her, but could not remember her name.

“Helen.  Oh, you look lovely.  Happy birthday.”  The woman quickly scanned up and down, appraising the birthday girl.

“Thank you.  How nice to see you.”  Helen filled in where the name should have been with a quick embrace.  She did want to appear gracious, at least.

“You look lovely, dear.  I love your dress.  It is simply...”  She grabbed Helen’s hand for emphasis, like an old school chum, and continued to prattle on ad nauseam about Helen’s apparel.  For her part, Helen stood patiently, trying to remember the speaker’s name.  Sarah something.  No.  Martha, maybe that was it.  She continued to nod charmingly at her comments, hoping to get through the conversation without being found out.  “…and how was your flight?”

Helen hated this question.  The inquiry was gratuitous at best, like, “How are you doing?”  She never knew if people really wanted to know about the airplane ride, or if they just wanted to hear, “good,” or “just fine.”  Helen had a sneaking suspicion that what’s-her-name standing before her was more interested in being seen as more than a passing acquaintance of the guest of honor than she was in any flight.  Helen seized the opportunity as a deterrent for a potentially lengthy conversation.

“The flight wasn’t so bad.  Just under three hours.  But traffic was so horrible, I was sure I’d missed my flight.  By the time I arrived at the airport, checked my luggage, and made it to check-in, I was thoroughly exhausted.  The flight attendants were nice enough, of course, but the turbulence, awful.  We hit a storm about halfway, and I just could not get back to sleep…which of course means…Richard.  Honey, hello.”

Helen eased back into Richard’s embrace.  He had come up quietly from behind.  He held his wife tightly about the waist.  He smelled of musk and leather, as a man should.  Helen leaned into him.  His response, soft taps on her hip, a promise.  She turned her face to kiss Richard full on the mouth, purely for shock value, still holding onto the woman’s hands.  The woman released Helen’s hand immediately.  Helen was certain what’s-her-name was grateful to Richard for the rescue.

“Nancy.”  Richard never forgot a name.  “Are you getting to know Helen?”  His booming voice captured the attention of those immediately around them.  Helen’s hopes for sneaking in quietly faded quickly.  “You remember Nancy.  She works in the Lino Lakes office.”

Helen nodded.  Nancy.  That was her name.  “Yes, Nancy Dodd.  We’ve met a few times.  We were just catching up.”  She smiled sweetly across at Nancy, who seemed to appreciate the attention of the surrounding crowd, and had no intention of leaving the birthday girl’s side.  Helen’s annoyance at Richard’s party mood increased.  He was downright punch drunk.  He lifted his right hand, which, to Helen’s displeasure, held a microphone.  As if on cue, a server appeared at Helen’s left with two glasses of champagne.  Helen noticed at that moment that champagne was being served all around.  In the face of her own disposition, she smiled without any effort.  Richard was certainly a smooth operator.

“Everyone, can I have your attention?”  He waited a few moments for the noise to die down.  Once all eyes were on him, he began.  “I’d like to propose a toast to my lovely wife…”

Helen watched his eyes follow the line of her neck down the front of her blouse.  She smiled appreciatively.  She knew precisely how the evening would end for the two of them.  “Helen, my beautiful wife on her…Well, it’s none of your business which birthday it is.”  He paused, waiting for the laughter to quiet.  Richard was a showman.  He had great timing, having learned from so many years of giving speeches.  “I’d like to say to you, my love; you have stuck with me for twenty-six years.  And I can say they have been twenty-six of the best years a man like me can wish for.  Helen, I love you.  I adore you.  I am so lucky to have you in my life.  Sydney, our lovely daughter…”  Richard pointed off to the left.

Helen followed his drink as he spilled champagne onto his hand.  There, she spotted Sydney, their daughter, for the first time that evening, standing next to her husband Sidney.

“And David, our son…” he motioned across the room.  David was standing near the dais where the band waited to resume their music, next to Angie’s daughter, Cynthia.  He raised his flute towards his parents.

Helen squinted in the muted light.  Were David and Cynthia toasting with champagne?  Neither of the two was of drinking age.

“…we wish you the best, and many more.  We love you.”

Helen accepted the inevitable.  After drinking from his glass, Richard followed his birthday toast in his usual manner.  He turned her in his arms, presenting her, for all to see, with a passionate kiss.  The embrace began light and tentative, his hands appraising from her shoulders down her back, resting finally on her hips.  As he pulled her into him, any remaining annoyance gave way to longing.  She did love him.  She had always felt so good with him, never more than when he held her this way, his desire firm against her.  So strong.  So warm.  So hers alone.

His fervent kiss was passionate, and in spite of being in a room with so many others staring at the act, Helen understood that the kiss was for her alone.  Richard did love her.  He loved her in such a way that she was assured that, surrounded by over one hundred people, this was a private moment.

“You are beautiful tonight.”  His whispered words sealed the moment.

Helen did not get a chance to respond.  John Starks, a business associate of Richard’s, approached, extending his hand to Helen as a courtesy before speaking to Richard.  Helen thought for a moment that Richard might turn John away, but he did not.  Helen watched as Richard’s face changed from love to business.  He cocked his head away from her to the left, as he often did during transactions when they held his full attention.  Helen stood by silently while her husband negotiated with her birthday guest.  Richard’s confident expression assured Helen he would come out on top.  He had always ended up on top.  She gathered as much when first they met at a graduation celebration for the brother of a good friend.  It was his confidence that had attracted her, even in the beginning.  He had it.

* *

Richard claimed Helen as his future bride from across the room.  Because of whom her parents were, Helen was a bit of a local celebrity; however, the budding politician had no idea who she was.  He only knew she had taken little notice of him, unlike some of the other women present, who knew precisely who he was, and knew him to be a great catch.  Before introducing himself to her, he questioned the guest of honor about the attractive woman.  Richard’s friend, the graduate, having just completed his tenure at St. Thomas’s rigorous law school, was already soaked in a well-deserved celebration.  He merely held aloft his hand and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his sister.

“Ask Penny.  She brought her.”

To Richard’s satisfaction, Penny, who immediately saw the two as perfectly matched, even though she had hoped Helen might be interested in her brother, answered all his inquiries happily.

“Single.  Not currently in school… drifting, I suppose.  Parents?  Helena Dahl, the dancer.  Oh?  You don’t know who she is?  What do you people in Minnesota do to enjoy art expression?  Of course, you have heard of her father, Richard Dahl.  Yes, the sculptor.  Well, that’s a saving grace, I suppose.  Well, gee, I don’t know.  She lives here in Seattle with her parents.  Private school all her life.  College, yes.  She went to Radcliffe.  She writes a bit.  Her parents are lovely.  Odd, if you know what I mean?  They’re artists.  No, they’re fine.  Good people.  Ah, well there you have it; no, she’s not seeing anyone, seriously.  Well, it just wouldn’t be right if I gave you her number.”  And more of the same.

By the time he presented himself to Helen a little later, he had an arsenal of information about her—her likes, dislikes, family history, and other pertinent information he was able use to his advantage in order to secure a date with the cautious beauty before the evening’s end.

For her own part, Helen recognized very early qualities in Richard she admired greatly, which remained with him throughout their courtship, and into their marriage.  Often women find that later in life, they become disappointed in their husband, because they grow into different men as they age.  This was not the case with her husband.  Richard was just as focused and lovingly attentive after over twenty-five years of marriage as he was the evening they met at Jack Stark’s graduation party.

After they started dating seriously, Richard, seven years her senior, taught Helen about life in the real world.  He helped Helen to shake what was left of the fairytale life her parents—two artists—had created for her.  He pushed her to see that life was more than art and art references.  There was nothing wrong with the discovery of beauty, but there had to be more to life—purpose.

Richard helped Helen to find a sense of purpose, to redefine life on her own terms, away from her sheltering parents.  They had afforded her the best education in private schools, and taught her all she needed to know about the artful aspect, the color, and texture of life.  That was what was relevant to them.  They raised her in a way that left her a butterfly, with no real aspirations other than to flit from blossom to bloom, using her senses, and enjoying the scent and touch of each blossom with which she came into contact.  Her parents raised her to believe that life was a sensuous exploration, and should be enjoyed as such, without compromise.  Richard supported Helen in her search to find her own focus.  He encouraged her to think about life in a more realistic way, to consider her options so that she thought more about life further along down the road, to discover her own talents and invest in the future.  Through him, Helen realized that she was a young woman, floundering and wasting her talent and time, being a social princess of the Washington art community.  Purpose.

When Richard asked Helen to marry him, Helen did not have to consider the question.  Her father approved.  Her mother adored him.  What was left, but to say “yes”?  She considered that she was lucky to have him.  He promised her parents he would take good care of her.  No one doubted his word.  In addition to taking care of Helen, he shared with her his aspirations and values.  He kept her safe.  He took care of her needs.  He encouraged her dreams.  He paid the bills.  He flourished and worked tirelessly to keep her in a lifestyle to which her parents had provided.  He kept his promise.  He bestowed purpose upon her.  Richard was reliable.  Richard was constant.

* *

Angie found the birthday girl sitting in the dark garden, perched half-hidden in the moonlight, her back to the festivities.

“What are you doing out here?”

She turned in her seat.  “Just thinking about Jack.”

“Jack?”

“He introduced me to Richard.  Or at least his sister did.”

“You’re missing your party, and Richard is looking for you”

“Oh, I’ll be in, in a minute.  I needed some air.  It’s stuffy in there.  Crowded.”

“Yes.”  Angie sighed.  She searched the dark plum sky for stars.  Finding none to capture her attention, she ventured on.  “Everyone seems to be having a good time, but the party girl is out here in the dark cold.”  She shivered for emphasis.  “What’s out here?”

“Fresh air.  Quiet.”  She looked sideways at her companion.  “And I can think.”

“Think?  About…”

“I don’t know.”  Helen considered her own answer.  She had been sitting there in solitude for a while, long enough to know she had no idea what she was doing there alone.

“Maybe you should—” Angie began.

“Look,” Helen cut her off curtly, “I’m not in the mood to go back in.  I will when I feel like it.”

Angie pushed back further on the bench they shared.  “That is the second time you have been short with me tonight.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t mean it.”  Her remorse was real.  It was her turn to examine the night sky for any clue of anything.

“I know.”  The two sat in silence for a while before Angie continued, “Are you going to tell me what is going on, or not?”

“Where’s Orlando?”  She asked, trying to ignore the question she was unable to answer.

“Orlando?”

“Your husband.”

“I know who he is.  I even know where he is.”  She pointed over her back toward the tent.  “When I left, he was chasing Cyn and David around.”

Helen smiled, thinking about the two running from Orlando, trying to avoid having their drinks seized from their underage hands.

“But that has nothing to do with the question I asked.”

“What question?”

“Helen.”  She was not quite exasperated, but she wanted a straight answer.  She also wanted to get back to the party.

“What’s going on inside?”

“A party.  For you, but I’m sure you knew that.  Answer my question.”

“Angie, you didn’t answer mine.”

“That is an infantile evasion, Helen Dahl, and you know it.”  Angie had reached her limit.  However, a true friend, she continued.  She scooted closer on the bench so that their shoulders connected.  “Talk to me.”

In the dark, Helen’s tears glistened as they pooled in her lashes.  Helen wiped them away before they twinkled down her face as she stared into the starless sky.  Angie discarded all impatience and wrapped her arm around her closest friend.  She realized that this was more than the tantrum of a wife who was a little put off by her husband.

Helen looked around in the dark at her blossoming garden.  Even in the night, her garden was lush, a paradise.  Angie’s encouragement offered little comfort in relieving her feeling of guilt about not appreciating all the effort made on her behalf.  In fact, her support only made it worse.  She really did have everything—a devoted, successful husband, two beautiful children, a successful career, and friends, all of whom supported her.  Why would she have any reason to feel unhappy?  There were plenty of others who enjoyed only a fraction of what she did, yet they found happiness.  Did they not?  Was that it?  Helen considered her wandering thoughts for a moment.  She was not happy.

“Aren’t I happy?”  Helen raised the question with such conviction that the words escaped without her meaning them to.  She grabbed Angie’s hand to pull her closer.

They sat in a mutually beneficial silence.  Angie, who did not know what to say that might prove helpful, offered quiet support.  Helen remained silent, afraid to offer the truth.  To answer her own question would only begin a deluge of emotion connected to a complex reality with which she was not prepared to deal.  Yet what else was Helen supposed to do?  Whom else could she confide in, if not Angie?

“I just,” Helen began tentatively, unsure of the coming response, “I just feel like it’s all wrong.”  She met Angie’s shock with concern.  She knew Angie would include herself in the “all.”

“What?”  Angie turned and stared, not knowing what else to ask.  “What are you saying?”

“I feel…”  Here, Helen chose her words carefully.  The fact that she had been contemplating what she was about to divulge for weeks did not lessen the complexity of the realization, nor made it any easier to finally give voice to her truth.  “It, my life, feels wrong.  Lacking.”  She shrugged.  “Mostly inadequate; there is nothing that makes me feel good.  My life is incomplete, and I don’t know why.”  Helen exhaled deeply for what felt like the first time in a long while.  Ironically, an author, whose stock in trade was the words of emotions, could not find the words to express herself.  “It isn’t Richard.  I know it.”  The last comment she added, a response to Angie’s expression, “It’s me.  I realize that.”

“What are you talking about?”  Angie did not attempt to hide the incredulous expression or its reflection in the tone in her voice.  However, she received no answer.  The person she questioned was otherwise occupied with her past.  Helen hoped to find an answer there.

**

“Jack, Helen, my good friend.  Helen, my big brother, Jack Starks.”  Penny beamed as she introduced the two.  The expression was not lost on Helen, who had a feeling something was in the making when, on their way to the party, Penny talked nonstop, extolling the virtues and financial potential of her only brother.

“Nice to meet you, Helen.”  He took her hand politely, but Helen sensed that he could not be less interested.  His unresponsiveness to her had something to do with the buxom blonde standing in the corner that had her eyes on him and kept her chest pointed in his direction.

“Thanks.  Congratulations.  Law school, that’s hard work.  Penny’s told me so much about you.  She’s really proud of your accomplishments.”  The last words were spoken directly to Penny, as Helen noted Jack’s attention was quite elsewhere—specifically about ten yards behind her to the left.

“Yeah, I guess so.  Please excuse me.”  He scurried toward the corner without a second look at Helen or his sister, Penny.

“Jacky!”  Penny yelled at her brother’s back.  He did not even respond to the hated childhood nickname.  “Helen, I’m so sorry.  I’m mortified, really.”

“Hey, no problem, really.”  She glanced over her shoulder at the couple in the corner.  Jack was leaning in so close; he was in danger of falling.  “I don’t think I stood a chance against those.”  She cupped her hands a few inches in front of her chest.  Together, they broke into a fit of laughter.

“Come on, let’s get a drink.”  Part of the way to the bar, they found two empty seats.

“You stake out these seats, Helen, and I’ll get our drinks.  You’re usual?”

Penny took much longer than necessary.  When she finally reappeared, she was not alone.  Besides that, to Helen’s dismay, she returned without Helen’s drink.

“Helen, Richard Muir.  Richard, my closet friend, Helen Dahl.”  Penny smiled slyly at her good friend, ignoring completely the easily read expression on Helen’s face.  “Richard is a close friend of my brother’s.  He lives in Minnesota, where Jack just finished school.”

“It’s really nice of you to come all the way to Seattle to support your friend.”  This impressed Helen a little, but she was too annoyed with Penny, whose matchmaking tendency she had completely underestimated.  “Do you come here often?”  She winced.  What a cliché.  “I mean is this a rare visit to Washington?” she corrected.  That sounded much better.  Less like a pick-up line.

Richard grinned, catching the slip and quick cover.  “I get out here once every six weeks or so.  Oh, here’s your drink.”

“Thanks.”  Helen noticed for the first time he held a drink in each hand.

The evening ended much too soon.  Before she realized it, she and Richard were exchanging telephone numbers, standing on the porch of her parent’s home on Mercer Island.  He promised to stay in touch.  She promised to make herself available when he returned.  That evening, as she finally laid her head on her pillow, she had forgiven Penny completely for setting her up yet again.  She would also have to apologize when she saw Penny next.  She and Richard had walked away from the party shortly after the introduction, without a second thought to Penny.  Helen, the designated driver for herself, Penny, and a few other friends, had left the party without any thought as to how any of them would get home.  Still, if Penny was cross over her oversight, and that damaged their friendship, it was worth it.  She smiled so much during the following weeks, that her parents hummed love songs.

Richard returned much later than either wanted him to.  He arrived two full months after the party.  Except for a few hours each day devoted to business meetings, Richard spent the majority of his time in Washington with Helen.  They spent hours together getting to know each other better.  In the course of a year of visits, which became more frequent as the relationship progressed, he told her that she inspired him in ways he had not considered.  He shared with her his dreams as a man will only share with someone he plans to make his wife.  She allowed him entry into her very private world, populated only by herself, her parents, and a few friends.  She shared with him her own aspirations, which before she met him were vague at best.  He helped her shine light on indistinct shadows of her own life goals so that she was able to give shape to and voice clearly her desires and ambition.

Eight months into their courtship, Helen stunned her parents by informing them that she had decided to return to school to earn her Master’s Degree.  Much to her father’s chagrin, she was planning to attend the University of Minnesota, a half a continent away.  Her mother, who was not the most maternal of mothers, made no comment about the distance, but took great exception to her intended course of study.  “Creative Writing?  But what about your painting?  Don’t you want to paint, be a true artist?”

When Helen returned home to Washington for the holidays three years later with Richard in tow, her parents guessed that something was going on.  In the few years Helen had been with Richard, he had not once accompanied their daughter home since she decided to remain in Minnesota after she earned her graduate degree.  Her father assumed his absence was no doubt due to guilt at pulling a daughter so far from loving parents.  The truth was, he was quite busy fashioning a life for her of which her parents would approve.

The evening began well.  When the two arrived, Helen’s parents and Ben, her father’s personal assistant, all stood waiting near the door.  Richard waited until after dinner, while Helen and her mother cleared the table, before quietly requesting an audience with her father.  Helen did not think anything of the fact that Richard, Ben, and her dad went outside without them.  It was normal for her father and Ben to take leave and sit by the pool after dinner.  That Richard would join them was a natural course of action.  Helen did consider the men’s reaction a bit odd as they rejoined them for cocktails.  Richard, who was standing in the shadows of the garden, refused to look at her when she reached to kiss his cheek.  Her father looked oddly guilty, as if he had given away the better part of a precious story that did not belong to him.  Nevertheless, Helen was so happy to be at home with all of her favorite people; she chose to ignore the uncomfortable undercurrents.  Her mother, Helena, who entered from the house mere seconds after Helen, was so completely entranced by her own moonlit silhouette, that she missed it all.

Two weeks later, Richard proposed.  The question took her completely by surprise.  She had not imagined he was prepared to ask for her hand in marriage.  She had not actually considered marriage herself.  She had been satisfied with the way things were going.  However, when he asked her to share the rest of her life with him, her answer was an immediate “yes.”  She did not think to ask for more time to consider the proposal, as would have been the prudent thing to do.

**

Loud laughter pulled Helen out of her musings, back to the present.  The night she had been thinking about occurred over decades prior on a similarly starless evening, yet only now did she wonder why she did not think her life through before answering.

“I just don’t know.  It is not enough any longer.”  Helen spoke in response to the expectant look on Angie’s face.
“Helen,” Angie began cautiously, “have you considered that, as a romance writer, you give Richard a lot to live up to?”

“What do you mean?”  The idea intrigued her.

“Maybe your problem is you’ve created an unreal reality, standards that no one can meet.  You write romance, romance where the hero is perfect.  Life is not perfect.  Well, no one can meet your expectations if they have to compete with your imagination, not even Richard, and I bet he gets pretty damn close.  You know what I mean?”

“You’re saying you think my problem is that because of what I do, I make it impossible for my husband to make me happy?”

“Yeah, maybe he can’t compete.”

“No,” Helen shook her head slowly.  “Richard’s fine; it’s me, Angie.”

“Hmm, maybe you’re having a midlife crisis.”  She stood up and grinned.  “Be a ‘man’ about it.  Buy a car, or a boat.”  She pulled Helen to her feet.  “But don’t perseverate.”  She pulled her into an encouraging hug and kissed her friend’s cheek gently.  “In the meantime, you have a party going on, and I need a drink.  Let’s go back in for now.  We’ll figure you out later, huh?”

“You’re right.  You know, maybe it’s nothing.  Maybe I am more affected by this birthday than I thought.”  They began to stroll slowly back toward the pavilion.

“Well, get over it.  Shit, you look good, damn good.  You age like a black woman.  Hell, you look almost as good as I do.  Now, let’s get some champagne.  Or you can get Richard to give you your gift.”

“Any clues?”  Helen was feeling less and less like rejoining the festivities.

“Nope, no clues,” Angie teased, “but you are going to love it.”

“Have you seen said gift?”  Her curiosity was aroused enough to distract her; after all, Richard did give excellent presents.  His penchant for throwing a great party was overshadowed only by his knack for gift giving.

“No, I haven’t actually seen the final one.”

“‘Final one’?  That’s a clue.”

“Never mind, girl.  Let’s get a drink, find our husbands, and make them dance with us.  You’ll see.”

“Right, and let’s see if we can wind this puppy down early.  I don’t want to be at this all night.”

“Yes, then you can take your man to bed and thank him properly with a birthday surprise of your own—a little Helen on a silver platter.”  Angie added a wink in case the birthday girl missed the idea.

Both women laughed heartily, yet inwardly, Helen cringed at the suggestion.  More like a birthday obligation, she felt.  At some point in the evening, she had become quite turned off by the prospect of sex with her husband.  She was careful not to let Angie in on her private thoughts.  She wanted the party to end, but she was not ready to think about what would transpire after everyone left, and she was alone with Richard.

“Happy birthday, Love.”  Richard’s arms encircled Helen’s waist, steering her toward the dais, where an easel stood, shortly after she and Angie had reentered the tent.  “I hope you like it,” he whispered a kiss in her ear.  He waved the two package handlers over.  His ecstatic mood was contagious.  For the first time all evening, Helen found that she was excited.  She could tell by the size and shape, she was about to be gifted with art, specifically a painting.  Was it the Patricia Olson or the Gregory Euclide she hinted at the last time she and Richard spent the day visiting the new art studio on the Westside of Plymouth?  She glanced at the crowd facing her for some clue before the unveiling.  Angie stood front and center with a huge grin across her face.  Helen saw this is an optimistic sign.  She had no doubt Angie knew exactly what lay beneath the tarpaulin cover.

The two men placed the gift gently on the easel and stepped back into the crowd.  Helen looked from her husband to her best friend, to the covered birthday gift.  Richard and Angie made a silent, yet significant exchange before he spoke again, this time more to the party guests than the birthday girl.  He positioned himself so that the present stood between them.

“I really wanted this gift to express my love for you, and to express to you what an inspiration you are to me, Helen.  How better else than this?”  Without taking his eyes off Helen, he removed the tarpaulin with a very deliberate, one-handed, grand flourish.  “I love you.”

Helen was only slightly aware of the awestruck silence, which immediately surrounded her.  She was also oblivious to the shocked verbalizations and general ovation rising from the partygoers out of the silence.  The audible hum quickly grew to a chorus of appreciative murmurs.  The image on the canvas was stunning, a present-day portrait of Helen Dahl.  No one present was shocked by its beauty, except Helen.  She stared, incapable of looking elsewhere, at her own likeness.  She was moved, in fact overcome with an emotional response that, if given the choice, she would not like to share with anyone.

Richard’s gesture, meant to express his feelings for his wife, was enough to elicit a response from their guests that was quite unexpected.  The fantasy of several men present was brought to fruition; quite a few of them had many times imagined Helen in this way.  Some of the women could include themselves in this group.  The rest present simply thought that the painting was beautiful.  The artist’s rendering of the subject, breathtaking.  The likeness uncanny.  The painting left no doubt in any observer’s mind.  Helen Dahl was a sexual creature.

The painting captured in a private moment, apparently getting ready for some formal occasion.  She stood, leaning into a large mirror, examining her reflection, hand poised as if applying her makeup.  The tight, heavily embroidered corset gown she wore barely covered her sizable breasts, and was partially unzipped, as if waiting for help to close it completely, leaving her back exposed as well.  Though much of the final details were unfinished, the portrait was stunning—not only the subject, but also the quality of the work.  The artist, so clearly talented, had been able to capture not only the intimate details of her physical appearance, but her personality as well.

Richard and the rest of the group gathered before the painting did not see what Helen saw.  They reacted to the sexy image.  Helen responded to something much deeper.  The artist seemed to have reached into her soul, translated what she discovered, then exposed it all on canvas.  If Helen had not known before how much Richard loved her, then surely this gift was proof.  No one but Richard knew her this well.  No one but he could have provided such insight about Helen in order for the artist to reveal adequately so much of her innermost self, the very fabric of Helen, her psyche to the depths, which stared back from identical eyes.

She focused on the eyes, never forgetting for a moment that she was staring into her own likeness.  Helen was enthralled by what she saw in their depths.  She stepped further back to get a broader look.  Every brush stroke revealed private bits of her in ways that she herself would not dare to explore.  There, she stood suddenly stricken by her own reflection.  Her hand seemed to be halted in midair as if, while examining the effects of her makeup, she had caught a glimpse of something in her mirror image that was unfamiliar.  Her expression was one of uncertainty, as though she discovered something in herself that she was unwilling to face or disclose to even to herself.

Helen exhaled.  She felt uncomfortable being so exposed to so many.  Her first instinct was to cover the painting.  Her thoughts turned to Richard.  She wondered how he could have possibly conveyed so much of her inner self that the painter could take the information and portray her so accurately; her confidence and the fact that she likes what she sees in the mirror, yet perceives beneath the surface a glimpse of her own vulnerability, the doubts which recently crept into her life, unwanted.  The desire for more.

As Helen turned to thank Richard, the expression on his face disappointed immediately.  Or was it relief she felt?  Disappointment and relief are often not so dissimilar, after all.  When she looked at him, she realized that he too was surprised by what he saw, had no idea what to expect.  Clearly, he was seeing it for the first time, and could not have made a contribution to its creation, at least not in the way Helen had assumed.  Richard’s eyes raked across the canvas as he responded to the sexual aura of the painting.  Pride registered in his face, and desire.  He saw the figure, his wife as a sexual creature, little else.  He missed the rest.  Helen had Richard to thank for the gift, but not the insight into her core, her heart.  If not him, then who?

Helen shook the fog from her head and leaned forward to kiss her expectant husband.  “Thank you.  I love it, Richard.”  She found her place in his arms as the music began again.  He danced her to the middle of the tent as the band played.  “Really, it’s beautiful.”  The crowd parted as the couple made their way to the center of the dance floor.  Helen felt Richard’s pride grow as he spun her out on the dance floor.  When he pulled her in again, close, she felt his intentions for later when they would be alone.  She swayed absently into his arms as the band continued to play.  He held her tightly about her waist, sighing lover’s enchantments, and whispering forever love, eternal devotion.

The early morning breeze swept in through opened second-floor French doors.  The heavy morning air, already warming, an indication of the heat to follow midday, pushed against the dewy moisture which lay still on the ground, held low the cool air, which offered only early relief from the heat.  A slight chill raised a shudder though Helen’s back.  She lay asleep; unaware that she had missed the only cool air she would be afforded for the day.  Without fully waking, she turned in bed, reaching to pull the sheets to cover her naked shoulders.  Somewhere just beyond her sleepy awareness, sounds of dishes clinking and shuffling feet intruding upon her sleep threatened to shake her from her slumber.  Helen lay curled in the middle of the bed, only subconsciously aware of Richard’s activity out on their private balcony.  Each time he passed her, languid on the bed, he smiled down at her slowly waking form, remembering fondly their sexual exploits of the previous evening.  He longed to kiss her from her sleep, but did not until the surprise he planned was set.

Helen awoke from her dreamless slumber, shaken by motion beside her on the bed.  Richard was seated beside, her massaging her shoulders.

“Good morning, sweetness.”  He nestled his face with hers, rubbing his nose and lips across her cheek to her mouth.  “I made breakfast.  You want to get up?”  A gentle command, rather than a question.

“What time is it?”  She yawned, turning on the bed, her arms above her head, an act she regretted immediately when Richard stretched himself on top of her, an offer of a different kind.  His weight was oddly unbearable; his breath smelled of coffee drank hours before.  She had enough of what he wanted to give the night before.  Presently, she much preferred breakfast.  “Breakfast.  That sounds great.  I’m starving.”  She gave his mouth a courtesy peck before easing him off and bounding out of bed to grab her robe before heading out to the private balcony.

Breakfast looked delicious.  He had outdone himself.  At least the cook had outdone herself.  Helen settled into her seat with great enthusiasm.  It was then that she remembered she had not eaten since before lunch the day before.  She had not partaken of any of the celebration feast, not even cake.  Add to that an all-night session of lovemaking with Richard, and it was no wonder she was ravenous.

They ate in companionable silence.  Helen was grateful, appreciating the time to gather her thoughts about her.  She felt gratified that Richard seemed to be absorbed in his own thoughts.  He sensed that something was wrong with his wife.  She seemed out of sorts.  She had arrived from her trip, but had not really come home to him properly.  She spent very little time in his company at the party, preferring to spend time with the guests.  When finally the last guest said their goodbyes, she avoided him for as long as she could before he found her in the study, staring at the painting, still in her gown, although she denied she was doing so when he questioned her about it.  Furthermore, even though she accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her to their bed, and later climaxed beneath him, she was not fully present.  There was something between them.  He felt it, and he was certain she did as well.  Something was wrong, and he intended to find out what that something was.

“Did you like the present?  You haven’t said much about it.”  He decided to begin the conversation on an agreeable topic.

“It’s beautiful.  I told you that.  Whose work?”  She nodded over her shoulder, indicating to the painting that was safely stored down in the study.  “When did you have it done?”  She spread orange marmalade on her toast.

“Noami Collins.”  He smiled at her enthusiasm.  He did love her, this woman.  “She’s a local artist.  She finished all she could without any final comments from us.  If we like her work as is,” he noted Helen’s nod of approval before continuing, “she has a bit to do in the background detail, and some other touch-ups; then, of course, to seal and frame it.  If you don’t like something about it, she’ll fix it.  Either way, she’ll want you to sit for her.  It’s up to you.”  Richard took her hand gently into his.  “Listen.  I’d like to say…to ask if everything is okay?  I get the impression that you are a little preoccupied.”  The silence reassured him of nothing.  “A little, anyway,” he added, regretting his go-to-it tactics.

“Richard, I’m just a bit tired.  Moreover, I am frustrated with the book.  It is not where I want it to be.  You know how I am.  I’m not happy with it.”
Relief registered clearly on his face.  He accepted her answer easily.  He did not want details.  What he really wanted was reassurance, as empty as that was.  He had always taken what she told him at face value.  He never once considered that digging a little might be of benefit when Helen got into one of her “moods.”  She said she was fine.  He saw no reason to believe otherwise.  It was far easier to think all she needed was a little alone time and an obscenely expensive bouquet of flowers.  He would see that Rachel, his secretary, saw to the latter before the day’s end.

The sound of the front door closing signaled Richard’s departure, at last.  Helen had been pretending to work on her novel while Richard cleared the remainders of breakfast from the terrace.  He had insisted on spending a leisurely morning at home with Helen, despite her appeal for him to do otherwise.  She wanted to be alone with her contemplation.  Instead, Richard gave her little time to think.  Except for the time, he spent in the shower and dressing, he remained in her presence the entire morning.  Helen stood in the shower, her hot forehead rested against the cool tile.  Guilt weighed on her heavily.  She felt as though great amounts of water from the shower jets pooled and collected on her neck and back, settling like a heavy yoke.  Only small traces of the water escaped around her waist, falling about the curve of her hips, spiraling down the length of her legs.  Very little water emptied into the drain between her feet.  Mostly, it lay on her shoulders, the guilt.

Helen was unhappy with her life, and was beginning to realize that she must hold herself accountable for her own discontent.  She felt culpable for what she had done, what she was doing to Richard.  She felt guilty for being a loving, devoted wife.  She felt guilty for being the best mother she could be to the two beautiful children they shared.  Most of all, she felt guilty for not knowing why she felt as she did, for wanting something else; for feeling remorseful about a good life, her life.  She felt shame for not recognizing really, what she was feeling.  She felt guilt for her guilt.  Helen was aware also that the self-reproach she was experiencing had to do with her own insufficiencies as a wife or mother.  Precisely what those inadequacies were, she could not say.  Yet she felt them.

Later, Helen stood staring down into her car, her attention completely on the covered portrait.  The painting was the physical representation of their relationship.  What was it that he had said the evening before?  “I want this gift to express my love for you.”  She bit her lip as she stored his love gently in the back of her car.  Richard had invested years and faith in her.  He had supported her in every endeavor.  He did not deserve to have her feel this way about him, about them.  He did not deserve to have her feel as if she did not love him.  Helen reached back to uncover the painting and stared into her own perplexed eyes, so full of verity and uncertainty.

In that instant, Helen began to see things clearly.  She covered her portrait, unable to face herself any longer.  She did love Richard.  Her feelings for him had not changed in over twenty-five years.  The crucial question had stared back at her from eyes on painted canvas.  How did she love him?  How, indeed, had she loved him all those years?  Until recently, had she considered that there was any other way of loving?  She loved that he opened doors for her, that she was treated with the respect of a well-known, well-liked state senator’s wife, that he had given her entry to a life she loved.  He gave her two beautiful children that she loved, of course, but had she loved him assiduously?  Helen tried to imagine the pain of being left by Richard, the anguish she might suffer if he was no longer in her life.  How would she feel if he did not love her?  Would that be the worst for her?

The memory of a cab ride home all alone after Maggie’s betrayal surfaced once more.  She imagined that there could be no greater pain than she suffered that rainy night, and the seasonless months that followed.  That was heartbreak.  She would not feel heartbreak if Richard no longer loved her.

Helen collapsed into her driver’s seat.  Richard’s last words before leaving had been, “When you see Sydney and the girls, give them a hug for me.  Oh, and don’t forget to meet with Noami Collins; she’s expecting you.  All the information is on her card.”  He was almost out the door when he came back, lifted the hair to expose her neck, and kissed her sweetly there.  She loved when he did that.  Then he added, “I love you.”  He meant it.  She responded the same.  “I love you.”  She meant it.  She touched the back of her neck gently, and smiled at his tenderness.

THREE

“Hello.  You have reached Noami’s Art Studio.  I am unable to take your call.  Please leave a message, and I will return your call as soon as it is feasible.”

Damn.  “Yes, hello.  This is Helen Dahl.  You were recently engaged to complete a portrait for me.  I am calling to confirm an appointment…”

“Yes, Ms. Dahl,” Noami answered the phone, cutting her caller short.  “I apologize for not picking up immediately.  I was working.  I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

“Great.  Mr. Muir, my husband, informed me that our appointment is at three today, correct?”  She was surprised by the youthful voice at the other end of the conversation.

“Right, but we are not meeting initially at the studio.  Did he give you a second address?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you don’t mind.  I prefer to meet with clients at a coffee house called Sappho’s Repose.”

“I have the address, on Hennepin, downtown Minneapolis; is that correct?”

“Yes, it’s across and a little down the way from the State Theater.”

“No problem.  I’ll see you then.  Thanks.”

“Thank you, Ms. Dahl.  See you at three.”
“  Goodbye, then.”  Helen checked her watch.  She was running a little late for her lunch date with Sydney.  With any hope, she would bring Erica and Sammy.  That would be nice.  She had not seen her granddaughters in weeks.

Palomino’s was always busy for lunch.  Helen automatically held her breath as she squeezed past seated diners on the crowded floor, while keeping her eyes on the back of the hostess.  She waved at a few acquaintances, already enjoying their meals.  The paella Sarah Abbott was being served looked delicious.  She had planned to order the Chop Chop Salad, but changed her mind.  She would much prefer the highly seasoned, yellow saffron rice and seafood concoction.  It looked as fattening as it smelled delicious—a point she hoped someone might make to Sarah, given her quickly spreading bottom.  Maybe just a half order, then.  Helen did, after all, have a fairly large breakfast.

“Hello.  My name is Randy.  I’ll be your server today.  Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Yes.  I’ll have a diet Pepsi with lime,” she answered after checking her watch for permission to add a shot of rum.  Too early.  As Sydney was on her way, possibly with the girls—and it only being just past noon—she merely added, “…with lots of ice.  Thanks.”

Palomino’s was abuzz with excitement.  Most customers chatted vivaciously with friends at their tables, demonstrating the ease of privilege, enjoying the clamor of an up-to-the-minute city eatery.  To some, the modish restaurant was a place to be seen by the trendy chic, and those who aspired to appear so.  To most, though, the refectory was a place to get a good meal and a potent drink.  The latter were barely tolerant of the former, whose loud conversations and overuse of their cell phones was a clear indicator to which group they belonged.

Helen was a member of neither classification.  She was of a select group, one that did not care to think about status so shallowly as to believe that being seen in a certain restaurant was a measure of class, or to admonish or reject others for thinking so.  No, to Helen, Palomino’s was simply the halfway point between her house and Sydney’s, consequently making the restaurant a good meeting place.  Therefore, when the group of women approached her table, one of whom carried her latest book to ask for autographs, her reaction was earnest delight.  Fans were never really any bother to Helen.  She enjoyed their comments for the most part, and never begrudged them her signature.  Although she did get a little uncomfortable when they approached her while, she was in a public restroom.  Those interactions were always a trifle too intrusive.

After they left the table, Helen checked her watch once again.  Sydney was late.  Sydney was always late, or she often canceled altogether.  She sat quietly sipping her drink, staring vaguely into the constant commotion of the room, her eyes lighting to this group or that couple, never really focusing on anyone until she caught a glimpse of two women sitting on the opposite side, fifty feet away.  She could not hear them, but they were obviously sharing a heated conversation.  Their exchange, punctuated by meaningful grasps of the other’s hand, a caution when they thought they might be overheard, while very animated, was silent to all those around them.  The women, while careful to make sure no one could hear their conversation, did not realize they were being observed from across the room.  Helen watched them in this way for nearly five full minutes before the one of them felt the intensity of her gaze and looked in her direction.  Startled by being caught in the act of spying, Helen turned once again to her Pepsi.  She was suddenly overcome by the same uneasiness of her plane ride and her conversation with Angie the evening before.

It is just not enough.

She called the server over and ordered another diet Pepsi.  “Add two shots of rum, please, Bacardi.”

Three quarters of an hour and two diet Pepsis with rum later, Helen gave up on seeing her granddaughters.  “Too bad, too,” she thought aloud, “I was looking forward to visiting with the girls.”  She settled instead for a warm plate and a cool beverage.

“Sydney, where in heavens are you?”  Helen snapped at her daughter after snatching open her cell.  “I’ve been sitting here waiting for over an hour,” Helen complained, sipping her Bacardi Apple laden drink.

“Mom, sorry.  I thought I was going to make it.  Sidney asked me to run a few errands for him this morning…Sammy, sit back.  You two need to sit tight just a little while longer…Mother needs to check in with Grammy.”

Helen could hear both daughters whining in the background.  “Clearly they’re hungry, Syd.  Bring them up.  I’ve just started lunch.”

“Can’t, mother.  Don’t call me Syd.  Besides, I’m on the other side of the cities, west.”  She sounded annoyed by the suggestion.  “Just go on and enjoy your lunch.  I’m sorry.  I did try.”

Helen was in no mental condition to acknowledge or address the obvious tension her daughter was projecting.  “Let’s meet anyway.  I’ll take the girls off your hands, and you can finish your errands.  What is it that he has you doing?”  She asked, attempting to hide her own irritation.  Being stood up by her daughter because her husband had assigned her a task at the last minute, knowing she had planned to meet her, was becoming a recurring provocation that she would prefer to live without.

“Thanks, but by the time…Hold on…Sammy!  Erica, give that back this instant.  I do not want to have to pull over.  If I pull over, Daddy is going to hear about it.”

Helen pulled the phone from her ear to lessen the effects of her daughter’s screeching.  “Sydney.”  Helen attempted to refocus her daughter’s energy.

“Mom, I’ll call you later for a rain check, okay?”  With that, she was gone.

“Poor Sydney,” she thought.  “She’ll never learn.  I suppose it’s entirely my fault.”

Because of the way she herself was brought up, Helen had always had a very clear idea of what the good life would entail—precisely the opposite of the way of life her parents modeled.  Her parents, though quite indulgent, offered very little structure and support in the way of parental guidance.  They, being the self-indulgent artists that they were, preferred a life free of obstructive baggage that threatened to stifle their creativity; this included most aspects of governing a child.  They preferred to think of Helen as more of a prodigy to be cultivated, than progeny to be nurtured, as a child needs to be reared.  They thought it best to limit their influence on their offspring, and take a more hands-off approach in order to allow her to develop organically.

They also seemed to take a similar approach to their marriage as well.  Other than support one another’s work as artists, Helen had to think long and hard to remember a time when she witnessed her parents behaving as a committed married couple.  The only time she could remember them behaving in a loving way to each other was when they had an audience around.  In fact, as far back as Helen could recall they slept in separate rooms, vacationed independently— very often without her—,and spent more private time with their personal assistants than with their spouses.  She would not have believed they were indeed married if they were not her own parents, and she had not spent hours staring at their elegant wedding photographs.  It was not as though they hated each other.  Quite the contrary, her father doted on her mother.  He spoiled her, giving her everything she asked for.  Helena, her mother, for whom she was named, in turn fulfilled his every request without ever complaining.  Which, to say the least, was quite a feat, because as Helen matured into an adolescent, she realized that her father asked her mother to carry out some very peculiar requests.

Helen did not consider their behavior odd in the least.  As a child, she assumed all parents behaved the way hers did.  As she matured, she simply attributed the way they interacted as quirky genius artists’ behavior.  For Helena and Jack Dahl were certainly, as long as they had been Helen’s parents, self-absorbed, self-indulgent, preferring to focus most on their art, Helena on her dancing, and Jack Dahl, on his sculpting, rather than their lone daughter.

For that reason, Helen formulated for herself an idea of what would make the picture perfect family, a thing greatly longed for in her youth, and she planned to get it for herself.  She wanted a loving, attentive husband—enter Richard.  She wanted to have perfect children, a boy, and then a girl—enter Sydney and David, though rather in the wrong order.  Sydney, her darling Sydney, came first.

Sydney Rose, named after both her father’s grandmothers, was Richard’s precious flower from the moment he saw her in the hospital.  This had come as no surprise to Helen.  She, herself, was her father’s joy.  He had done very little to guide her, but created works of art in her name.

Helen and Richard’s first born was never any trouble.  From infancy, Sydney had been the easiest child to care for.  As a toddler, she walked early.  Her first words, to which both her parents crowed with delight, were right on time.  She enjoyed school, earned excellent grades, and was invited to spend time in the homes of all their closest friends.  Sydney was a great kid growing up—even through adolescence.  On her mother-in-law’s advice, Helen braced herself for Sydney’s fractious teen years, but they never came.  She and Sydney only became closer during this time.  While many of their friends complained about their teens and the turmoil they were causing, Helen and Richard took comfort in the fact that Sydney brought them no trials.

As the years progressed, they became closer still, which surprised other mothers and daughters in their circle of friends.  The proof of their bond was to come as quite a surprise, principally to Helen.  On the eve of her wedding, Sydney left her group of friends collected in her bedroom for a final girl’s sleepover, electing to spend most of the evening alone with her mother in their study.

When Sydney gave birth to her own daughters, her mother-in-law insisted on being in the room with her.  A request was made from her husband, to whom Sydney conceded after months of negotiations.  However, when the time came, to Helen’s delight, Sydney called for her mother until she was rushed into the room to be by her daughter’s bedside.  Helen enjoyed the births of both her granddaughters.

Yet as of late, Helen was concerned about her daughter’s happiness, thinking Sydney was perhaps a little too sheltered.  Her daughter’s world seemed a little too perfectly crafted and neatly defined, even by Helen’s standards.  She had given her husband two beautiful daughters one right after the other with little time in between the two births.  At times, her husband was quite demanding of her time.  However, Sydney insisted she wanted nothing more out of life except to care for her daughters, Erica and Samantha, and her husband, Sidney.

“Who marries another person with the same name?”  Helen thought aloud.  Her daughter had been so pleased when she met him.  She loved the idea of seeing someone with the same name.  Everyone else thought it was a bit odd, or at least too cute.

Helen’s annoyance with her daughter grew by the moment as she sat alone in the restaurant, contemplating the edification she bestowed upon her daughter.  She was not sure why she had become a little uncomfortable—in fact, impatient—with her.  Perhaps because Helen understood on some level what most are loathed to admit.  Sometimes in looking critically at the lives of loved ones, we are compelled indeed to hold up a mirror, which reflects an image we do not care to see.  In fact, Helen knew, as she adjusted in her seat, that her daughter’s sacrifices were quite like her own.

Helen wondered darkly how much she was to blame for Sydney’s outlook on life.  Sydney limited herself to being Mrs. Sidney Hendrickson and Erica and Sammy’s mom, and not much was left for Sydney.  Helen worried that her daughter’s sacrifices were a direct result of the lessons she had passed on to her daughter, a legacy of sacrifice for an ideal that Helen was old enough only now to know did not exist.  In her present stage of life, Helen began to understand that the good life she had defined for herself so many years ago and the good life that was presently forming in Helen’s subconscious desire grew more diametrically opposed with each breath.

FOUR

The day had developed to the entire satisfaction of the dozens of patrons enjoying spring shade, iced drinks, and conversations in the prime seats set out in the afternoon sun, just outside Sappho’s Repose, a prominent coffee house and bakery notorious for its appetizing delectables.  Like many of the neighboring businesses that offered food and various legal stimulants, the management took advantage of the profitable potential a sunny day might bring by, turning the front footpath area into a quaint sidewalk café, broadening the appeal, as well as increasing capacity on a warm day.

Hennepin Avenue was alive with kinetic energy.  Given that the early theater shows had just let out, the popular boulevard was crowded with matinee goers, still animated from the show, late-lunchers taking a break from corporate offices, college students in search of caffeinated refreshment, gay pride revelers celebrating (still) Gay Pride months later, people in search of other people, others in search of no one at all, a small minority who found themselves lost in the congested high-interest area, and finally, a few who had arrived much too early for an appointment and decided to pass the time in the high rent district on Hennepin.

Unable to locate a sidewalk seat outside beneath the lavender-colored awning, Helen took a sunny window chair in full view of the outside action.  That way, she could enjoy, though to a lesser degree of those sitting outdoors, the sunshine, the colors, and the din of the day on what promised to be an eventful afternoon pregnant with possibility and very little pause.  After carefully setting the covered painting leaned against the window seat, Helen turned to view the space in which she had just entered.  When she first arrived from the bright day, her sun-shocked eyes could register only dark surfaces and shallow motion.  Once her vision adjusted to the artificial light inside, she realized immediately where she had landed.

She had passed the small coffee house on many occasions without really giving the storefront any notice.  She was aware of the clientele the business attracted, better catered to—better still, existed for.  However, she herself never found reason to enter the trendy establishment.  Now that she was inside, however, she figured she might as well have a look around, explore a bit, and collect information to be filed for later use, possibly in one of her unwritten, yet vaguely formed, novels.  Quite like the appeal of the outside atmosphere, the room was charming, yet held an air of sophistication in a funky, urban erudite way.  The length of the back wall was lined with library shelves of “books for sell.”  A similar, though less adequate space, which was given no less care, was allocated for the “books to be shared” shelves.  The café was furnished for the most part to compliment the library feeling the shelving offered.  In addition to the numerous sets of traditional café seating, comfy chairs in various shades of lavender and plum were sprinkled around the large space, softening the glare of the highly polished hardwood floors.  All the art work, principally paintings—though there were also a few sculptures—were ingenious copies of greater works in varying purple hues,  and seemed quite at home there.  Even the mauve version of Venus de Milo was well placed on a coordinated purple-hued wall.

The servers, of whom there were only two on the floor, also wore purple.  Each, draped in purple aprons, bustled about the room tending graciously to customers, taking every step to the beat of the music piped in through invisible, though no doubt purple, speakers.

Helen followed the lead of two women entering together with such confident ease; she took them as regulars, as they walked to the counter to order their drinks.  Standing at the counter gave her a better view of the back of the store, where the store’s grape-colored neon moniker “Sappho’s Bakery” hung.  Helen had no idea this was that Sappho’s.  She had never been there to purchase baked goods, but she had often enjoyed them.  Helen smiled at her little discovery.  Their bakery was one of the best in the Twin Cities area.  She had been purchasing their tasty products through an intermediary who was charging her sixty percent mark up to cater her small events and luncheons.  As Helen returned to her table with an iced chai and a tres leche scone, she made a silent promise not to eat anything else that day, and that she would begin to explore more of downtown Minneapolis to see what other treasures she might discover.

Helen sat quietly against the warm glass, enjoying the spoils of her trek to the counter.  She watched the customers and workers; most of who were women interact without actually engaging with them.  She watched them as if she were not a part of the scene, as if she were in a separate dimension, but was somehow able to glimpse into a world a little out of time with her own, in the same way she used to watch her father work in his studio.

As a little girl, she spent half her waking life sitting quietly in a corner of his workspace, watching as he found shapes in stone or some other media she lacked the potential to see.  With each stroke or pick or scrape of his tools, he would breathe life into indistinct material, willing grace into great blocks of formless stone.  Their movement, like her father’s, seemed obscured and out of focus—foreign.

By contrast, seated in the midst of all the blurred activity, sat a figure whose person registered with such sharp clarity, that her attention was seized away from the blur of motion going on around her.  The woman appeared to be no different than any of the others seated in her area, yet there was a touch of the familiar that kept her in the center of Helen’s attention.  There was something about the way the other vague creatures distorted the area around her that made Helen take notice of her.  Was it reverence?

The African American woman sat alone in one of the armchair groupings located in the center of the café.  Her coffee rested on books set on a small, round table next to the chair in which she sat.  While Helen was keenly aware of her and the circumstance that they two existed alone together in exclusive lucidity, the woman seemed not to be aware of Helen at all.  Her attention, all of it, she paid to her newspaper.

“Mom, can I hit your coffee?”  A third server entered from beyond the kitchen door.

“Thanks, Baby.”  The woman smiled without looking up from her paper to face the server.  “Are the caramel rolls ready yet?”

“No,” she replied, sitting opposite the woman she called Mom.  “We’ll have to start switching over more oven space for them.  With all the delivery orders, we can’t keep them in for walk-in customers.”

Mom drank warily from her coffee.  The touch-up had warmed it more than she expected.  She swirled the hot liquid around her mouth, rolling it with her tongue until it was cool enough to enjoy.  The next sip, she blew before drinking.  She continued to concentrate on her beverage, making no attempt to offer any advice to the server’s business observation concerning sweet rolls or oven space.

“Or we could just start earlier.”  The server continued hopefully.  Her tone belied her interest in discussing pastry or time management.  There was a pressing in her voice, an anxious tone that did not go undetected by Mom.

Mom looked over the top of her newspaper.  Her glasses slipped low on her nose, giving her the appearance of an old school marm about to scold a naughty student.  Mom had seen much of life—some good, some not so great—and her experience showed in the way she held herself.  In her early seventies, many would describe her as short and round, but that she had a presence that made people notice her, and not discount her experience.  Like most African American women, she had the blessing of aging particularly well, but the last decade seemed to have caught up with her, erasing beauty and youth for wizened age lines and poise.  Only in the past, few years had grey bothered to touch her head, weaving only at her temples and a small patch in the front, leaving the majority of her hair thinned, but otherwise untouched.  Mom was a little intimidating without trying to be.  She posed no real threat to anyone, but then there was an ever-present countenance that suggested she was not to be trifled with.  All in all, once you got to know her, Mom was just that—“Mom” to all.

Mom took a sip of caution from her cup before speaking.  “Magda.”  Her tone was one of a parental warning, not one addressing a friend, certainly not a customer to a service person.  “Magda,” she repeated, much in the same way.  “Do you wanna go to the back and talk privately?”  Her voice was swollen with concern.

“Yes, I want to talk, but we can sit here.  It’s so hot in the kitchen.  I don’t want you to get hives.”  Tears rose in Magda’s eyes, but did not fall.

Mom put her paper aside and slid the chair adjacent the younger woman.  The two put their heads together closely while Mom offered seasoned advice to her brokenhearted friend.

Helen watched the two with compassionate interest.  She could not hear them, and that was just fine.  She could tell their conversation was best left private.  Magda, the server, had problems of the heart, perhaps.  Anyone in the room who cared to give her a second glance could guess her trouble.

“Magda.  Phone.”  An unseen voice called from the back.  “It’s Veda,” the voice added somberly.

Mom and Magda turned their attention to the voice.  Magda stood slowly, clearly with more effort than the task required.  As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder at Helen, who anticipated the action too late, and was caught seemingly intruding in on their privacy.  Mom, seeing the alarm on Magda’s face, followed her stare to Helen’s frozen expression, caught Helen’s gaze, and smiled at her, giving her a curt nod.  Magda, on the other hand, went to answer the phone.  As she walked toward the call, she gave Helen a hard look over her shoulder that made Helen feel as though Magda thought she had taken something from her.

Mom returned to her daily news.  The other servers continued to serve customers.  Helen turned again to face outside and to mind her own business.  Sappho’s Repose was becoming midday busy.  Everyone seemed to be on a first-name basis, or at least familiar with most of the gathering crowd.  At the table closest to Helen’s, four women sat chatting about the governor’s inability to see past his own star quality and presidential potential in order to better care for his constituents and the state’s deteriorating roads.  Across from them, two college students sat quietly sipping tea, their faces buried in thick textbooks.  In the back near the “shared books,” a group gathered sitting crossed legged, listening as a woman slight in stature read from Morrison’s Paradise with such heart and commitment that, if the listener was incapable of seeing her body, would have imagined that she was part of the tale.

Then Helen saw her, the woman she had seen numerous times in the last several weeks or so.  She had been so sure that the woman had been following her.  Once or twice, she had been with Angie and had pointed the woman out, swearing that she had seen the woman before, but each time, Angie assured her that it was her imagination, and kidded that, “All African American women don’t look alike.”  Yet there she was again, about to enter the same business in which Helen found herself.  Too frequent to be coincidence.  Helen braced herself.  The moment Helen realized that she was going to come in; she decided that she was going to speak to her.  Regrettably, she had no idea what she would say.

“Hi, Ms. Dahl; I’m Noami.”  She sat in the unoccupied seat at Helen’s table.

“Helen, please,” she responded, taking her hand.  It was taking a moment for Helen to put the pieces together.  She was not quite there yet.

“It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“Right?”  She nodded in agreement.  The realization dawned.  “So, that’s it?  You have been following me?”  The question sounded a bit too much like an accusation.  Helen blushed apologetically, which was odd, because she never blushed, just as she never giggled.  Yet there she sat, giggling apologetically, blushing like a fiend, as if she had somehow wronged the young artist seated opposite her, who if she were a breath past thirty, Helen would eat her cup after she drained it of her chai.

“Yes.”  Noami joined in with Helen’s laughter.  “I have to do that when the painting is a surprise.  I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

“Not at all.”  Helen lied.  If truth be told, she was presently slightly uncomfortable.  She was caught off guard.  Noami had a way of forcing eye contact.  It was unsettling.  “Besides, who wouldn’t want to be followed by such an attractive, creative person?  I don’t believe I minded at all.”  She lied again, and tugged brutally at the hair at the nape of her neck.  “I was sure I saw you once or twice.”  Four times, really, she thought to herself.  Five, if she included the day she spied her twice: once during the day and again that evening when she and Richard were in Chanhassen at the new gallery opening.  She remembered that Noami had worn a lovely flowing coral summer dress in the afternoon, and a short black number with the plunging neckline that evening.  “I suspect you had a lot of help.”

“Yes.  Thanks to your husband, I knew when you were in the area.  Again, I hope I didn’t cause you any discomfort.”

“No, not really.”  She waved away her concern.  “And even if you had, the end result is well worth it.  Honestly, I was speechless when I first saw the painting.  I still haven’t quite recovered.  You have quite a talent.”

“Thanks.”  Now it was Noami’s turn to blush.  “I spent more time than usual on the observation sketches.”  She faltered.  “Because, well, honestly, I knew who I was sketching.  I am a fan of your father’s work.”

“Oh?”  This impressed Helen.  She assumed that Jack Dahl was an obscure reference among the young set, at best.  “I’m surprised.  I didn’t think people your age knew much about his work.”

“Your father is just as relevant now as he was in the forties and fifties, and I’m probably older than you think.”

“Please excuse me.  I didn’t mean...”

“Forty-six.”  Noami cut her off.  Her bright smile let Helen know that she was not offended.

“I’ve been a fan of your father’s since before I knew what his work really means.  I mean, before I understood art was art, its significance.”

Helen was sure Noami misread the curious look on her face.  Noami seemed to feel the need to explain further, so Helen let her continue.

“When I was in sixth grade, my teacher took our class to the Oakland Museum.”

“You were raised in Oakland?”  Helen was intrigued.  She loved the Bay Area.  Many of her best evenings were spent getting lost in different corners of the San Francisco-Oakland area.  Once she found herself lost on one of Oakland’s major arteries—Fruitvale Avenue.  There, she discovered a man pushing a cart, selling mango covered in chili pepper and limejuice.  She also had the best hand-rolled chicken tamale she had ever eaten in her life.  The idea of Noami being from Oakland simply thrilled her.  She rested her chin on her loose fist, preparing herself for an interesting tale.

“Yes.  Anyway, Mrs. Tyler, our teacher, took us to the Oakland Museum.  She was always working hard to expand our horizons, and all that.”  She paused thoughtfully.

Helen could tell from her expression that Noami appreciated her teacher’s efforts.

“We spent the morning split between the History section and the Natural Sciences area.  It was a little different than it is now.  The History Exhibit was a physical timeline of the development of California.  The Natural Sciences section really was just displays of plants and animals indigenous to California.”  She seemed to change lanes mid-thought.  “Have you ever been to Oakland?”  Her expression was one of a new acquaintance inquiring about an old, beloved friend.  Noami’s smile broadened when Helen confirmed that she had visited her hometown.  “Yes, I miss it.  A lot.”

Noami studied Helen’s open expression for any sign of her thoughts or any opinion of her favorite city Helen’s countenance might offer.  Finding none, she continued.  “The rest of the day, we spent in the Art department.  It was the first time I’d ever been to the museum, and I remember being extraordinarily intimidated stepping into the room.  The first piece I remember seeing was The Trial of Constance de Beverly.”

“That was your first art experience?”  Helen asked, fascinated by the story being shared with her.

“No, but Rosenthal’s painting was the first that I can remember that moved me.  I thought, ‘I could do that.  I could create something so base and so beautiful all at once’.”

“You thought that at ten or eleven?”  Helen interrupted once again.  She had not meant to, but she wished somehow to be part of the Noami’s anecdote.  To hear the account was not enough.

“Of course I didn’t think about it in those terms; I was only a kid at the time.”

“Still, I don’t believe I could have discovered so much at such an early age,” Helen insisted.

“No?”

“And I lived with it.”

Noami smiled more to herself than at the woman seated opposite her.  She would never understand the life Helen seemed to take for granted.  Such privilege.  “That’s the day I fell in love with the idea of painting as a medium of self-expression.  My mother started me with watercolors.  It was all we could afford.  She made an effort to support us all.  When she saw that I had some talent, she really made sure I had the supplies I needed whenever she could.  One Christmas, when I was fifteen, she took me and one of my sisters, Monica, to a gallery in Berkeley.  She’d gotten three tickets through the community center.  You know those, let’s-give-away-a-bunch-of-free-tickets-to-the-poor-and-we’ll-feel-better-about-what-we-do-and-they’ll-be-a-little-more-enlightened deals.”  She shrugged noncommittally.

Helen nodded understandingly, hoping that she did not reveal what she thought.  The young artist was as cynical as she was talented—a lethal combination.  Helen wondered if Noami had a collection of sketches hidden in her loft she only shared with a particular type of client.  Helen began to make a comment, but was too interested in Noami’s tale to be diverted.

“My mother apologized over and over again.”

“Well, why?  Whatever for?”  Helen could not fathom why anyone would apologize for a trip to an exhibit, or for encouraging her daughter’s interest.

“She thought the exhibit was supposed to be all paintings, canvas.  However, there were only one or two paintings.  I remember she even brought me a new sketchpad for the occasion, and made me bring it along.  I felt so guilty, because she kept apologizing.  It was during that trip I realized how difficult it had been for my mother to support my interest in becoming an artist.  You know, before then, I hadn’t really considered what she was giving, only what I wasn’t getting, you know?”  Noami gazed into Helen’s face.

Helen thought she perceived Noami’s obsidian eyes darken with remnants of childhood compunction she had yet to abandon or work out through her artistry.  Of course, she could never appreciate that particular sacrifice, but she had her own memories from which she could draw her own childhood remorse.

“Surely your mother did the best she could.”

“Yes, she did.”  Noami’s tone spoke finality.  Her mother’s efforts to support her as a developing artist were not to be questioned.  “I was a little disappointed, I admit.  Nevertheless, I pushed into the exhibit just so she wouldn’t be sad.  I assured her that I loved it.  I guess I did.  I even opened my pad to sketch, just to show her that I was interested.  After I convinced her I was thrilled to be there, I looked around.”

Helen sat on the edge of her seat.  She had herself had too many experiences like the one Noami was describing not to recognize it for what it was.

Noami continued.  “I wasn’t that impressed with the show.  It was mostly sculpture, various life images that did not hold my attention.  I drew a few paltry sketches, but my mom was impressed, so I felt better about how she was feeling.  I was sketching a piece…I don’t remember which, my mother standing over my shoulder watching me, when Monica came over from out of nowhere.  She grabbed my arm and pulled me though to the back of the gallery beyond a set of velvet black ropes that cordoned a display near the back corner of the gallery.  My life changed.  It was a moment of truth for me.  When we stopped, I was standing in the middle of, Helen’s Dream.”

Helen understood completely.  Her father had created Helen’s Dream shortly after she was born.  It was one of four pieces Jack Dahl had named after his daughter—one of many he told her she inspired.  Helen’s Dream was her favorite work of her father’s.  His magnum opus.  The small collection of life-size sculpture was magnificent.  More than sculpture, the piece was created well before its time.  Unlike traditional sculpture, the piece was an installation of sorts; a three-dimensional reflection of what Jack believed was his daughter’s newborn imagination.  This work by Jack Dahl continued to transcend any efforts by artists who even over fifty years later attributed his work as their greatest inspiration.  He was well ahead of his time.  At the time, his skill and innovation was unmatched.

After a few moments of mutual silence in which both women considered the other almost strategically, Noami added, “It was just a…”

“…defining moment.”  Helen completed Noami’s thought.

“Yes.  That’s your father’s work.  I assure you, he remains quite relevant.”

“That one has always been my favorite.  I used to play amongst the elements.  You say you saw it in Oakland?”

“Berkeley.”

“That exhibit has traveled to more places than I have.  He’s retired it, did you know?”

“Yes,” her answer was mournful, full of regret.  “But I cannot tell you how many hours I’ve spent sketching your father’s work, particularly Helen’s Dream.”

“I’d really love to see your sketches, if you still have them.  If what you did for us is any indication of your talent, I’m sure they’re excellent.”

“Thanks.  Therefore, you like your portrait.  I hoped you would.”

“Like?  I was stunned when I first saw it.  You are gifted.  It’s exceptional.”  Helen picked up her empty cup and began to gnaw at the ceramic lip.  She had so many questions for Noami, but felt it best to progress cautiously.  “Uhm, what was your inspiration?”

“You were.”

“No, what I am trying to ask is…”  Helen, the wordsmith, was at a loss for words.  “I mean, where did the idea of placement, the pose come from?  Was it something Richard requested?”

“Oh, I understand your question, Ms. Dahl.”

“Helen, please.”
Noami nodded.  “I know what you are asking me.  When my services are requested for a surprise, either I get a photo to reproduce, or I don’t.  In your case, I didn’t.  Mr. Muir asked me to portray you in a way that was appropriate for his wife.  That was his only request.  He didn’t give me more specifications or parameters than that.  I assume that after coming to my studio to check out my portfolio, he was satisfied that I could be trusted not to represent you in a way he might disapprove.”

“So you began to follow me around?”

“Yes, sketching and taking notes.”

“Notes?”
“That’s a large part of what I do.  I take notes about you, your interests, where I see you, what you’re doing.”

Helen squirmed a little in her seat.  Of course she had not done anything that she wished had gone unobserved, or that she would have regretted.  But that was really not her concern at the moment.  Her thoughts returned to her initial reaction to the portrait.  Who had seen into her soul and put it on canvas?  She was not getting the answers she wanted.  Perhaps a different approach was in order.

“You have never seen me in a dress like the one in the painting before.”  She tried to make her statement sound less like an indictment, and more like a joke.

“Yes and no.  You wore a gown very similar to the dress in the painting when you accompanied your husband to the Guthrie.  I simply changed the texture of the dress, and the color, for artistic reasons.  In fact, I don’t think I changed the bodice of the dress at all.”

“Yes, but in the painting, it’s practically falling off.”  Helen was aware of the tone of her voice.  She was beginning to sound defensive, which was completely opposite to how she was feeling about the portrait.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I love the portrait.  I just want to know where the ‘Helen’ you painted came from.  She doesn’t feel like me.”

Noami finally understood.  “I’d like to show you my sketches.  See my process for yourself.  I don’t put anything on the canvas that isn’t present for all to see.  We should get going, anyway, or most of the natural light will be gone.  You mentioned earlier you had time to sit, so I could make some final adjustments.”  She reached past Helen to grab the painting.  “Where are you parked?”

“In the lot on the corner there.”

“Good, my loft is walking distance, a few blocks east.  Ready?”

As they exited the building, Helen looked back over her shoulder.  Sure enough, Magda was shooting cold stares at her back.

“Do you come to this place often?”  Helen could not help but think her simple question sounded a bit like a come-on line.

“Yes, it’s a great place to relax.  Friendly.”

FIVE

By the time they reached Noami’s place, they each had mined the other for their histories and additional points of interest.  For instance, Noami had learned that Helen’s mother, Helena, was devastated when at age three she enrolled Helen at a local dance studio, and finally gave it up as a lost cause when Helen was age seven, and she finally realized her daughter had the grace of an elephant.  Helen was ten years old when her parents decided that she had not inherited enough of their talent to become a visual artist, despite the fact that they continued to hope she would pursue the craft until she made clear her preference for writing.  Noami also learned that Helen, despite her parents’ attempts to convince her otherwise, did practice painting as a hobby, and had become quite good at landscapes and fruit bowls.  In fact, all her artistic endeavors were each hung around the house by her adoring husband.

Helen learned that when Noami was sixteen, she had received a full scholarship to Macalester College, which was how she came to live in Minnesota.  She never relocated back to Oakland.  After living in Minnesota, she had no desire to return to the East Bay to live.  Life, she found, was slower in the Midwest, and she preferred it that way.  So far, she had convinced one of her sisters, Monica, and her mother to move to the Twin Cities.  Noami was certain that now that her mother lived in the area, the rest of her family would follow.

Helen paged through the countless numbers of sketches Noami had drawn over the period of the few weeks she followed her.  Most of them were innocuous—an ear drawn several times across a pad page.  Helen in conversation.  Helen deep in thought, a pair of hands in various expressive poses—some opened, others fisted—and one, which could very well have been her favorite: Helen caught in a fit of laughter, head thrown back in midlaugh.  Others, however, seemed a bit too intimate, as if Noami had been present, and placed to paper, a very private moment—a sketch of Helen distracted in what happened to be the health club locker room, standing behind an opened locker door, the top of her bra and cleavage exposed.  She and an unidentified male, which must have been Richard, pressed together in a seductive slow dance.  Another version of her face featured over most of the page leaning on Richard’s headless shoulder, the expression captured on her face introspective.

She remembered that night.  Helen’s thoughts had been elsewhere that evening.  She and Richard were supposed to have been spending a romantic evening together.  She had been out of sorts, and they ended up arguing because she could not figure out what was wrong, and Richard did not know how to respond to her mood.  Noami had followed them out that night and had captured on her pad what Helen herself could not communicate.  Helen turned the paper over.  “Regret,” was scrawled in pencil on the backside of the sheet.

Helen looked over her shoulder.  Noami, who seemed to pay no attention to what Helen was doing, missed completely her contribution to Helen’s self-reproach.  Another sketch that left Helen feeling slightly intruded upon showed her standing, leaning against a wall or opened doorway, covered in only a low-hung cloth of some sort, the greater part of her breasts exposed, as though she were spilling out at the top, much like her portrait.  Helen turned the sheet over.  It was labeled, “Pose VI.”  She paged though the rest of the stack quickly, curious to discover poses I–V.  Unable to find them, she turned to Noami with “Pose VI” in hand.

“I don’t remember wearing this out in public.”  She held up the sketch in question.

Noami smirked a little, but she was all business.  “For that one, I had to use a bit of imagination.  I liked the way it turned out.  It’s the model for the final painting.  Can you see that?”

“Was this your idea?”

“My idea?”  A smile spread diagonally across Noami’s face as she motioned for Helen to draw closer.  When Helen was slow to move, Noami took hold of her hand gently and guided her to a seat.  “It’s you.”

“It is me.  Yes, it’s me, but you’d almost have to be living with me to know that, in order to know me so intimately.”

“Or perhaps you are much easier to read than you think.”  She said this with such earnestness, that Helen believed her.

“Well, yes, possibly.”  Here, she paused.  “After seeing Richard’s reaction, I find it hard to believe he asked for, or expected, something so provocative.”

“He didn’t.”  She did not miss a beat, guiding Helen to her seat.  “He left it up to me.”

“Then why?”  A look of utter confusion darkened Helen’s face.

Noami pursed her lips.  Helen could tell she was considering her response.

“Did he ask for ‘sexy’?”  There.  Having finally asked the question, Helen felt much better.

“Why would he need to ask for sexy?  He has sexy.  I only painted what I saw.  Look at the painting.”  She turned the painting on the easel.  “Helen, it’s you.  Now, would you mind unbuttoning your top, slip off your bra straps, and tuck your shirt in your bra?”

Helen’s shock was much too sudden to try to conceal.

“Or if you prefer I can get you a tank sleeve to wear.”

After a few hours of working in near silence, Noami appeared from behind the painting.  “Alright, you deserve a break.  Can I get you a drink?”  She collected her brushes from the easel, wiping them on a rag before dropping them into a jar of turpentine.

“That would be great.”

The two women spent the rest of the early evening trading stories.  Noami was interested in what it was like to grow up with Jack Dahl as a father.  Helen shared the best of her memories.  She had no reason to do otherwise.  After all, Noami was a fan of her father’s.  Besides which, as she sifted through her collection of memories, she found that enough happiness resided there that she could easily share with the inquisitive artist.

Helen’s own interests lay mainly in the goings-on at Sappho’s Repose.

“Mom—who was she, and why did the customers seem to treat her with, was it reverence?  Magda, the server.  What was her story?”  Helen did not share with Noami the look she gave her, or attempt to extrapolate on its meaning, but she did ask Noami to tell her story.  Helen learned that Magda was one of the co-owners of Sappho’s Repose the coffee house, as well as Bath’s Wife the nightclub, located in the adjacent building.

“I hadn’t noticed a night club next to the café.”

“Yes, it’s there.  Magda owns it with Veda.  Veda is her ex.  Mom is Veda’s mother, but we all call her ‘Mom’.  Now, Veda’s with Donna.  LaDonna.”  She waved away Helen’s question before she could voice it.  “Don’t try to keep track.  I swear to you, it’s a little too ‘L-Word.’  Suffice it to say, Magda and Veda’s breakup was pretty bad.  Magda actually broke it off.  Veda was devastated—that was until Lady Donna entered the scene to console her.”  She shook her head slightly, which showed her disapproval at the match.  “Some of us tried to warn Veda before Magda left her, but she didn’t listen.  Donna’s been waiting in the wings for a while.”

“You don’t like this LaDonna?”

“No, she’s okay.  In fact, she’s really nice.  She’s sweet.  It’s just; Magda and Veda were really good together.  Anyway, once Magda found out about LaDonna and Veda, she realized she’d made a mistake.  Too late.”

“How sad.”

Noami shrugged.  “I guess, but what was really sad was that the two were thinking of liquidating their assets and moving on.  However, Veda’s mom stepped in to help them see that their businesses were more than just a coffee house and a bar.  The lesbian community depends on Sappho’s Repose and Bath’s Wife as places where we can go and have fun and relax without fear of repercussions.  Not only that, both businesses are excellent moneymakers.  So, they settled it somehow.  Magda runs the coffee house.  Veda runs the bar.  Mom—remember she’s Veda’s mother?  She bartends at Bath’s Wife most weekends.  She sorta serves as a surrogate mother to a lot of us—in fact, to many of the customers who spend any amount of time in Bath’s Wife.”

Helen merely nodded, not wanting to end the flow of information.

“Mom used to work in the bakery.  A few of the pastries and other stuff they bake at Sappho’s are Mom’s recipes.  As far as the way people somewhat tiptoe around her, well, she’s a real bitch before she’s had her coffee.  They were probably giving her a wide berth because was acting old and cranky.”  Noami brought over two glasses and chilled Semillon.

Helen accepted a glass.  She had been sitting in the hot window, and welcomed a cool drink.  “Noami, are Mom and Magda close?  I’m asking because they seemed to have their heads together about something serious, and…”

“Not close like that.”  Noami read accurately Helen’s expression.  “Mom’s straight.  She’s a breeder.”

“Breeder?”  Helen’s mouth opened to make a comment, but incredulous shock kept her from verbalizing her disbelief of the terminology being used to describe heterosexuals.

Noami laughed, despite herself.  “You hets may have cornered the market in offensive name calling, but we are clever as well.”  She continued to enjoy to the look on Helen’s face.

Helen simply could not have imagined that a word could be used so appallingly.  “But…breeders?”

As Helen merged on the freeway, she felt her spirits rise.  She and Noami had spent most of the day in reciprocated enchantment.  Helen had thought sitting for the portrait would be tedious; however, the time elapsed so quickly, that evening was upon them before they went back to the work at hand.  The artist and the subject clicked at once.  Perhaps Noami’s interest in Helen’s father’s work was the catalyst.  Helen represented a tangible connection to her idol, Jack Dahl.  Conceivably, Noami supplied quick gossip to satisfy Helen’s curiosity in the goings-on at Sappho’s Repose, and was the shared topic that caused them to connect so well.  Whatever the cause, they seemed to be in accord, despite over a decade of difference in their ages.  Helen had found Noami’s company to be more than adequate.  Noami was creative, intelligent, stunningly beautiful, and sublime.

The time she spent at Noami’s studio seemed to have pushed away the dark cloud that had hung low over her for weeks.  She stayed much longer than she had expected.  When Noami offered an early supper of Carlsberg, Roma tomatoes, and sweet basil Paninis, she could not refuse.  Helen ticked off a mental list in her head of all the additions she would have to make to the next day’s to-do list, which included extra time exercising to compensate for the high calorie intake for the day—not to mention all the alcohol she had consumed.  Helen determined that she would complete the growing list, which also included restoring her home to its normal state after her—no, Richard’s—party.  She would have to, in order to clear the deck, so that she could concentrate completely on the final edits on her novel before the deadline.  She was so close to being finished.  As she drove south on 35W, she refocused her attention on the one task she felt that could not be put off, not even just until the next morning.

Sydney and her family were just finishing dinner when Helen pulled into the driveway of their multilevel Ranch style home.  Helen had arrived unexpectedly, so she was not surprised by the less-than-enthusiastic greeting she received from her son-in-law.  However, the cold greeting from her daughter did bother her more than she thought it ought to have.  The granddaughters, upon seeing their grandmother, afforded her enough hugs and kisses to make up for their parents’ slight.  Erica and Sammy’s greeting was so warm and full of love and genuine welcome, that she was even able to disregard her son-in-law, Sidney’s  sudden departure and refusal of dessert, offering only the lame excuse that he had a trying day at work, and needed to turn in early.

“Mom, it’s nearly 8 p.m.”  Her tone alluded to the fact that her mother should know better than to come over that late, because Sidney did not like to receive visitors or phone calls, unless they were related to business, after eight.  This, of course, really meant he preferred to have his wife entirely to himself, cut off from the world and her family, after he returned home in the evening from work.  The look of concern on her daughter’s face as she glanced furtively over her shoulder at her husband’s departing back, gave Helen the courage to plunge forward with the reason she had gone there at all so late in the evening.

“Sydney, we need to talk.”

“Dad called wanting to know where you were.  Does he know where you are?  You didn’t tell him that we didn’t meet for lunch?”  Her question was voiced in a husky whisper, which contained the warning that they may not use their regular voices, as Sidney had retired, and it being so close to 8 p.m., all voices had to be trained at level three or less.  Erica and Sammy understood immediately.  They began to whisper goodnights to their grandmother, and left the two women still standing in the entry to begin their quiet bedtime routine.

Helen watched her granddaughters with great remorse.  She shook her head slowly.  It was as though she were watching a machine grind quickly into action—Sidney’s will, or fancy, the mechanism, which ground the gears forward.  Helen swallowed hard the guilt that had forced its way up her throat.  She had done this to her daughter.  She had raised her to believe in an ideal, which she created for herself as a response to her own parents’ nonparenting style, and had not given her daughter the filter with which to sift through the impractical.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, or are we simply going to stand here quietly at the door?”

“Mom.”

Helen could see a sensitive approach was warranted.  “Fine, Sydney, I’d like to speak to you about…No.  I am not going to stand here whispering like it’s grade school nap time.”  With a mother’s care, she gently pushed down both her daughter’s hands—the left which was held up in warning, the right index finger rose to her mouth to signal a quieter tone—and placed them back at her sides where they belonged.  “Let’s go to the living room.”  She motioned to the room most opposite the back bedroom, where she imagined Sidney had his ears trained at the door, listening for any excuse to complain about the post curfew noise.

Once seated, Helen began immediately.  “Sydney, I’d like to get a few things off my mind, and then I’ll leave.  I want you to know that I realize that I made some mistakes with you.  I modeled an outlook on life that is incongruous with what is realistic.”

Sydney looked at her mother, not sure what to make of her beginning.

Helen pressed on.  “To be honest, I thought that my life was great.  I imagined I was the luckiest woman in the world.  Now, I see that I was wrong to value this American Dream that I created in my head so many years ago.  You see, Sydney.  What I am trying to say is that I realize what I need out of life now is so very different than I thought I might need when I was your age, having you and David.”

Sydney was finally catching on, though; Helen had not made it easy to follow.

“Mom, I believe I understand what you are saying.  I am perfectly happy with my life.”

“Yes, you are, but will you be later?”

“Aren’t you happy?  Is that what this is about?”

Helen sighed.  Sydney, ever her daddy’s girl, was growing defensive, as if Helen’s anguish had to be a direct response to Richard’s existence

“Yes, I suppose I am happy.”  She faltered.

“Mom, you have a good life.”  Sydney insisted.

“I want a great life.”  Helen’s response was instinctual.  She had not thought to respond so honestly.  “Sydney, this is not about me.  I want you to understand that you have to consider where you will be in twenty years from now, and if your actions today will contribute to your future happiness.”

“This is about Dad, isn’t it?”

“No, Sydney.  I am trying to tell you, you have to take back some of the control of your life…”

“Is this about the fact that I missed our date today?”

“No, Sydney, I am talking about you, okay?”

Sydney cut Helen off.  “Are you and Dad okay?  Are you having trouble?  Because if you are, you need to talk to him, not me.  In fact, he called here trying to locate you.”

Helen ignored the question.  “Sydney, just listen for a moment.”

“No, did you hear me?  Dad is worried sick about you.  He’s calling all over creation looking for you.  In addition, you sit here preaching midlife crisis platitudes at me.  You are so wrong.  What is going on, Mom?”

Helen could see that Sydney was not open enough to consider even the implications of her warning.  “Fine, Sydney, clearly you aren’t ready to listen.”

“Mom, Dad is at home trying to understand what is going on.  I suggest you speak to him.”

“Helen, I’ve been calling all over town looking for you.  You aren’t answering your cell phone.”

Not at all to Helen’s surprise, Richard met her at the door when she returned home.  The expression on his face read worry, but Helen knew him too well to be fooled by his pretense.

“Honey, where have you been?  Why are you out so late?”

Helen chose purposely to remain uncommunicatively flat.  She was aware that Richard’s anxiety was caused by something other than fear for her safety.  He was beginning to sense her distance, and was not feeling confident about his ability to assess her frame of mind.  He was clearly aware that something was wrong, but he had no idea as to what it was.

Helen was sure, however, that his concern as he considered the issue between them had more to do with him than her.—not because he was a selfish bastard he liked to come off as in his business dealings; quite the opposite.  Richard would claim blame for his wife’s moodiness because he took ownership for her happiness in a way that made him culpable for any unhappiness she experienced.  However, if Helen could not name the issue that contributed to her despondency, how could he?

“Richard, really.”  Helen did nothing to hide her exasperation, not after her conversation with Sydney about her husband’s control.  “Do you really expect me to call and check in every hour?”  She pushed past him into her home.  She was suddenly feeling quite tired by the events of the day.  Her plan was to take a long soak and slide into the bed.  Richard’s care was ruining her plan.

He caught her by the arm.  “I just spoke with Sidney.”

“Yes, I know.  I just left Sydney.  You seem to have a lot to say about me to my own daughter that you should be saying to me.  Honestly, Richard.  You really have a nerve.”

“I just spoke to Sidney.  Our son-in-law.”

Helen turned where she stood, midstride, halting her ascent to a hot tub.  “He’s your son-in-law today.  I have had enough of King Sidney tonight.”

“What are you going on about?”

“And if you spoke to Sidney, then why are you at the door like an anxious nurse maid if you knew exactly where I was?”  She knew she had stumped him.  He stood at the foot of the stairs collecting his thoughts.  Helen estimated she only had a few seconds, five at most, before he would recover enough to start at her again.

“Richard, not tonight.  I’m tired.  I’ve been sitting for Noami for hours.  I’ve just had it out with Sydney, and I cannot have more pressure from you.”  With that, she was through the bedroom door, started her water, and had begun to disrobe.  She had underestimated him.

Richard entered the room wearing a different tactic.  He sat on the edge of the tub and began to administer to her hot water.  First, he poured in her favorite bath foam.  She turned her back to him as she undressed in silence.  She would have to change her tactic as well—her ultimate goal being avoidance.

“Richard, I’m sorry for yelling down there.  It’s just, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed with the book and all.  I didn’t get anything accomplished with it today, and now I’ll have to spend days catching up after the trip, party, and portrait sitting.”

Richard took her hand to help her ease into the foamy water.  She noticed he could not help but smile at her reaction to the water.  The suds enveloped her; the displaced water pushed the clouds of fragrant comfort all about her.  The suds rose to her neck, over her shoulders; they hid her breasts and kissed both sides of her face.  Richard pulled up a stool from in front of her make-up vanity to sit near the large bathtub.

“Helen, I’ve been thinking.  You’ve been working too hard.  We both have.”

The moment Helen closed her eyes, she was haunted by the sketches Noami shared with her when she was in the studio, one in particular: “Regret.”

He continued, “We have not had a real vacation in years.  Let’s get out of town for a while.”

Helen’s eyes remained closed.  She could hear her husband’s voice, but she was elsewhere.  She was in Noami’s studio, paging through pictures of herself, sketches that revealed glimpses of ambiguous thoughts that she had never allowed to maturate in her own contemplations.  She was amazed that it took a complete stranger to force her to even ponder.  At present, she could consider nothing else.

Again, the disquiet of the plane ride washed over her like her bath water, a tidal wave of hot, aromatic self-reproach.  Its scent was familiar, recognizable, yet she could not name it; so heavy was the scent that she could not abandon it, a smell from childhood which evoked a certain emotional response, but a memory so hazy she could not recall enough to attach meaning—not with one sense.  Helen only had a smell.  The memory was not strong enough to push past years of life categorized and shelved by time.  She needed the accompaniment of a taste, or sound, perhaps a touch to make the memory crystallize.  Otherwise, all she could manage was to sense the emotion it caused.

Richard’s hand sliding down her thigh pulled Helen away from her rumination.  She was so close to the answer that had evaded her for weeks.  She felt sure that whatever was bothering her, standing in the way of life, a gatekeeper for her present lack of contentment, had to do with her past, which had come suddenly, anonymously, to hold her hostage without giving a reason as to why it had done so.  Richard could not know what he had done with his simple gesture of closeness, but he had pushed clarity out of reach for the moment.  She was so close to figuring out why she felt she was no longer comfortable in her life.  Helen felt as though weeks ago she had put on her favorite dress, but found that for some reason, it did not fit properly.  Except she was aware before trying it on that it would not fit, because although it looked like hers, she knew the dress did not belong to her, yet she owned it.  She was so close.  She tasted it on the tip of her tongue, an acidic flavor that had taken her weeks to recognize, days to make real.

Helen opened her eyes and smiled thanks to him.  He was being Richard, and Richard deserved an answer at least to the immediate question.  Richard carefully placed the bottle back in it resting place.

“I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

“A vacation sounds wonderful.”  She gazed fondly into his handsome face.  She wet the sides of his face with her dripping hands.  “But, Richard, I cannot possibly get away.  I have a deadline approaching, and what, a few days later, the second leg of my book tour.  You have to understand.  It’s too difficult a time now.”  She released his face, smoothing away the soapy fuzz.  Leaving wet skin, knowing the tender treatment would not be enough to deter his insistence or the desire she watched growing in his eyes.

“You can take your work with you.  I’m not talking about a working vacation for me.  I don’t expect anything from you except to sit around and work on your book, relax, and do nothing else.”

“I can’t.”  Helen was keenly aware that Richard knew better.  She was a creature of habit.  She needed to be tied to her desk with all her research and notes in order to write.  He knew her process.  “How about after I’ve finished the tour?  I’ll only be gone for a few weeks.  How about when I get back?”

She sat up in the water; the emergence of her breasts arrested his attention momentarily from his game plan, though that was not her intention.  She seized his hand.  “I’d be delighted to go with you after I’ve returned.  Then it’ll be days, maybe even a week or so before the editors are finished and have sent it back.  Think of it.  We could go to Napa Valley, or Seattle to see my parents.  We could leave at the end of the month.  We do need a break, I agree, Rich.”

Helen felt as though she wanted to add, “…from each other,” but those were her own thoughts.  She was going to say as much.  She opened her mouth to form the words.  Instead, she betrayed herself.  “Okay.  I’ll think about it.  Give me until Wednesday.  I will see what I can sort out.  That will mean nothing extravagant.  A quiet, short trip to the cabin or Stillwater or further south, at one of the river town bed and breakfasts, if we can get in.”

“Not a bad idea, Mrs. Muir.”

Helen eased down slowly, completely submerging into the cooling tub, shutting off any more opportunity for discussion.  The water was still warm enough to sting her face a little, but she took comfort in the slight discomfort.  He had called her “Mrs. Muir.”  That was his mother.  She had never taken his name, mainly for professional purposes, no other reason.  Yet as she soaked beneath the soapy division, she was thankful for her decision.

SIX

The next day, Helen sat poised in front of her computer, thinking about the dream from the night before that invaded her musings and kept her hands still on the keyboard.  She had been sitting at her desk most of the morning, attempting to extricate her heroine from a corner she had never meant to box her in in the first place.  However, she had been inspired and deviated from her outline.  Now she regretted it.  What Helen needed most now was a believable deus ex machina.  Normally, using the creative literary device would have been easy for her.  However, the images and emotions of the dream consumed her mental energy, clouding her ability to pull the literary rabbit out of her hat.

The snow was coming down harder as they stumbled onto the steps of the cabin.  They had only meant to take a short walk.  In December, the wood blanketed in snow was so appealing.  Helen wanted to share its beauty with Noami, but they had gotten turned around near the frozen lake and lost their way.  By the time they found the path, the storm, which had threatened all morning, was coming down full force.  When finally they arrived at the cabin, they were both soaked and chilled to the bone.  Noami moved to rebuild the fire, and soon had it ablaze with such intensity, that it sent out enough dull illumination to dimly light most of the room.

Helen came out of the tiny kitchen with mulled wine to join Noami on the sofa facing the fire.  They sat in companionable silence, toasting their feet in the heat of the fire.  A movement at her side caused her to turn.  Noami had turned to face her, and as Helen’s eyes met hers, she reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her right ear.  The touch was somehow intimate, evoking a sense of a blooming relationship and mutual desire.

They spent the evening much in the same way—chatting, sharing philosophies, and accepting wisdom in a manner that intimated latent yearnings to progress past affable interaction to a relationship that held much more significantly different potential.  Always present was the vague potential of this relationship to develop into something more than a warm friendship.  Even as they enjoyed their friendly fellowship of the other, an unspoken, yet mutually desired expectation imbued the space between them.

As dreams do, this one jumped to the next morning, where Helen awoke to an empty cabin.  She searched for Noami, both inside and outside, to no avail.  A sense of a desperate need to find her drove her out into the snow to search the paths they had walked, to no avail.

She searched in silence, not daring to call out to her.  Their time spent at the cabin was a secret she did not care to share with any other.  When finally she returned to the cabin, she was surprised by what she found when she stepped though the door.  Richard was seated in the place she had occupied the night before.  Noami sat opposite him.  Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear secrets she had not shared with Helen the night before.

There was nothing overtly provocative about her dream, except that it left her with the feeling that she had viewed one of her romance novels.  Helen tried to rationalize that she had simply dreamed about two friends sharing an intimate moment together.  After all, she and Angie had spent many similar winter evenings much the same way, their faces close in secrecy at their cabin, away from Richard and Orlando.  What bothered Helen most of all about the dream was her emotional response elicited by the dream, her irrational, momentarily desire upon waking to shake her sleeping husband in order to apologize to him for an act she had yet to commit.

Helen sat at her computer for most of the afternoon.  She spent as much time trying to keep her mind from returning to the time she spent in downtown Minneapolis at Sappho’s Repose or in Noami’s studio loft, as she did actually working on her novel.  She kept thinking about how pleasantly surprised she was to find that she felt quite comfortable in Noami’s studio.  When she was asked to remove all but her blouse, she did so with initial trepidation.  Once the top was free from her shoulders and tucked neatly into the cups of her bra as best she could, Helen felt oddly assured that the situation in which she found herself was perfectly natural.

When the sitting session ended, and Noami guaranteed she could finish the rest on her own, her offer of dinner pleased Helen, as it provided her with an excuse to lengthen the time she would spend in Noami’s creative company.  Helen was amazed as to how at ease she was with Noami.  She was extremely interested when they were talking about Sappho’s Repose and the other gossip surrounding female relationships; she was intrigued by the stories, rather than repulsed or self-conscious.  Most of all, Helen was startled by her desire to learn more about the patrons who frequented Sappho’s Repose, in all their color.  Yes, she was stunned by her growing fancy to spend more time with Noami and get to know her better.

**

Maggie stood silhouetted against the amethyst night.  Helen stood back in the shadows, watching the amber light of the moon play tricks in the waves of her scarlet mane.  She and a dozen other members of the Dramatic Society, including Maggie, decided to forgo the Fall Wrap party in order to spend the evening camped out on top of Agassiz Theater, the college’s performance arts theater.  Maggie had spent days convincing the group that hanging out there was a better alternative to wasting the night striking the set in the main theater below with the rest of the cast and crew.  She had confided to Helen and the others that this was to be her last undergrad theater experience, and wanted her last evening with her friends to be special.  She never bothered to tell them why she did not plan to take part in the spring production, only that she would not.  When Helen asked, she only shrugged in a noncommittal way and sighed something about being too busy or having other commitments.

Helen navigated past the bodies scattered in various positions, strewn across the rooftop.  It was well past midnight, and many of her friends were already asleep, or lay still, due to an inevitable paralysis set on by too much beer and excitement.  Only a few remained awake or sober enough to continue their celebration.  Helen tripped over a bulky mass in a two-man sleeping bag.  Looking over her shoulder, she counted their heads as she found her balance.

“Careful there, Lady Puck.”  Maggie did nothing to hide her amusement.  “You’re like a little puppy, Helen.”

Helen ignored the remark.  She was used to Maggie’s benign abuse, knowing she meant no harm.  It was simply her way of talking.  Besides, Helen understood that despite Maggie’s joking façade, she was mourning a loss.  There were times when Helen and the others had to shield themselves from Maggie’s dramatic wrath.  She was a temperamental actress who could be brutal at times, without notice or provocation, but there was no chance of that on an evening filled with so much sadness—as well as promise.  In addition, Maggie was not quite herself; she had been rendered harmless by a secret she had kept close to her heart.  To Helen, Maggie was amazingly beautiful on the rooftop that fall evening, and Helen did not fear the sharp edge of her perilous tongue.

Maggie had shared with Helen earlier in the semester that she would be playing Titania for the last time.  While Helen did not immediately understand the significance of the declaration, Maggie’s final performance gave meaning to the revelation.  Maggie’s last performance was a passionately absolute execution, flawless.  Helen watched from the wings, her eyes, Maggie’s private spotlights transfixed, followed Maggie’s every action, as if she felt compelled to capture every nuance to memory.

Helen reached out to accept the help of Maggie’s outstretched hand.  Standing on the ledge with her back to the evening sky gave Maggie the appearance of an ethereal being, befitting the grace of the costume she still wore from the evening’s performance.  To Helen, that evening, Maggie was Titania, queen of the fairies, mate of Oberon, an honored guest atop a rooftop wonderland.  Helen allowed Maggie to pull her into a warm embrace.  The intimate physical amalgamation spoke more than friendship.  Helen leaned appreciatively deeper into Maggie’s offered intimacy, in anticipating what would be follow.  Like so many times before, Helen turned her face to receive the touch of Maggie’s lips on her own.  As she surrendered her mouth, she felt the thrill of promise trickle down her back and into her sides.

The next morning, as the hung over collection of young adults stumbled down the back stairs, Helen convinced herself yet again that there was nothing iniquitous in their intimate exchange.  As so many times before, like so many others before them, Helen and Maggie told themselves that they were only experimenting, becoming comfortable with themselves in anticipating for marriage—that was inevitable.  After all, countless other girls experimented as well, did they not?  There was nothing wrong with it.

**

“Helen?... Helen!”

“Yhah?  What?”  Helen looked up, puzzled, still a little disoriented by being snatched so suddenly from a memory.  She gazed into the bewildered eyes of her husband.

“You were a thousand miles away.  Did you hear anything of what I was saying to you?  I was telling you about the meeting I had with Meyers.”

“Meyers?  Just Meyers; wasn’t Orlando there?”  She rose from her comfortable chair, setting her edit sheets in her place.

“Haven’t you been listening at all?”  He did nothing to hide his exasperation as he yanked much too hard at his tie.  “Of course Orlando was there.  He set up the meeting.”

Helen struggled to liberate him from the tightening noose he created with each yank.  “Yes, I’m sorry.  Stand still or I’ll never get this knot loose.  Have you had dinner?”  She checked her watched.  It was only three in the afternoon, and she had an appointment with Noami to make.  She adjusted, “Lunch?”  She realized she had only been working for a few hours.  It felt like much longer.  The passing of time was hard to gage when the past and present converged so artfully, as they had that afternoon.  Lately, memories of Helen’s young adult years began to congregate in great numbers and increasing frequency, crowding out the present.

“Lunch, no.  I don’t need lunch.”  Richard was growing testier by the minute.  “What I need is to have my wife pull her head out of the clouds and listen to me.  No, what I really need is for my wife to give me the answer she promised me she’d have days ago.”
“Richard, really.”  She protested only because she felt she should have.  She had been expecting this for days now.  Helen was able to avoid this particular confrontation much longer than she had supposed.  She knew she would be pressing her luck if she tried avoiding it for much longer.  For a while, when Richard breached the subject of going out of town together for a short vacation, she was able to sidestep the matter.  Now, however, the combination of her weeklong evasions and moody quiet became too much for Richard to simply let go, or allow to be pushed aside by a sweet expression or turn of a complimentary phrase.

He waved away her protests.  He began to pace as he pulled feebly at his shirt collar.

Helen raised her brow against his insistence.  “Richard,” she protested again, but knew it was no use.  He would be put off no longer.  “I simply can’t leave town.”

“Won’t.”

“Cannot.  As I have explained to you before, it is just not feasible.”  She looked in to his hard eyes and softened.  “You had a lovely idea, dear, but honey, it’s just not practical for me.”  She tried to seize his eyes so that she could express in another way that she did not intend to hurt him, but he avoided her altogether by moving across the room to struggle alone with his tie.  Helen made another attempt to calm the waters.  She wanted to lessen the growing intensity of their discussion, which had yet to reach argument level.  Helen wished to avoid one.  She needed to leave soon.  Helen had a final viewing appointment with Noami that she did not want to miss.  What was more, she was in no mood to be cornered by Richard.

The next words she spoke rather deliberately.  “Honey, I tried.”

“Helen, you didn’t try to get away,” he stepped toward her, jerking the silk tie over his head, free from his neck.

Helen recognized it as the one she had gifted him last year for his birthday.  Each time she presented him with a tie, she gave him a tying lesson as well.  When he tied his own tie, it always looked fine at first glance, but Helen knew the knot was actually a disaster.  She reached for it as he approached.

“Can you imagine what’s going through my mind lately?  You’ve been so distant.  I don’t know what to make of it.”  He surrendered the tie without really looking at her.  He could not.

Guilt caused Helen’s hand to tremble as she attempted to work free the knot.  “Richard, how do you manage to tie…?”

“Talk to me.”  He interrupted.

“Rich, I am here.”  She hated that his feelings for her made him vulnerable, especially since she intuited somehow that she needed him to be strong.  “I am here with you.  I’m listening, but I don’t know what you want me to say.”  She lifted his shirt collar in order to retie his tie for him.  He was silent all the while she worked.  She looked deeply into his eyes; an apology filled each word she spoke to him.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”  She smoothed down the collar of his slightly ruffled shirt.  “My schedule hasn’t changed any.  And arguing won’t change that.”

“Fine.  Then let’s talk about what’s really going on.”  He stayed any potential excuses with a pointed question.  “Where are you?  You have been so distant lately.  Something is wrong, and you know it, but you refuse to acknowledge that.  Then how can we talk about what’s going on, what’s wrong?”

Wrong.  A simple word that turned Helen’s world on edge.  Wrong.  That was what Angie had said the night she returned home from the first leg of her book tour.  Wrong.  Sydney also accused her of being wrong.  Helen had a sudden urge to run away from all that was wrong.  All that was wrong seemed to permeate the atmosphere, replacing even the air, which filled her lungs.  She breathed deeply, inhaling wrong, choking on large quantities, trying hard to swallow wrong whole.  Helen was experiencing a panic attack.  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was alright, that there was nothing wrong, that she could breathe easily without the weight of wrongness pressing her lungs into her back.

“Are you listening to me?”  Richard stood before her, his face inches from hers.  He had come up again so suddenly, she missed the movement.  “Of course not.”  He shook her shoulders gently for emphasis.

Helen swayed easily.  She had no command of her body.  Her mind was disconnected from her person, a Cartesian separation.  Her mind had disengaged from her physical person as she dedicated all her mental faculty into righting herself, a difficult task for the breathless.

Richard dropped his hands in exasperation.  “When you’re ready to talk, you let me know,” he said as he charged toward the bureau.  There, he refastened his watch and jammed his wallet in his back pocket.  “I’m going to get something to eat.”  He paused momentarily at the bedroom door.

Helen knew he wanted nothing more than for her to stop him from leaving in such an agitated state.  She wanted to herself.  She made every effort to do so.  She called to him, “Richard!” as he stepped over the threshold.  “Richard!”  She called to him yet again seconds before the front door slammed tight.

Richard could not hear her.  When she spoke, she could not hear her own voice.  There was no air to receive her words, no waves to carry her call.  Only wrong.  Regret cannot travel in a vacuum.  Neither does sound.

By the time Helen found that she could breathe without considerable pressure on her chest, Richard was long gone.  She tried reaching him on his cell phone.  It rang several times before she was shuffled to voice mail.  She disconnected the call before the beep.  She did not want to leave a message.  What could she possibly say to him?  “I’m sorry” just didn’t seem adequate.  No, she would allow him time on his own.  He deserved an explanation.  Since she did not have one for him, she would give him space.  He needed time on his own to think.  So did she.

Helen considered going down to work on her novel.  Writing always helped her feel more like herself.  It served just as much as therapy as it served as a source of income and creative expression.  However, once she sat down at her desk, she realized it would be no use.  Maybe something to eat?  She was suddenly hungry.  She looked at the clock on her desk and wondered where the time had gone.  Four o’clock?  Had Richard been gone that long?

Four o’clock meant she would miss her appointment with Noami.  For about ten seconds, she was happy she missed the appointment.  Her bout with Richard had tired her out.  She could not imagine leaving the quiet of her home.  She was in no mood to be with anyone other than herself.  She would call Noami to reschedule their appointment.  That was settled.

Helen started, quite suddenly realizing that that was exactly what she did not need to do.  She would call Noami from the car to apologize for her tardiness and tell her that she was on her way.

Helen left a note in case her husband returned home first.  She figured she would at least let him know where she was going.  She owed him that much.  Truth be told, she owed him much more.  Yet how could she give him a truth when she had yet to work out what the truth was?  When Helen turned the key in the ignition, she was thinking about her argument with Richard.  She had left him a note, but felt as if she should contact him, make sure he was okay.  Helen began to think she needed to connect with him before he had too much time to sulk.

“Angie.  Hey, it’s Helen.”

“I know.  What’s going on?”

Helen heard the tension in her voice.  “Have you heard from Richard?”  She knew Angie had.

“Yes, he called a while ago.  Orlando went to meet him.  I don’t know where.  Helen, what’s wrong?”

Wrong.

There it was again.  “Nothing’s wrong.”  She expelled the heavy air from her filling lungs.  “I need to make another call.”

“Helen.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t ask me where they’ve gone.”

“You said you didn’t know.  Are you going to tell me?”

“Are you going to go after him?”

“After him?  Do I need to go after him?”  Helen was aware of the accusation in her friend’s question.  “Where are they meeting, Angie?”

“Oceanaire.”

“Thanks.  I’ll call you later.”

“Are you going over there?  He’s fine.  Orlando’s with him.”

“’kay.”

“Helen, Richard told Orlando that he feels like you are keeping something from him.”

“I know, Angie.”

“Helen.”

“Yes?”

“Call me when you need to.”

“Angie.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.  I’ll talk to you later.”

“Call, Helen.”

SEVEN

All of Minneapolis seemed to be downtown.  Helen had to park nearly two blocks away from Noami’s loft.  She was not the only one who chose to park on the street, taking advantage of the free meters.  The bustling throngs on the crowded sidewalk reflected as much.  As a matter of custom, the traffic walking up and down Hennepin divided itself neatly by means of direction.  A bird’s eye view of the busy area would have given the impression of gray-scale salmon migration.  The individuals moving along the boulevard appeared to be wriggling fish, anxious to reach their spawning place.

Helen, along with most of the people she associated with, elected to spend most of her weekend and free evenings in less congested parts of the Twin Cities, and was unfamiliar with the nighttime customs of Minneapolis, so instead of crossing the boulevard and moving upstream with the rest headed in her direction, she struggled against the tide and rhythm of the stream as she swam in opposition of the surge of eager downtowners.

Helen, finally struggling free of the flow, emerged a few steps from her destination far later than she was supposed to arrive.  As she reached the bottom of the stairs to Noami’s studio, she realized that, as a result of her conversation with Angie, she had forgotten to call to inform Noami she was running late.  Noami had no way of knowing she was on her way.  She hoped Noami might still be available.  Just as she was about to ascend the stairs, Helen’s attention was drawn to a change in the shadow above her, midway up the stairs.  A younger woman descending the stairs pushed brusquely passed.  Helen grabbed hold of the rail, feeling as though she was the victim of a hit and run.  When Helen reached the top, she did not bother knocking.  Before she reached the landing, she noticed a note on the door.

“H. Dahl, I waited as long as I could before I had to leave for my next appointment.  Please call in order to reschedule final viewing.  I will be available by phone after 7:00 p.m.  Noami.”

Helen grabbed the note.  She read it twice more before reaching the sidewalk once gain.  She was not surprised that Noami was gone.  She was a busy artist, after all.  At least she was if the amount of work scattered around her loft was any real indication.  Still, Helen could not help but feel disappointed, because she would not be able to see her portrait.  She regretted more missing Noami herself.  She had been looking forward to the dual opportunity since they made the appointment.

Helen hit speed dial number twelve at precisely 8:15 p.m.  She did not want to appear too eager.  She waited patiently for an answer.

“Hello, Noami here.”  Helen listened carefully, trying to make out any identifiable sounds in the raucous clamor as Noami yelled over the noisy environment.  It sounded as if Noami were standing in the middle of a party.  “Are you there?”

“Yes, yes.  Here.  Hello.  This is Helen.  I’d like to—”

“Wait, please, I can’t hear you.  Give me a sec.”

Helen could not quite make out everything that was being said.  She charged ahead.  “Really, I am sorry I missed our appointment.  I’d like to reschedule as soon as possible.”

“That’s better.  My apologies.  I couldn’t hear very well.  I can hear you now.”

“Oh,” Helen began again.  “It’s me, Helen Dahl.  I was just apologizing for missing our appointment.  I was running terribly late.  I did get your note, thank you.”

“No problem.  I’ve got my calendar with me.  Let me grab it.”

Helen listened as Noami reentered the noisy din.  She could hear music distinctly, and laughter.  She wondered where Noami was, how she was spending her evening.  What did she do during the time she did not paint?  How did she unwind after a trying day?  What did she do to decompress when she experienced stress, as Helen had earlier that day with Richard, then with Angie?  Helen sighed heavily the very second Noami put the phone to her ear.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be so long.  When I went back in, a friend stopped me to ask a quick question.”

“Oh no.  I wasn’t…that wasn’t about you taking too long.  It’s just been one of those days.  You know, not much goes right, and it seems as though you just don’t seem to be able to deliver.”  Helen ran her finger through her hair.  There was a short pause.  Helen wondered if she had been too forthcoming with her answer.

“Hell, well, why don’t you come down here?  Sounds like you could use a drink.  We’re having a blow out here at the club.  All are welcome.”

“I couldn’t.  I probably should be getting home, anyway.”

“Are you sure?  There’s plenty to do here, and it sounds like you could use a break.  In addition, we could compare calendars.  It would be easier that way, with them in front of us.”

“I don’t know.”  Helen was not trying to be coy.  She was certain the “here” Noami mentioned was Bath’s Wife, the lesbian club next door to the coffee house.  Noami had mentioned the club before as a favorite evening hangout.  Helen was not sure how she would feel hanging out at a gay bar.  However, the prospect of spending more time with Noami appealed to her.  On the other hand, Richard would be home by now.  He had never stayed away from home past eight, unless they were out together.

“No, I really need to get back home.  But thank you for…”
“Come on.”  Noami interrupted her again.  “I won’t let you stand alone in the corner by yourself.  I’ll take good care of you, Helen.  It’ll be fun.  You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise.”  Noami’s low, soft voice purred through the receiver.  Helen thought she sounded a bit as if she had already begun the celebration.  Noami continued, “Besides which, it sounds like you could use a little libation and relaxation to ease away your cares.”  There was something in Noami’s tenor that worked as a lure bobbing flirtatiously, just out of reach.  Helen did love the way Noami pronounced her name—the rhythm was a little off, the final “n” barely audible.

“You’re right.  That does sound tempting, really.”  Helen could come up with no excuse not to join Noami.  Besides, Helen thought, listening to the background noise, even though Noami had stepped away from the crowd, the club does sound like fun.  “I’ll think about.  Thanks anyway.”

“Thanks anyway?  Sounds like you’ve decided.  I hope not.  Try it, you might like it.”  With that, she ended the phone call.

Helen was left standing with the phone in her hand, confused by the innuendo.  Had she imagined that there was more to the invitation than was meant?  Try it.  You’ll like it.  IT?  What was it?  Like what?  Helen’s imaginative mind swirled with possibilities.  Could she join Noami at the club?  Not think about the stressors for a while?  No book, no responsibilities, and no worrying about what she had done to Richard.

“Richard.”  She spoke his name softly, yet audible to herself.  She needed to check on Richard.  They had not spoken for hours.  When he left, he was so angry.  However, she was not sure she knew where to find him.  Helen called Angie.  She would know where to find Orlando.  Orlando would know where to find Richard.

“Angie.”

“Hey.  Where are you?  I called earlier to see if you wanted to have dinner.”

“Sorry.”  Helen was tired of apologizing.  She had been acting contrite for weeks now.  Yet she had no idea what she was doing to warrant so many apologies.  “I didn’t hear my phone ring.  Why, did you want to meet me for dinner?”

“I did.  I’ve already eaten.  Orlando brought me take-out.  Seafood.  There’s some left, of course.  He always buys like there are five of us.”  She laughed aloud at her own joke.

“No, thanks.  I’m not hungry.  Let me speak to Richard, please.”  The mere mention of her husband’s name stirred butterflies in her stomach.  They fluttered about roughly against her insides, desperately trying to escape.

“He’s not here.”

Helen was mildly shocked—though not completely, if she really thought about it.  “Where is he?”

“I don’t know where, exactly.  He and Orlando mentioned something about a poker game.”  The as-a-matter-of-fact tone in her friend’s voice calmed her a bit.  Angie spoke devoid of concern or warning, unlike earlier.  That meant that possibly Richard had gotten over his anger.  “Come over, Helen.  We can hang out until the boys get back.”

Helen felt inspired.  “Let’s.  Only you come out to play.”  Helen’s entire body tingled with excitement.  The prospect of exploring Bath’s Wife became a reality so suddenly; Helen barely had time to acknowledge her growing excitement regarding the possibility of spending time with Noami.  At least with Angie by her side, she might be more comfortable at the club.  Angie was always more adventurous than Helen.  In fact, if Helen had a nickel for every time she played Ethel to Angie’s Lucy, she would be rich.

Helen was not at all surprised when Angie jumped at the opportunity to go to the lesbian club.  Angie had suggested before, more than once, that it would be fun to troll the few gay bars in downtown Minneapolis, but only on Hennepin, where the place was sure to be safe—Gay 90s or Bath’s Wife.  None of the other less prominent side street bars was to be considered.  That would be a little too off-Broadway.

By the time Helen and Angie reached the club, there was absolutely no street parking to be found.  They were forced to park in the college parking lot four blocks away.  The short trek to Bath’s Wife was made interesting, due to their interaction with the loitering groups of Saturday night partiers blissfully celebrating nothing in particular.  All around them, people partied in the streets to their own beats; each collection of folk enjoyed their private fête.  Both women soon became caught up in the mood of the well-lit boulevard.  The night was a party.  Everyone on the street seemed to have a celebration in mind or a drink in hand.  All around them, music blared from storefronts and forced its way loudly out of side alleys; eclectic tunes converged from many angles, scoring the rhythm of the night.  As they paced toward their destination, Helen and Angie’s steps fell into the beat.  On the streets, people swayed to various motions, each finding their own time to the same amalgamation of syncopated beats, unaware of little else but their own state of mind under a dark sky, the stars having been glared away by the bright, colorful lights along the busy stretch of Hennepin Avenue.

Bath’s Wife was not at all what Helen had expected.  She had of course seen the place before, at least on the outside, and had paid very little attention to the establishment before.  The outside front was quite deceiving.  Standing outside the club, she was reminded of the large display window at one of the mall’s higher-end department stores.  Someone had put an enormous amount of energy and creativity to dress up the public side of the outward-facing window, so that it appeared trendy, as well as inviting.  However, as soon as Helen stepped across the threshold, the doors swished behind her, tightly sealing out the discordant street sounds.  Now separated from anything familiar, she knew that she was in for an experience quite different than was advertised by the public window display.

The space was filled with noise.  People talking to be heard over other voices competed with dance music coming from large speakers on the back of the well-lit dance floor.  The dance floor was well populated with bodies moving to the beat of a late 80s pop song, I Am What I Am.  Around it, the silhouettes of other patrons clustered at tables scattered between the entrance and a bar filling most of the space on the opposite wall.

Once her eyes adjusted to the club lights, they were immediately drawn to a familiar shape standing on the edge of the dance floor.  Noami stood, moving slightly to the rhythm of the pulsing music amid a group of women who all appeared to be enjoying greatly the conversation and colorful drinks, which they consumed heartily.  Helen watched their animated banter for a moment before venturing into the bar.  The diffused light of the bar only enhanced Noami’s attractiveness.  She looked beautiful standing there laughing, her head leaned forward as she strained to hear against the loud music.

Helen attempted to disguise the thrill that ran through her body upon seeing Noami by lowering her face and turning away from the glare of the blue light that spilled out from the metal theater cans above them.  She grabbed Angie’s hand and pulled her over to a vacant table near the dance floor.  Helen chose the seat facing the dance floor.  She did not want to make it too obvious to her best friend that the reason for the sudden interest in the lesbian club was standing before them.  Although Angie would eventually work out the surreptitious reason, she had no desire for Angie to discover that the sole purpose for their being there was so she could spend time with Noami.  Not just yet.  However, she did intend to consort with her.

Helen’s choice of seating was strategic.  She wanted Noami to see her.  She hoped that by sitting there, Noami would spot her from where she was standing, and come over.  Yet she did not want to be obvious.  Angie was quite astute, and she knew Helen.  Helen watched Noami from the corner of her eyes while chatting with Angie, trying to decide what drinks to order.  The two decided that since they were two chicks out on the town, they would splurge a bit and simply enjoy their freedom.  Helen waved over the server with far too much enthusiasm to be simply after a beverage.

“Helen.”  Noami was at the table before Helen and Angie had a chance to order a drink.  “You came.”  She stood next to Helen’s chair.

Helen looked sideways at Angie, who seemed oblivious to her ploy.  Angie appeared not to have noticed the new arrival at all.

“Angie, Noami.  Noami, Angie, my best friend.”  Helen swiveled in the seat to face each in turn.  “Angie, surely you remember Noami.”

“Of course.”  Angie trained her narrowed eyes on Helen’s hand rested on her own.  For her part, Helen worked hard to still her trembling hand.  So much was at stake.  Only now was she beginning to realize exactly what that meant for her.  She had to be sure, clear.

“I’m happy you came.  I told a few people you might show.  They all want to meet you.”

Helen smiled at Angie as she spoke to Noami.  “I’m not sure I’m up to that just yet.”  She checked Angie’s expression again for any reaction that might suggest being in a lesbian club and running into the artist who had just been commissioned to paint her portrait was anything out of the ordinary.  She could tell that, to Angie, her actions were completely transparent.  There was something smug in Angie’s expression, in the way she held onto Helen’s quaking hand with only her thumb.  The simple gesture was so much more.

Helen was nearly shaken from her chair when she realized that, by the way Angie glanced from her to the artist, that she was witnessing Angie’s dawning of understanding.  Angie had figured her out.  “Sit.  Please, join us.  I should tell you.  I love the way you painted Helen.  It’s just beautiful, even unfinished.”  Angie’s tone was welcoming.

Yet Helen had not missed the suspicious undercurrent in her manner.  Noami pulled a chair up close to Helen.  She settled so near to Helen that the two sat shoulder to shoulder.  Their arms brushed casually as they sat in close quarters.  Helen did not attempt to put space between them.  Angie watched them closely.  Helen was certain that she would interpret this as confirmation for what she was surely thinking.

Once Noami and Helen agreed on a pick-up date for the painting, the three ladies sat making casual small talk as they waited much too long for their drinks.  The club was growing more congested by the minute.  Scores of women spilled though the doors of Bath’s Wife in search of merriment.  The servers, while quite adept at navigating the gathering crowd, did not possess the skill of good service, and stopped often to chat with familiar cliques of acquaintances, often forgetting altogether the drink orders they had taken, which began to mount in growing number, ignored, unretrieved on the bar counter.  Knowing this, Noami eyed the counter expectantly, waiting for their drinks to hit the bar.

Angie misread Noami’s preoccupation with the bar with a yen to escape the table, and Helen.  “When will we get to see the final masterpiece?”

“Soon,” Noami turned her attention back to the table.  “It’s done.  Helen only needs to pick it up.”

“Helen only needs to pick it up, eh?”  Angie’s emphasis of Helen’s name was enough to verify for Helen that her dearest friend knew her too well.  “And when am I going to see the final product, Helen?”  She did not bother waiting for an answer.  “Are you happy with the painting?”

Helen recognized that Angie was not at all interested in an answer.  Angie was playing with her.  She had probably realized that something was up when she saw Helen’s reaction to Noami when they first entered the bar.

“Mostly.” Noami answered the question meant for Helen.  “I think it’s the one favorite of those I’ve painted.”

“Really, now that is interesting.”  Angie looked playfully sideways.

Helen sensed she was feeling mischievous.  At least Angie chose to be open to what was unfolding before her.  Helen was certain Angie had make sense of what was going on.  She knew her too well.  She only hoped Angie would support her.

Noami turned her attention away from Angie, to Helen.  “You look great.  Have you done something different to your hair?  Oh, the drinks are ready.  I’ll get them.”

“No, don’t mind.  Let me.”  Angie got up to push her way into the horde of undulating dancers, grooving along with them, parting bodies along the way.

“Thanks,” Noami replied as she scooted her chair to allow someone to pass behind her on the way to the dance floor.  She grinned devilishly at Helen, since she had landed so close, their thighs touched.  Helen liked the smell of the air between them.  She inhaled deeply as their shoulders brushed intimately, a silent accord.  The contact, mixed with the scent of musky perfume, elicited sensations and a stirring down her middle that urged Helen to settle into Noami’s shoulder.  Noami’s scent enveloped her.  Helen felt Noami’s breath on her neck, and leaned into its warmth.  Noami had been consuming something saccharine that colored her breath sweet and sour.  Her mood lightened greatly from the dread she felt earlier.  The longer she relaxed conversing with Noami about matters of little importance, the higher her spirits soared.  All of her concerns seemed to slip away.  Noami filled her in on some of the current gossip floating around the club, and pointed to a woman standing in a corner, or another one seated at the bar, or else she motioned discretely at a couple moving together on the dance floor, connecting faces to stories.  Helen listened intently.

Partway through the conversation, Angie returned to the table with the drinks, but paid only enough attention to know she was not quite as interested as Helen was in the local gossip.  Her interest laid elsewhere—the dance floor.  Angie grew tired of watching Helen rub shoulders with Noami, their heads close, lowered together in confidence.  Though invested in Helen’s well-being, she was bored sitting with the present company, and watching them hook up felt like such an intrusion.

She resolved that she was a third wheel.  She had enough of being ignored by them as they explored each other’s boundaries.  Angie recognized what was going on, and accepted the obvious connection as one of those chances that life offered.  What Helen chose to do with the prospect was her business.  With one long, meaningful look of support over her shoulder, she escaped to the dance floor, leaving her best friend to her own devices, so that she could encounter whatever it was she was about to discover without the presence of reminders of just what was at stake or what she was risking clouding the water.

Helen had not noticed that Angie had left the table until she spotted her on the dance floor, moving with great enthusiasm in the midst of a bevy of women dancing wildly beneath the colored lights.  Angie was dancing, but she was also watching them from across the room, quietly checking in.

She tried to imagine what she and Noami must look like, their heads together, from Angie’s perspective.  Noami was flirting with Helen.  Helen was flirting with Noami.  They exchanged light touches of two people who were gently appraising each other.  Noami made the first conciliation by linking her arm with Helen’s, pulling her closer still, guiding her into her own intimate space.  As Helen watched her best friend swaying to the music, excited by the newness of the Friday night lesbian tradition, she suddenly realized Angie was much more engaged in returning the gaze, watching Helen as she began a new relationship, than dancing to the song.

She and Angie were best friends, but Helen was also the wife of her husband’s best friend.  She was one of a foursome of best friends who had been a foursome for decades.  Helen realized what Angie must have been thinking.  She had to admit to herself that Angie would be correct.  Helen was beginning a relationship that was not within the purview of what her marriage to Richard allowed.

Later, Helen stood alone at the bar, waiting to place a drink order.  Angie and Noami had disappeared in the mass of bodies in motion on the dance floor, Angie having returned to the table and swooped Noami to the dance with her.  Every once in a while, Helen would spot the two with their heads together.  They appeared to be engaged in the frivolous act of dance, yet the expressions on both their faces reflected a business more serious.  Angie appeared to be giving Noami the third degree.  Noami did not seem to mind, really.

“What can I get you, Dear?”  The African American woman from the coffee house stood before her.  Prior to speaking to Helen, she had been engrossed in a conversation with a young woman who appeared to be listening intently, hanging on her every word.  Her voice was low and resonant, comforting.  “How about a nice cold beer?”

Helen considered a nice cold beer.  She had not had a beer in years.  Tonight was an evening of adventure, but not one for beer.  “White Wine Spritzer, please.”

“I’ll get that drink for you.”  She turned away to make the drink.

Helen stood leaning against the bar, feeling a little nervous.  Interestingly enough, she was not nervous about her pursuit of Noami.  Somehow, she had reconciled herself with what was budding between them.  She was nervous because she was standing alone in a bar where she was not acquainted with anyone other than Angie.  Helen was unaccustomed to being a stranger in a room of friends.  Typically, she was the hub in the wheel, the person who the room full of chattering people had in common.  Not tonight.

“Here you are.  A White Wine Spritzer.  We don’t get call for this one too often.”  She watched Helen take a sip.  “How is it?  Okay?”

“It’s fine.  Thank you.”

“Let me know when you’re ready for your next.”  She nodded, turning back to the young lady to whom she had been talking to when Helen walked up to the bar.  “Sheila, you have got to let it go.”

Helen felt as though she was eavesdropping, yet there really was no place else to go.  She was boxed in by people and bar stools.

“Listen, you have to let go and let God.  You can’t spend your life trying to fulfill someone else’s dreams if that doesn’t fulfill your own.  You have to be true to who you are.  You have to live for you.”

By the look on her face, Sheila was not convinced she would be able to follow the advice she was given.  “Mom, I know you are right.  It’s just so hard.  I’ll think about everything you said.”

“You do that, Honey.”  She watched the departing back disappear before turning back to Helen.  “So confident.”  She shook her head slowly before adding, “And so young.”  She smiled to herself as if she had just discovered a secret.  “I don’t believe I was ever that youthful.”

“Of course you were.”  Helen chuckled quietly to herself.  “We all were.  And at the time, we just knew we weren’t.”

“You’ve got that right.”  She offered her hand.  “I’m Lial.  Most folks around here call me Mom.  I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.  This your first time at Bath’s Wife?”

“Helen.  Yes, I’m here with a friend.  Two, in fact.”

“Well, enjoy yourself, Helen.”  With that, she turned back to her bartending.

Helen’s feeling of nervousness was growing.  She was just about to mention that she was there to be with Noami, but was not quite ready to admit that aloud.  She had only just acknowledged this truth to herself.  She sipped her drink self-consciously as she stood alone at the bar.  What was she doing?  Why was she there, really?  Why was she suddenly willing to risk so much?  What, in fact, was she risking?  What if what she was feeling was just a passing fancy?

An inexplicable connection to an artist, that was gist of it—an appreciation of someone with whom she shared a connection through her father’s work.  Was that all that was going on?  Helen was certain she felt attracted to Noami.  Had she really defined it as attraction?  She had.  Was it real?  She was sure it felt natural.  It felt right.  Of course, it was real.  She was not at all nervous about what she was feeling for Noami or her interest in her.  She was nervous about the implications of those feelings—what it would mean, really.  What did the fact that she was attracted to the younger and female artist say about her life—her marriage?  The implication of what she was experiencing is what made Helen a little apprehensive.  About Noami, oddly enough, Helen felt quite calm.

She looked for Angie and Noami on the dance floor.  What drew her attention to them was the very woman who had nearly knocked her down Noami’s stairs earlier in the day, moving toward them at a pretty fast clip, navigating adeptly on the jam-packed floor.  She interrupted their dance with such abruptness, that neither of them was able to react to her angry presence.

The woman placed herself between them and began to yell, turning toward Noami, and then back again to Angie.  Noami looked shocked and embarrassed, and from where Helen was standing, Noami seemed to be apologizing to Angie while trying to rein in the new arrival.  For her part, Angie only appeared to be slightly amused by the carrying on of the fuming girl.

By the time Helen made it to them, the worst of it was over.  The young person was being led away by a few others who had come to join the fray.  She was no longer screaming at the top of her lungs.  Instead, she allowed herself to be guided away to the other side of the bar.

“Who was that?”  Helen phrased the question to anyone who would answer.

“I have no idea,” Angie answered.  “An ex, apparently.  She just started in on Noami about moving fast and loose.  The words slut, ho, and a few other choice words were thrown in.”  Angie shrugged her shoulders.  “I guess she was upset because we were dancing.  I don’t know.  You’ll have to ask Noami.  Now, I need a drink.”

Helen looked around the bar to find Noami.  Noami was standing by the bar, speaking to Mom.  Angie walked up to her and joined the conversation.  Helen stood back, watching the three of them converse.  For some reason, the sight of the three of them discussing what had just occurred was the most bizarre things she had ever witnessed.  Helen was not sure whether she should join them or walk quietly away.

Noami was listening intently, but her attention was divided; she looked as if she was looking for someone, searching the crowd.  Finally, her gaze fell upon Helen.  She beamed with relief.  “Helen!”  Noami called to her from the bar.

Angie returned to Helen’s side.  “You don’t have to worry about it, Helen.  The girl just came up from nowhere.”

Helen was not worried.  She was not thinking about the girl, or why she had created such a scene.  Her attention was on Mom, who was staring at her as if she were examining her, as if she were trying to gauge what Helen was thinking.  Helen also noticed that Noami was still standing next to her; an anxious expression covered her face.

Noami join them.  “I’d thought you’d gone.  I’m sorry.  I really apologize for what just happened.  I am not sure what is going on with her.  She just sort of, I don’t know.”  She pulled Helen close to the bar.  “I’m sorry about that.  It’s really embarrassing.  I don’t know how she thinks she has the right to do anything like that.”

“Who was she?”  Helen posed the question, even though she did not think she was in any position to ask.  “I mean, you don’t really owe me an explanation.”

“Well, hell,” Angie began, “Noami owes me an explanation.  I am the one who was yelled at.  Besides, Helen, you need to know too.”  Her eyes glanced from Noami’s face to Helen’s, and then quickly down to the drink in her hand.  “You need to know what you’re, uhm, getting into.”  Angie tried to look as if she were convinced that what she was saying was actually valid.  After all, Helen was a married woman who was getting involved with a single woman.  Angie was obviously very aware of that fact.

Noami obviously agreed.  She guided Helen to a relatively calm table to offer reassuring elucidation.  “Her name is Wire.”  Noami explained that the woman was an ex-girlfriend who had not taken their breakup well.  They had broken up over six months ago, because she had cheated on Noami with their friend, Cassie.  Noami had not seen her for all that time.  Wire had come back last week, arriving unexpectedly at her door, asking to try it again.  However, Noami declined to rekindle the relationship.  Noami also shared that Wire had been a mistake from the beginning.  She was too young and juvenile, her behavior too infantile.  Furthermore, Noami had normally dated women who were more matured, more settled—more like Helen.

During the several weeks following the first evening spent at Bath’s Wife, Helen’s spirits continued to lift.  The dark cloud, which had weighed so heavily on Helen’s spirit withdrew so completely, that the difficult time in the spring scarcely seemed to have transpired.  In truth, in the days surrounding her birthday, Helen had collapsed into a low pensive mood that threatened never to ebb.  The past weeks spent in great part in the company of her new companion affected her so much, that her current disposition was a sharp contrast to her former mood.  The time she spent with Noami had a great deal to do with her new temperament.  Helen was beginning to feel more like her old self once more.  For a while, she had an overwhelming sensation of being a captive of her own life.  Lately, she was beginning to feel less so—freer, less encumbered by her own existence.  Slowly, that feeling of being trapped, which she first recognized on her plane ride home, was dissipating.

As Helen’s emotional state improved, her family’s concern for her mental health increased.  She was aware of the anxious looks they traded behind her back.  They assumed she was oblivious to their concern for what they deemed peculiar behavior, which each attributed to different reasons; Richard believed depression was taking hold of his wife.  Sydney assumed her mother’s behavior was a manifestation of her poor reaction to her youngest as he began the process of moving out of the house.  David, after months of “moving out,” had finally decided it was time to leave his childhood home.

David, who really listened to his mother, could not venture to guess or name the change that had come over his mother, but felt strongly that whatever was going on had something to do with her new acquaintance whom his mother talked about incessantly.  When in the evening, she sat at home with her family and they shared the goings-on of their day, if Noami was involved, David noted that Helen became different.  Her whole demeanor changed.  She revealed a side of herself few had ever seen.

The others contributed her animated mood as one who was simply excited about the day’s events, or that she was inspired by the great company of a good friend.  However, David noted that when she spoke of a day spent in the company of merely a friend, she seemed a little different.  With her best friend, Angie, Helen commented on their interactions as if she took them for granted, with the familiarity of a sister.  With Carle Stovies, the woman she had met as a fan—but shared enough in common that a friendship blossomed—she referred to informally, as if remarking about a favorite song she had memorized as a child, but had heard after years of a long absence.

The way Helen spoke of Noami, David determined, was altogether different.  While she talked about Noami, Helen would pause involuntarily, as if to catch her breath.  When she simply mentioned Noami’s name in passing, she did so with almost a whisper, a naughty youth’s play.  In addition, she smiled more when she discussed the activities of the day and the time she spent with Noami.  Her mannerisms become light and playful as she illustrated their outing to the museum, as if it were her first visit, or the trip she, Angie, and Noami made to the farmer’s market, just for spring rolls.  More than that, Helen had changed since she met Noami.  That was clear to David.  If David was forced to put his finger on when the transformation began, he would suggest her birthday weekend, the week she returned from a few out-of-town dates, early that previous spring.

However, that spring had long passed, giving way to the summer.

INTERLUDE – SUMMER SOLSTICE

Summer ushers in long, sweltering days in which to play or hide from the heat at one’s leisure.  The uncomfortable weighty dampness of spring is bullied away by the oppressive humidity of summer.  During this all-too-short season, the citizens of Minnesota take full advantage of the late blood-orange sunsets and early breezeless cinnamon sunrises.  Summertime in Minnesota is a season most missed when it has passed, and most long for as it approaches.

Throughout this season, the sunlight hours are never taken for granted as they are in states like California or Arizona.  The residents do not squander away the twelve sun-lit hours of the warm season.  Minnesotans spend a lot of time outdoors.  The outside activities begin early in the day, with the wake-up sounds of lawn mowers clipping across meticulously manicured green lawns, or the scraping sounds of metal as homeowners tend to their gardens while their neighbors exchange pleasantries over well-shaped hedges, complaining about the cost of irrigation in a state covered in water.

There is also golf.  Golf is the official summer sport of Norse kinsmen and Viking descendents hell-bent on making par beneath the sun’s warm glow, and of course, the chic umbrellas.  Elsewhere, the day is spent sitting on slight lake beaches, or watching the little ones play in the shallows while their older siblings zoom around recklessly on jet skies, churning muck from the lake bottom, oblivious to the shouted complaints of anglers in their boats.  Summer is also fishing season in Minnesota.  Is it any wonder that, at any given time, one-third of the state’s population is engaged in some activity requiring time spent out on one of the glistening bodies of water?  No one could argue that summer is the season when the land of ten thousand lakes is at its best.

Summer is a time of the year when people wake early and retire late.  The season brings families together, drawing out the most reclusive of relations with the promise of a perfect day, which begins frightfully warm and ends just a hint above cool; the time in between is stunningly pregnant with opportunity to simply love life.  Yes, summer in Minnesota is the time of the year fraught with occasion for grilling meats, various vegetables, and other lip smacking edibles.  Minnesotans are artisans during grilling season.

However, the most anticipated events of the summer are not the chance to try out new grills, fish, or the leisure time spent laying about on the many manmade beaches or traversing the plush golf courses.  The most anticipated events of the summer are Minnesota’s copious food and craft fairs.  The summer is punctuated by these victuals and trade festivals—starting with the Taste of Minnesota, which takes place in June, where the sole purpose of the event is for everyone to stuff themselves at the hundreds of food booths; Minnesotans eat their way through the summer.  The Taste is followed after a measure of recovery time by the State Fair, where entertainment, crafts, rides, and animals compete with food booths serving anything that can be served on a stick to avid fair-goers.  The Renaissance Faire follows shortly.  Elaborate costumes and improvised merriment are the accoutrement for heavily seasoned, slowly roasted turkey legs or frozen oranges sold by shy, busty wenches and off-season actors playing parts that are all-too familiar, yet slightly vague.  Last to come, but not the least of any, is of course Ribfest, a delectable, though mightily expensive prospect for Minnesota’s carnivorous elite to spend the day on their two favorite pastimes, networking and chewing the fat, literally; for this day is enjoyed primarily by the upper middle class set of Minnesota who no longer care to make the drive down to St. Paul’s Harriet Island to intermingle with the common folk.

Noami waited patiently for the line to connect to find out if Helen was a Taste person, or if she preferred the exclusivity of Ribfest.  She counted four rings at the unanswered end before she decided to hang up the phone.

“Hello, Helen speaking.”  Helen had answered just in time.

“Why do you always answer your cell phone so formally?  Didn’t you check the number before you answered to see that it was me?”  She was pleased with herself for not hanging up before Helen was able to answer.

“Force of habit, I suppose.  How are you, Noami?”

“I’m fine, ‘Hello, Helen speaking,’ how are you?”  Noami admonished herself silently.  She liked the way Helen made her feel, but did not want to appear too eager.

“Fine.  Lovely, now that you’ve called; I was just thinking of calling you, Noami.”

“Good.”  Noami had called for a specific reason, but did not want to rush into an invitation.  She had to get a feel for Helen’s mood.  Besides, she was suddenly feeling less confident about the signals she thought she was getting from Helen.  The possibility that she had misread Helen’s openness did exist.  Noami had done her best to make evident her attraction to Helen at the club that she was attracted to her.

When Helen came to her loft to pick up the portrait, Noami tried to make it clear that she was interested in spending more time with her, but she did not simply come out and say so, definitively.  Perhaps she was wrong about her.  After all, Helen was married with children.  However, that did not mean anything, except of course that she was unavailable.  The other part Noami was sure of—if Helen was attracted to her.  She was certain they had connected on that level.  And as spring waned fully into summer, Noami found ways to explore new experiences with Helen.

“Helen, are you busy next Saturday?  I was thinking about going over to the Taste.  I thought you might like to come along.”
“The Taste of Minnesota—is it that time already?”

To Noami, Helen sounded a bit uninterested.  “Do you usually go?”  Noami could not help but wonder if Helen would not prefer Ribfest.  That would be too bad.

“I haven’t gone to the Taste in years.  Richard’s always dragging me to Ribfest, but won’t go with me to the Fair.”

Noami considered the implications of Helen’s choice of words: “drag.”  She liked the sound of that.  It sounded promising.  “Do you like the Fair?”

“Yes, I love it, but I can’t ever get anyone to go with me.  I’ll tell you what.  Noami, if you’ll go with me to the State Fair, I’ll go with you to the Taste on Saturday.  Deal?”

“Deal.  I’ll see you Saturday.”  Noami ended the call a little less confident.  “Deal.”  That did not sound like a date—more like an arrangement, a transaction.  Noami decided then and there that she would have to be a bit more obvious with her intentions.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, the throng of fair-goers at the Taste of Minnesota was at a record high.  The walkways were so congested, that groups of people were forced to walk single file; couples took turns leading, one ahead of the other.  Noami exploited the opportunity to take Helen by the waist, while moving closer from time to time to navigate direction.

“There.  The corn on the cob is just there.”  She removed her hand from Helen’s side just long enough to point toward the great ear of corn hanging above a row of cash registers manned by indifferent-looking teens.  “Then I’m done.  It will take me weeks to work off all that we’ve eaten today.”  Noami was actually in no inclination to eat anything else, but Helen had said she wanted corn when they had first arrived.

“No kidding.  I’m already stuffed.  I don’t want corn, but you have some.  I’ll watch.”  Helen smiled over her shoulder at Noami, as if she were really enjoying herself.  “Besides, if I eat another thing, I am certain I won’t be able to face myself in the mirror tomorrow.

“No, never mind.  I don’t want any either.”  Noami commented truthfully.  “I only pointed it out because you mentioned you wanted some earlier.”

“Yes, that was before the Aussie potatoes, the beef kabob, the corn dog, the falafel, not to mention the tub of cookies.”  Helen dangled the half-full bucket and sighed deeply.

“You’re right.  I am too full to think straight.  Let’s go.”  Noami maneuvered their line of two back toward the entrance.  “We can catch the shuttle back to where we parked and walk all the food off on Summit Ave.  I love looking at those old homes.  They have so much character.”  Noami let her arm remain around Helen’s waist longer than necessary.  She wanted to send a clear message, as well as determine just how open Helen was to her advances.

Later, as they strolled down Summit Avenue, admiring the old homes in the historic neighborhood, Noami declared her feelings.  “Helen, you know I am attracted to you.  I think you realize that, but I want to make it clear to you.”  She halted their stroll in front of an enormous turn-of-the-century three-story mansion.  Noami faced Helen, wanting to read her.

Helen looked intrigued, at least.  However, she did not respond to Noami’s declaration.  “I’d like to spend more time with you.”  Noami paused again.  Still no response.  Helen only looked around her; as if she were worried, she might run into an acquaintance at that very moment.  “Get to know you better.”  Noami forged on.

“I’d like that,” Helen admitted.

“But?”

“But things are complicated, Noami.”  Helen turned and began to walk back the way they had come from.

Noami regretted her boldness.  She had been told all life she was too brash, too impulsive.  “Helen, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.  I like you, and I want you to know it.”

“I know.  It’s just...”

“…a little uncomfortable?”  Noami wished that for once she could keep her mouth shut.  She did not want to ruin her chances with Helen Dahl.  She really was so inexplicably drawn to her.  She dreamt of her, fantasized about their first kiss, being intimate; and at her age.  Noami chided herself and cleared her head of adolescent thoughts.  She was too old to be acting like a sixteen year old.  “Helen, if I’ve made you uncomfortable…”  Noami searched for the words in order to make amends as Helen fumbled with her bag, looking for her keys.

“No, you haven’t.  I’m flattered.  I think you’re beautiful.  How could I not find you attractive?  It’s just that I wasn’t sure, and hearing it…well, it’s different when you have confirmed it for me.  The potential for a little harmless flirting has evolved into possibilities that are more exceptional.  I’ve a lot to think about; I’m sure you understand.”

Noami beamed down broadly at Helen while she buckled her seat belt.  That had not gone too badly.  She waved at the back of Helen’s BMW as she sped down the street, home to her husband.  There was still a chance.

“I’ll give her a couple of days to recover.”

That was not necessary.  The following morning, Helen called.  “I’ll be at Sappho’s most of the day working on my novel.  Do you have any free time this afternoon?  If so, stop by.”

Noami turned over in her bed.  Helen had called before she had even thought about leaving the comfort of her bed.  She had planned to spend most of the day working on a few commissions she had laying about the loft, but Helen’s call had changed all that.  She would spend the morning working diligently on a family portrait for the owner of one of the largest hotels in the downtown area, but the others, she would put off until she returned that evening.  With any luck, Helen might return with her.  Noami chastised herself immediately.  She needed to proceed slowly with Helen.  She was still unsure of her potential as a lover of women and giver of great pleasure that Noami was certain she had buried deep down.

Noami and Helen spent the remainder of their hot summer days investing as much time as possible in each other’s company; their time together was interspersed by Minnesota’s summer fairs.  Noami had been looking forward to the State Fair and her date with Helen for days.  Helen had been away for two weeks on a short book tour, and had just returned, and Noami had not had a chance to see her since her arrival.  Since her return, Helen had been busy with family affairs, so she had very little chance to talk to her.  Noami was feeling a little anxious, because Helen had been back in town for three days, yet with the exception of short conversations, she had very little contact with her.

“Angie, do I have a chance with her?  What if she’s decided not to get involved with me?”  Noami asked.  She had also been spending time with Helen’s best friend.

Angie sipped her iced java with the air of an impatient nanny of a high-strung charge.  Noami was a little irritated that she seemed to find her state amusing.

“Noami, you know Helen is my best friend.  You gotta know I’m on her side.  You know I’m rooting for her.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what’s at risk for her?”  Angie put her drink down.  Suddenly, she became quite serious.  Her eyes narrowed as she appeared to sum Noami up.  “Have you thought about that?”

“Yes.”

“Have you really?  This decision is not easy for her to make.  She’s got a lot of shit going on these days.  Give her some space.”

“I do.  I have.”

“You have, huh?  But I don’t think you get it.”

“Angie, I do.  I get that Helen is torn.”
“Hell, she’s torn.  Hell, Noami, she’s vulnerable.”

Noami did not blink.  She knew the day would come, the day when Angie would read her for Helen, her best friend.  The moment had arrived when Angie decided to have the talk with her about Helen’s feelings and all that was in jeopardy.

“Listen, Noami, you’re, what, in your early forties, at the latest.  Well, Helen’s got at least ten years on you.  Let’s be honest, way more than ten.  If I told you exactly how many, she’d kill me.  She’s been married for twenty-six years.  She’s content with her life, mostly—at least she was until she met you.  Do you understand what is at risk here?  Her children.  Her husband—yes, she does love him.  Her career.  Her entire way of life!”  Angie halted briefly for emphasis.  “If you decide you’re no longer interested, that’s it.  You go on with your life.  Helen will have nothing.  You get it?  Nothing.”  Angie’s face softened slightly.  “Look, I get it, you like her.  But is it worth it?  For her, I mean.  You could walk away now, and she would recover.  No harm, no foul.  She’d be okay.  You could walk away before anyone got really hurt.”

Noami had been staring intently into her cup of frozen yogurt, considering every word Angie was saying.  She wondered if she was being selfish, if her pursuit of Helen would end poorly for them both, or at least for Helen.  However, when she looked up to face Angie to respond, she spotted Helen a few yards away just across the busy boulevard.  Helen had not spotted them yet, as her attention was on safely crossing the street.  She was wearing a fitted black summer dress and heels.  Her hair was pushed back out of her face by the sunglasses she wore at the top of her head.  She was a vision of loveliness, and upon seeing her, Noami’s heart leaped from her chest, and Noami realized just how much she missed her while she was away.  In that moment, she had little choice as to how she could respond.

“No, Angie, I can’t walk away.”  Noami spoke to Angie, but her eyes were on Helen’s form as she crossed the street.  Sure, Helen was over a decade older than she was.  Sure, she came with complications, not to mention a husband who was a state senator.  Sure, either of them might end up getting hurt, but there was no guarantee in any relationship.  Those were all things she needed to consider, but Helen Dahl was worth it, and Noami realized she had developed feelings for Helen.  Even though they had yet to broadcast their relationship—if that were ever possible, given Helen’s marital status and highly public husband—Noami was in love with her, and was not willing to give her up as long as there was a chance things might work out.  “But,” Noami continued as she anxiously watched Helen’s approach, “I don’t know if she wants the same thing from me that I want from her.”

Angie looked over her shoulder to see what Noami had been looking at.  She spotted Helen as she stepped on the curb.  “She does.”  A mischievous smirk spread across her face.  “She talks about you all the time.  Sometimes I have to tell her to cut that shit out.”

The closing day of the State Fair on Labor Day weekend officially signaled the end of summer.  On the last day of the fair, the number of people who visit double compared to any other day of its short run.  Noami was no different from most Minnesotans who waited until the last day to squeeze in a trip to the fair.  Noami and Helen had spent most of the afternoon walking about the congested streets of the fairgrounds.  They had decided to skip the next wave of late-arriving fair-goers, forgoing the fireworks display, choosing instead the quiet of Noami’s loft.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“No way, not after all the junk I ate today.  I can’t believe you talked me into eating a fried Snicker’s bar.”

“Ah, come on.  It wasn’t that bad,” Noami teased.

“No?  The idea is disgusting.  Deep-fried Snickers.  What was I thinking?  If I gain another ounce, I’ll have to start hitting the gym twice a day.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about; you look pretty damn good from where I’m standing.  Something to drink?  Cognac?  I have some Remy or Courvoisier.”  She continued, not giving Helen a chance to respond to her appraisal.  “Remy, then.  Perfect after a day of gorging one’s self with deep-fried fair food on a stick.”

“Ooh, that sounds perfect.  Do you need any help?”

“No, I got it.  I’ll just be a sec.  Sit.  Get comfortable.”  Noami opened the blinds on the balcony window, revealing a view of the night sky before pouring their drinks.  “We’d have a lovely view of the stars if the city lights weren’t so bright, but the moon is gorgeous.”  Noami returned to the window with the glasses.  Helen joined her there.

“You do have a charming view of the night sky.”

“Yes, I pay way too much for it.  But I am inspired by it, so that makes the cost worth it.”

“I imagine it’s more stunning just before the sun rises.”  Helen remarked absently.  She was looking in the sky.  The moon hung high in the amethyst sky, its yellow light contrasted against the night, sending radiating rays beyond their view.

“Breathtaking.  Why don’t you stay and see for yourself?”  Noami suggested without missing a beat.

As Helen turned to face her, Noami could tell she had considered doing just that, if only for a second.  Noami watched her take a sip of the smooth liquor.  There was something about Helen that drove her crazy.  She was sexy and mature.  She was smart, pretty, and creative.  Most of all, when Helen laughed quietly, as if at a private joke—as she had much of the day—Noami became so turned on, it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself.  And she did have a great rack.  Indeed, Noami did appreciate the fact that, despite Helen’s small frame, her breasts were greater than a handful.

Noami caught the moon’s reflection deep in Helen’s eyes, only seconds before Helen kissed her.  Her lips were soft and sweet.  The kiss was tentative and quick; as if Helen was unsure the physical connection was appreciated, ending much too soon.  Noami relieved Helen of her glass before she searched to discover the moon in her eyes again.

Placing her hand on the side of Helen’s face, she turned her away from the window, slowly.  The first kiss had been offered by Helen; nevertheless, she wanted to be sure the next was welcomed.  Noami backed Helen into the window, pressing her against the cool glass.  Helen arched slightly forward, away from the cold shock, just as Noami had anticipated.  Noami’s longing was only heightened by Helen’s reaction.  As Helen arched toward her, Noami leaned into her, so that there was no space between them.  She held Helen in a tender embrace, gently holding her so that it was easy for Helen to pull away if she chose to.

Noami remained still, enveloped in the sensations of their closeness and the convergence of the scents of their bodies together.  She turned her face down into Helen’s temple, burying her nose into her hair.  Noami follow the lines of Helen’s face with her parted lips, then to her mouth to hover there, tasting her breath.  Helen raised her chin, boldly claiming Noami’s mouth with a kiss, which began tenderly, but quickly transformed, reflecting the passion which grew between them.

“You taste good,”  Helen sighed without breaking the kiss.  “Like purple.”

“My life is lavender, so I taste like violets,” Noami teased as their connection deepened.

“Ah, good.  I’ve always loved purple.”

EIGHT

With the fall came another season of change.  The change in weather, signaled by the chill of the morning air, also brought Helen a crisp clarity that was so unexpected that, when it set upon her, a shiver of realization shook her to the core, leaving her limp and breathless.  She found herself frozen still in the midst of a memory that, until triggered by the arrival of the fall, she had not considered for decades.  Helen was confronted by her own transformation.

* *

Helena looked up from her task of raking of fallen leaves.  “Helen, don’t get your dress all dirty, Honey.”  The actual command came from her mother, but physical action had not.  Helen felt herself being scooped up in the arms of May, her mother’s assistant.  “Put her there by Jack.”  She turned to her husband.  “Jack, can’t you see I am trying to take pictures of her in the yard before all the leaves fall?  You’re no help.”  Helena yanked off her scarf and motioned toward the other side of the table. “How do you expect me to get a nice, candid picture if you don’t help?”  Helen was placed away from the sand box, near her father.  He took very little notice of his six-year-old daughter, other than the small gesture of a slight pat on her head.  Beyond that, he paid no attention to his only daughter.  She, on the other hand, toddled closer to her father in search of more consideration.  He ignored her.  Instead, he lavished his attention on his personal assistant, Bennie.

Helen’s father and Bennie sat together on a large deck lounge.  Jack leaned comfortably against the back of the chair.  Bennie sat on the foot facing him, within arm’s reach.  Helen watched as her father leaned for the bottle of beer, which lay between them.  Bennie snatched it up before Jack could reach it.

“Let me.”  Bennie offered, opened the bottle, and then took a sip before passing the bottle to Jack.

Jack picked up one of the fallen leaves and passed it to Bennie in thanks, as if presenting him with a single, romantic rose.

“Jack!”  Helena cautioned her husband from across the pool.  “Do you see your daughter sitting there?”  She replaced her scarf once more and resumed raking leaves, then added without looking up this time, “Bennie, really, you I expect more from.  May, take her in the house and clean her up, will you?”

**

Helen splashed her face once more with cold water, another attempt to wash away the questions that swirled in her head.  She had been putting off calling her parents for two days when first the odd memory of her childhood, brought on by recent events, resurfaced.  She had been feeling so good lately; she had avoided the conversation she knew she would soon have to have with her mother and father.  She had come through a dark period in her life to a large degree, because she had found a gift without actually searching for her.  Helen was on the verge of making a discovery of self that she simply could no longer deny.  That was in great part due to the insight she gained by facing memories of her life from which she no longer chose to hide.

Helen realized that she could not take credit for this alone.  She had received support from two friends: Angie and Noami.  Angie, who had been a best friend for many years, had always accused Helen of not saving enough of her own energy for herself, encouraging Helen to put time aside for herself.  Finally, Helen had taken Angie’s advice to put herself first from time to time.  That time she set aside was spent, for the most part, with her newest friend, Noami, often accompanied by Angie.

The more time she and Noami spent together, the more they found they had in common, despite the age difference.  The greatest unifying point was, of course, Noami’s great adoration for Helen’s father’s—Jack Dahl’s—work.  Both their appreciation for him had brought them together; however, their mutual interest in each other was the cement, which quickened their friendship.

During the months that followed their initial meeting, Helen and Noami passed many hours in each other’s company.  Helen met many of Noami’s friends, and began to build comradeships with them independent of Noami.  She enjoyed discovering parts of the Twin Cities that she had not guessed existed with Noami.  Helen had even taken to carrying her laptop to Sappho’s Repose, the coffee shop in downtown Minneapolis known for its lesbian clientele, because Noami spent so much time there.  In fact, she and Angie had become regulars at Bath’s Wife, a gay nightclub.  Angie became a regular on the dance floor, partying with the girls, all to whom she made clear her heterosexuality; or she could be heard on the loud speakers, belting a Motown favorite on the karaoke stage.  Helen preferred to spend her evenings ensconced in a quiet, dark corner of the nightclub with Noami, gossiping and laughing at their private jokes, ignoring the pulsing music and the other hundred or so patrons in the bar.

Every once in a while, Angie would leave the dance floor to grace them with her sweaty presence, often bringing along a new acquaintance she met on the dance floor.  Some nights, Angie would leave them completely alone to their own devices.  On these nights, Helen and Angie would arrive together.  Angie would sit with Helen until Noami joined them, and then would leave to search out one of her favorite dance buddies.  Other evenings, Noami was already there, waiting at their usual table for Helen to arrive.  However the evening began, it ended quite the same—with Helen and Noami exchanging innocent kisses on each cheek, or else stealing passionate exchanges, and Angie giving Helen a knowing sideways glance.  To Noami, she would offer her hand goodnight and give Noami a quick squeeze of support, because Angie understood before Helen Noami’s intentions.  Angie also knew before Helen did, that Helen was open to Noami’s overtures.  That was the beginning of Helen and Noami’s liaison.

Many warm evenings had passed since Helen and Noami began to forge a friendship so artlessly, in concert, in mutual interest.  Now, however, as the chill of night encroached, chasing away the warm dusk, Helen and Noami’s awareness of each other transformed as unexpectedly as the season in late August.  Just as the leaves turned from youthful green to mature shades of amber and chartreuse, so had their friendship transformed into vibrant hues of longing and desire.

Helen could not say for sure when, during the course of the spring and summer months, her feelings for Noami evolved from attraction to desire.  She only knew that one night while she was standing alone in her bedroom, preparing for a night out with Noami, that she wondered if she might, that night, take a step farther with Noami beneath the full autumn moon, and was not surprised by the thought.

What had, in fact, surprised her, quite frankly, was when she finally felt confident enough to discuss her potential infidelity with Angie, who had been party and witness to the development, as Angie drove them to meet Noami and a few other friends for a moonlit picnic, an annual Bath/Sappho End of Harvest Celebration.  Angie’s response to the idea was to tell her she had brought gum, just in case.  Then Angie laughed and added, “Hell, girl, your face turns to stare at women’s asses faster than Orlando and Richard.”  After a few still minutes of contemplative silence, she offered, “Your life is yours.  That’s it, isn’t it?”  That was all she offered on the matter.  Then, as they turned a off the main road onto a country path and cleared the dark trees hiding the night sky, she added, “I hope you’re serving your old cranberry recipe for Thanksgiving dinner this year.  Last year’s was too tart.”

Helen sighed at the full moon climbing above the trees.  She concentrated on the colored orb as she made a mental list for Thanksgiving dinner that would occur in a little over two weeks.  Where had the summer gone?  She counted the stars in the sky, cataloging them dimmest to most brilliant.  If she were at home, they would not shine as brightly in the night.  That, she thought, was sad.  She settled back in her seat and looked again out at the dark sky.  The pink moon had followed them into the clearing where Angie parked.  How odd it was that the harvest moon was not yellow; it would turn tawny soon.

When they arrived at the harvest celebration, they stood together on the edge of a crowded field.  Helen searched the crowd for Noami.  Angie searched for a drink.  She remained rooted by Helen’s side, honoring unspoken canon.  Once Noami and Helen connected, she was free to do her thing.  By now, everyone in this group they associated with was aware that Angie was happily married, and that despite all her flirting and toying with them, that she was, in her own words, her “man’s thing.”  They were also aware that Helen and Noami, though no one ever asked for confirmation, were in the midst of a budding romance.  Helen, of course, was an off-limits writer on the down-low.

Helen was recognized, eventually, by all as a local celebrity.  No one seemed to care that she was married to a state senator, while stepping out with Noami.  The only one who gave her any grief about it was Magda.  She threw intense glares at Helen from time to time, or the sour comments regarding Helen’s intrusion into her world that went to a greater degree ignored by most.  Then, of course, Wire had made it her goal to harass Helen whenever she found her alone, which was not often.  Angie and Noami saw to that.

By contrast, Mom’s support of Helen had been second only to Angie’s.  It was from Mom, and the hours they shared talking on Helen’s visits to the coffee shop to write, that Helen learned so much about her new friend, including Noami and Wire’s failed relationship.  Noami refused to talk about Wire.  Mom also told Helen some of Noami’s history, and how she came to be a member of Mom’s surrogate family.  One day, months before the harvest celebration, Helen sensed she was about to be privy to privileged information.  She and Mom had been laughing about something Noami had told Mom about her childhood, when Mom became suddenly solemn over her second cup of black coffee.  She began cautiously.

“Noami hasn’t always been who she is today.  When she first started coming to the coffee shop, she was in a pretty bad relationship.  Well, pretty bad from where I was standing.  She was dating her college professor.  That was her first real relationship, I believe.”  She paused to give Helen a chance to react.  “Anyway, Noami was only twenty-three, and her instructor was much older.  Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the age that bothered me, so much as the relationship.

“That professor could run circles around Noami when it came to playing mind games, and she did.  Poor Noami didn’t know which end to sit on, or which end to feed by the time Dr. Romaine was through with her.  Noami was impressionable, you know.  At that age, you want to please.  However, that woman took advantage of her.  She had Noami so tied up, that by the time she broke it off, Noami was a complete wreck.

“And I will tell you something else, if it weren’t for Veda and the rest of them, Noami would have gone back to her.  Yes, about a year after they broke up, she came back to town looking for Noami, telling her how much she missed her and could not live without her.  She told her that she had made a terrible mistake leaving her, and that she wanted her to come live with her in Maine, or someplace like that.  I tell you, for a minute, it looked like Noami would go, until the girls sat her down and told her she could go if she wanted, but if she did, they would never forgive her for it.  So she didn’t.  But that was hard for her.  She was real gun shy after that.  Very cautious, until Wire’s crazy ass.  That was another bad choice for Noami.  Wire left her, too.  Now, I suppose you know Noami can’t get rid of her.  That’s a trip.  Wire left Noami for their friend, and expects her to take her back when she returns to town without her partner.”  Mom shook her head slowly.

“It’s taken a toll on her, Helen.  She’s been hurt a lot for no other reason than she gave too much of herself.”

“I understand.”  That was all Helen could think to say.  However, what the conversation made her understand was that Noami was just as vulnerable as she was, and they both would be best served progressing slowly.  That was months prior to the Harvest Festival Celebration.

“I’ll save you seats.”  Angie kissed Helen’s cheek before heading over to a table.  She looked back at Helen over her shoulder and whispered, “Just go for it,” before Noami came into hearing range.  Helen nodded.  She gazed appreciatively at her best friend’s departing figure silhouetted by the dark surroundings.  Angie did know her so well.

Helen turned her attention toward the future.  Noami was breathtaking.  Helen was blown away by her natural beauty.  She stood in the light of the full moon, her ginger shawl bathed in its amber illumination.  In the time it took for Noami to cross fifty yards, Helen for the first time expressed aloud a thought she had kept to herself for weeks, “I am in trouble.”  Then she smiled.  “What am I doing?”  As Noami approached, she began to agonize over the developing a relationship with Noami.  What would be the impact on her relationship with her family, her husband, and their public image?  She wondered what might become of her relationship with her children and her beautiful granddaughters.  Would they all hate her when they discovered her new passion?  Helen loved her family.  She loved her life.  She had worked hard enough to nurture it into what it was.  She loved where she was at the present time in her life.  How did Noami figure in?

Helen did nothing to try to hide the smirk on her face as she and Noami walked silently toward the seats Angie had reserved for them.  Where would Noami fit in her life?  Noami and Helen sat so close to each other at the table, they may as well have been sitting in the same chair.  Helen found comfort in the little prickle sent up her back as the fringe from Noami’s wrap tickled her bare arm.  How would Noami fit into her life?  For now, the answer was quite simple: however she liked.

Like many other couples at the party, Helen and Noami sneaked away from the crowd, opting to hide away in the woods bordering the field.  Noami brought along a soft blanket to cushion the effects of the hard ground.  They lay besides each other, alternating between speaking in hushed voices and making out for a while before Helen said, “Carmen asked me the oddest thing.  She wanted to know if I preferred kissing men to women.”

Noami sat up on the blanket.  “What was your answer?”

“Women, but I could not quite explain why.”

“That’s easy.”  Noami relaxed again.  “Men are all tongue and thrust.  They have a target that they are always trying to reach.  But women,” Noami’s entire demeanor changed; she spoke in an animated manner, as if she were describing a great pleasure that was beyond description.  “We women kiss with our entire being.  When making love, our skin becomes a conduit for sensory perception, an instrument to be played with, touched, and manipulated.”  She inched her finger tips painstakingly slow up Helen’s side, and down along her bare arm.  “We seek to experience pleasure throughout our whole body and to give pleasure in that way.  It’s just natural for us to presume our partner feels the same way.  Lovemaking with women is very different from men, because we understand our own body—a woman’s body—her needs, her ability to feel her climax in every part of her body, not a central area.  Men mean well, but they have a specific region that they want to satisfy, because that is a function of being a creature with a penis where their pleasure is channeled.  His climax begins and ends in his groin.  He has to be stimulated there to have an orgasm.  We women are lucky in that respect.  We can have multiple orgasms, because our body is a conduit for stimulus.  Let me try something.”  Noami took the tip of Helen’s finger in her mouth and sucked gently.  “What does that feel like?

“It’s turning me on.”  Helen answered honestly.

“You prefer a woman’s kiss because we women kiss with their whole bodies.  We attend to the entire body.  We kiss to stimulate and express our own arousal.  That’s your answer.”

NINE

Thanksgiving was always a busy time at the Dahl-Muir residence for Helen.  Despite all the change to her personal life, that year was no different.  The planning for the evening began as always, with Helen and Richard sitting up in bed discussing the year’s events, remarking on how quickly the holidays were upon them.  As with most years, Richard would suggest a change in tradition, possibly a different venue.  Perhaps they should all go to Angie’s for dinner.  To which Helen would respond that it gave her great pleasure to have the family over.  To which Richard would inevitably counter, that maybe it was Angie’s turn to do all the work.  Helen would then suggest that maybe they could do so the next year; after all, changing at that point would be so unfair to Angie, it being mid-November already.  The detail she would not mention to Richard was the promise she made to Angie years before that she would never have to cook Thanksgiving dinner.  In the end, it was settled that Helen and Richard would host.

Helen began preparations long before the actual day.  Decisions had to be made regarding the meal, place settings, theme music, the centerpiece, and of course her personal ensemble.  The dinner was formal.  Her family had always celebrated Thanksgiving with a grand dinner in the formal dining room with hired servers, and ate from their best china—which of course required dressing for the dinner.  Helen planned the menu with great care.  Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday, mostly because it was the one experience, which remained constant for the whole of her marriage.  The celebration began with Helen, Richard, Angie, and Orlando the first year.  Then the other permanent additions to the meal came with the addition of the kids.  The only changes were the special additions to the table.  On occasion, others joined the formal festivities—a great aunt, or Richard’s mom or dad, or a sibling.  Every once in a while, one of Helen’s parents—never both at the same time.  The core group remained the same.

Helen rushed about the kitchen, tending to last-minute details, basting the turkey or shoving heavy pans into the oven, while Angie sat on her usual stool, making cracks about Helen’s natural domestic talent while sipping Amaretto on ice, not bothering to pretend to be as interested in the preparations as she was the meal.

“Mom, something smells good.”  Helen patted thanks softly on the arms encircled around her midsection.

“David, you’re late.”  In fact, he was early for David, who usually did not show until dinner was nearly on the table, just as he had planned.

“Not late.  Early for next year’s meal.”  Angie raised a teasing finger.  “My godson arrives precisely when he intends to.”  Angie raised her chin to receive his kiss.  “You smell good.  Have you got a hot date tonight?”

“Nah, just thought I’d jazz up a bit, this being my last Thanksgiving in residence.”  Even with her back to him, Helen was certain he did a mom check as he made the last comment.  He was worried about her.  David’s plans had been to be moved out by the end of the summer, a move he delayed for the sake of his mother.  He sensed a change in her.  He just was not sure what to make of it all.

Helen continued to prod at the potatoes simmering in their pot, her back to David and Angie.

“Well, Sir, you look great for this, your last year in residence.”  Angie raised and lowered her glass in salute to her godson.  “Have you found a place yet?”

“Yes, in fact, I have.  I’ve actually started moving stuff in.  A few of the guys helped with a load today.”

Helen turned to face David.  “Good.  David, I’m excited for you.”  She knew immediately she had overdone it.  Her words seemed forced, her voice coppery, hollow.  She did not want David to misinterpret her attempt to hide her eagerness for him to begin a new chapter in his life with a mother mourning the loss of her youngest child.  Then he might believe his leave-taking would cause her grief, when in fact his moving out was a relief.  She could feel less guilty about other stuff.

“Mom.”  David placed the handful of olives back on to the relish platter.  “Listen, if you would rather I waited…”

“David, don’t be silly.”  Helen laughed, trying to sound cavalier.  All she managed, however, was a nervous chuckle, which once again belied her true intention to convey that she was quite alright with his decision to leave finally his childhood home.  She looked at him earnestly, and then to Angie for assistance in assuring him she would be just fine when he moved out.

Angie was no help.  She looked from mother to son as if she were an early bird.  Helen and David were worms, each taking their turn to peek their heads cautiously above soft soil, which shifted more with each peek up, exposing them to increasing peril.  “Is dinner almost ready?”  She strained to look behind them at the stove.

“Besides, David, it’s time, don’t you think?  I’ve known this day was coming for a while—ever since you ran away.”  She turned again to tend to her potatoes.  The tender moment was too much for Thanksgiving, a day already given to sentiment.

“Only to the garage.”  Angie was too happy to point out.

Helen shook with laughter.  David stood staring at her undulating back.

Angie broke the silence.  “Hell, the way I remember it, he didn’t make it to the garage.  He stopped in the kitchen for food stock, grabbed a snack, and left his suitcase full of toys for me to trip over.”

Helen and David exchanged conspirators’ looks.  The memory of David’s first and last attempt at running away flashed before their eyes from different perspectives.  When the memory had vanished and was once again stored where it belonged—in the past—they stood facing one another, a silent agreement dawning.  David would move out and enjoy his new independence.  Helen would continue whatever it was she had begun that did not involve her family.  She would continue with the secret she was keeping.

David glanced briefly at Angie.  Helen was sure that, though the glance was fleeting, it was long enough for him to confirm that whatever was going on with his mother, his godmother, who had been her best friend for longer than he was alive, was a cohort, and would continue to protect her—another signal that he was all clear to depart.

“Where’s Cynthia?”  He asked, taking again a fist full of olives.

“In the study with the rest.”  Angie nodded toward a vague space to the left.

“Later, ladies.  Behave.”

“Tell them dinner’s in about half an hour.”  Helen pulled a large silver platter the size of Baltimore out of the cupboard.

“I love that tray.  Why don’t you give it to me?  You know how much I love it.”

“You gave this to me, you Looney Toon.”  Helen laughed through feigned shock.

“I know, but I’d figured by now you would have given me one.  Damn, Helen, you of all people know I give what I want to get.”  She looked covetously at her own reflection in the beautifully etched silver salver as she read the swirling engraved devotion silently to herself, “Richard and Helen Muir.”  She and Orlando had bestowed it upon them on their tenth anniversary.

Helen watched the words dissolve beneath the steam coming off the perfectly basted turkey.  She looked up to see Angie watching the words disappear as well, and a sad look of grief flashed across Angie’s face.  After a moment, it was gone.  Angie took a hard look into Helen’s face, in search of her frame of mind.  They had both been thinking the same.

“I love you, Helen, you know that.

“But?”  The “but” frightened Helen.  Her stomach cinched around her heart, which had fallen into her lower abdomen.  She had been dreading this conversation for months.  She thought Angie had come to her senses, and was going to try to get her to do the same.  She was sure Angie was finally going to tell her that she was her best friend, and it was her duty to tell her that she was making a fool of herself, and risking her family and her happiness for a silly whim, an attraction that promised nothing.  Angie was going to tell her to cut it off with Noami before it went too far, before Richard found out.  Worst of all, Angie was going to tell her to be realistic and leave fantasy for the youth, that she was middle-aged and should know better.

Helen steeled herself for the inevitable.

“No ‘but’s, Helen.  I love you.”

“I love you, too.”  Helen paused.  She needed to prepare for what would come next.  “And I am scared, too.”

“I know, Helen.”  Angie relinquished her seat on the stool for the first time since she planted herself there to watch the preparations.  “Don’t be.  Just be careful, huh.  Be sure.”

Helen nodded.  She had not once come out to explain her feelings for Noami to Angie.  Nor had Angie requested any explanation.  Angie had stood back watching—even supporting—Helen and Noami’s budding romance without even a raising a brow in judgment or condemnation.  Angie had been with Helen throughout most of their maturing involvement and of Helen’s private exploration of the implications, present almost as if a protector, never once offering a word of advice or admonishment.

Angie nodded in return, certain that her point was made.  “Now, let’s get that bird on the table; hell, I’m hungry.  I plan to be as stuffed as that turkey.”  Then she looked around the counter space, an odd look on her face.  “That little bastard.”  She scanned the counter once again in disbelief.  A knowing grin lit across her face before she went running out of the kitchen, screaming, “David, you little drunk, bring me back my drink!”

At precisely 8:35 p.m., the occupants of the Dahl-Muir residence lounged around in various degrees of repose.  The sight brought to mind a den of newly sated lions lying around the ruined carcass of a well-devoured prey.  David and Cynthia, having discarded their formal outer garments—his tie and jacket, her dinner dress coat—lay perpendicular on the floor, oddly crossed, two cubs batting lazily at some discarded toy, both eyeing secretly the ice bob in Angie’s glass of Amaretto that chinked and teased noisily in her hand as she gesticulated slowly, making a point of little importance, which was nearly lost to all, as no one was listening.

Sydney lay contently, curled on Sidney’s lap, having just tucked their two little kittens in a spare bed until the time to depart.  Sidney’s hand licked absently at her long mane, his fingers combing and separating the soft stands of her long hair, enjoying the familiar scent of family, intensified by wine and the promise of dessert.

Angie sat languid on the floor on a large, luxurious cushion at Orlando’s feet.  So full of drink and feast was she that she simply purred gratefully toward Helen, who perched opposite her, occupying a second floor pillow.  Unlike Angie’s slackened posture, Helen sat straight up, erect, an alert lioness, prepared for what might come from her pacing husband, who despite all his drinking, was far from tranquil.

Richard was not left intoxicated, like the rest, by the drink and heavy meal.  He was unaffected by the L-tryptophan-leaden turkey.  Instead of laying about, getting on with the business of digesting dinner to make room for dessert, relaxed and unperturbed as the others were, Richard remained tense and pensive.  His petulance was not lost on his companions.  Yet they rather hoped to sway his ill temper with good food and chilled libation.  Helen served him double helpings of his favorites.  Orlando plied him with bourbon on ice, and tempted him with football—all to no avail.  Richard’s mood, which had been building for weeks, could not be so easily disposed of by such inducement, and all those present were certain of that fact.

Sydney could not stand to watch the tension build between her parents any longer.  When her father paused briefly once more in front of her mother as if he wanted to make a comment, she sat up suddenly to speak.  She wished to avoid the dike break.  “I, we, have an announcement to make.”

All eyes turned to the Sidneys.  Except for Helen’s, who’s remained on Richard.  Richard remained planted just in front of her, and an air about him made her feel as if he were almost ready to pounce.

“Sidney and I have decided to have another baby.”

Helen’s stare joined the others on Sydney.  Angie’s gaze transferred from Sydney to Helen.  She understood Helen’s reaction.  She and Helen’s conversations as of late had deepened greatly over the past season.  They spent hours together talking about where they found themselves in their lives and how they both—particularly Helen—wished different for their children.  Helen had spoken in hushed tones about her own personal sacrifices she made for her family, and to a life she had chosen for herself, to counter how she had been raised, sacrifices she did not wish her own children—particularly Sydney—to make.  Though she did not believe that Sydney’s sacrifice was anything like her own—to abandon who she was, her true nature, in order to attain the dream—she worried that Sydney’s was great enough that she might also find that at midlife she would look back and regret her decisions.

Helen could tell without looking back that Angie’s eyes held warning, pleading.  Her eyes never left her daughter’s as she rose slowly from her seat, back erect, arms and legs tense, every muscle fiber in her body fired, readied for rapid motion.  Helen circled around Richard slowly.  In one graceful movement, she pounced on both the Sidneys.  Orlando, David, and Cynthia scattered, surprised by the sudden movement of a maternal stalker.

Helen remained focused, unaware of the escaping sounds of startled birdlike chatter of the others flapping around her.

“What are you talking about, Sydney?  You aren’t serious.  You said you planned to go to the U of M to complete your Master’s and go back to teaching.”  Helen’s remarks were made to the only Sydney that mattered at the moment.  The son-in-law, Sidney, she completely ignored, despite his proximity to her daughter, or his stake in the matter.  “You miss teaching.  You want to go back to your students.”  The last remark was declarative, not at all interrogative.  “What happened to that?  What’s going on, Sydney?”  Helen did not give her the opportunity to answer.  She reached over and snatched her daughter from her husband.  “Come with me.”  Helen looked around the room, her eyes flashing as she dared anyone, even Richard—and especially Sidney—to intervene.

“Sydney,” she began the second the door slammed shut.  “You seem like a pretty happy person.”  Helen halted her speech.  She was too desperate to make her point.  Desperate people chose bad options.  She paused, eyes closed, index fingers poised over her lips, forcing out any distractions.  She needed to focus.  She needed to be clear.  She needed not to project any of her own personal baggage onto her daughter.  Sydney’s situation, though potentially disastrous, was clearly different.

“Sydney,” she began again.  “Right now, you see your family as your universe.  All of us.  Your beautiful girls, and Sidney.”  She paused briefly, and her feelings of motherly love and concern registered easily on her face.  Helen felt as if she would cry.  “Honey, you see the potential of your marriage, your family, in your father’s and mine.  I did the same when I was young.  I looked at my parents’ marriage, what they did not have—or at least my perception of the life they shared—except I did the opposite.  I saw their marriage as the opposite of what was normal, so I went after what I didn’t see.  No one ever told me I had other options.  So I didn’t see any other choices.”  Helen nodded involuntarily along with her daughter.  “I felt the same as you do now.  But, Baby, it’s all…it’s too much.  You can’t give up yourself, your needs, and dreams, to make your marriage what you believe it ought to be.”  Helen began to pace again.  She was losing her point that had been so clear when she closed them in the room.

“Sydney, all my life, I had the idea in my head about what the good life was.  I believed that I needed a husband and kids to be happy.”  She sighed heavily as the truth bore down so suddenly, and with such weight, she was pressed to the floor.  She remained there.  “Sydney, I looked at my parents’ marriage, my life with them, and felt it was so wrong.  I would look at other families, you see; I thought that other families were so beautiful, so perfect, that what they share had to be right for me, I thought… I watched what they had and knew it was perfect.  Beautiful.  Marriage, a work of art.  I wanted it so bad, the cost was irrelevant.  That cost to me; your father, you, and David.”

“Mom,” Sydney interrupted.  She had not seen her mother crying in years.  Helen held her hand to stay her comments.  Helen knew she had opened herself fully to Sydney, sitting on the floor, crying as she was.  Helen hoped her vulnerability would aid in her appeal to Sydney.  She was also aware that her vulnerability could work against her.  Helen realized that she was so desperate to keep her daughter from making the mistake she had made, that she was in danger of revealing her secret.

“Having another baby now, changing you career plans, won’t change a thing.  The sacrifice you intend to make is unnecessary.”  Helen took Sydney’s hands.  She held them firmly, squeezing until she felt their blood pulsing in tandem.  “Having a baby won’t change what is happening between you and Sidney.  It won’t change what is happening between dad and me.  It can’t, Sydney.”  Helen did not release Sydney.  “You need to focus on you.  Find out what will make you happy, and do it.  You have to be the focus of your own life.  There is no good life, no magic formula for happiness.  If there is, you’re not going to find it through self-sacrifice.  You have to just be happy, Sydney.”  Helen, sensing Sydney was about to deny her charges, plowed on.  “You don’t want to have a baby.  You don’t want to put off going back to work.”  Here, she altered her voice to give it a gentler tone.  “You don’t want to wake up one birthday to find that you’ve lived most of your life for other people.”

Sydney snatched her hands to her sides with such force, Helen understood immediately she had gone one step too far.

“Is that what this is about?  Is that why you’ve been so crazy lately?  You regret giving so much to Dad, David, and me?”  Sydney’s face contorted between hysterical laughter and incredulous disbelief, finally hardening to utter condemnation.  She stepped forward, her eyes leveled with Helen’s.  “I am not you.  You have been driving my poor father crazy with this madness.  I would not do that to my family.”

“Madness?”  Helen’s voice cracked.  She had no idea Sydney would react this way.  Be angry, sure, but this was far worse.  She glanced to the door, certain Sydney’s sudden railing had reached the ears of the others on the other side of the door.

“Yes, madness.  What are you going through?  You are having a midlife crisis, and you expect me to take you seriously?  How dare you!  You are in absolutely no position to give me advice.  I suggest you spend your time talking to your husband—my father—about what’s going on in your head.”  She started for the door, then turned back to face Helen.  “Christ, Mom, I told you I was planning to have a baby.  Did you even hear that?”

“Sydney, I just…” she eased toward Sydney.

“No, Mom.  I can’t believe you.  Dad’s worried.  I, we, don’t know what’s going on.”

Helen watched the tears course down Sydney’s cheek.  She had only meant to convey to her daughter a lesson she did not wish her to learn the hard way.  An easy choice would have been to let Sydney turn the knob and exit through the door.  That was not Helen’s goal—to do what was easy.

“Sydney, reconsider,” was all Helen could manage.

“Reconsider?  Reconsider what?  Reconsider having a baby?  For what?  For you?  Are you serious?”

“Sydney, hear me out, please.”  Helen held her hand out in peace.  More than anything, she wanted peace, inner peace, and peace for her family, peace for Sydney.  Peace.  “Have you asked yourself why you are planning to have this baby?”

Sydney stared blankly at her mother, as if she had not understood the question.  Helen saw an in, and forged forward.  “You have to think about where you want to be.”

“Be?  I want to be a mom.  I love being a mother.”  Sydney cut her off abruptly.

“Where you want to be.  You want to be.  Honey, you were just talking about going back to school.”

“So?  God, you already said that.”

“Think of your life in thirty years—will you be fulfilled?  Will you be happy if you push back your personal plans?”
“ Happy?  Mom, I am happy.”

“You are now, but will you be when the girls, and if you have this baby, are grown, and…”

“Are you nuts?”  Sydney cut her off yet again.  Her outrage could not be managed.

“If…” Helen continued as if Sydney had not interrupted,  “…if you get pregnant, your plans to go back to school and work will be pushed back at least five years.  You know Sidney won’t want you to go back too soon.  Sydney, for crying out loud, think about your own future.  Your future, not the kids’, not Sidney’s.  Where do you want to be?”  There, she had said it, finally.  “Think of yourself.”

Helen wanted to say more.  She wanted to say, “Run like hell before you get sucked into this ideal life you’ve created for yourself that does not exist.”  She wanted to yell, “Run before you forfeit an aspect of self, or trade in part of who you are that you can never recover.”  More than anything, Helen wanted to scream, “Don’t be like me!”

Instead, Helen looked into the fury impeding her daughter’s ability to receive her message.  Helen had abandoned an integral part of her person in order to have a life she knew she could not otherwise have achieved, traded off pieces of herself.  In the moment it took for Sydney’s expression to change, Helen’s life had passed before her, and she saw clearly debris of her past, which lay bare for all to see, thrown about, devalued as a child’s worn or unwanted plaything.  Helen had surrendered true desire and sexual satisfaction for the American Dream.  Such would not be Sydney’s lot, but Helen was sure that in the end, her daughter’s regret would be no less.

“Is that what this is about?  Are you kidding me?  You want me to change my mind about having a baby with my husband, because you are experiencing some foolish empty nest crisis—because your baby is leaving, and you don’t know what to do with yourself.”  Sydney had completely missed the point.  She only heard what she wanted, reinforced what she believed to be true.

Helen stood wondering if she had made a huge mistake, if she had only made matters worse.  Sydney continued, “I cannot believe how selfish you are.  I am happy, are you?”  She turned to leave.  Before she reached the door, she faced Helen one last time.  Her face softened a little.  “Mom, I think you need to stay out of my life and focus on your own.”

Helen heard every word Sydney said.  She internalized every concern.  Yet Sydney had not heard her at all.

“Mom, talk to Dad.”  With that, she was gone from the room.

Helen decided not to follow her out to meet the anxious faces she was certain would greet her wide-eyed outside the door.  Of course, they heard most of the conversation.  No, Helen would not face the others.  Not because she was afraid to face them, rather because it was easier for them that she did not.  Besides, Angie—the only one she cared to speak to—and her family had departed already.  She distinctly heard the rapid shuffling of feet during Sydney’s tirade.  That would have been Angie, Orlando, and Cynthia getting the hell out of Dodge, as Angie liked to describe leaving a tense situation.  Helen was sure that they could not get out of the house fast enough.

Helen flopped into Richard’s overstuffed leather chair.  She hoped Sydney would leave without discussing their disastrous conversation any further with Richard.  She had not the spirit for another go if Richard were to become involved.  Helen had not meant for the evening to end as it had, but Sydney’s announcement had forced her into action.  Helen had become a lioness protecting her pride.  She had pounced on Sydney for her own sake.  She spoke from experience.  For years, she herself had grown too lean, feeding the pride first, taking too little for herself.  Now she looked fully, completely at her own reflection, and recognized the results of what self-sacrifice had done to her.  Helen had made the mistake of confusing an ideal for reality, and she believed Sydney was in danger of doing the same.

TEN

After nearly an hour of soaking, Helen stepped out of the full tub and the warmth the water provided.  She had been in need of a long soak after her argument with Sydney.  The evening was ruined and could not get any worse; she may as well go for broke.  She had been putting off the call she needed to make to her parents for some time.  Helen now felt that it was imperative that she speak to them.  She needed to clear the air, really.

She was feeling trapped by her past, and needed answers.  Lately, long-ago-abandoned memories from her childhood and young adulthood began to sneak up on her surreptitiously, entwining their long, curly tendrils up her legs, taking root with such tenacity that she could not shake free from them any longer.  They lay their strong, tenuous arms about her so tightly, that she was forced to acknowledge their encroachment on her present life, and examine the meaning in the context of what she was so presently entangled, but had so many previous years discounted.  Helen was festooned in remnants of the past to such a degree, that she could no longer avoid its reckoning.  The creepers wrapped themselves around her until her present was so encumbered by the past, that she hardly recognized what she had become.

Helen dialed the number she had been avoiding for weeks.  She dabbed at the suds that dripped from her torso before replacing the towel around her cooling skin.  She scratched gently at the anxiety that slid down her arm.  “Come on, damn it.”  Her odd prayer was immediately answered.  The click of the live line at the other end weakened her knees, so that she was forced to lower herself slowly on the bed.  She spoke before her mother, Helena, had a chance.

“Mother?”

“Oh, hello, Darling.  Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Have you got a minute?  I’d like to talk.”

“We’re just headed over to Dad’s.”

“We’re?”

“May and I, of course.  Yes, we.  You know she always goes over with me.”

“To Dad’s?”  Helen’s mother and father lived on the same property, but it had been years since they shared the same roof.  Her father had taken up residence in the guesthouse, while her mother maintained the main house as her own.  “…So it will just be the three of you—you, Dad, and May?”

“And of course Bennie will be there as well.  So, four.”  Helena paused for a few moments.

Helen was certain her mother was assessing any data she had collected in the few minutes they had been on the phone together, a tool she had learned as an accomplished dancer.  Evaluating nonverbal cues enhanced her ability to be led gracefully, even by the clumsiest of partners.  By developing her talent as a dancer, Helena had learned to read people.  Doing so even on the phone line was second nature to Helena.

“Mom?”

Helena did not answer immediately.  “Yes, Dear?”  Then she asked in a voice which suggested she did not really want to answer.  “What’s going on, Helen?”

“Mom, the four of you, right?  Like always?”

**

Helen grabbed hold of the dazzlingly green package.  There were much more under the tree to choose from, larger and more brightly wrapped, in fact, but that was the gift that Bennie hinted she should open first.  For as long as she could remember, Bennie had always guided her as she waded through the sea of Christmas wrapped packages each year.  That particular Christmas, she appreciated his help all the more.  She had turned twelve the spring before, and the brand of presents under the tree had matured as suddenly as she had.  Instead of dolls and other toys—emblems of childhood—each box held tiny hints of adolescence: a new record player, beauty products, designer bellbottom slacks, and other items that might interest a maturing teen were the endowments she received that year.

Somehow, Bennie was always there Christmas morning to convey secretly to her, which package to open next.  He guided her through the series of gifts as if there were an order to them, as if her parents had written her an encrypted story, a tale for the coming year.  Bennie was happy to interpret it for her every year, as if he himself were the narrator.

Helen grabbed a red and silver present next, and sneaked a peek past her father over at Bennie.  His nod was almost imperceptible.  Helen pulled greedily at the shiny ribbon to release the loose knot.  She had not bothered to read the card, “From Mother and Father.”

“Mom, it’s beautiful.”  Helen ran over to her mother, who lounged beautifully on the chaise longue as May, her mother’s new assistant, dashed in quickly to pick up the discarded wrapping.  “It’s a silver hand mirror, like yours.”  She looked excitedly over her shoulder at her father and Bennie, who shared the same plush sofa.  “Is there a brush, too?”  She scanned the large mound of presents as she spoke before turning again to look past her father.  Bennie winked confirmation before sipping coffee from Helen’s father’s mug, and then handing it to him.  Jack did not answer.  He liked surprises.

**

“Yes, the four of us.  It’s always…”

“Always the four of us.”  Helen completed her mother’s sentence.  Her mother had made that statement so many times before.  Helen could feel it coming.        “That sounds so…”  Helen felt suddenly hollow, as if the startling reality had been poured into her and emptied her of everything else.

“Yes?”  Helena urged her on from 1,700 miles away.  “So, what?”

“Intimate.  Intimate, when you say that, the ‘four of us’.”

“Helen.”  Helena’s voice was whispered, barely audible, yet the apology and appeal for forgiveness rang loudly in Helen’s ears.

“Mother, why is it that when you say, ‘May and I,’ it comes across so differently than when Dad says, ‘Ben and I’?”

“Helen, what are you going on about?”  Helena tried to temper her voice.  She made a great attempt to sound as though she were simply inquiring about the weather, but her voice shook as if a great gale was passing through her, shaking her about the rafters.

“Mom, Dad.”  Helen held on as tight as she could to both her parents.  She had been looking forward to their visit since the second week of school.  She had never been away from them for more than a few weeks.  Certainly, the Atlantic had never separated them.

“Maggie, these are my parents, Helena and Richard Dahl.  And this is Bennie.”  Helen had included Bennie as an afterthought, which was strange, because he was ever-present, and she had always thought of him as family.

“Mom, Dad, this is Maggie.  She’s the friend I told you about.  She’s a senior.”  Helen added the last part to impress them.  Not many freshmen would be introducing seniors to their parents during Thanksgiving break.

Maggie nodded politely to Richard and Bennie.  Helena’s hand she grasped slightly, as if it were porcelain, and would break if too much pressure were applied, and performed an odd combination of a handshake and curtsey.  Helen giggled quietly as she watched her best college friend lose all composure for the first time.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dahl.”

For the rest of the evening, Helen watched with charmed delight as her mother and Maggie dominated most of the conversation, while her father and Bennie sat quietly together in the background, sharing private toasts and knowing glances as they watched Helen fawn over her “dearest friend,” who in turn lavished attention on her beautiful mother.

“Helen, are you there?”  Helena no longer attempted to mask the panic in her voice.  “Helen, after all these years…Helen?”

“Mom, I’ll call you back later.”  Helen made an effort to lower the receiver; she had yet to actually hang the phone to end the call.

“She knows.”  She heard her mother speaking on the live line.  Her mother sounded as if she were standing right next to her.  “May, go get Jack and Bennie.”

Helen could not believe that she had lived all her life with the same parents, but had been so oblivious.  She lowered the receiver, considering the words her mother would not have spoken if she had known she remained on the line.  Her mother, in her desire to close the line, had mislaid the phone receiver.  Helen did not want to hear anymore.  “Jack and Bennie.”  The innocuous phrase she had heard so many times in her life, had spoken as often as she had heard, transformed into something foreign, turning her universe on its axis.

Helen shivered, but not at all from the chill of cool air replacing the evaporating moisture on her skin.  She returned to the bathroom to let out the water from the cold tub.  Helen watched the soapy remains swirl around and dive into the tiny funnel forming over the open drain.  How odd, she thought, how there is always something there beyond what is visible.  She stared at the miniature vortex until it collapsed on itself, then she fell to her knees, crying into the towel she had stuffed into her mouth to quiet her sobs.  “If only they told me, I might have been okay with myself.  I might have recognized who I am earlier, before all of this.”

Helen donned pajamas and a robe and exited the bedroom, hoping to escape alone to the dining room and kitchen to survey the post-Thanksgiving mess.  She was simply spent.  She could not bear another Thanksgiving moment.  She headed first toward the kitchen, thinking she would at least start to clean in the kitchen before she headed to bed.  When she reached the kitchen door, she was met with the clinking of dishes and low voices.  David, Sydney, and Richard were deeply involved in clearing and conversation.  Helen listened just outside the door.  Sydney was nearly finished recounting the entire exchange.

“Dad, you don’t understand.  Mom is going through some sort of midlife crisis.”  Sydney’s concern for her mother was clearly discernable above the din of the three noisily clearing the kitchen.

David countered with a snide remark, which Helen had trouble making out, something about, “change of life.”

“You’re right.  Something is going on.  I’ll have to speak with her.  I was hoping it was just some passing phase she is going through.”  Again, David snuck in another inaudible comment.  She did not hear what was said, but the sarcastic tone was clear as hell.  Richard and Sydney appeared to have ignored him once again.

“Her book tour is in two weeks.  Maybe it’s just what she needs right now.”  Richard suggested.

“Yes, Dad, she can clear her head a bit.”  Sydney sounded optimistic.

“You think I should tag along?

Helen held her breath.

“No, let her go by herself.”  Sydney’s voice sounded heavy, as though she had put some thought into her answer.  “I think she may need some space.”

Helen exhaled.  Her release was so loud, she missed David’s response.

“What?  David, if you’ve something to add, why don’t you?”  Richard sounded frustrated, yet oddly calm.  “You’re full of cryptic comments.  Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind after all?”

“Why don’t you ask Mom, if you’re so interested in what’s going on?”

Helen could not see his face, but was sure he was wearing a grim expression that reflected his disappointment of them.  Clearly, he was thinking just as she was that perhaps they might consider asking her if their real concern was for Helen.  David would interpret their reaction as failure, because Richard and Sydney did not care enough really to talk to her about her concerns.

“I’ve got no more than you two have.  Carry on.  I’ll just get myself a few items to go.”  His tone was smug; he sounded as though he had already crammed a few items, including a canary, in his mouth.

“Anyway, Dad, you want her to be able to clear her head,”  Sydney continued, as if David had not interrupted.

“You said that already, Sis.”

“David.”

“Fine, Dad.  My work is almost done here.  Hey, where is the cranberry sauce?”

“Here.  Besides, Dad,” Sydney continued, trying to ignore her brother, “Mom could make it a girl’s trip.  Have her take Angie with her.”

“Have her?”  David’s voice indicated a hint of humor.  “That’s part of your problem.”  There was a measure of incredulous finality in his tone.  He was prepared to depart, leaving them without his valuable insight.

Helen backed away from the door, ready to make it appear as if she were only coming down the stairs and just about to enter the kitchen.

“Tell mom I love her, and that dinner was really great, as always.”

Helen sighed relief as she heard the back door to the gardens slam shut.  David chose to exit through the back.

“You did see him take that wine, didn’t you?”  Sydney clearly disapproved of her underage brother taking alcohol from their parents’ home.

“No, did he?”  Richard had always been oblivious to David’s tricks.  Had I been in the kitchen, Helen thought, David would not have made it out of the door with any booze.  Helen would fuss at David later.  She made a mental note.  She would talk to him soon.  He was oddly silent during their conversation in the kitchen, and there was a quality in his tone that made him sound a little like a cat with a canary, as if he knew more than he was saying.  Helen would feel him out later.  Unlike Sydney, who had clearly chosen sides, David was remaining neutral.

David, Helen and Richard’s second born, was quite the opposite of his older sister, who was just what the doctor ordered.  He had been fussy from the beginning.  He was born jaundiced, then developed colic before he gained a healthy baby complexion.  He bit Helen so much during nursing, she was forced to give him a bottle at a much earlier age than she had Sydney.  David also refused to be potty-trained until well into his second year.  From there, things went quickly downhill.  While Sydney reveled in being coddled and spoiled by her parents, David demanded independence at a very early age.  Opting for public school by age ten, his adolescence was flavored with different, less homogeneous friendships.  His experience growing up was quite different from Sydney’s, to say the least—less sheltered.  In part due to the many different influences, David proved to be a child his parents had difficulty connecting with on any level.  He barely spoke to either of them in his early adolescence.  By the time he was sixteen, he used their house more as a pit stop—a place for fuel and warmth on cold winter days—than a home.  That worried Helen, but Richard had settled.  As long as he was in before curfew and stayed out of trouble, he was fine.

Lately, Helen’s relationship with her son and daughter had come full circle, perhaps in part due to his being in the process of moving out.  She and David had gown quite close during the past year or so, particularly the past few months.  She had come to understand that all, or at least most, of the resistance to a life she and Richard tried to carve out for him was due to the rich diversity he found in his friends.  He seemed to be drawn to diversity.  He saw value in “mixing it up.”  He expressed a genuine desire to surround himself and be challenged by different perspectives, which were sometimes in direct conflict with what he believed to be true.  Helen knew she had to thank the city of Minneapolis and his group of friends for that.  David spent more time in downtown Minneapolis than he did in the community in which he actually lived.  Where Sydney was comfortable with the familiar, David was opened to possibilities.  For that reason, he was stimulated by ideas, not loyal to people.  Certainly, he would not choose between his parents as Sydney had.

“Okay, so I let her go alone, or with Angie, then what?”

“Dad, aren’t you listening?  I believe Mom needs time alone.  She’s been pretty busy with her last book, and the pressure to get the next one started.  Look: say she goes away; what do you suppose she thinks about alone in her hotel room when she’s away?”

Helen clicked her fingernail against the silence.  She was beginning to feel a little guilty about listening in on their conversation.  However, her ignominy was not enough to persuade her to abandon the scene she was listening to through the partially opened door.

“Me, I suppose, and home.  You kids.”  Richard sounded more hopeful.  “She does call every night when she’s away.  But she might not with Angie.  You know how they are when they go off together.”

“Sort of.  Only what David hears and cares to share.  When he bothers to talk to me, that is.”  There was a distinct tone of resentment in Sydney’s last comment.  “You’re right.  She won’t miss you if Angie is with her.  Angie is too much like home.”  They both seemed to be thinking quietly for a moment—no one spoke.  “Dad, what’s her new friend’s name?  The painter?  They’ve been spending a lot of time together.  How about her?”

“Noami.  The three of them hang out a lot.”  Another pause.

Helen dug her thumbnail into the space between the two middle fingers of the same hand, an aide memoire to continue the reflex of pulling oxygen to her body.  Her head swam in invisible heat that swirled around her and colored her face red.  She did not breathe, afraid the sound of her own breath would make her miss any of the conversation taking place over the small plastic containers of the remains of the Dahl-Muir Thanksgiving feast.

“Good idea, Sydney.  I’ll suggest she takes Noami with her.”

Helen backed quietly away from the door.  She wanted nothing more than to continue listening, but self-reproach pushed her back from the door.  Ignominy drove her back up the stairs to hide in her bedroom where a memory sprang upon her, as if for penance, as she slid between the cold sheets and covered herself with a warm blanket and salty tears.

**

“Helen, come here.”  Maggie learned forward and stretched across the large floor pillow.  “Sit, Helen.  Give me your hand.  I’ll tell you your future.”

Helen was feeling a little nervous.  It was not her first trip to Maggie’s apartment, but she felt as though that night’s visit was unlike any of her previous visits.

“Here, don’t be shy, Little Helen.  Come, come.”  Maggie’s voice was playful, and heavy with insinuation, almost sounding as if she was reciting lines from a play.

“Here’s my hand, but there’s no future there that you can find.”  Helen attempted to sound sure.  “I don’t believe in fortunetelling.”

“Ah, a nonbeliever.”  Maggie pulled Helen down to the floor next to her with more force than was necessary.  “Let’s see now.  I see a great life.”  She began way before she had completely seized Helen’s opened palm in her own.

“Right.”  Helen snickered as Maggie smoothed the length of Helen’s arm with her free hand.

“Be still, Little Helen, and concentrate, or I can’t read.  Close your eyes and be serious.”

“Fine.  I’ll focus.”  Helen was certain this was one of Maggie’s jokes; she would end up with a theatrical moustache glued under her nose, or else a silly wig propped on her head and a photograph taken, as was Maggie’s way of having fun.

“Shh.”  Maggie hushed her by placing a finger over Helen’s mouth, silencing her in midsentence.  “How do you expect me to show you what’s in store for you if you can’t keep your mouth shut?”

Helen felt what she assumed was Maggie’s hand on her mouth again.  Yet the peculiar sensation rising in her sides told her differently.  She kept her eyes shut until she was certain.  The next touch was sure.  Maggie had taken her mouth with her own.  Helen’s eyes fluttered open, but she did not pull away.  Instead, she matched Maggie’s vim in the kiss, which was sweet and delicate, a tentative exploration of “what if,” which developed rapidly into “what next?”

Helen felt a spring swell in her chest and tighten simultaneously below her belly button.  Maggie did not speak, so Helen did not speak.  Helen simply enjoyed the new sensations that lighted across every inch of her skin, until later, she lay panting and spent, her satiated body tossed across several red pillows strewn over the floor of Maggie’s apartment.  This was her first sexual exchange with Maggie, but it was not her last.

ELEVEN

Helen managed to evade Richard most of the following day, first busying herself with “properly” cleaning her kitchen and putting everything back in its proper place, then by hibernating in her office with the guise of working on the outline for her next novel.  She did actually try to write her new book, but most of the morning she wasted, settled, mired deep in regret.  For the most part, Richard left her to her own devices.  Helen was thankful for that.  She could hear him moving about the house, occupied with this chore or rattling about with that task, making his presence obvious, but clearly giving her a wide berth.

Sydney arrived at about three in the afternoon, sans the girls.  Helen, upon hearing her, rushed out excited to see her granddaughters, who she had not had an opportunity to say goodnight to the evening before.  Her thought was she could use their presence to buy her a little more time away from Richard.  She immediately realized when she met her husband and daughter near the entryway that she had been trapped by her own cunning.

“Mom, I’m happy you’ve come out.  Dad was just telling me that he thought you might be working.”  Sydney reached forward, taking her mother by the arm, and guided her toward the sitting room.

“Actually, I am.  I was just hitting my stride when I thought I heard you come in.  Where are the girls?”  Helen feigned looking behind Sydney and around her sides, as if Erica and Sammy were somehow tucked out of sight in Sydney’s back pockets.  With some effort, she peeled Sydney’s hand from her forearm.  “Didn’t you bring them?”  She was stalling, simply trying to avoid the inevitable, a confrontation with her husband and daughter.

“Mom, come sit with us.  Dad and I are just about to talk.  Join us.”

Helen could see that there was no escaping the conversation, and followed Sydney into the room with Richard following closely, as if to keep her from escaping.

“Sure, Sydney, what do you have in mind?  By the way, you left your serving tray here, and your warming carrier.  I’ll get them for you.”  Helen made for the entrance.  Before she made it to the door, Richard spoke.  His voice was full of emotion.  She could scarcely handle the weight of it.  Her own sins came to bare down on her with such force, that the meaning of his words was lost to her.  Helen found meaning only in his voice.

“Helen, we’d like to talk to you about what’s going on with you.”  Richard spoke slowly, as if he were trying to communicate with someone who spoke in a different language, as if they had not spent the last twenty-six years as husband and wife.

Helen considered for a moment that he knew.  Part of her wanted to say simply to him, “Richard, my life is not what I thought it might be,” or “Richard, forgive me the life we shared together.”  However, all she could manage was, “What do you mean, ‘what’s up with me’?”

“Well, Mom, you’ve not been yourself lately.”

“No?  Who have I been, then?”  Outwardly, Helen was being flippant.  However, the statement, “not been yourself lately,” frightened her.  What was the truth, really?  Was it, as her daughter had stated, that she had somehow lost her way?  That what she was experiencing, the person she was becoming, was a lie?

“Helen, for Heaven’s sakes, tell us what’s going on.  You stay away from home all day.  You go out without even a hint of where you are going, or what you are doing.”

“And, Mom, you are emotionally unavailable.”  Sydney looked cautiously sideways to her father.  Both she and Richard exchanged uncomfortable expressions.  Sydney continued.  Richard had been silenced momentarily by his discomfort.  “Not only that, but you are different, Mom.  You are, and we’re worried.  Nothing you do makes sense anymore.”  Sydney joined Helen on the sofa.  Taking one of her hands in her own, she continued.  “Dad’s a wreck; he tells me neither of you are sleeping, and you aren’t progressing on your book.  What’s wrong, Mom?  Tell us—we are here to help you.”  Sydney looked from Helen to Richard, as if pleading with them both.

Helen covered Sydney’s hand with her free hand, and offered as much truth as she could.  “Sydney, I’m fine.  I’m just going through a change in my life.  I feel fine.  I’m healthy.  I don’t need help.  What I need is time.”

“Time for what?”  Richard demanded, cutting off her speech.  “What the hell do you need time for?  Look, I’ve given you space.  I’ve left you alone, despite my instinct to do otherwise.  Now I’m telling you, I’ve had enough of this idiocy.  If you’re going through some change in life, get on with it, but let’s get on with our lives together.  We have too much at stake; the ante’s too high; we have too many years invested in each other for you to go off the deep end.  I’ve suspected that you have been a little off ever since this summer, maybe as far back as your birthday weekend.  You said you didn’t want a party, and I didn’t listen.  So?”  Richard seemed to realize he might have gone too far, and tried a new approach.  His face softened, and he attempted to appear more compassionate.  “Hell, for all I know, this is some sort of midlife crisis.  Shit, Helen, Baby, get over it.”

“Dad.”  Sydney warned.

“No,” Richard waved away her counsel.  “I’ve tried walking on egg shells, wondering if this is the day she’ll crack.  I have had enough, and I want my wife back now.”

Helen felt as though she were having an out-of-body experience.  Richard was speaking to her as if she were one of his employees with whom he was dissatisfied.  In all their years of marriage, he had never spoken to her in quite this manner.  Sure, he had been angry with her—pissed off, in fact—but never had he taken this tone with her.  She did not quite know how to react to him.  An odd feeling came over her, as though she were watching the event unfold from above, and she had not reacted to him, because she could not from her present position floating above.  She looked from Sydney to Richard, wondering how best she could get away from the scene.  She considered her contribution to this mess, as well as her options for escape.

Helen remained seated, thinking about her own culpability.  No, she had not been honest with him.  Yes, she was hiding something from him, but she was not about to be dictated to by him, and certainly she was not going to be made to feel guilty or bullied into giving up a part of herself she had rediscovered after five decades of  renunciation.

She had to admit that she was wrong for her cheating, but she had abandoned part of who she was for the sake of a dream, her family.  It had not been their fault.  They were, to a degree, being punished because of decisions, she had made in the past, and was currently making, but that was not her aim.  She did not want them to suffer.  She owed them the truth, but how could she offer truth when she did not understand it herself?

A range of emotions coursed through Helen, streaming through her system; errant impulses to run.  She had so much to regret, and equally so much to look forward to.  Her husband and daughter represented precisely what she thought she wanted from life, a support system of people who loved and protected her.  They also represented all that she stood to lose, should she continue to explore impulses she could no longer deny, and secrets she could no longer keep from them—at least from Richard.

Helen decided to share with Richard everything she had been experiencing for the past few months.

“Sydney, will you excuse us?  I need to speak to your father alone.”

“No, Mom.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve asked Sydney to stay while we talked, Helen.”  Richard repositioned himself by Sydney’s side.

“Richard, I’d like to speak to you privately.”  Helen took a small step toward them.  “You’re right; we do need to talk.  I have changed.  I am changing.  I feel like I’ve finally discovered who I am.”  Relief warmed her body as if she were doused in sunshine.

Richard’s expression hardened and Helen was sure he was preparing himself for the worst.

“Now, Syd, please give us a few minutes alone.”  Helen wanted so badly to explain to Richard that after thirty years of being with him, she had discovered that she wanted something different.  She wanted to explain that this did not change her love for him, only made her aware of how she had loved him.

“If you don’t mind, Helen, I’d like Sydney to remain,” he repeated.

“But, Richard, I do mind.”  Helen took a few steps away from her husband.  “Richard, let’s sit and talk, just the two of us.  I’m sure if you just listened to me…” Helen was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings.

Richard had such a pained expression, that she could not help but consider her choices as of late, not in terms of her liberation and the happiness they would bring her.  Instead, she began to think in terms of deficits—what she stood to lose—her family, her comfortable marriage, her life, and friends.  Her relationship with Noami threatened a life she had wished for all her life.

“Mom, are you going through some sort of selfish, self-absorbed midlife crisis where only you matter?”

Helen ignored her daughter’s question, determined to talk through her experiences with only Richard.  She was beginning to feel beleaguered by Sydney’s presence and Richard’s refusal to dismiss their daughter.  She was feeling ganged up on, and claustrophobic.  As she contemplated her next course of action, she believed for a fleeting moment that her relationship with Noami had been a huge mistake, an experiment of sorts, just as she had convinced herself that her intimacy with Maggie had been a puerile exploration of her sexual aptitude.

“Are you, Mom?”  Sydney insisted once again for an answer.

“Sydney.”  Helen pleaded.  “Just give us a moment alone.”  Helen’s gaze moved from one stone face to the next.

Richard remained where he stood when he entered the room.  Unmoved.  Silent.  Safe.

Helen was frustrated and becoming defensive.  A flood of understanding washed over her.  When faced with a chance to confront their problems, Richard was ill equipped or not interested enough to do the work—the real work.  He did not want to know what was really wrong.  He only wanted for it to be right, back to the way he wanted things to be.  Sydney was not there to help him find the underlying cause of what was going on with her.  Sydney was there to keep Helen from doing just what she thought she ought to, tell Richard the truth, possibly ending their fragile marriage.

Richard understood more than she figured.  He did not have the specifics, but he did know his wife.  This was not an intervention at all.  This was an ambush.

“Damn it, Richard.  Say something for Christ’s sake!”  Helen pleaded again, this time with her husband.  Helen was standing on a precipice, below her, a treacherous current emptied into uncertain seas.  Behind her, tranquil land, a life safe and certain.

Richard stood before her, the easy answer, potential rescue with the power to steer her course.  She was ready to give hegemony to him for the sake of her family.  She was ready to ask forgiveness and continue however, he decided was best.  Yet he was impassive, unwilling to do the work.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, except that I’d like my wife back.  Maybe what you need is to see a counselor, get therapy.”  He suggested sincerely.

Helen had heard enough.  Richard did not want to hear her out.  He only wanted what he wanted.  More specifically, he wanted her back to her old self.  What she wanted did not matter.  What she needed was never a consideration.  He did not really care to listen to her.  He wanted action, for Helen to begin to act right.  However, right for him was not good for her—in fact, it had never been.  She had compromised her own moral code by negotiating what she thought was an acceptable loss.

However, as Helen stood toe to toe with Richard, her greatest compromise, whom she did love, and had loved deeply, she realized that the life she traded away and bargained for was perhaps not worth the price.

“Helen, I agree with Sydney.  It feels as though you’ve checked out of this life I have given you.”  Richard could not have chosen words that were more injurious.  It was as though he pushed Helen off the cliff.

She left the house without saying another word.  Only after she reached the car and had safely backed into the street did she allow any emotional release.  She pulled over on the side of the road and began to weep, no longer able to force back the deluge of emotion, which burst free from its place, tucked away behind memories and forfeited happiness.

“Angie, when you get this message, give me a call.”  Helen left the last of a series of messages for her best friend.  She stared at the traffic buzzing past from her favorite window seat for a while longer before she remembered that Angie was in New York meeting with her publishers.  She had gone to renegotiate her contract.  Helen checked her watch.  By now, she had signed a lucrative deal, and was celebrating privately with Orlando.  Helen knew what that meant for those two—sex and Champagne.  Those two could celebrate at the drop of a hat.  Helen had always envied Angie for that.

With her and Richard, sex was always so much work.  Richard seemed to enjoy it.  Of course, there were times when she had enjoyed the sex—at least, the intimacy of the act.  Richard had always been a patient, gentle lover.  Sometimes she wished he were not so polite about lovemaking, or that he always seemed to ask permission simply to touch her.  She supposed that somewhere deep inside he knew he could not satisfy her needs, and was contrite for that reason.

“Are you going to order, or are you waiting for your young girlfriend to arrive before you do?”  Magda smiled cruelly down at Helen.

“Go away, Magda.”  Helen sniffed back tears.

“What’s wrong, Pretty Helen?” she teased.

“I’m really tired.  I don’t feel like company.”  Helen had grown accustomed to Magda’s half-flirty half-vicious assaults.  Whenever Magda spotted Helen alone, she would swoop down upon her, her talons sharpened with some cynical remark about her dress, the company she was keeping, or she would comment about Helen wasting her time with someone too young for her.  Once or twice, Helen was certain she detected a hint of jealousy in Magda’s remark.  Then there was the rare occasion, like now, Magda seemed genuinely concerned for Helen’s sour mood.

“Helen, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were upset.  Can I get you something?”  Magda sat opposite Helen without bothering to wait for an invitation.  She caressed Helen’s hand with her own.  With the other, she reached into her apron pocket to retrieve a handkerchief.  Helen had not realized her emotional state was so obvious.

“Thanks.  Not many people use these anymore.”  Helen hated to feel vulnerable.  She stared at the small cotton cloth, pretending to study the beautiful detail, hoping to avoid meeting Magda’s concerned expression.  “It’s lovely; did you embroider this yourself?”  She turned the handkerchief in her hands slowly to examine closely the intricate design stitched in each corner.

“Yes,” Magda blushed.  “It’s a hobby of mine.”  She stood to leave.  “I’ll send you a sweet over.  I believe we have a trece leche scone hidden somewhere in the back.”  She smiled.  “Another one of Mom’s brilliant concoctions.  Honestly, we can’t keep them in stock.  Those and the caramel rolls.”  Magda threw another concerned look toward Helen.  “And coffee, I think.  Strong and black.  Looks like you could use a jolt.”

Helen smiled appreciatively.  “Oh, Magda, your handkerchief.”

“You keep it.”  Magda did not turn to face her.  “You may need an example when you explain to young Miss Noami what a handkerchief is.”  She added over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen.

Helen chose to ignore her departing jab.  She ran her fingers along the delicate gold thread, following the intricate pattern that must have taken Magda hours to complete.  She was so lost in thought that she did not notice the new arrival until she was seated opposite her.

“Magda sent this out to you.”  Mom set the drink and scone down on the table between them.  “What’s got you down?  Care to talk about it?”

Helen considered her options.  Angie was out of town.  Noami’s advice would be biased by guilt or self-interest.  She was avoiding her parents.  Mom was dependable, discreet, and honest.  Helen needed honesty.  She needed to talk to someone who was not so close to the situation.

“Have you ever considered that you might be a lesbian?”  Helen surprised herself with the question.  “Both your daughters are lesbians.  You spend so much time with…”  Helen did not know how to complete the thought.

“With?”  Mom urged.

“Lesbians.”

“You know, it’s funny, I never thought much about it at all.”

“No?”  Helen eyed her suspiciously.  She had only spent a fraction of the time that Mom had spent in the company of lesbians, and she could think of little else.

“No,” Mom’s answer was succinct and sure.  “Why do you ask?”  It was Mom’s turn to return the favor.  A wary expression took hold of her face.  “What’s this all about?  Noami?”

At just the mention of her name, Helen’s whole disposition brightened.

“Just forget I asked.”  Helen wanted to change the subject.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I think so, Helen.”  The dawning of understanding spread across Mom’s face.  “Helen, tell me something…” Mom paused as she pushed back, settling comfortably in her chair.  “Why is it that you believe you have been thinking about lesbians?  I mean, have you thought about why it’s on your mind?”

“Well, I’m a married woman of more than twenty years who has found herself extremely attracted to another woman, whom I think about all the time.  I suppose anyone in my position would wonder if that makes her a lesbian or not.”  Helen had not meant to sound flippant, but found that she could answer the question honestly in no other way.  She wanted to be guileless with Mom, because she wanted her frankness.

“I suppose you could define yourself that way if you feel compelled to, but why would you?”

“Pardon me?”

“Helen, why do you have to be one or the other?  Think about it.”

“You mean lesbian or straight?”  Helen was not quite sure she understood Mom’s meaning.  “You think I am bisexual?”

“Only you know that.  Helen, tell me something: why do you have to label yourself at all?  Why can’t you simply be Helen, a woman who loves, has desires?”

Now Helen was certain she did not quite understand what Mom was talking about.  “I don’t get what you’re saying.”  Helen sat back in her seat, so fascinated by what was being posited, that any tenseness that had previously kept her sitting on the edge of her seat was melted away.

“What I am saying, Helen, is sexuality is a social construct.”  Mom chuckled at Helen’s reaction.  “Don’t believe, Helen, that Huey from The Boondocks is the only African-American who knows what a social construct is.”

Helen looked at Mom as though she was seeing her for the first time, aware rather suddenly, that she had made some assumptions about the older woman.  Although she had no idea who “Huey” was, or where in the boondocks he lived, she nodded, urging Mom to say more.

“The word homosexuality, and definitely heterosexuality, are labels invented by some frightened, small-minded egotist, probably Euro-American male whose only real contribution to society was to contribute to exclusivity and to further divide the ‘us’s and the ‘them’s.”  Mom took a sip of her tea.  “And by the way, you don’t have to buy into those labels, or define yourself by them.  You can simply choose to be a woman who is interested in being happy and loving herself most and best of all.”

Helen did not know how to respond.  Therefore, for a moment, she said nothing.

“I imagine, Helen, finding a label for yourself is the least of your concerns.  That’s not why Magda sent me out here, though.  She said you were crying.  Is everything okay?  I mean, I’m here if you need to talk.”

Helen looked once more into Mom’s brown orbs.  She was such a good person, and wise.  She began cautiously.  She did not want to misrepresent what she was feeling.  “Consider the implications of the question you just asked me.  I am married.  I have children.  I also have an interest in another person, who I am not married to.”

“So?”  That was it.

“So?  What do you mean ‘so’?”

“I mean, so, what next?  Alternatively, so what else?  Helen, that happens all the time.  You make a decision, and you move on.  On the other hand, you remain where you are.  How would your situation be any different if Noami was a man?  That’s what I guess I mean by, ‘so’.”  Her comment was punctuated by a small shrug.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Can’t I?  What am I missing that makes your situation so different from everybody else’s who finds themselves having to make a difficult decision?  I’m not saying your decision is easy, I’m saying your problem is not unique.”

“How many people do you know who have my problem?”  Helen was feeling defensive.

“More than you know.  You believe your situation is so unique because you refused to stop defining yourself by someone else’s standards.  The question you need to ask yourself is how have you framed the problem?  Are you thinking about your issue as one created by a social construction, or one where you have to make a decision that is best for the people involved, which include you first and foremost?  In other words, is it about figuring out what your sexuality is, or about what you need?  That second question is easily answered if you ignore the first, which you should, because it does not exist, not really.”  Mom calmly took another sip from her cup.

Helen, on the other hand, was utterly confused.  She began slowly, talking through her confusion.  “Are you saying that I don’t have reason to be upset?  Are you saying that my choice is easy?”

“Oh, no.  Not easy, but yours.  If I have learned anything these seventy-something years I have lived, is that all my best decisions are made with me at the heart of them.  You have to love yourself before you can love others, and living a life for anyone else other than yourself will only lead to disaster…or finding yourself in a position where you have given up your right to make choices, and others make them for you, you know, emotional blackmail, ultimatums, demands of sorts, like that.”  Mom stood to leave.

Helen looked down at the half-eaten scone Magda had sent to make her feel better.  Mom had been picking at it while she doled out her sage guidance.  Helen watched her departing back as she walked back to answer a call that had come from the kitchen.  She had been helpful to Helen.  Sydney and David loved her.  They would come to understand her in the end.  Richard was an entirely different subject altogether, but the dilemma between her and Richard was entirely irreconcilable.  The truth was—and this was what Helen had finally come to recognize—that her choice was clear: his happiness, or hers.

TWELVE

Helen made the only decision she could.  She was grateful for her choice as she sat next to Noami on their return flight from her book tour.  She had been traveling for nearly three weeks when Noami joined her in San Francisco for the last four days.  They had spent so much time on the phone talking, that Helen thought it silly not to have her with her; besides, she missed not seeing her.  Hearing her each evening, saying their goodnights, became too much.  Helen finally invited Noami to join her the first evening alone in the Bay Area.  All the stories Noami had shared about growing up in Oakland cropped up in her mind vividly as she traveled around the metropolitan area via the BART system.

When she first asked Noami to join her, she misinterpreted Noami’s silence on the line as rejection.  However, Noami quickly put those concerns to rest by expressing her excitement about the trip.  She shared with Helen that she had hoped she would be invited to join her, but wanted the invitation to come from Helen without any pressure.  The silence was her putting the phone down momentarily to retrieve her calendar, then to race back across the room in order to check to make sure she had no appointments she needed to cancel.

The time they spent exploring the Bay Area was fun.  With the exception of the time Helen spent with her readers at bookstore signing tables, or on talk shows hawking her book, they spent all of their time together.  One highlight was an evening spent in Berkeley when they attended a dance performance at the University, featuring Jason Emanuel Britton, whose dance with scarves was inspiring.

They explored the cities by daylight, enjoyed the sunsets in each other’s embrace, and spent their evenings exploring every inch of their bodies during lovemaking, often until the sun rose, opting to sleep in each other’s arms until midday, when Helen had to leave to fulfill her contractual obligations.

On the plane ride home, Helen thought about nothing else other than the wonderful time she spent with Noami in the Bay Area.  She rested her head comfortably on Noami’s shoulder, watching the flight attendant flirt with the man across the aisle.  She was reminded vaguely of her return flight from a book engagement the previous spring.  She had felt so differently on that last flight, so lost.  She looked into Noami’s enchanting face and received a deep, warm kiss for her trouble.  Noami tasted like purple, again.  She had been eating Violets, a small, violet-flavored breath mint.

Helen smiled at herself.  Prior to the trip, Helen had wondered where Noami found the Violets.  As far as she knew, you could not buy the little Pez-shaped candies any more, but Noami always had a pack in her purse.  The memory of how she had finally asked brought a broad smile to her face and a gentle quiver in her lower abdomen.

“Where on Earth do you find those Violets?”  On the night Noami arrived, her purse was opened on the table in their hotel suite.  Helen had merely asked as a stalling tactic, because she was nervous.  She was not sure what Noami was expecting; however, she hoped they wanted the same from their trip—finally to consummate their relationship.  As it turns out, they wanted exactly the same from their excursion, a fact confirmed for Helen as Noami pulled her lacey panties gently down past the sheer black stockings she had decided to wear that evening, because she remembered that Noami had expressed her distaste for pantyhose.

“What are you thinking about?”  Noami asked Helen, catching her in the middle of daydreaming about their first time.

Helen did not answer.  She had turned her attention to the window.  They would be landing soon, and their fantasy vacation would come to an end.

“I saw you.”  Richard was standing at the front door            .

“Jesus, Richard, you startled me.”  Helen recovered after a momentary fright.  She was not expecting him to be standing in the entryway as she stepped through the door.  She certainly was not ready to face him.

“Did you even hear me?”

“Yes, I did, Richard.”  She had, but she was too distracted with her luggage that the driver had dropped just inside the door that she heard the words, but his tenor had not registered.  “Did you see me on ‘Ellen,’ or ‘Good Morning Bay Area’?”

“At the airport, Helen, I saw you at the airport.”

Helen had made her way past him, and was dragging a bag up the stairs, a bit peeved that Richard had not offered to assist.  “What?”  She turned to face him, her face impassive.  “Richard, what did you just say?”

Helen reached back an hour or so in the past.  She tried to envision what she and Noami must have looked like as they traversed the terminal.  She remembered cautioning Noami before exiting the plane: “After all, we may run into people who know me or Richard.”  For the most part, they had behaved like two friends coming home from a short trip.  However, there was the time or two when they naturally lapsed into a new way of being together, and displayed the indiscretion of new lovers who were just discovering the best the other had to offer.  Once, by the escalator, Noami stumbled.  Helen caught her, taking advantage of their closeness to nuzzle behind her ear and neck.  Then as they settled into the car, while the driver was placing the luggage in the trunk, Noami pulled her nearly into her lap to thank her for inviting her and, “having me over and over again on the trip.”  They had not waited for the door to close before sharing a passionate kiss.

“I was waiting at the gate.  You didn’t see me.  You were busy.”

“Richard.”  Helen did not know what to say.  She did not want to try to lie about what she had done.  She had already planned to tell him when the time was right.  She tried to imagine what he was feeling.  What he had seen exactly?  “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what, Helen, the idea that you had your hands all over another woman?  Or the fact that she was with you for God knows how long in another city, doing who knows what?  Where would you like to start?”  Richard rounded on her with bizarre calmness.  “Helen, are you going to answer me?”

Helen was not sure how to respond.  Richard had obviously been in that terminal.  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to pick me up?  I could have saved you a trip.”  She could not believe she had no other response.

“Are you kidding me?”  He shook his head as though he could not believe what he was hearing.  “What the hell are you talking about?  Or are you going to try to tell me that I didn’t see what I know I saw.”  There was pleading in his tone, as if he almost wished she could.  “Answer me, damn it!”  Finally, he was yelling.

Helen was stunned.  She did not know what to say.  She could not deny what he had seen, nor did she want to.  She was relieved to a certain extent, though she had not planned for him to find out this way.  Her plan was to sit him down and discuss her relationship with Noami civilly.  However, when she envisioned their having this discussion, she thought she would be able to frame the conversation.  She had not considered she would be defending her actions.  In her mind, the dialogue would have been nothing like this.

“Rich, let’s sit down and talk this out calmly.”

“Sit down?  Quietly?  Dispassionately, I suppose, as well.  Well, I’m sorry.  I don’t have the luxury of having spent a romantic, relaxing vacation with some young…”  He was so angry he could not express himself clearly.  He stopped midsentence.  He simply stared at her, his furious eyes twitched involuntarily.

Helen followed him into the study.  He collapsed into his leather chair, catching his head in his hand.  “I can’t believe your father was right.”

Helen wanted to comfort him, but was not sure how.  She had done this to him.  Her actions had caused him to wilt into this person before her.  Therefore, she said nothing.  She did nothing other than to take the chair besides him, and wait.

“He tried to warn me.”

“Richard, who tried to warn you, about what?”  Helen placed her hand lightly on his back.  When he rejected her touch, she placed her hands in her lap.

“Your father told me you might, that you had…”  He was having difficulty reconciling what he had been cautioned about, with what he had seen.  Richard regained his composure.  “The night we told your parents about our engagement, your father pulled me aside, do you remember that?”

Helen nodded.  After all these years, it was strange that she would remember such a detail, but she had thought about that night recently.

Richard continued, “He told me about your friend, Maggie.”

“Maggie,” Helen repeated, her voice a hoarse whisper, as if she had seen a ghost.  She had been thinking of Maggie as of late as well.

“He told me that you had had a fling with this Maggie, and that she had broken your heart terribly.  Your mother seemed to think that you were going through a phase; she didn’t think the business warranted mentioning.  Jack obviously disagreed.  So, he told me.”  Richard sat back in his chair.  He stared hard at Helen, as though he half-expected her to say more about what had transpired between Maggie and her.  “Helen, just tell me it’s over.”

That was when it dawned on Helen—Richard had expected this to happen one day.  He had gambled that it might not, and had lost, but he had been prepared in the event that it might.  Now she understood why he was so suddenly calm, so uncharacteristically somber.  Richard had been looking for signs of an affair with another woman for years.  Now, his worst nightmare had come true, and he was prepared to do what he had to do.  He had to put what had occurred in perspective, repair his marriage, and move forward.

“Richard, I’m not sure what you discussed with my father, but what he told you has nothing to do with what is happening now.”  Helen made an attempt to reframe the discussion.

“Helen, it has everything to do with this.  You’re…You’ve just relapsed into some old behavior, is all.”

She had no idea how to respond.

“Sweety, just tell me it’s over.”  He implored.

Helen was shocked.  She stood up and began to pace the room.  “You have no idea what you are talking about.”  She wanted to be gentle, but did not want to hear any more of what her father—who had lied to her all his life about his own sexuality—had to say on the subject, or any subject, for that matter.  “You have to understand, I didn’t look for this to happen.”  She preferred a conversation grounded in harsh realities, rather than the delusions of her spouse who, despite how well he knew his wife and understood her deep complexities, thought she might be dabbling in an adolescent sexual experimentation, and could be fixed.  Helen was just about to tell him how wrong he was in assessing the situation, when she was given the second fright of the evening.

“David.”  She turned just in time to see their son pass by the study on his way up to his old bedroom to retrieve some of his belongs.

“Mom.”  He offered a healthy embrace.  “How was your trip?”

Helen looked over at Richard before she answered.  “Just fine.”

“Yeah, did you bring anything back with you?”  David asked innocently.

Richard snickered.  David’s innocuous double entendre was not lost on him.  “Your mother and I are having a private discussion, if you don’t mind, David,” he asked darkly.

“No, I don’t mind at all, but if this is what we were talking about Thanksgiving, I’ve given a little thought to the what you were saying, and I’d like to weigh in before you put me out of the room.”  He tightened his grip around Helen’s waist.  “I’d simply like to add this notion as food for thought, and then I’ll leave you two.”  He gave Helen another squeeze.  “Just because we might recognize that Mom is occupied with something other than our happiness does not necessarily mean that something is wrong with her.  She may not be giving us what we want from her, but that’s okay.  She should be able to focus on herself, you know.  Besides, Dad, people change.”  He turned to face Helen, but he spoke directly to his father.

Helen felt as though David were trying to communicate to her in some clandestine way that he fully supported her.  “I’d like you to consider for a moment, Dad, that Mom hasn’t changed, but had changed for us, now she’s returning to who she was before us.”

Helen was stunned.  Was this young man her son?  He kissed her on the cheek.  “Thanks, David.”  He gave her a quick nod and a wink; with that, he was gone.

Richard sighed loudly from his seat before standing.  “Listen, you figure out what you need to do to end this, or I will.  I am not going to let you do this to our family.  Carrying on like some…”  He was careful not to push her too far.  He was getting close to his breaking point.  “Like a hormonal juvenile.”  He crossed toward the door.  “You call her and tell her it’s over, now.”

Helen felt oddly serene.  Could it be that the worst was over?  Had Richard’s skill in navigating the rough political waters worked to her advantage?  He had trained himself over the years to remain calm in the face of adversity.  Was that working for her, or was his earlier outburst just the beginning?  Either way, Richard’s reaction, his calm demeanor, gave her a chance to catch her bearing, whereas before, when he was yelling at her, she was unable to think clearly.

Richard paused in the doorway.

“Helen, are you going to call her?”

“I can’t”
“Can’t?”

“I won’t call her, Richard.  This is between you and me.  She has nothing to do with this.”

“What the hell are you talking about?  Are you mad?  Are you going to now try to tell me that the person I saw you with at the airport has nothing to do with this mess you put us in?”

“She has nothing to do with this, Richard.”  Helen was beginning to feel trapped again.  Her goal was to keep Noami out of the argument, because she recognized that Noami was only a small part of what was happening between them.

“Nothing to do with…She has everything to do with this—or was that yet another woman half your age you were kissing in that car?”

Yet again, Helen did not know how to respond.

“Look, I mean it, either you call and end this—whatever you have going on—or I will.  Just do it, and I mean it, Helen.”  Richard left Helen standing in the room alone.

Helen released the air she was holding in her lungs.  It was quite unlike her to be so nonresponsive to an ultimatum, as was just issued; however, she thought it best to give Richard time to cool down before attempting to try to explain in her own words what she had been experiencing that led up to the scene he witnessed in the airport.  Besides, she wanted to locate David first and speak to him before he left.  Helen was sure that he must have heard most of their conversation.  She started to climb the stairs in search of him in his room where she was sure he would be packing.  Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard Richard’s voice.  He was talking to someone.  She thought at first he was talking with David, but realized, to her horror, that he was not.

Helen entered their bedroom.  Richard turned as he heard her enter, but did not alter his conversation; he turned away from her and continued to speak without breaking his sentence.

“Yes, I realize that this is extremely unorthodox, but I am sure you can appreciate my position.  If you were a man, I would call your trip together an affair.  I simply cannot allow this to continue.  I am asking you not to see her again.”

Helen could not believe what she was witnessing.  Richard had taken it upon himself actually to call Noami.  She sat on the bed next to Richard.  She pushed away her first instinct, which was to snatch the phone or to end the call by pressing the receiver down.  She did not want Noami to suffer any more discomfort than she must be feeling.  Instead, she opted to sit quietly on the bed and share any discomfort Noami or Richard must be going through.  She only wished she could hear what Noami was saying from her end of the line.

“I do understand your point, but Helen is my wife, and I love her dearly.  We have shared many wonderful years together.  We have two beautiful grown children who depend on us as parents.  We’ve built a life together, and you’ve know her for how long?  What, a few months?”

Helen squirmed on the bed.  She could tell he was about to broach the subject she avoided.  He knew her all too well.

“And how old are you?…I’m sorry, but age does matter in this situation.  Helen is old enough to be your mother, I believe…And that’s right, she’s a grandmother.  Why, in just a few years, she’ll be celebrating her…But it does matter, and I should think because you refused to admit that it does matter, is simply a symptom of the broader problem…I do understand…I fully intend to discuss this with Helen, but right now, I am trying to appeal to your sense of decency.  I’d like you to do the right thing, because my wife may not be able to evaluate the damage she is causing to her family; she is too caught up in whatever it is that’s happening.  She’s romanticized the whole affair…You can’t be serious.  I should think that you might know better than that.”

Noami must be holding her own, Helen thought.  Otherwise, Richard would have ended the conversation long ago.  He was patient with an estimable opponent.

“Well, thank you for listening.  I want you to know I don’t blame you for this, it’s… just…well, something that happened.  I’d like you to consider this before you go: Helen was happy.  We were happy.  She and I are happy.  You can’t know what it is like to share twenty six years with someone, what that feels like, only to have it all come apart.”

The silence where Noami was speaking was maddening.  Helen could hear her voice, at least her tenor.  Noami seemed calm.  Richard, too, was oddly calm.  It was like witnessing a game of chess, yet she could only see one of the players and half the board.  She had no indication who had out-maneuvered the other.

“I appreciate your candor, and your willingness to listen.  I do hope you understand.  I am a man here fighting for his life.  I love her; I want you to know that, and I would do anything for her and my family…I hope you can forgive this intrusion in your life.  Thanks again for taking my call; this can’t have been easy for you, either.  Yes…Goodbye, then.”  Richard placed the phone gently on the cradle.  He did not dare look at Helen.  He simply headed toward the door.

“Richard, how dare you.”  That was all she could manage.

“I dared quite easily, or didn’t you hear me tell that young lady that I am a man trying to save his life?”  He exited the room.

“What about my life?”  Helen whispered after him.  He did not hear her.  She sat on the edge of the bed, wondering if she should call Noami.  If she did, Noami would know that Helen had been a witness to Richard’s call, and she did not want to tell her that.  That might force her to admit to Noami, and herself, that some of what he had to say was valid.  He had invested over twenty years of his life to her.  For those many years, he had been a wonderful, supportive, generous husband.  Though she had been an equally remarkable wife to him, she now found that she could no longer play that role, not in the way he needed her to.  That was through no fault of her own.

She was incapable of going back to the life they shared together.  Not because she did not want to—she simply could not.  That was no longer in the cards for her; she had to be authentically herself.  Love herself; first, best.  The role of wife was a part in her life that she was no longer capable of playing, because she had rediscovered too much of what she had once been and so willingly thrown away at a great price.  Now, she wanted to continue forward with both eyes open, without sacrifice or regret.  She would seek fulfillment without compromise.

Helen was not sure what role Noami would play in her journey, but she d hoped she would be along for the ride for as long as she liked.  Noami was something special, and optimistic about their relationship.  She knew that, despite Richard, she wanted to continue her connection with Noami.  She was not sure if Noami was the key to becoming fully who she was destined to be, but she was looking forward to whatever contribution Noami would bring to her exploration.  Despite Richard’s insistence to the contrary, Helen planned to allow Noami to remain involved in her life, as friend and lover.

Helen tried her best to appear calm while she struggled internally in the face of being surprised so completely.  She did not try to contact Noami the next day, nor did she receive a call from her.  She picked up the phone several times with the intention of calling her, but never did.  She wanted to talk to Noami, simply hear her voice, to find out her reaction to Richard’s call, to learn what her response to his plea would be.  She was also afraid of what she might discover; that Richard’s call had worked, and Noami decided to give Richard what he wanted—his wife back.  She wanted to call Noami, but she did not dare.  Instead, she called her parent’s home.  She had not spoken to her mother since Thanksgiving, even though both her parents had called her several times.  Her father called at least five times.  While her mother gave up after two attempts.

“Dad, you’re home.  I’m happy I caught you in.”

“Helen.”  He seemed relieved to hear her voice.  “I’ve, we’ve been worried about you.  You haven’t been taking our calls.”

“Can you imagine why?”

There was silence at the other end of the line.  Helen figured he did not know what to say to that question.  Honesty would have been welcomed.  Then again, she was in no position to throw stones.

“You know what’s interesting, is that all my life, I’ve heard those rumors about you, and never given them any credence.  You could have told me.”

“I never lied to you, Helen.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s accurate…and an easy way out.  But I wonder if you had simply told me…”  She left the rest of her thought float away between them, unvoiced.  “How are you, Dad?”

“We’re fine here.  How are you?”  There was an odd quality in his voice that Helen did not recognize.  He was holding back.  He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask her.

“Dad, have you spoken with Richard lately?”

“Yes, he called today.  Just before you called.”
“ Did he?  What did he have to say?”

“Wanted me to know I was right about something I’d told him years ago.  He wanted some advice.”  He was clearly avoiding crucial details.

“I know you told him about Maggie.  He mentioned her earlier.”

“He told you, did he?”

“More accurately, he threw it in my face, actually.  Did you offer any advice?”

“I only told him because I thought he ought to know, Helen.  I didn’t mean to cause you any problems.”

“I know, Dad, and you didn’t.  Our problems are our own.  Did you offer him any advice?”  She repeated the question in a tone that indicated she required an answer from him.

“I told him if he loves you, then he loves all of you.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He said he loved you, that was all.  He does, Helen.”

“The way Mom loves you?”  She had not meant to be cruel, but realized she hurt his feelings.  Before she finished voicing the question, she regretted her words.

“Helen…”

“Tell Mom I called, please.”  She did not wait for his reply.  He thought he was helping her.  She knew that.

The following morning, Helen slipped into the study to call Noami.  She regretted calling her so early, but wanted to make the call while Richard was at work and would not be able to overhear their conversation.  She had given her over twenty-four hours to consider what Richard had to say to her.  Helen only hoped that Noami understood that the decision of whether or not they would continue to see each other was up to Helen, not Richard.  As soon as Noami answered the phone, a rush of emotion passed over Helen.  She was overjoyed at the sound of her voice.  Noami sounded equally thrilled to receive her call.

“Hello.  I didn’t expect to hear from you…so soon.”

Helen caught the afterthought of, “so soon.”  Noami must have felt just as uncertain about their status as Helen.  Noami could not know how determined Helen was to keep her in her life, how much she craved her presence, desired to be near her.  She wanted Noami.  She needed Noami.  She wanted to breathe in and live Noami.  “I was going to call last night, but Richard and I, well, it was a rough evening.”

“I can imagine.  Are you okay?”  She guessed that Noami had decided not to mention Richard’s call.  She was thankful for that.

“I’ll be fine.  We had a quite a row, is all.”

“I’m sorry; can I help?”

“Yes, you can keep talking to me.  I’ve missed you.”  Helen had surmised right—Noami was going to let her make the decisions for herself.  “I’ve really missed you.”  Helen cleared her throat, trying to rid herself of the taut pull of her throat muscles.

“You sound a little stressed, Helen.  Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”  Noami was nearly purring.

“Maybe.” Helen tried to soften her voice.  “I’ll let you know when I see you.  Tomorrow?”

“What does your calendar look like for tomorrow?  Let’s meet.  I have from noon until the next morning open; care to join me for lunch?”

“Until the next morning, huh?  All that time for lunch—what else do you have in mind?”

“I think you know.”

Helen and Noami fell easily into their normal lovers’ rhythm.  By the end of the call, Helen was sure that Richard had not ruined her chances with Noami.  She also recognized, as she sat down at her desk to work on her novel two hours later, that she was relieved that Noami was going to remain a welcome aspect in her life.  Noami was a good friend, a caring companion, and a thrilling lover, and Helen did not want to lose her.

THIRTEEN

The smashing sound from the ground floor frightened Helen, jerking her from her prone position on the bed.  She had worked all day moving her belongings into the guest bedroom, and was taking a mental break from the physical labor.  For her, that meant she was sitting on her bed with her laptop on her lap, working on her new novel.  Prior to laying back on the bed, she had been working for over an hour without interruption, so had quite frankly forgotten there was anyone in the house with her, despite the fact that David had done most of the lifting to convey  her into her new accommodations.  He had not even tried to convince her to remain in her marital bed.

Helen was thankful that he was choosing to remain neutral, unlike Sydney, who had not spoken to her mother in days.  When he arrived to gather yet more of his belongings, and found her lifting heavy boxes and dragging large suitcases out of her bedroom, he did not even ask her what she was doing.  All he did, once he placed the box she was dragging into what he had all his life considered the guest room, was ask, “What else are you moving, Mom?”

She exited the room, knowing precisely where the shattering-glass noise originated.  A second, still louder crash halted her stride before she made it to the small landing on the stairs where the steps take a gentle spiral.  She turned quickly toward the covered sundeck, which was situated just beneath the guest room.  By the time she made it into the freezing sun porch, Richard was attempting to right himself, while simultaneously trying to reach for the overturned glass of bourbon that lay on the floor besides him.

“Richard, what are you doing out here?  It’s freezing.  You’ll catch your death of cold.  Come on in.”  She struggled to get him to his feet.

He was no help.  His was absorbed in the glass, which evaded him by spinning beneath his clumsy fingertips, rolling slightly out of reach.  “You’re drunk.  What are you drinking?”  Helen reached past his outstretched arm to seize the glass and place it back on the small, round end table.  “Here,” she tried grabbing him around his chest to help lift him, but his dead weight proved much too heavy for her.  Richard’s state rendered him useless.

“Stop, Helen.  Let go.”  He laughed hard at his own gaucheness.  Richard was inebriated, and to his delight, Helen was helpless to help him.  “Go away.”

“David!” Helen remembered that they were not alone in the house.  She called over her shoulder to her son.  With any luck, he was still on the first floor, and would hear her call.  “David, come quickly!”

David entered the summer room, his anxiety registered on his face.  “What happened?”  Helen could tell by his expression that he did not require an answer.  His father was so intoxicated, that he was incapable of making rational decisions for himself.

“Alright, Dad.  Let’s get you in the house and warmed up.”  Helen exchanged concerned glances with David.  “God, Mom, he’s freezing.  How long has he been out here?”

Helen strained to help lift him to his feet.  “I don’t know.  I was writing...in my room.”  She considered the last time she had seen him.  That was just around the time she had gone down for a sandwich, around three.  He was on the phone with Orlando, making plans for their trip to D.C.  That had been a few hours ago, but he could not have been out there in that frigid temperature that long, surely.  “Less than an hour, I think.”

“You’re right.  He asked if I wanted to go out for dinner about forty-five minutes ago.  I said, ‘no’.”  He looked away from her, a little embarrassed.  “I kinda wanted to stick around to make sure you were okay.”  He grabbed Richard by the middle in order to settle him on the sofa.

Helen ran back to the living room with several Afghans that she arranged carefully, covering every inch of his prone body from chin to his shoeless feet.  She was riddled with guilt.  She knew just as well as David what this was all about.  Richard was upset because she had told him that morning that she was moving out of their bedroom.  She felt there was no other choice, that the change would make life easier for the both of them.  Using the same bed was putting a strain on them that ended in loss of sleep and tension headaches.  They had argued for hours before she was able to begin packing her things.  She had tried to explain to him that she needed the space, so that she could think without him trying to influence her decisions.  Her plan was to move while he was away at work, to spare him the pain of watching her move.  She had hoped that by the time he returned in the evening, her closet would be empty, and her cleared vanity would confirm that she had actually vacated of their shared living space.  However, once she informed him of her plans, he never left for the day.

He had promised that if she continued to share a room with him, he would give her the space she needed.  However, before she could explain to him adequately that her need to move out was not simply about space, but a desire to maintain a level of privacy, he reneged on his promise, pulled her close, and tried to kiss her.  Sleeping with him, especially when he wanted sex, was becoming too uncomfortable.  The night before, he had kept her up the most of the night trying to convince her to stay away from Noami so that they could resume their marriage as it was.

“Richard, why were you out there?  It’s freezing.”  Helen rubbed one of his hands between her own.  He was so cold.  “I can’t believe you did this.”  Helen had not anticipated that her moving out of the bedroom would have had this effect on Richard.
Richard was not listening to her.  He tried to focus on her face, but his level of intoxication impeded his success.  He could not focus his eyes properly.  He smiled at the space just over her right shoulder where she imagined he saw her face.

“Helen, I lov whou.  Zuu rre so buetifu.  No ones sho lavly ishu.”  He turned his face to David.  “Ya momsh iz stunin.”  The drunk-wide grin, which covered his face, transformed unexpectedly into tears.  “I lub her.  I do.”

David placed his hands over Helen’s and held them still.  Helen could not face her son.  She feared he might blame her for his father’s condition.  In the thirty plus years that they had been together, Helen had never known Richard to get any more than a little high from alcohol; he detested the loss of control he attributed to being drunk.  Certainly, David would find dealing with his drunken father emotionally challenging.

“Mom, I’ll take care of Dad.  You don’t have to do this.”

“David, I...”  Helen could not form the words to express what she was feeling.

“Mom, don’t.  It isn’t necessary.”  David lifted his mother’s chin as she had done for him so many times in his life when he had needed it.  “You don’t have to deal with this.  I’ll take care of him.”  He was taking care of her as well.  “I love you.”  He managed a weak smile before separating her hands from Richard’s, and guiding her to her feet.  He stood without saying another word, placed his arms around her tightly, and held her until her tears subsided.  “I love you.  But this isn’t about you.”  Then he turned back to his sleeping father and began to readjust the warm throws.  “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll stay with him,” he added without turning around.

Helen back slowly out of the room.  Richard was drunk for the first time in his life.  He lay there; sound asleep, with a boyish grin on his face, unaware that his troubles would return once he was restored to an abstemious state.  For now, he was without worries.  He had placed himself in a condition where he did not have to deal with what was troubling him—his wife’s abandonment of him after thirty years of investing in one another, including a twenty-six year marriage.  Helen turned to leave.  Richard was floating on a hazy cloud of bourbon fumes beyond her reach.

Helen could not simply go back up to her room to continue to work on her book.  She felt as though she was going to be sick.  No matter how much she tried to reason with herself that what Richard was experiencing was not her fault, she could not convince herself of her innocence.

“Angie, can I come in?  I really need to talk.”  Helen leaned her forehead on the cold door jam.  Her face was hot, so the coolness of the brown-painted wood was somehow soothing to her.

“Of course, come in.”  Angie spoke to Helen without really looking at her.  She turned to lead her into the home in which Helen and Angie had spent many hours gossiping and supporting each other when necessary.  She followed Angie past the living room and into the cozy den, which was their usual hangout.  They sat in silence for several minutes before either spoke.  Helen could tell by her tone that Angie had immediately gauged her friend’s mood when she met her at the door.  They did not begin with their requisite small talk before the serious conversation would begin, electing to sit in silence instead.  There was no easing into this conversation.

Helen sensed that Angie would wait in supportive silence until she was ready to enlighten her with what was going on.  Angie was like that—a true friend who knew when to listen, and when to mete out advice.  She also knew when Helen just simply needed to sit still.  This was one of those times.  They sat in companioned silence.  Helen looked at the floor.  Angie watched Helen, unmoving, not speaking.  She sat back in her comfortable chair with her legs crossed in that way that Helen had always admired, as if she were sitting on a throne.  The only time Angie even looked like she was going to speak was when her daughter, Cynthia, entered the room, unaware of Helen’s presence.  Angie held up her hand to her daughter, who judged wisely her mother’s posture and demeanor, and tipped out of the room without speaking.

“Angie,” Helen began after a time.  “Richard’s drunk—stumbling drunk.”  Helen did not know where else to begin than with the facts.  Nor could she adequately convey to Angie what she had left back home, too distraught by the implications of the reality that Richard was actually drunk out of his mind.

Angie shook her head slowly.  “No, Honey.  Begin with ‘I’.”

Helen struggled momentarily.  There was no more “I.”  No more “me.”  She felt as though there was only “her.”  She was living outside herself, and desperately needed to find a way.  This last episode with Richard had worn her out.  She had mentally completely abandoned any sense of self.  She felt completely detached from who she had been, and still did not know who she was now.  Nor did she know how to find her way back.

Helen could not respond to Angie.  She sat in the chair, alternating between wringing her hands and crying into them.  So absorbed was she in her own thoughts, that she did not know Angie was beside her until she pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Hells, you have to tell me what happened.  Can you do that?”

Helen began again.  “I don’t know what to do, Angie.  I can’t help him.  I don’t know what to do to make him understand.”

“Oh, Honey.”  Angie’s heart was going out to Helen.

“Richard is at home, drunk.  Can you believe it?  Rich is smashed.”  She caught the look on Angie’s face, which she translated as, “How could you leave him home alone drunk?” and quickly added, “David is with him.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I moved out of our bedroom and into the guest room.  I really had no other choice, Angie.  And he’s so hurt.  I mean, he is so angry with me.  He won’t listen to what I have to say.  He only wants to argue with me.  He will never understand if he won’t listen.”

“I know.  Helen, it’s not your job to make him understand.  You only need to explain yourself.  You owe him that, but you don’t owe him your life.  He won’t understand until he is ready.  Helen, Honey, he may never be ready to understand fully what’s happened, to you, to him, your marriage.  You have to know that.  There is no easy solution.  Someone is going to be hurt.  The choice is, do you decide to live for yourself and what you need, or for him and what he needs.  Unfortunately, for you, the both of you, your needs and his are, for the most part, diametrically opposed.  You have to decide what you are going to do about that, and stick with it.  Either change what you need, so that what you two need is congruent, or continue to carry on with your life.  Honey, that may be without Richard.  Only you can decide that.”

“Angie, I’ve made such a mess of things, haven’t I?  I’ve ruined his life.”

“No.  Not so much.  At least not as much as you might believe.  He will be okay after a while.  He is used to you, you know.  We both know Richard is a strong, attractive, talented man—not to mention ridiculously rich.  Women will be running you over as soon as your back is turned toward him.  You won’t even get out of the garage before those buzzards start flying around him.  They’ll leave skid marks on your back.”

Helen had to laugh at Angie, in spite of herself.  “Honestly, Angie, I hope so.  I don’t like the idea of him spending the rest of his life alone.”
“ So, then, it’s over, is it?”  Angie sounded as though she could cry.

“Yes, I suppose so.  I am not planning to leave immediately.  He’s asked me not to go until we try counseling.  I said I’d go with him.”  She frowned reflexively at the thought of marriage counseling—she knew in her heart it was an exercise in futility.

“Helen, do you think that’s wise?  I mean, if you are planning to move out eventually, don’t you think it’s better to do so sooner, rather than later?  Besides, you don’t want to give Richard any false hope.”
“No, I don’t.”  Helen was pleased to hear that Angie was remaining loyal to them both.  She wanted what was best for both of them.  Helen knew their breakup would be nearly as hard on Angie and Orlando as it was for her and Richard.  They were a foursome.  They vacationed together; Orlando worked for Richard’s office as a senior staff member, as well as his campaign manager.  Their daughter, Cynthia, and David were best friends; they spent a great deal of time together.  That was all about to come to an end.  That alone was worth mourning.  “I know he’s hoping marriage counseling will somehow fix all of his problems for him.  I’ve told him that I would go to see a therapist with him, but I made it clear that my goal for going was to make sure we parted as amicably as possible.”

“You two are the most amicable couple I know.”

“Well, we’re not now.”

Angie did not seem to know how to reply.  She stared a Helen, as if searching for an answer.  Finding none, she added tenderly, “You know I love you, Hells.”

Helen rested her face on the heels of her hands; she was exhausted.  They sat for hours, with Angie applying logic and humor to Helen’s situation, until Helen conceded to time and departed.  She felt modestly better than when she arrived, but was still feeling fragile, as though she might shatter at any moment, sending pieces of herself all over Angie’s imported, rustic Tuscan tile.

“Amicable.  Yes, that was us.”

Helen’s plan was to sneak back into the house, so that she could avoid another contentious bout with her husband.  As she left Angie’s, driving toward home, she could not bear the thought of to going back to a house that was filled with so much tension.  She simply could not steer her car back toward the house she shared with Richard.  Helen was unsure as to where to go, so she let her heart guide the way.  She exited into downtown and headed toward Noami’s.  She looked at her dash clock.  It was just after midnight.

“Who’s there?”

Noami welcomed Helen into her loft just past midnight.

“What are you doing out so late?  What’s going on, I thought you mentioned staying in this evening?  Come in, come in.”  Noami quickly assisted Helen in removing her coat.

Helen offered no explanation.

“Are you alright?”  Noami’s concern was evident.  “Helen, don’t stand here by the door; come in, sit.”  Noami led her to one of the few comfortable spaces to sit in her studio loft.

Helen pushed all the way back on the deep sofa, so that her feet swung free from the floor.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”  Noami retrieved a small throw and robe from a hall closet.  She blanketed Helen as she had Richard hours earlier.  The gesture warmed Helen more than the coverlet.

“Noami, do you mind if I stay the night?”

Noami appeared shock by the question.  “Of course not.  Stay.  I’ll get you something to sleep in.”  She dashed to the kitchen to place the teakettle on to heat.

Helen looked up at Noami’s naked frame peeking out of the light robe she’d thrown on.  “Don’t bother.”

Noami continued to ply her with chamomile tea, until Helen was able to gain enough composure to stop crying.  At precisely 1:03 a.m., Helen slid between the warm sheets at the end of an unbearably long day.  Despite the time, she felt inexplicably wide-awake.  She chose not to rehash her day, but she knew she would not be able to fall asleep.  Noami, who was propped up on pillows with her sketchpad in hand on the other side of the bed, did not appear to be ready for sleep, either.  Helen lay in bed, watching Noami scratch gracefully across her pad.  Helen peeked up at Noami’s work.  She was unable to distinguish who Noami was drawing on the pad.  Though she could make out the beginning of a face, there was not enough of it to discern who the face belonged to.

“Who are you sketching?”

Noami stared intently down at Helen’s face half-concealed by her colorful duvet.

“No one important,” she replied, discarding the pad on the night table.  “How do you feel?  Would you like some more tea?”  She slid deeper into the bed, supporting her head on her bent arm.  “You didn’t look so great when you arrived.  Are we going to talk about it?”

Helen smoothed the sheet between them.  “Do you mind if we don’t?”

Noami shook her head slowly.  “No, I don’t mind.  I can only imagine…”

Helen reached out to feel the warmth of Noami’s face.  “Don’t imagine.  It’s not worth it.  I just had a bad day, and I needed to see you.”  She raised her mouth to Noami’s.  As the kiss deepened, tension began to build in her body, quite distinct from the genus that had occupied her the greater part of the day.  The contact created an incongruent anxiety in her relaxed body, which transformed and retreated into her core, winding its way tightly around itself, preparing for a sumptuous release.

Noami whispered inaudible sweetness and assurances in Helen’s ears as she kissed her way down to the arch in her back, murmuring secrets on the way.

“Tell me what you just said.”  Helen whispered her demand tenderly between kisses.

“No,” was Noami’s reply.

As they sighed together, Noami translated for her using no words, in a language Helen understood perfectly.  Unfortunately, before Noami was able to release all the tension in Helen’s small frame, they were jarred out of the pre-orgasmic ecstasy of Noami’s excruciating exploration of Helen’s person by the sound of the phone ringing on the bedside table.  Helen swore at the intrusion and the abrupt slackening of her abdominal muscles as the tautness dissipated without the accompaniment of orgasmic liberation.

“Damn.”  Noami checked Helen’s frame of mind before surrendering to the objectionable incursion.  She rolled away from Helen, cursing at the phone.  “Who the hell is it?”  Noami did not try to hide her displeasure from the person at the other end.  “Wire, what do you want?”

Helen sat up at the mention of Noami’s ex’s name.  Noami peered uncomfortably over her shoulder at Helen.  Helen scooted closer to Noami on the bed, hoping to catch Wire’s end of the conversation, wondering if it was Wire’s custom to call so late in the evening.

“What do you want, Wire?”  Noami demanded a second time; her displeasure at having their intimacy interrupted matched Helen’s irritation at Wire calling her home at this hour.  “No, I don’t want to talk.”  She punctuated each syllable with angry gesticulation.  “Are you kidding me?  Have you any idea what time it is?”  Noami paused; she appeared to be listening to Wire’s answer.  “I can’t believe you.  You don’t have the right to ask me those questions.  I don’t have to answer you.  I’ve asked you not to call me this late.  I’ve also asked you not to use this number any longer.”

Pride spread through Helen.  She was aware that Noami had two functioning phone numbers.  The line Noami referred to was her private number that she only gave out to a few people, Helen being one of them.  Helen scooted again so that their shoulders touched.

“No, absolutely not.”  Noami held the phone so that Helen could better hear what Wire was saying.  “No.  Are you barking mad?  No, you may not come over.”  She turned to Helen, shaking her head incredulously.  Then covering the mouthpiece, she said, “I can’t believe her.  She wants to come over.”

Helen shrugged, trying to hide the bliss at Noami’s reaction to the late night call.  “Just hang up.”  She whispered so that Wire could not hear her.  “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”  Helen rose to her knees and kissed Noami adoringly on the neck and jaw line.

Noami, heartened by Helen’s encouragement, and her touch, attempted once more to end the call.  “Besides, Wire, you have to let this go.  I have moved on, months ago.  So have you.  You cannot call me every time you break it off with someone.”  Noami shook her head.  “No, you may not.  We have nothing to talk about.”

Helen listened intently.

“Wire, you cannot.  I don’t care how close you are, you may not just stop in.”

Helen was stunned.  Was Wire really going to join them at any moment?  She was so stunned, she forgot to whisper.  “Does she mean now, is she coming now?”

“It’s really none of your business if there is someone here with me now.  As a matter of fact, I don’t really care if you are just downstairs, I have to go.  I’ll talk to you some other time.”

Helen sprang from the bed to the large window overlooking the street.  “Noami, she’s down there.”

“What?”  Noami yelled toward the door at Helen.  “How dare you!”  She spoke again into the phone.  “Are you actually downstairs?”

Helen and Noami stared at the door, listening to the sound of heels climbing the stairs.  Helen tipped back on the bed and under the covers, not wanting to expose her nakedness to the uncomfortable atmosphere filling the room.

Noami’s expression, which had reflected immense annoyance, transformed to infuriation.  “You are going to what?  I cannot believe you.  You told me you lost that damn key.”  Noami had abandoned the phone, and was screaming at the door.  She slammed down the receiver on the cradle, and was halfway across the room to the closet.  She pulled roughly into her robe, and tossed one over to Helen.  In the moment it took for Wire’s final ascent to the top of staircase to sound, and the click of the metal connecting as Wire attempted to turn the key, Noami flung the door open, and snatched the key from the knob.

Helen, who had not had time to pull on the robe, or assess the bizarre turn of events, remained on the bed, pulled the covers to her chin, and simply watched the scene unfold before her.

“Who’s here?”  Wire demanded from outside.

“Wire, I am going to tell you this one last time, and I mean it.  If you want to remain friends, or at least have some form of amity—and that is all we are ever going to have—you may not call me late at night.  You may not simply stop by when it suits you.  You may not call my private line.  Use the business phone; you know it.  You may not inquire as to who is here with me at any time of the day or night, because it is no longer any of your business.  Most importantly, you may not barge in here in middle of the night, ruining a perfectly good climax.”  With that, she slammed the door in Wire’s face so hard all four walls shook for several seconds.

In fact, the door hit the door jam so hard, that Helen, who could in fact see Noami was about to close the door, started where she sat as the door locked explosively into place.  Noami stomped across the room and threw herself between the sheets.  “I can’t believe her gall.”

Helen, who was relieved to know that she was not the only one who might bring the drama to their relationship, snuggled close to Noami and pulled her knees to her chin, regretting not the interruption, but the loss Wire’s presence had cost.

Noami seemed prepared to apologize all night.  “I guess we aren’t in for an easy time, are we?”

Helen could not help but find humor in the evening, and simply replied, “Damn her; I very nearly came.”

Helen returned home the following afternoon, well sated and feeling a little less guilty, to find Orlando’s car in the driveway.  Angie was not there.  Much to her chagrin, Richard and Orlando were settled in the living room with their heads together.  She slipped passed them to her room.  She was sure Richard was aware that she failed to return the night before, and did not want to face him or any questions he might have.  Besides, she was sure that Orlando’s presence meant that Richard was strategizing what his next move would be.  If nothing else, Orlando was a strategist.  That talent transferred as well to love as politics.  Obviously, Orlando was there to help his pal save his marriage.

Thankfully, by the time Helen had showered and changed, Orlando was gone.  Richard was in the kitchen, having just finished making a fresh pot of coffee.  When Helen entered the room, he offered the hot pot to her.

“Coffee?”  He pulled down a cup and poured without her responding.  “You just missed Orlando.  He says, ‘hello’.”

Helen nodded.  “I saw his car when I pulled in.  Has he been here long; didn’t Angie come?”  She felt remarkably stress free, which was odd, given the circumstances.

“No, in fact, she didn’t.  She didn’t think you’d be home this morning, so she didn’t bother.”  Richard, too, appeared oddly calm.  He peered at her through the steam rising out of his mug.  He was wearing his poker face, the one he used when he needed to navigate rough political waters.  “Sugar?”  He slid the caddy down the counter, the silver platter sliding easily over the custom surface.

“No, thanks, I’ll have it black.  Thanks.”  Helen turned to leave.

“Yes, you like it black these days, don’t you?”

“My coffee, yes.”  Helen remarked over her shoulder without looking back.  She could not help but chuckle at Richard’s small joke.  Not because what he said was at all humorous.  In fact, she thought his comment was offensive, but she could not help but celebrate, because Richard had tipped his hand.  In the few minutes they spent watching the other over the escaping vapors of their hot beverage, he had revealed to her that she was now engaged in a game of chess—the winner would take all.

Orlando’s advice had been not to push her, to allow Helen her freedom until she realized the mistake she was making.  That meant, of course, that being congenial and charming was compulsory.  However, Helen realized as she went to her room in search of her laptop, that Richard’s pride would not allow him to be completely affable, as evidenced by his black joke.  When forced to accept something he did not want to, he would inevitably become passive aggressive.  He would appear to comply with Orlando’s counsel, while in the process; he would become increasingly hostile and angry.

Helen’s conjecture proved true.  Before midday, she found the first note he left for her on the refrigerator: “Please let me know when you are going to be out all night.  I worry.  I do still love you.  Thank you; love, Richard.”  The second note he left for her on her bedroom door while she was in the backyard shoveling the garden walk.  It read: “I’ve invited Orlando and Angie for dinner on Saturday.  Let me know as to your availability.”

The pinnacle of his passive aggressive behavior for the day occurred during dinner.  Helen prepared a late dinner of roasted chicken, scalloped potatoes, and Brussels sprouts.  For the most part, they shared their meal, enjoying small talk.  The tenor of the meal changed when Richard reached unexpectedly across the table, taking Helen’s hand, holding it tightly in his own.

“Helen, I love you.”

“Richard, let’s not.”  Helen tried to pull her hand free, but he held fast.

“Just listen for a minute.  I have something I want to tell you.  I think it may change things, between us, I mean.”  Richard did not release her hand, and reached for the other.

“Richard, I’d like my hand back.”  Helen attempted to smile, but the act was not successful.  Instead of smiling, her face turned impassive, and she pulled hard enough to yank her hand free.  She folded her fingers on her lap, having suddenly lost her appetite.  “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll turn in early tonight.  Good night, Richard.”  Helen quickly scraped her plate into the sink and placed it gently into the dishwasher.  “When you are done, will you start the dishwasher, please?”

“Helen, I don’t mind if you keep her.”

Helen stopped just short of the door.  Had he said what she imagined he had?  “What?”  She turned to face him.  “What did you just say to me?”

“I said,” Richard stood with his arms opened for an embrace, “you can keep your relationship with her, if you remain discreet.  I can live with that, as long as you stay.”

“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m serious.  I love you that much.  I am willing to let you have a relationship with her as long as it does not interfere with ours.  I believe I am being more than fair.”

“In the first place, Richard, you don’t mean what you’re saying.  I know you.  You say that, you pretend to concede, and then you put up as many roadblocks as possible, making it impossible for me to do just what you are suggesting.  In the second place, I have never needed your permission to do anything.  Goodnight.”

Before Helen could make it safely to her room, Richard was at her door, preventing her from closing the shutting him out.

“Helen, aren’t you even willing to discuss it?  I am offering you the best of both worlds.  I am proving to you that I am not the selfish bastard you think I am.”

“Richard, discussion’s over.  I am not going to argue with you.  I am exhausted.”

“From last night, I suppose.”  He pushed passed her into her room.

“Well, there it is.  Didn’t take you long to get to that, did it?  I knew it was coming.”  Helen knew she could not force him to leave the room.  She tried to ignore him by simply taking an extra long time to get ready for bed.  She felt like flexing her own passive aggressive skills.  She remained in the bathroom until she was sure he was gone.  However, she exited her bathroom dressed for bed, only to find him sitting on the foot of her bed.  Helen sighed audibly, not at all concerned that Richard’s feelings might get hurt.  After all, he had barged into her room.

He began again.  “Listen, why don’t I call Noami and invite her to dinner?  If you’re going to be involved, we may as well get more acquainted.  What do you think about that?”

“Richard, I can’t pull the covers up with your weight on the bed.”  Helen pulled the covers to her shoulders.  “You do as you like.  If you want to call, Noami, call her.”  She called his bluff.  “However, do it from out there; I am tired, and I need to go to sleep, if you don’t mind.”  She turned over in the bed so that her back was turned to him.  She expected he might remain there, despite her efforts to pretend he was not.

“Maybe we could commission her to paint our family portrait.  We could be her patrons.  She’d like that.  First, she might paint us all, then David and Sydney’s family, even the girls, just the two of them.  That would be adorable.  We could offer her services to our friends and family.  She would never have to work again, except for our circle of family and friends.”

Helen had had enough of Richard’s foolishness.  “You are being ridiculous.  And if you do not go away so that I can get some sleep, I am going to leave the house.”

FOURTEEN

Helen lay in bed hours after Richard finally departed.  He had returned to her room three times after the first time she asked him to leave: once with the guise of asking what she was planning to prepare for dinner the following evening, and twice to extol the benefits of them remaining married, with Helen enjoying a side relationship with Noami.  After the third visit, Helen scrambled out of bed and locked the door, so that no matter how long he pounded on the door, he could not enter if she chose not to allow him entry.

She knew it was no use.  They could not continue in this way for much longer.  She would have to move out sooner, rather than later, just as Angie proposed.  Helen had hoped that she might go with Richard to marriage counseling, so that they might salvage a friendship out of the wreckage which was their marriage, but that was not going to happen.  If she remained in the house much longer, Richard was going to drive her crazy, and Richard would grow to resent her more for not giving him what he wanted.  Yet that was the one thing she would not trade for his happiness.  Angie was right on another point: it came down to her own happiness, or his.

Almost as if on cue, her cell phone buzzed on the small bedside table.  She picked up the phone to check the number, certain that it was Richard calling.

“Hey, I was just thinking of you, Angie.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking?  That you’re going to kill me for letting Orlando go over there today?”

“Why?  Did you have anything to do with it?”  Helen queried suspiciously.

“Not at all.  I didn’t even know ‘Lando was there until he came home.  What did he say?”

“I don’t know for sure.  I didn’t actually see him.  When I got home, I went to my room.  He left shortly after that.”

Angie gasped dramatically.  “You tramp.  Orlando said he didn’t leave until after two.  Don’t tell me you spent the whole night and most of the day over there?”

Helen laughed along with Angie.  “Okay, I won’t tell you, then.”  She chuckled, happy to be chatting with her best friend who loved and supported her, no matter what.

“What could you two have possibly been doing from last night until 2:00 p.m. today?”  Angie asked with lighthearted incredulousness.

“Precisely what you think.”

“Baking cookies?”

“No, too fattening.”  Helen teased.

“Ohh, too fattening, huh?  …Something less fattening, then?  How about tossing salads?  Were you there until midday today, getting your salads tossed, Helen?”

Helen blushed alone in the pale lamp light.  Angie had taught her that particularly colorful euphemistic vernacular years ago.  “Yes, again, and again, and again.  It was marvelous, Angie.  I can’t tell you how many times I came.  I really couldn’t.  I swear, I must have set a record.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I don’t actually want to hear about your multiple orgasms, as I will not be having any for a while.”

“Why?  Angie, what’s going on?  Are you and Orlando having problems?”  Helen was stunned at Angie’s last comment.  She and Orlando had sex even when they were mad with each other.  The news that they were abstaining from having sex was tremendous.  “Angie, what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, girl, it will pass; it always does.”

“Okay, but what will pass?”

“Helen, I just think I’m a little disappointed with ‘Lando.  But, I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight.  You are in such a good mood.  I don’t want to bring you down.  At least not after a night—and morning—like you had.”

“No, Angie, talk to me.  Besides, if Richard’s behavior can’t bring me down, nothing will.  Besides, you sound like you could use another perspective.”

“Maybe tomorrow.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  Are you going to be tied up tomorrow?  And by tied up, I’m asking if Noami is into kinky stuff like tying you to the bed?  You know, Helen, you always struck me as an undercover freak who might like that.”  Angie laughed hard at her own joke.  “Anyway, I’m actually in meetings most of tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.  I need to take the next couple of days and write.  I haven’t been sticking to my schedule.  How about Saturday?  I’m meeting Noami at Bath’s Saturday.”

“Sounds like fun.  I’m sure my fans there miss me.”

Helen rolled her eyes; she was about to return the quip when she thought she heard Richard on the landing near her door.  “Angie, I have to go.  I’ll talk to you later.  Promise me we’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

“No ‘okay.’  I mean it.  I love you.”

“Love you.  ‘Night, Helen.”

Helen reached for her table lamp.  She did not want to be bothered by Richard again.  She had hoped by turning out the light, he would bypass her door.  However, she groaned when she heard the quiet tap on her door.  Yet she was equally relieved to hear the accompaniment of a voice not belonging to Richard.

“Mom, are you awake?  It’s me, David.”

“Oh, David.  Hold on.  Give me a second.”  She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe.

He hugged her when she opened the door for him.  “Hey, Mom.  Sorry, did I interrupt you?  I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“I was talking to Angie when you knocked.  I didn’t realize it was you at the door, so we ended the call.”  Helen patted the bed next her.  “Sit.  What can I do for you?”

“I was on my way home from a friend’s house, and I thought I’d come by to check on Dad.  He’s in your room…his room getting ready for bed.”  David corrected himself.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, out with your friends?”  Helen peered around the room, searching for an object on which she could focus.  She felt slightly self-conscious talking to her son from the bed separate from her husband’s, his father’s.

David studied her face for a moment.  “You know, Mom, I’d like to talk to you.  I want to make sure you’re okay, too.”

“Me?  David, I’m fine.”  She motioned, so as to introduce the space in which they were sitting.  “I just needed a little space to think, to consider what I’d like to do next—to explore who I am becoming.”  With great effort, she smiled weakly.  Her heart was breaking at the thought of disappointing him.

David lowered his face so that Helen could not read his expression.  “Mom, we both know that this move is about more than you needing space.”  He took her hand in his.  “Mom, you don’t have to try to hide what’s happening.  I know.”

“What is it that you know, David?”  Helen’s heart beat violently below her inexpressive face.

“That you have discovered who you are.”  He raised his hand before she could respond.  “It’s funny, really.  Jesse, remember her?”

Helen nodded.  She remembered David’s little friend vaguely.  She always thought the high school friend was a rather odd, the way the young girl would follow her around like a little puppy when she came to visit, while David and the rest of his guests would be hanging out together elsewhere in the house.  Helen thought Jesse was a young man until David set her straight.

“She’s seen you.”  He lowered his voice.

“Seen me…?”  Helen barely voiced the two words.  The dryness of her mouth trapped the remainder of her question at the back of her throat.

“Jesse and her girlfriend hang out at a coffee house called Sappho’s Repose.  You’ve been there.  She’s seen you there.  You and your friend.”  His tone was gentle, his face placid—a son tenderly exposing his mother.  “She told me about a month or so ago.  She says she was pretty sure you are together.”

“David.”  Helen held tightly to his hand, afraid he might take it away before she could explain herself.  “I,” she began again, but he cut her off.

“At first, I thought she meant Angie, but she knows Angie, and was certain she’s seen her there, too.”  David’s tone was almost apologetic, as if had intruded upon something very personal.  “I’m not sure; I wasn’t sure how to ask you about it.”

Helen could see the emotion welling in his eyes.  She reached forward to brush the spilled tear from his cheek, ignoring her own.  “David, I didn’t want…”

“Me to find out this way?”

“Let me try to explain.”  Helen’s greatest fear was coming to fruition.  Her baby was confronting her about her affair with Noami.

“That’s just it, Mom.  I came to tell you two things.  The first is that I know.  The second is that you don’t owe me an explanation.  Well, I guess three things: and that I love you.”  He turned his face into her hand and kissed her there, the way he used to before he felt he was too old to do so any more.  “Jesse says you two look really happy.”

Helen was at a loss for words.  Here was her baby boy, all grown up and behaving like an adult, when he had every reason to conduct himself differently.

“I have a confession to make.  I’ve been there hoping to see you together.  Not in, but passing by.”

Helen pulled David into a tight embrace.  “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.  And I mean it; you don’t owe me an explanation.”  Then he pulled back at arm’s length.  “Does Dad know?”

Helen nodded.

He exhaled loudly.  “I thought as much.  Does Sydney?”

She shrugged.

“I want you to know, Mom, that this is difficult for all of us.”  He seemed to be searching for words to express how he was feeling.  “I’m doing my best not to personalize this.  I know it’s not about anyone except you.  I also want you to know that I’ll be coming around more to check on Dad.  He’s…well.  I’ll be here, if you need me, too.”  David rose from the bed.

Helen pulled him once more into a loving embrace.  She did not want to let him go.  What if he changed his mind about what he had discovered?  What if, in caring for his father in his difficult time, David grew to resent her?  Helen wanted hold onto the moment as long as possible.

After some time, David pulled himself from her arms.  “I’m gonna go.  You take care.”  With that, and a peck on the cheek that did not alleviate her anguish, he was gone again.

Helen lay across her bed, wondering what Richard was doing in his bedroom, not because she was interested, but rather because it was easier than to dwell on her own circumstance.  She wanted to avoid thinking about the mess she had created for herself.  Helen concentrated on the space around her, listening for sounds of life outside her room, scrutinizing the dark shadows creeping up her walls, tasting the bitterness she swallowed with each breath.  No, there was no going back—the solitary road faced a forward direction.

Truth be told, Helen had not merely decided to fall in love with a woman.  To make the decision would have been too straightforward; she was given no choice.  What had occurred was much more complicated than the mere matter of selection or preference to love women.  She surrendered to her own shadow, which had been with her all along, following her without fail in the day, flying before her in the darkness.  In doing so, she opened the floodgate on a life she had too long been deprived of.

The weight of her own resolve pressed down upon her, forcing her to reflect on her recent choices.  The unexpected understanding and support bestowed upon her by her son could not absolve her from the guilt she now felt.  Her family was irreparably broken.  The shattered pieces lay around her in shiny, sharp shards, which pierced the bottom of her feet, leaving minuscule slivers in her soles that served as stinging reminders of inestimable loss.  Helen agonized over what she stood to lose.  Yet there was no going back.  Helen had considered returning to her prior life.  That possibility had somehow always been a prospect, just in case the risk became too great, or going forward became too laborious an enterprise.  Now, that option was no longer available to her, not after her visit from David.  He had laid the truth out before her.  He was a witness—a member of her family, the precious factor she hoped to protect from her proclivity.  No, there was no going back, even if she wanted to – she didn’t.  It seemed to Helen that that door had closed for her; she could only move forward.

Her family was broken.  It no longer existed in the way that she loved.  Helen would remain the mother, the daughter, the friend, and companion.  She could not be Richard’s wife.  “Family” would have to be redefined.  The family as she conceived it, as she worked so many years to nurture, was no more.

In every person’s life, they are confronted with defining moments.  Helen had always assumed that the choice she made years ago to equate happiness with the very family she designed for herself was her defining moment.  However, defining moments are not of our making, and are quite separate from the choices made.  These moments occur when we face the inevitability of what must lie before us, and accept the inescapability of truth with grace and candor.  Helen’s defining moment had not been to choose a life that featured familial ties that began with a strong, safe husband.  Helen’s occurred the very second when she accepted the fact that she needed to love and be loved by women.  For that, her whole and entire life changed.

She did love Richard.  She loved her life.  She loved her family.  But, she loved herself more.  For the first time in many years, she loved herself more than all else.  And, despite the mess her life seemed to be, it was not.

Helen fell asleep with that very thought on her mind.  For the first time in months, she slept soundly.

FIFTEEN

Saturday night at Bath’s Wife was hot, notwithstanding the frigid temperature outdoors.  The nightclub was teeming with gyrating, ecstatic partygoers whose only ambition for the evening was to dance the night away before they were forced back out into the cold around 2:00 a.m. to seek the warmth of home and bed.  Everyone present had enough of staying at home, fixated on soups and stews.  By midwinter, ten-inch snow falls and subfreezing temperatures were no longer enough to prevent the ladies from venturing out of their cozy homes, leaving behind their woolen socks and long johns, donning their sexiest best in quest of strong drink and late-night exploits.

The clientele swinging at Bath’s Wife was loose, and in high spirits.  All and sundry present was more than prepared to celebrate absolutely nothing in particular, and had each brought the party with them.  The room was jumping.  The crowd was exuberant.  The drinks were poured tall and potent.  Best of all, the music blared loudly, stirring even the wallflowers free of their leaning posture.  The ladies who dared face the cold that night would be rewarded for their bravery by a night full of sport and fun, for that midwinter night at Bath’s Wife would prove to be well worth the trek out on an evening when most Minnesotans stayed at home.

The night’s entertainment was not limited to the dance floor.  Even the owners of the trendy club understood that merrymaking was not enough to induce a sufficient crowd out on a night like that.  Therefore, announcements went out regularly, which read:  “Ladies’ Karaoke Night.  Come and Sing the Night Away.”  With karaoke on the menu, the joint certainly was jumping.

All the dramatis personae were in play.  Lisa, Veda’s little sister, was on stage singing her heart out with her best friend, Jack.  They were the first to go on stage for the night.  Both ladies had a natural talent for singing, so Veda bribed them on stage with assurances of free drinks, because she wanted as many folks as possible to try out the stage, and they made it look easy.  Those who were audacious enough to brave the stage after them had a difficult act to follow.

Everyone who was anyone remotely connected to the in-crowd was present and anticipating an excitement-filled evening.  Veda and LaDonna sat together behind the DJ’s table, trying to induce customers to get on the karaoke stage.  Of course, each time a brave soul jumped on stage, they quietly ripped her to shreds, having more fun complaining about her lack of talent than really listening to the performance.  Every once in a while, the pair would stand on stage to sing a love song, dedicating the song not to each other, but to couples sprinkled around the room.  They were too cute for their own good, which added to Mom’s poor disposition.

Mom stood behind the bar in her usual huff, irritated beyond measure by nothing in particular.  As she often stated, she was over seventy years old, and she had earned the right to behave as she did without provocation.  However, tonight, she had a reason to be ill tempered.  Her younger daughter had brought her girlfriend, Ro, for everyone to meet.  Of course, she had nothing against the girl; however, Mom had long been holding out for Lisa to come to her senses and date Jack.  Mom liked Jack the first time she met her, when Lisa brought her home to visit from college.  Now, Mom would have to wait for Lisa to get over this one before she saw Jack for the catch that she was.  Mom stood behind the bar, shooting daggers at Ro, who made every attempt to get on Mom’s good side.  Ro even offered to help out at the bar, a thinly veiled attempt to earn points with Mom.  However, in the end, she was shooed away by Magda for consistently delivering the wrong drinks to impatient customers.

Magda maneuvered the crowded room like an old pro, delivering drinks to patrons who preferred to not venture too close to Mom.  She was really the only person in the room who was not afraid to get into Mom’s personal space.  She was perhaps the only person, including her own children who could stand up to Mom when she was in such a bad mood.  Magda stepped to the beat of the music, carrying a heavy tray of colorful concoctions high above the heads of the clientele, which she delivered to a table of newbies who had just arrived with Wire.

Wire sat at the back table with a group of women who had come to Bath’s for the first time.  As soon as she walked in, she sensed that the club was electric.  She noticed that a great many of her friends had braved the cold for karaoke night, including Noami.  Wire watched Noami for a while from across the room.  Before venturing over to where she was standing, she pointed Noami out to the ladies at her table as the one that got away.  She also noticed Angie on the dance floor, and assumed that Helen must be present as well.  Wire thought it best to say hello now before Noami was joined by Helen or her friend.  After all, she had learned to give Angie a wide berth.

Angie was on the dance floor with a group of ladies, as usual.  Their group was small, but was spread out on the dance floor.  Angie was feeling good to be out.  She and Orlando had been arguing lately, and things were tense at home, so it felt good to release her tension on the dance floor.  Angie was on the floor, showing members of her group the special Chi-town version of the electric slide when she accidentally bumped into Lisa, nearly knocking her on her ass.

Having finished her set, Lisa had located her girlfriend, Ro, and was just making it out on the dance floor when out of nowhere, Angie bumped her so hard from the side, that she stumbled a few feet before she crashed into Noami, who was standing among her friends on the dance floor, doing her best to hear what Wire was trying to communicate over the two women singing loudly and off-key to Dolly Parton and Kenny Rodger’s song, Island in the Stream.

Helen turned up late, so when she arrived, the party was in full swing.  As she stepped through the door out of the cold, she was in desperate need of hard liquor—and Noami.  She scanned the room for friendly faces.  Droves of women looking for action, clustered around the space, impeded her clear view of the dance floor, so she was not surprised that she could not immediately locate Noami or Angie.  She was certain they were both on the dance floor.  Instead of lingering on the edge of the polished wooden floor where she positioned herself to look for her friends, she stood just clear of the pulse of bodies.  Before she could find a decent table from which to watch the action, a warm, distressing wave stirred through her body.  Wire was coming straight toward her.  Helen was not so much distressed by Wire’s presence as she was by the fact Wire had made eye contact, and was actually making a beeline in her direction.

“Helen, do you want to dance?”  Wire asked the question as if there was nothing remotely bizarre about the invitation.

“No, thanks.”  Helen tried to sound as gracious as possible.  “I don’t think so.”

“Please, let’s dance.  I’d like to apologize about barging in on you and Noami.  I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Thanks.  I heard your apology.  Now, if you will excuse me.”  Helen wanted to wipe that impish smirk right off of Wire’s face.

“Right, you probably have to scoot off and find your own party, am I right?”

“I’m looking for friends, yes.  I’ll tell you what.  If you want to dance, why don’t you wait a while?  I’ll make sure you get on my dance card.”

Wire laughed.  “If you are looking for Noami, she’s over there with her girlfriends.”  She motioned toward the other side of the dance floor.  “She’s watching them karaoke.  But, now, if you are looking for your girl, Angie, she’s the party in the middle of the dance floor.”  She nodded behind her.

“Thanks.”  Helen was trying her best to be gracious, but was losing her patience.  She was not certain of Wire’s motives, but she knew Wire was not trying to be helpful.

“Helen, what are you doing over here?”  Helen turned around to face Magda, who had come behind her quite suddenly, carrying a tray of drinks.  “You don’t want to stand here.  Let’s get a drink and find everyone.”  Magda balanced the tray on one shoulder, and pulled Helen by the waist over to the bar.  After they put a little distance between them and Wire, she loosened her hold around Helen, but did not let her free altogether.  “You should stay away from her.  She is a troublemaker.”

“Thanks.  I know.  I don’t understand what her problem is with me.  I try to be pleasant, but every time I see her, she wants to play games.”

“That’s what you get when you play in the playground with the little kiddies.”  With that, she was gone.

Helen was so grateful for the rescue, that she did not mind the playful dig.  Magda certainly did not appreciate the fact that Helen was dating someone younger.

About a half an hour after she had arrived, Helen found an acceptable table near the karaoke stage.  While she had caught a glimpse of Angie on the dance floor, she had yet to spot Noami anywhere.  Helen settled into her seat.  Every once in a while, an acquaintance would drop over to exchange a comment regarding any triviality that might occur to them.  They shared the hottest gossip of the evening, or else a personal snippet from their winter thus far, often complaining about the amount of snow that had fallen that winter, or else groused about the heat of the club.  Once, Magda returned in an attempt to tempt her out to the dance floor.  Helen had no interest in dancing at the moment.

She was content to sit on the sidelines and watch the action from a safe distance.  She did not mind being in the thick of it like Noami and Angie, who were keen on being in the middle of the crowd, but she preferred sitting back as an observer.  When she first began to spend time at Bath’s Wife, Helen would not have dreamt of sitting alone in the jam-packed room.  Feeling conspicuous, she was too self-conscious about sitting alone in a room of people who all seemed to be linked somehow.  Now, as she spent more time developing her sense of self, she found that she rather liked sitting back, watching the dynamics of the crowd.  It was almost like doing field research.  In fact, if Helen had thought about it, she had ended her search for either Noami or Angie, and was perfectly happy to be sitting alone, amused by the energy around her.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to my best friend in the whole wide world: Helen.”  Angie’s electronically enhanced voiced echoed from the small stage.  Helen’s face warmed ear to ear, and she was sure that despite the bright blue lighting, her blush was visible from where Angie was standing across the room.  “I love you, Helen.”

In response, Helen lifted her drink to her slightly inebriated companion.

“Count on me through thick and thin, a friendship that will never end.  When you are weak, I will be strong, helping you to carry on…” Angie began to sing off-key.

“Hey, when did you get here?”

“Not too long ago.”  Helen raised her chin.  As usual, Noami tasted of Violets.  “I looked for you when I first arrived, but really, there was no finding you in this madhouse.  Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, but I know it’s going to get better now.  You want another drink?”  She sat in the chair next to Helen.  “I haven’t started yet.  I was waiting for you.”  She claimed Helen’s mouth for herself again.  “You smell so good.”  With a devilish glint in her eye, she added, “You know, we don’t have to stay here.  We can go elsewhere.”

“I bet we can.  Maybe later.”  Helen winced at a note Angie did not hit well.  “Ask me again in a few hours.”  Helen removed Noami’s fingers from their exploration down the front of her low-cut dress.

“I can see it’s hurting you, I can feel your pain.  It’s hard to see the sunshine through the rain, oh.  I know sometimes it seems as if it’s never gonna end…”  Angie sang loudly from the stage.

“A few hours, huh?  I guess you plan to be here for awhile.”

“That was the plan.”  Helen teased.  She loved how she felt with Noami.  With Noami, she felt empowered to be strong and free.  Helen had always understood her sexual power, her authority.  She was conscious and confident of her ability to wield her sexual prowess.  However, she had never had a body react to hers as Noami’s had.  Helen felt as though she wanted to possess Noami.  Nor had anyone ever inspired the involuntary response Noami’s physical presence elicited from her.  It was as though at times Helen could not control her corporeal response to Noami, that Noami held the keys to all of her sensual triggers.

Angie ended her song with a grand flourish.  “Yes, you can always count on me, Helen.”  Helen laughed, enjoying her friend’s rendition.  She was feeling pretty good that evening.  The only obstacle that threatened to bring her down from her high spirits was the fact that Wire had been glowering at her ever since Noami joined her at their table.  Prior to Noami’s arrival, Helen had no idea where Wire had gone after she declined her invitation to dance.  However, almost as soon as Noami discovered Helen sitting there on her own, Helen looked up, and Wire was seated a few feet away, glaring in their direction.

Angie joined them shortly after she finished her song.  “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, how could we not?  You had a mic,” Helen questioned playfully.
“Noami, that’s our song,” Angie explained.  “We claimed that a long time ago, didn’t we, Helen?”

“We did.”  Helen nodded, her attention momentarily on the stage.  “Oh, good.  Jack and Lisa are going to sing.  They both have lovely voices.”  Jack and Lisa took the stage and began to sing, Seduces Me, a Celine Dion song.

“Let’s dance.”  Noami pulled Helen gently from her seat and onto the dance floor.  “Excuse us, please, Angie.”

Angie nodded.

Helen was feeling good.  Noami was looking good.  They kept time to the music, except their movement was almost nonexistent.  What began as side-to-side sway quickly changed into a slow grind.  Helen was happy to let Noami lead.  She had trouble keeping time with the beat.  Slow dancing with Noami and keeping time was an impossibility.  Noami’s body so close to hers was too much of a distraction.  When Noami held her closely as she did, her body craved Noami’s consideration.

“Everything you are, everything you’ll be, touches the current of love, so deep in me.  Every sigh in the night, every tear that you cry, seduces me.”  Lisa’s melodious voice cut sweetly across the dance floor, creating a mood for the many couples moving slowly together.  Noami held Helen as close as she could as she swayed sensually to the music.  By the song’s end, they were not really dancing, as much as they were making out on the dance floor.  Helen was ready to take Noami up on her offer to vacate the premises in order to find the quiet and privacy of Noami’s nearby loft.

“Damn, I thought I was going to have to hose you two down out there.”  This was Angie’s way of welcoming them back to the table.  “You need to get a room.”

“Excuse me, Angie, but you didn’t actually say, ‘You two should get a room’?”  Helen thought that was the funniest thing she had heard all evening.

“Yes, I did.”  Angie laughed out loud at her own humor.  Noami did not comment.  She was used to their banter, and had learned early on to remain out of the crossfire.

“I’m going to the bar.  Anyone want a drink?”

“Vodka Sour.”

“Sex on the Beach.  I’m buying this round.” Angie held up a wad of cash, which Noami promptly ignored.  “She’s so proud.  Has she ever let you buy your own drink?”

Helen shrugged.  “Not if she goes after them.”

“So proud.  Does she have any idea what your worth?  If she did, she’d let you buy the drinks.”

Helen shrugged again.  “She’s not doing so bad herself.  You have any idea what she charges for one of those portraits?”

“Yes, I know precisely what she charges.  Richard about had a stroke when she quoted him a price.”  Angie seemed really to be enjoying her own wit.  I bet he wishes he turned her down now.

“Angie.  Don’t be so mean.”  Helen did not want to laugh at Richard’s expense.

“You are right.  I need to be focusing on my own troubles instead of laughing at other people’s problems.”

“Why, what’s going on?”  Helen asked.

“Orlando.  He’s upset with me right now.  He thinks I betrayed Richard.”

“Oh, Angie, I’m sorry.”  Helen lowered her face close to Angie’s.

“Don’t be.  He doesn’t really believe that.  It’s just that he’s still in shock.  He doesn’t really know how else to support Richard.  He’ll come around.”

“What has he said to you?”

“It’s not so much was he’s said.  He won’t even discuss you and Richard with me.  Not really.  He is turning into quite the passive aggressive little bugger.”

Helen listened intently.  “What do you mean?”  She could not imagine Orlando, who was always pretty straightforward, behaving in that manner.

“He won’t discuss what’s going on with you two, but he makes little comments that make his displeasure of my support of you and his defense of Richard quite clear.”

“Oh, Angie.”  Helen had not imagined Angie’s relationship would be affected by the choices she was making.

“Don’t worry, Helen.  He will come around.  If he doesn’t, I’ll find me a chick to date.  I assure you, he will come around.  I can hold out much longer than he can.”

“Angie.”  Helen covered Angie’s hand with her own.  “What can I do?”

“Nothing.  I suggest you worry about her.”  She pointed at Wire, who had just joined Noami at the bar.  “Anyway, I told you I can hold out much longer than he can.  If it gets too bad, I’ll just call his mom.  Joyce’ll set him straight.  Later.  My fans are waiting for me.”

Helen looked out in the direction that Angie had indicated.  Sure enough, six to eight women were standing on the edge of the dance floor, waving Angie over.

Angie left the table to join her friends under the flashing lights.  She was immediately lost in a bevy of young lovelies.

“Where did Angie go?”  Noami was back with the drinks.  “I brought her drink.”

“She’ll be back.”  Helen took a sip of her drink before changing the subject.  “What’s with Wire?”

“Wire?”

“Yes, she was with you at the bar.  I just wondered if she had anything interesting to say.”

“She wasn’t ‘with’ me at the bar.  I was there, and she was there.  We were not together.”

“I see.”  Helen sensed that Noami was immediately irritated by her question.  “What did she want?”

“I don’t know.  I didn’t give her the chance to say much.  Besides, she wasn’t so much interested in getting something from me, as she was with giving me information.”

Helen was intrigued.  “So are you going to tell me what that means?”
“Yes, Helen, in fact, I am.”  Noami’s tone had hardened.  “She mentioned that you two had quite an encounter when you arrived.”

“What?”  Helen was incredulous.  “She didn’t say that, did she?”

“She did, but what did she mean?”  Noami adjusted her seat so that she and Helen faced each other.  “Why didn’t you tell me you spoke to her when you first arrived?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”  Helen answered honestly.

“It is.  She’s always trying to undermine our relationship.  I happen to believe that anything she has to say to either of us is relevant, and at least warrants some mention.”

“You are overreacting.”  Helen was growing irritated.  Her buzz from the slow dance was beginning to dissipate quickly.

“Here’s what I think, Helen.”

“Yes, please enlighten me.”

“I feel that we need to be open and honest with each other.  We need to be able to discuss anything, especially given the fact that we are both coming out of relationships with people who would like to sabotage what we are building.”

“When you say people, you mean Wire and Richard, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, if you really mean that, then why haven’t you shared with me that Richard has, in fact, called you at least on one occasion?”  Helen could tell by Noami’s reaction that she had not expected Helen to bring up the call Richard had made to her to ask her to end her pursuit of Helen.  “And then, let’s discuss why Wire would feel it would be appropriate to drop by your house at all hours of the night without, as you claim, an invitation from you.”  Helen had not meant to go that far, but she had.  Noami had not once mentioned Richard’s call.  She was relieved at first when Noami neglected to mention his call, because in the beginning, she preferred not having that particular conversation, but as their relationship evolved, the fact that Noami had not broached to subject bothered her.  She had not realized how much until that very moment.

Nor did she appreciate how much her comment would cost her.  Noami became defensive.  Instead of remaining at the table and talking out their issues, she disappeared to the hot, crowded dance floor in order to cool off, leaving Helen alone to nurse their three drinks.

“That’s the trouble with youth; they prefer to walk away, rather than fight it out and move on.”  Magda sat without an invitation.

“Go away.  I’m in no mood.”  Helen pushed back from the table.

“I could go away, and you could leave.  Or we could sit and talk.”

“About what?”  Helen searched the mass for any sign of Noami.  “I’m tired.  I think I’ll call it a night.”

“No, you aren’t tired.  Besides, she’ll be back.”  Magda smiled.  “How about a drink while you wait?”  She held her hand aloft, as if she were in school.  A server was at their table immediately.

Helen and Magda fell easily into a comfortable conversation.  They hit a bump in the road only once or twice when Magda made a comment regarding the age difference between Helen and Noami, but otherwise, they shared a rather enjoyable conversation.  Helen was surprised to find Magda’s company so pleasant.  Usually, she was so surly and rude.  In the past, anytime Veda, her ex and business partner, was in the same room, Magda would glare at her and make bitter remarks about her and new girlfriend.  However, this time, when Veda and LaDonna crossed their path on the way to the bar, Magda hardly seemed to notice them at all.  Two thoughts crossed Helen’s mind.  The first was that Magda was finally getting over the loss of their relationship.  The second, Magda was quite attractive when she was not wearing a churlish expression and chose not to project so much negative energy.

In fact, until Angie arrived to shoo Magda away, Helen was enjoying her company to the point that she had pushed her quarrel with Noami practically out of her mind.

“You better be careful, Helen, you don’t want to complicate things.  You have enough to deal with as it is.”

“Angie, what are you talking about?”  Helen asked.

“You are so clueless.  You really are.”  Angie shook her head slowly for emphasis.  “Let me put it this way.  If Noami finds out you’ve been over here in this corner flirting with Magda, you are going to get a whuppin.”  Angie laughed alone.

Helen was slightly shocked, so the humor of the observation was lost to her.

“This, by the way, is pretty interesting if you consider how much Magda used to hate your guts.  But I have a theory about that.”  Angie crossed her legs and did her best to give the impression of being erudite and sober, but the alcohol and her delight at watching her best friend squirm ruined the effect altogether.

“Oh, shut up.  I’m going to the bathroom.”  Helen pushed brusquely past without another word.

When Helen returned to her table, Angie was gone again.  Noami had taken her seat once more.

“I’m sorry, Helen.  Dance with me?”  She held her hand out.

Helen permitted Noami to lead her to the dance floor, despite the fact that she no longer was in the mood to be there.  They danced, moving slowly together until Helen excused herself before the song’s end.

“No, Helen don’t go.”  Noami whispered, holding her close.  “I want to stay.  Stay with me.”

“You stay, Noami.  I’m tired.  I want to go to bed.”

“Okay, come to my place.  We can go to bed together.”  She pressed her lips across Helen’s jaw line, then lightly down her neck.  “Just you and me.”  Noami accentuated each word with a tender, well-placed kiss.

“No, I don’t think so.  You stay and have fun.  I’ve had enough fun for the night.”  Helen regretted leaving as soon as she stepped into the cold night.  A few inches of fresh snow covered the ground, concealing the dirty salt and sand layer, which made driving somewhat hazardous.  She would have to drive all the way to Hidden Oaks in the slushy mess.  She considered for a moment going back and taking Noami up on her offer.  Of course, Noami had more in mind than the offer of a warm bed, and that was perfectly fine with Helen, except she was still stinging from their earlier exchange about Richard and Wire.

Helen cursed out loud to the snowflakes and the slippery roads.  She felt as though Richard’s plan to thwart her chances with Noami was beginning to work.  Wire’s meddling mind games were also becoming maddening.  She felt has though she was being cornered by Richard, as if he had become the antagonist in her story.  She was worried that his and Wire’s interference was putting her and Noami’s relationship in dire straits.  That feeling of apprehension remained with her all the way home, and followed her into her uneasy slumber, invading her dreams.

SIXTEEN

“You didn’t even say, ‘goodbye’.”

“I know, Angie, but what can I say?  I was so tired by the time I left,” Helen began.

“Stop lying to me.  Noami told me that you had words about Richard and Wire’s, crazy ass.  She was very upset.  Why didn’t you go with her?  Did you know she had a romantic evening all planned out?”

“Well, I’m happy she told you about it and not me.”  Helen’s further disappointment manifested itself with irritation with Angie.  “I was tired.  Drop it.”  Helen needed a distraction; she was done with thinking about how she might have behaved differently the night before.  “Anyway, what time did you leave?”  She thought she might change the subject.

“Just after you.  Noami found me and asked me to give her a lift.  She didn’t want to walk in the cold.  She expected to ride home with you.  As I said before, she had a wonderful night planned for the two of you.  She said was going to…”

“Never mind.”  Helen could only imagine the quaint colloquialism Angie was going to use to describe what Noami had in store for her.  She was certain she would have thoroughly enjoyed the evening with Noami if she had not been so sensitive.  “I blew it.  I don’t even know what came over me.”  Helen paused.  For a split second, she thought Angie had hung up on her.  “Hello, Angie?”

“I’m here.”
“Oh, I thought I heard you hang up.”

“What were you saying?”

“One minute, we were just fine.  The next, I was demanding she tell me what Wire said to her when she went to the bar to get our drinks.  I behaved childishly.”  The more Helen talked about it, the worse she felt.  She made up her mind during her conversation with Angie to give Noami a call to apologize.  Maybe she would pay her a surprise visit to make up for the night before.  “I don’t know what came over me.”  She tugged gently at the hair at the nape of her neck.

“She was pretty upset when we left, but she didn’t give me any details.  But, Helen, before you go kicking yourself, remember it takes two to fight.”

“I know, Angie.  Listen, I have to go.  I promised Richard I’d talk to him this morning.  I believe I hear him down in the kitchen.  Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

Richard was down in the kitchen clearing up breakfast dishes.  He paused as Helen entered the kitchen.  “There’s a plate there for you if you’re hungry.”

“No, thanks.”  She opted for black coffee instead.  “I’m not really hungry.”  She seated herself on one of the stools.  “You mentioned you wanted to talk.”

He began precisely as she hoped he would not, with declarations of love.  Helen had evaded the conversation last night when he asked if she would talk to him before turning in to bed.  She told him, truthfully, that she was simply too exhausted to carry on a civil conversation, so he let her go to her bedroom without pushing.  Now, however, she sat patiently, waiting for him to make his point.

“Helen,” he began, taking her by the waist, “you don’t understand what I’ve been going through.”

“Richard, please let go.”  Helen slid off the stool, putting a small amount distance between them.  “Let’s just talk, if you don’t mind.”

“Is that what you tell her?”
“Fine.”  Helen turned to leave.  “I can’t do this so early morning, Richard.”

Richard blocked the exit so she could not leave before he apologized.  Helen knew he had not meant to begin so poorly, so she remained in the kitchen to hear him out.  After all, it could not have been easy for him to swallow the meal she was feeding him.  On the other hand, she did not want to be forced to give into him because of her guilt.  Her guilty conscience was what kept her there in residence.  That was enough.

Helen sat again.  This time, she chose one of the breakfast nook seats.  She patiently watched him rock from side to side as he gathered his thoughts.

He wanted to be as precise as possible.  Lately, Richard had been lobbing some pretty nasty remarks at Helen that she did her best to ignore because she realized that, when he spoke to her rudely, it was because he was working through a spot of raw pain.  She watched him struggle with his thoughts.  He wanted to be kind, yet he wanted to strike out at her as well.  He had been doing a great deal of both.

In one moment, he would sit on the edge of her bed, begging her to reconsider and become his wife again.  The next, he was threatening to ruin her life and rob her of any dignity if she continued on her present course.  Her response to both manifestations of his grief was to do her best to ignore what he was saying, to focus on what he was not saying.  For instance, when he made loving comments, she tried to remember that his comments were about his own needs.  When he was being horrible to her, which was the usual case, she remembered that he was being so mean because he cared for her.  In other words, she tried to empathize with Richard, no matter how difficult he made the task, due to his spitefulness.

“Helen, I’ve been thinking.  You don’t have to leave here.  You may stay as long as you want.  I am not going to ever force you to go.”  Richard position himself next to her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She did not know how to respond.  The pendulum had swung once again.  “Richard, can you tell me what you wanted to discuss?  Last night, you said you had something imperative to discuss.”

Richard pulled up a chair.  He sat opposite her.  “I love you.  You know that hasn’t changed.”  He waited for her reaction.  “I’ve decided to forgive you for having an affair.  I forgive you.”  He sat back in the chair, his magnanimous shoulders pushed back, giving him an air of superiority.  “More than that, I am certain that you still love me.  It’s not too late to make it right.”  He pressed himself forward.  Taking Helen by the sides of her face, he landed a rough kiss on her mouth.

Helen pulled free with considerable effort.  She did not speak, but looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time for quite a while.  She was not angry about what he had done.  Nor was she shocked by his actions.  More than anything else, she felt relieved.  It occurred to her that Richard’s kiss was different, less than before.  He kissed her, but the kiss was completely devoid of emotion, of passion.  Richard’s kiss was empty.  He was simply going through the motions, behaving the way he felt he ought to.

“What was that about, Richard?” she asked.  “You didn’t mean that.”  She felt oddly calm.

At first, he did not answer.  He sat on the edge of his chair, staring at her as if she had slapped him across the face.  Then after a few moments, he spoke.  His voice trembled with anger.  His face remained impassive.  “You want to leave?  Leave.  Let me tell you this: it won’t last.  You are a passing fancy.  You are years older than she is.  How long do you think you can keep her interested in you?  Oh, maybe the fun will last a while, but after the novelty is gone, do you think she will want you?”  The pendulum swung back, and dangled precariously above Helen’s neck.  “And,” he continued, “You don’t have enough in common to sustain a real relationship.  What does she want from you, anyway?”

Helen stood abruptly.  “I’ve heard enough.  You’ve said this all before.  I don’t need to listen to this.  When you are ready to talk to me like a sane person, let me know.”

“Sane?  How do you expect me to be sane when you’re tearing my life apart?”  He blocked her way again.  “You owe me, Helen.  I deserve to have you hear me out.”

“Richard, I want to, but not when you get like this.  I will not listen to you like this.  You may not berate me like some cheap…”

“Okay.  I get it.  A younger woman gets you off…”

“Move.”  Helen demanded.

“And you like it.  You love it.  Look, it was bound to happen.  This occurs in most marriages with people our age.  Usually, it’s the man, but who gives a shit?  Helen, stop this madness now.  Return to our bedroom, and we can go on like this never happened.”

“I can’t.”  Helen did not realize she was crying until she tasted her salty tears.  “I can’t, Richard.”

For a fleeting moment, Helen thought she perceived that what she had been trying to communicate to Richard flashed across his face, a dawning understanding of what she was experiencing.  Then it was gone.  Perhaps her emotional display cracked his hard exterior long enough for him to understand what she had been trying to make him comprehend.  In that brief moment, he looked as if he understood.  Within seconds, frustration mixed with desperation again took hold of his naked expression.

“Okay, fine.  Let’s make a deal.  Stay in our marriage just for the sake of my campaign.  We’re in an election year.  Stay just until the election is over.  That’s all I ask of you.”

“Richard, I can’t.”

“Why?  You haven’t anything to lose.  Your girlfriend is mad at you.  She’s going to go back to her old lover.  You’re fighting, right?”

Helen wanted to smack that smug look from his face.  He hit close to home, too close to the heart of the matter.  She was afraid he and Wire might come between her and Noami.  Had he somehow enlisted Wire into his campaign to get her back?

“Wait.”  She turned to face him.  “You were listening on the phone while I was talking to Angie.  That was you I heard on the line.”  She shook her head slowly.  Just before she reached the door, Richard dug in for a final blow.

“She is going to leave you, Helen.  There is too much difference between you for it to last.  Age, for one.  Culture.  You don’t understand each other.  You can’t.  Who is she, anyway?  What the hell does she stand for?  Do you know, Helen?  She’s going to tire of you.  When she does, I will not be here for you.  You will be left on your own, all alone.  Is that what you want?”

Helen turned slowly as if to exit.  “Richard, I don’t know what to say.”  She was stunned by his words, shaken by the strength of conviction with which he verbalized his prediction, as if he actually meant it.  Her husband of twenty-six years was hurting.  She had injured him; he sought to lick his wounds with her repentance.  He was lashing out in desperation with every weapon he could find to preserve his life, maintain the status quo.  She could not yield to him.  Yet self-reproach held her there, in their home.

“Is that really what you want?”

Nevertheless, she wondered if he was right.  What would she do if Noami decided to break it off?  After the night before, that seemed like a great possibility.

Noami was angry with her when they separated, but Helen had contributed to her bad humor by acting like a child throwing a tantrum, all because Noami refused to quarrel with her.  She was aware of Noami’s displeasure with her decision not to accept her invitation to go home with her.  That would not justify her breaking it off with Helen, not that alone.  However, Helen’s behavior was not their only obstacle.  Many complications served as obstacles to their enjoying a healthy, long-lived relationship.  As Richard mentioned, age.  Richard himself was proving to be quite more than an annoyance.  Wire’s frequent provocations threatened to unhinge their connection.  Helen’s own internal battles functioned as the worst threat of all.  Her guilt about destroying her family placed what she shared with Noami in jeopardy, utter peril.

“Richard, I have to go.  I’m meeting Sydney.”

“Sure you have to go, but not just yet.  I’m not done talking to you yet.  What would happen to your precious Noami if the well ran dry?”

Helen understood the innuendo.  Richard was suggesting Noami’s interest in her was at least in part due to Helen’s financial success.  He was not aware that Noami was more than independent and did not need financial support.

“I am sorry, Richard.”  Helen was devastated.  “I never meant to hurt you.”  She picked at pixel-like dot formation of the granite counter.  What else could she say to him?

“You don’t have to be sorry for me.  It’s you you should be sorry for.”  He charged forward, spitting truth in her face.  “I trusted you.  I gave you my heart.  I invested years of my life in you.”

Helen stood still, determined to take what he pushed on her.  Contrition

“What will she do when your book deals fall through, or when no one wants to buy your books anymore because they find out you are a lesbian?  Will she stay with you then?”  Richard’s contorted face was unrecognizable to Helen.  She had never seen him this way.  She had done this to him.  Onus.

Helen listened to everything Richard had to say before escaping into the wintry outdoors.  She had remained quiet while he berated her about her affair.  She said nothing when he called her names and further shamed her for her infidelity.  She did not even refute his claims of abuse when he charged that she had ruined him for any other relationship, because after her, he would never trust another woman again.  She did nothing when he grabbed her by both her arms and shook her violently for her own good.  She merely grabbed hold of the nearest surface to balance herself when he released her.  And when he first tried to make a deal for her to remain in the marriage until elections were over, then threatened to ruin her career if she did not, Helen answered calmly:

“No, Richard,” her voice scarcely above a whisper, “I don’t think I could do that.”  She had faced him straight on, her sins borne squarely on her shoulders.  He, on the other hand, could not look her in the eyes.  As she left the house, he continued to scream declarations of love, and vile comments at her back, a juxtaposition of love and hate, even as she politely excused herself, because she was late to meet with their daughter, Sydney.

On the ride to Sydney’s house, Helen came upon a group of brightly painted MNDot service vehicles, their color contrasting sharply from the bright white of a recent snow blanketing the ground.  Helen watched the slow progression of the staggered orange MNDot snowplows with keen awareness.  As she scrutinized their progress as one driver exited the group to persist forward on his appointed route, she could not help but consider that the unbroken, well organized winter convention was a function of an open system whose activity had undergone a great deal of analysis and had been improved upon until it could become one of the best examples of winter time streamlined efficiency.  She could not help but consider, too, that the tried system served as a metaphor for her life.

Still, her scrutiny of the MNDot system could not keep her mind from returning to her husband.  Richard’s rebukes lay heavily on her.  She was so profoundly impaired by his enmity that she could scarcely breathe.  She tried to leave his tirade behind, but his words continued to echo around her.  He threatened to ruin her career.  He promised to sabotage any chance she had with Noami.  He begged her to reconsider her decision.  He attempted to bargain with her happiness as if he held rights to it.

Helen felt overwhelmed with guilt.  She did not blame herself for his discontent, but certainly realized she was culpable for some measure of his despondency.  He was so angry and vindictive.  By now, Richard had probably called Sydney to update her on the most recent episode.  The possibility that Sydney would be waiting at her front door ready to judge her action was too much for her to endure.  Helen pulled over to the shoulder of the freeway and began to break down, her low, suppurate cries audible only to herself.  What if he was right?  What if she had lost it all?  What if her family divorced themselves of her completely?  Helen buried her wet face between her arms; her hands gripped the steering wheel so  tightly, the stitching of the leather cover imprinted in her palms.  Noami came with no guarantee.  What if she lost it all because of her own selfishness?  Would she wake up one morning to find that she had no one to love, no one to care for her?

INTERQUEL – WINTER SOLSTICE

Winter officially beings on November twenty-first; however, for those living in the Heart Land, winter does not truly begin until the first good snow, which by Minnesota reckoning, does not occur until mid-December.  The good people of Minnesota love their winters, with its glistening clean snow, sparkling frozen lakes, and early evenings spent at home with family, enjoying stew and soup season.  Minnesotans favor this season for an entirely different reason than they love the others.  Winter offers the opportunity to show the rest of the country yet again how a state is supposed to be run, because if nothing else, the people who dwell in MNDot territory are proud of its winter systems, considered by many to be the best in the entire world.  However, winter, with all its opportunities to shine, was only the second favorite season, despite the promise of still lakes frozen deep enough to support expensive fishing houses.

Although Noami loved December, she hated winter.  She had lived in Minneapolis for nearly as long as she lived in California, and had yet to come to love the frigid temperatures.  Snow, she felt, was the only saving grace for winter.  For most that lived in subzero winters, snowfall was mundane.  For Noami, coming from California where the snow never fell, each time the white crystalline mantle covered the trees and ground, she felt blessed and inspired.  Then the snowplows completed their appointed task, pushing the once-fluffy flakes into packed, icy barriers.  Commuters driving their cars maneuvered across the landscape, leaving their dirty tire tracks behind.  The clean snow was defiled by life, spoiling the pretty Christmas card fantasy that appealed to Noami and made the cold day and freezing night temperatures bearable.

The snow fell silently on the street.  Noami stood at her window looking down on the street, wondering how much longer she would have to wait until the snow melted, giving way to spring.  Too long.  Most of the season lay before her even now.  She checked off the significant days to come before spring.  Christmas would come and pass in a few days.  The New Year would follow shortly.  After that, her mother’s birthday in February.  Valentine’s Day came next.  Noami’s thoughts changed suddenly from hating winter, to February 14.  That coming year’s Valentine’s would have to be special.  She would have to come up with a special gift for Helen.  That was, if Helen was still with her at that time.  Noami hoped so.  The last week had been rocky.

She was afraid that Helen was on the verge of breaking up with her.  Her husband had been torturing her on a daily basis for her transgressions.  Noami urged her to move out, but she promised him she would not until they went to counseling together.  Helen and her daughter, Sydney, were at odds, because Sydney and her husband were trying to get pregnant, an idea which troubled Helen.  Noami was not quite sure why Helen was so against her daughter’s impending pregnancy.  Helen had tried to explain, but she still did not quite get it.  Noami guessed the issue was a matter of dissimilar philosophies.  In addition to that, Helen had shared with her fear that Angie, her best friend, was distancing herself from her.  All in all, Noami was worried that their relationship had cost Helen too much, and she was not sure how much longer Helen would feel that she was worth the losses.

Noami stared down onto the street, watching the people on the boulevard.  She should have been working on a few commissioned paintings that were meant for Christmas presents.  She was in no mood to be creative, so she used the fact that she was waiting for a new consultation as an excuse not to work.  Besides, Helen filled her thoughts for the moment, Helen and how she would continue to support her when her lover would need her most.  Noami was worried that their relationship would not survive, because it was the very thing that was causing Helen so much turmoil.

Some of her friends cautioned Noami against further involving herself with Helen.  They warned her that a woman who came with the complications that Helen came with could only end in a great deal of pain for Noami.  She had considered heeding their advice, but for Noami, there was no turning away from Helen.  She had been inexplicably drawn to Helen from the very beginning, when she followed her around town sketching her.  Even then, she knew that Helen was special.  Helen was an incredibly intelligent woman and a generous lover, who was caring and tender.  In addition to that, they seemed to connect on a level that Noami had never experienced before with any other woman.  She felt as if she had known Helen all her life.  There were times when they were alone and all was quiet, that her life seemed simply perfect.  No, she would not give up on Helen, not even if Helen herself advised her to do so.  Noami was stuck on Helen Dahl.

Noami was pulled out of her private reverie by the sight of a woman who turned into her stair entry; her next consultation, she assumed correctly.  Noami opened the door, knowing who would be standing there.  She recognized Sydney from the street.

“Good morning.  Come in, please.”  Noami decided the moment she recognized her that she would remain patient long enough to find out why she had gone through the trouble of making an appointment and coming to her studio.

“Thank you.”  Sydney smiled shyly as she stepped into the warm space.

Now that she was in, Noami took the opportunity to get a good look at Helen’s daughter.  She looked a lot like her mother, but her father had left his mark as well.  Sydney was pretty, yet she lacked the stunning beauty of her mother or grandmother.  Noami wondered why Sydney was there.  She did not believe for a moment that Sydney was actually there to contract a painting.  Whatever the reason, Noami had no intention of playing along.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Sydney.  Helen’s told me so much about you.”

Her guest was stunned by her candor.  “You know who I am, then?”

“Yes, I know who you are.  I can only assume by your presence that this visit is regarding Helen.”

“My mother,” Sydney seemed to be considering her words carefully.  “She isn’t aware that I know about you.  So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way.”

“That would depend on why you have come here under the guise of patronage.  What can I do for you?”  Noami motioned to the small sofa.  “Please, let me take your coat, and make yourself comfortable.”

The idea of making herself comfortable in her mother’s lover’s home obviously did not appeal to Sydney.  She pulled her jacket tighter across her front, as if she were afraid Noami might violate her.  “No, thank you.  I don’t plan to stay that long.”

“Fine.”  Noami had to remind herself that the little bitch standing before her was Helen’s daughter.  “Then why don’t you save us both further discomfort by telling me why you’re here, so we can then deal with it.”

“I don’t know, really.”  Sydney looked around the room, taking in as much data as she could.  “I felt like I needed to…”  She was at a loss for words.

“Like you needed to what?  Meet the woman who was destroying your family?”  Noami raised her brow, daring Sydney to commit.  “Or did you feel like you needed to come here to ask me to spare your mother any further anguish?”

“I can only imagine what you might think of me for barging in like this.  I wanted to meet you face to face…to see for myself.”

“And?”  Noami was not going to let her off easily.  This woman had been giving Helen hell for weeks without once telling her that she was aware of her infidelity to her father.  Sydney resented the woman standing before her, and imagined that they would never be friends because of the very act she was presently committing.  Sydney was manipulating her mother for her own comfort, and now she was trying to do the same to Noami.  This particular manner of familial interaction was foreign to Noami.

“No, and, Ms. Collins…”  She seemed to have lost her nerve.  “I am sorry to have disturbed you.  I came because I felt as though I had to.  You may be thinking my father sent me, but he doesn’t know I know about you.  You see, they have been very careful not to involve me or my brother in their affairs.”

Noami was indifferent.  “And, so, you’ve seen me.  Now what?”  She crossed her arms defiantly.  “Would you like me to answer a few questions, provide a few personal details?”

“I know how you must be feeling.  I can’t imagine what you must think of me for coming here like this.”

Noami did not reply.

“I would like to make an appeal while I am here.”

“I thought as much.”

“I’d like you to give my mother some space, give her a little time to work things out with my father.  You understand.  I’m not sure my mother has considered the ramifications of her decision.  I don’t believe she’s thinking clearly.”  She took a deep breath before adding the rest.  “I believe she quite enamored by you.  I know I don’t have a right to ask this of you.  But I felt…”

“Yes, I know.  You felt the need to come see me for yourself.  You’ve said as much.”  Noami felt a surge of compassion for Helen’s daughter.

“And, to ask you to allow them to mend their marriage.”  Sydney appeared to have said her peace.  “I guess I should leave you to your work.”  She glanced around Noami’s studio.  “You are really very talented.”

Noami held the door open for her.  She did not close the door immediately; instead, she watched her descent down the stairs until she turned left on the sidewalk.  Once Sydney was out of sight, Noami returned to the window to contemplate her next decision.  She played her conversation with Sydney in her head as she looked down on the street.  Sydney’s visit was the limit.  The snow ceased to fall.  Noami was disappointed to find that the light flurry failed to conceal the dirty evidence of man’s transgression on Mother Nature’s one winter bequest worth having.

SEVENTEEN

“What do you mean you’re sitting on the freeway?”  Angie shouted through the receiver.

“I had to pull over.  I think I was beginning to have a panic attack.”  Helen was embarrassed just admitting as much.  “Richard let me have it.  Angie, he was so distraught, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What did he say?”

“Too much to repeat.  Besides, I don’t want to rehash.  I just needed to talk to you so I could calm myself.”  Helen raised her prone palm to inspect her level of tension.  “I’m still shaking.”

“Were you actually scared?”

“I wasn’t frightened, but it was not the most comfortable moment in my life.”  Helen rested her forehead on the steering wheel.  “I have to get my bearings.  All of a sudden, I just couldn’t drive.”

“Helen, you don’t have to take that shit from him.”

“Angie,” Helen warned.  “Don’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t’?  Screw ‘don’t.’  You don’t have to pay for this decision for the rest of your life, and you sure as hell don’t have to let him bully and badger you until you are so stressed out, that you cannot manage to drive from Hidden Oaks to Chanhassen.  That shit is dead.”

“I know, Angie.  I don’t know how else to help him.”  Helen was feeling panicky again.  “He didn’t ask for this to happen to him, after all our years together.  And he certainly doesn’t deserve this.”

“Well, stay with him, then.  That’s what he wants, anyway.  Give in, give him what he wants, you.”

“I can’t.”  Helen wished for his sake that she could.  “I’ve actually considered doing just that, but I simply cannot.”

“That’s what I thought.  I was just telling Orlando as much last night.  He was hassling me about putting pressure on you to go back.  But I told him…”

“Orlando said what?”  Helen was shocked by what she thought Angie said.  “Did you say that Orlando…what did he say?”
“Nothing, girl.  He was giving me grief because I have been supporting you.  He seems to think that I should be supporting you as a couple, not as a singleton.  Forget him.  He’ll get over it.  Or he won’t.”
Helen’s heart sank.  “I don’t want to cause you any problems at home, Angie.”
“Helen, I love you.  You are my dearest friend.  There is nothing I won’t do for you.  There is also nothing I will not give you, so I will tell you this straight, and I mean it.  You don’t have the ability to cause any trouble between Orlando and me.  If we have problems, it’s because we have created them.  Do you understand me?  You cannot, nor can my support of a dear and cherished friend, harm our relationship.”  Angie paused.  “Now get your ass off the side of the road and get going before some fool import driving too fast for conditions finds you there.  I’ll check on you later, you hear?”

“I love you, Angie.”  Helen was moved to tears.

“And Helen?”

“Yes?
“Don’t let that brat daughter of yours give you any grief, either.  I know that’s why she invited you over there, to add more pressure.  Little…”

“Bye, Angie.”  Helen felt somewhat better.  She could always count on Angie.

Sydney was at the door before Helen had a chance to ring the bell.

“Hello, Mom.  I didn’t want to wake the girls.  Come in.”  Sydney led Helen to the formal living room.  “They were up late last night with Sid’s parents, so I’ve put them down for a nap.

“Aw, I was looking forward to a visit with them, Sydney.  Couldn’t they have waited a few minutes to say hello to grandma?”

“I’m sorry, Mom; besides, I wanted a little alone time…to talk.  When we’re done, we can get them up if they’re still asleep.”

Helen sat in the indicated chair, knowing, as Angie had predicted, that she was not simply invited to her daughter’s home for a social visit.  “Fine, Sydney.  Let’s get this over with.  What can I do for you?”

Sydney’s formality put Helen off a bit.  Her daughter began tentatively, but very soon found her stride.  Sydney began by thanking Helen for accepting her invitation.  Then she spent most of their time together trying to convince Helen to remain in her marriage for the sake of her family.  At one point, she threw Helen’s words back into her face.  Sydney reinforced her feelings of family and marriage.  The daughter reminded the mother of the many times she emphasized the happiness to be derived from well-formed familial bonds.

Helen countered that people change, that families change.  She tried to reassure Sydney that she does love her family, but has come to understand that family is not a dream, but a reality that must be lived, not imagined, and that no matter how much relationships transform, the love that once existed is real.

Sydney accused Helen of being economical with the truth now when it suited her.  She also blamed Helen for destroying her father’s life and possibility of happiness for him.  To this, Helen made it very clear, that while she did not mind discussing the relationship that they—mother and daughter—shared, and how her recent decisions affected that bond, but that her relationship with Richard was in no uncertain terms, none of her business.

In the end, Sydney remained steadfast in her values concerning marriage and what she described as Helen’s annals of lies.  She encouraged Helen not to be induced by confusing thoughts about marriage.  Sydney confirmed Helen’s fears by admitting that Helen had indeed passed on her ideas about the perfect family.  According to Sydney, Helen had raised her daughter in a very close family, and made sure she understood how important family is.

“Mom, I grew up knowing I could tell you anything.  I never had to hide anything from you.  You are breaking up our perfect family.  You are betraying our trust by leaving Dad.”

Helen replied, “I am still your mother.  Dad remains your father, and David will always be your brother.  Our relationships are not contingent upon my staying in a marriage with your father.  You are old enough to realize that.  I am sorry I made you believe in an ideal that does not exist.  I love you.”

“Mom, I know you love me, but you are breaking my heart.”

As Helen made her way home to prepare for her dinner date, she considered her conversation with Sydney, which reaffirmed her decision concerning living for herself.

After a tension-filled dinner with Noami at Capitol Grill, Helen sped home, her tears blurring her vision of the world before her.  She pulled into the drive where she left her haphazardly parked Jaguar.  She ignored Richard’s surprised expression altogether, seeking the refuge of her bedroom.  Once closed in her own room, she dialed the only person she believed might lend her any support.

“Angie, it’s over.”  Having finally verbalized the cruel veracity, Helen fell to her knees with the telephone secured tightly to her ear, crushing the point of her generous ear adornment deep into the soft flesh just above the angle of her jaw.  So preoccupied was she with her recent ordeal that she felt no physical pain.  Her heart was breaking.  That ache trumped any other pain, physical or otherwise.  “Noami broke it off.”  She began to cry into the receiver, completely oblivious to the third person listening in uninvited.

“Helen, I’m on my way.”

“No, don’t.  Just talk to me.”

“I can’t believe it, Hells.  What happened?”

Helen recounted her evening with Noami.  “She called, saying she wanted to meet for dinner.  I was delighted, because we hadn’t planned to see each other until the day after tomorrow.  We met at seven because Noami had to work late at the gallery.  I knew something was going on as soon as I saw her.  Angie, she looked so tired and stressed out.  I asked her immediately what was wrong.”

“Did she tell you?”
“No, she was noncommittal.  I should have pressed her as soon as I realized something was off, but I really had had enough, you know.  I simply wanted to enjoy a stress-free evening with her.”

“Oh, what happened at Sydney’s?”

“Just what you supposed, but I’ll get to Sydney, trust me.”
“Sydney?  What does Sydney have to do with Noami?”

“Damn it, Angie.  Stop asking so many questions and listen.  I’ll get to it in its time.  Noami was quiet through most of dinner.  She didn’t say much.  But, Angie…”  Helen began to sob again.

“Oh, Honey.  I’m coming over.”

“No,” Helen shook her head at the phone.  “Don’t.  I need to talk now.  Being here won’t change how I feel.”  Helen wiped her face on her shirtsleeve.  “Angie,” she continued once she composed herself again.  “She was so beautiful.  I thought to myself, ‘I’m so lucky.’  I felt so happy, even though I knew something was wrong.”

“Helen, hell, she’s the one who’s lucky,” Angie insisted.

“Oh, shut up and listen.”  Helen felt no better taking her anguish out on Angie.  “I’m sorry, Sweetie.  Where was I?  Oh, yes.  She was so beautiful, Angie.  So after dinner, neither of us ate much, I asked if she wanted me to come over.”  Helen pounded her fist on her forehead.  “I’m so stupid.  I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming.”

“What?”

“She didn’t really answer my question; she said she wanted me to walk with her a bit.  At first, I thought she must be mad—it was so cold out—but she insisted.  She said she wasn’t ready to go in, and thought a walk might do us both some good.  We had been walking for less than a block when she told me.”  Helen’s voice cracked.

“Helen.  Oh, Honey.”

Helen waved her hand at the receiver, as if to quiet Angie’s concern through the hard plastic.  It took Helen a few minutes to control her outpour of emotion.  Her core was torn asunder, and she was attempting to recount the facts that lead to her own heartbreak.  The acute pain in her chest rang with the same intensity as the sharp ache in her head.

“We stopped along the street where I parked my car.  She led me to my car and asked if we could sit there.  Then she told me that she couldn’t see me anymore, that I needed to take care of my family before I could commit.”

“What does she mean before you could commit?  I thought you two were committed.”

“She’s right, though.  Especially after what happened today.”

“What happened?”  Angie’s voice took on the tone of a mother who knew the bad news before her child owned up to the misdeed she had committed.

“Sydney.”  Helen sniffed loudly.

“Sydney?  What does she have to do with this?”

“Apparently, Sydney paid her a visit today.”
“Today?  But you were at Sydney’s today.  Didn’t she mention that she went to see Noami?”

“No.  She didn’t mention it at all.  Anyway, you can imagine my surprise.  What could I say?  I apologized for Sydney’s interference.  I told her I’d talk to Sydney, but that wouldn’t do.  Noami kept saying that I had to deal with my family before I was ready.  She accused me of holding on while trying to move forward at the same time, which wasn’t fair to anyone involved.  She said she couldn’t handle more drama, that that was why she got out of her relationship with Wire.”  Helen paused.  “That was the other thing she mentioned.  That she didn’t want to put me through the games that Wire was trying to play with me.”

“Well, hell, you are a grown-ass woman who can handle herself, and Wire.  Did you tell her that?”

“Yes, I did, but that didn’t seem to matter.  Noami said she felt bad for Richard.  She told me that he calls her whenever he feels like it and begs her to leave me alone.  And that she cannot handle the stress of contributing to a broken home.”

“A little late for that, huh?”

“That’s what I told her.  But she insisted that it wasn’t too late to make it right.”  Helen held her breath, concentrating on regaining her composure.  “She asked me to let her know when I became completely available.”  She swallowed hard again.  “She told me she loved me, but that I needed to reconcile who I am with my family.”

“Oh, Honey.”  Angie was also in tears.

“Angie, I don’t know what to do.”  Helen’s voice was completely altered by the rawness of emotion.  “I don’t know what to do.”  She began to weep uncontrollably.  “I asked her to let me clear things up, for more time.  I begged her not to leave me.  But she did.”

“Helen, I know she loves you.  This must have been hard for her.”

“I know,” was all Helen could manage.  She shook her head.

“Then what happened?”

“She kissed me goodbye and asked me to hurry, because she would find it difficult to live without me.”

“Helen, you know what, that Noami is a good egg.  I know she loves you, but she really is doing the selfless thing.  I told you we talked, and I know she adores you.”

Helen’s hopes rose, warming the chill in her core.  “So you don’t think it’s over?”

“No, I don’t.  Think about what you just said.  She’s in love with you, girl.  She’ll wait for you.  Just don’t make her wait too long.”

“Angie.  Thank you.”

“Helen, anytime.  You just get your shit together so you can get back to that happiness you found.”

“I love you, Angie.”

“Girl, how could you not?”

Helen was startled by the sharp knock on her bedroom door.  She had cried herself to sleep without taking off her street clothes.  She wiped the black circles of mascara from beneath her eyes onto her cheeks.  She made a quick sprint to the bathroom after catching her reflection as she approached the door.  She looked like a wet raccoon.

“Hold on, Richard.”  Who else could it be at this time of night?  “What is it, Richard?”  She stood in her doorway, blocking entry into her room.  She had no patience for him.  Not after her evening.

“I’d like to talk.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”  She sighed loudly.

“No, I think not.  May I come in?”

“Yes, but only for a short while.  What do you want, Richard?” she asked, pointing to a chair in another area of the spacious room, as far from the bed as she could manage.

Richard rose from his seat on the bed to the sitting area.  “I’m going to be honest with you.  I heard your conversation with Angie.”
“How dare you!”  Helen hardly knew how to respond.  “You have no right listening in on my private conversations.

“You’re right.”  He held his hand aloft in peace.

“Get out.”

“I will, but I need you to hear me out.”  His face softened.  “I want you to know it will be alright.  We can be okay.”
“Okay?”  Helen turned on him.  “Are you kidding me?  Have you any idea what your intrusion cost me?”  She looked at him as if she did not know him.  “Richard, I cannot believe you.”  She dug her fingertips in her eye sockets, trying to force clarity into her brain.  “You can’t possibly think that because she doesn’t want to see me that this changes anything between us?”

“I’d hoped.”

“You’d hoped?”  Helen cut him off.  “Let me explain this to you one final time.”  She looked into his eyes.  She wanted nothing more than to finally get him to understand that what was happening to their marriage was not his fault.  Nor was their breakup her fault.  Helen had made a decision many years before she ever knew him, in part, because she had her heart broken by Maggie, and in part, because she rejected the marriage her mother and father projected.  She convinced herself that what she needed to find happiness was a strong man.

“I love women.  Richard, I guess, I’ve always known.  I really care for you.  I was wrong to marry you.  I thought I would find happiness in your arms, and I did.  I love you, but I’m not in love with you; I don’t think I ever was.  Richard, I have always been happy with you.  There was always something between us, and that thing kept me from personal harmony.  I could go on with you, but I’d be cheating you, and myself.  At my age, Richard, I’m finally wise enough to know I have to move on.  I have to live for me.  I’m sorry if that hurts.  I can imagine what you must be feeling, but I can’t base my decisions for the rest of my life on what you need from me.  That would be forcing me to ignore what is necessary to fulfill my own needs.”  Helen held the side of his face tenderly in her hand.  She fixed her eyes on his.  She wanted to be sure to reveal to him all that she had held in for so many years.  “I have to move forward, Richard.”

Richard shook his head slowly and kissed her gently in her opened palm.  “I know.”

“And I have to move out,” she added with great care.

Helen could see Richard struggling.  “You say you care.  I believe you love me.  What has changed about you that you can’t stay and still be happy?  You said you were happy before.  We were happy.”

Helen tried to work out in her head how to answer more adequately his question.  She remained standing close to him.  She could tell that he was standing precariously close to the edge of an abyss.  Helen gazed into his befuddled expression, making a solemn promise to stand there with him as long as it took for him to recognize that what he wanted from her was not necessarily the best choice for anyone involved.

Helen smiled sweetly.  “Richard, you have to understand, this is not about Noami.  She has nothing to do with this, with us and where we are, where I am.  I am not engaging in an experiment because I am experiencing a midlife crisis.”

“I believed Noami, you…”  He stumbled over his words in an attempt to be respectful, despite the bitterness threatening to choke any heartening feelings left behind.  “I didn’t get that this was really more than an affair.  I can’t believe I am here at this stage in my life.”  Richard finally spoke after several minutes of silence.  “I don’t know what I am supposed to do now.”

“I know, Richard.  But I need you to be open to the possibility of life without me, the idea of happiness newly defined.”

EIGHTEEN

Sydney sat motionless, starring at the handset, knowing that no matter how long she did so; the phone would not dial itself.  Her face was still stinging from the tongue-lashing she received from Sidney, her husband who was reasonably angry with her, and with good reason.  She tried to break the news that she had changed her mind about getting pregnant gently, but the gentle delivery did not help matters.  She had known before she broached the subject what his reaction would be.  He was so pleased when she told him that she was finally ready to add to their family, which he had been hinting at for years.

She should have known it would come to this.  After all, when she agreed to get pregnant again, she had done so for the wrong reasons.  Sydney believed that having a baby would be such a blessed event, that everyone would forget about their private concerns in order to rally around the new baby.  Her mother would begin behaving normally once more.  Her father would pay more attention to his wife’s needs and not be so selfish.  Her brother would return to the family fold; then again, they never shared what she considered ought to be a close brother-sister bond.  Most of all, her husband would begin to spend more time at home with her and their daughters.  He would worry less about business and begin to appreciate and take more notice of his devoted wife and their two lovely daughters.  Sydney imagined that a baby would bring her family together.

Her mother had warned her against just that.  She cautioned Sydney that her motivation for having another baby was deeply flawed, that she would regret putting off her career for having another child.  Her mother argued that she had her life and career ahead of her.  She told Sydney that she was making a grave mistake.

Sydney had defended her decision, saying that it had nothing to do with the reasons her mother mentioned.  She was not having a baby to mend relationships.  However, in the end, Sydney had to admit to herself that her mother had been right all along.  She was trying to get pregnant for the wrong reasons.  Recently, she had taken stock of her life, weighed her blessings and misfortunes.  Sydney had to admit to herself that now was not the right time to have a baby, at least not for her.  She missed her kids, her students, and she missed being a student.  Having a baby would only prolong the time it would take for her to get back to the classroom, both as a student and teacher.  Did she not deserve to have what she wanted?

Debating the issue with her husband did not change her mind.  He had thrown a royal fit.  He yelled for what seemed like forever, pouted much too long for an adult male, then slammed out of the house without as much as a goodbye.  His actions only confirmed that her decision was right, that her mother had been right all along.  Now Sydney was left alone to contemplate her situation.  The more she thought about it, the happier she became with her choice.  Now all there was to do was call her mother; she would be so happy for her.

Sydney tried her mom at home.  No answer.  She left a message on her voice mail when she failed to answer the cell phone.  Then she tried Angie’s home.

“Hello.”
“Hello, may I speak with Angie or Helen, please?”

“Angie is not home.  Helen does not live here.”

Orlando’s harsh tone caught Sydney off guard.  So shocked was she, that she did not recover in time from his callous greeting before he slammed down the phone, to identify herself.  Sydney stared at the headset, not sure what to make of Orlando’s attitude.  He had been like an uncle to her for all her life.  As long as she had known him, he had never taken such a tone with her.  She had to believe that he mistook her for someone else.

Orlando slammed down the phone with more force then he intended.  He was steaming mad.  How dare they call his house asking for his wife, what nerve!  He was not about to let what happened to Helen happen to his wife.  Angie was not going to turn out like she had.  That was dead.  He felt unexpectedly apprehensive.  Now those lesbians were actually calling his wife—in his home, no less.

“Ang, could you come here?”  He shouted in the general direction of his wife.  “Ang!”

“What, ‘Lando?  I’m in the next room; what are you shouting for?”

Orlando paid no attention to her irritated tone.  “The phone was for you.”  He stood with his hands braced hard on his waist, daring her to inquire as to who had called.

“And?”  She dared.

“And one of your lesbian friends called here looking for you.  I don’t know why she called here, but I don’t want any of them to call here again, is that clear?”  Normally, he would not speak to his wife in this manner, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and if he did not get a handle on this soon, he would find that he, like Richard, would be facing a life without his wife as she waltzed out the door into the arms of some dike-on-a-bike from Minneapolis.

Angie simply laughed.  “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No.”  Orlando face reflected the anger her felt.  “I’m not kidding, and furthermore, they wouldn’t be calling here if you weren’t gallivanting around with Helen up and down Hennepin in a flock of card-carrying gays, all trying to register you for the club.  They got Helen, but I’ll be damned if they get you.”

“Orlando, I am going to give you a second to really think about what you are saying here, before I respond.”  Angie waited an appropriate amount of time before she continued.  “Helen is my dearest friend.  I know her husband is your best friend.  However, the fact that she is a lesbian has nothing to do with us, me.  No one turned her.  I am surprised at you for even suggesting such a silly thing.  You know better than that.  You sound like a Bible-smacking idiot making that comment, really.  As for Helen, it isn’t any of our business who she is with.  All we have to do is accept her partner.  By the way, that is no longer Richard.”

“And what about poor Richard?”

“Well, there is nothing poor about Richard.  I assure you, he will be just fine.  It’s Helen you need to worry about.  She’s all alone right now.”

“She can’t be too alone; you’re always with her.”
“Not always; I’m here right now, aren’t I?”
“Yes, which means nothing as long as your girls call.”

“Orlando,” Angie warned.

“Orlando, nothing.  Let’s get back to Richard.  What the hell is he supposed to do now that his wife is off chasing some carpet cruncher?”

“Orlando!”

“Orlando, my ass.  Answer the question, Angie.  What about Richard?  How is he supposed to deal with all of this?  His wife of twenty-five years...”

“Twenty-six.”

“Fine, twenty-six has left him, and in the middle of a campaign, too.”

“Is that all you can think about, Orlando?  Your precious campaign?”

“Now that you mention it, Helen could not have picked a worse time to switch teams.  But that is beside the point.”

“No, I think it is precisely the point, Orlando.  Because now I see what your real concern is here.  You aren’t concerned about our friends, how devastated they must both be at their failed marriage; all you have on your mind is how you are going to get Richard elected.  I’ll tell you what, if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about Poor Richard and his election; I would try to get my values in line.  And you don’t have to worry about who’s calling me, Orlando, I am a grown-ass woman.”

“I don’t want those people calling this house.”  Orlando stood his ground.  He felt as though he was fighting for his very life.  “I don’t want them calling you at all.”

“In all the years we have been married, it has not been up to you to decide who may or may not call me.  That sure is not going to begin now.  I don’t know who called, but I assure you, whoever she was is welcome to contact me at any number I provide.  And if you have a problem with that, Orlando, too bad.”

“Too bad?  Too bad?”

“Yes, too bad.”  Angie left the room.

Orlando was angrier.  Angie was not going to listen to him.  She was right about one thing: it was unlike him to be so judgmental.  Certainly, he was not the sort to label people or deal in generalities.  However, that did not change the fact that he would have to start answering the phone more often.  He did not really believe that his wife could be turned away from him by another person, woman or man...but…

Orlando pushed back in his chair and grabbed the paper to read the daily news.  The largest headline caught his eye instantly, “Gay Marriage on the Rise in the Twin Cities.”  He concentrated on the two women smiling broadly from the grayscale photograph.  “Damn, there must be something in the water around here.”  He continued to read the article.  “This week at St. Paul Reformation Church, home of Pastor Anita Hill, the first ordained minister who is openly gay in a committed relationship, celebrates its third wedding ceremony…”

“Helen, I’d like you to reconsider moving out.”  Despite his low, calm voice, Helen was startled by the sudden presence behind her.

“Richard, I cannot have this conversation again.  I have to find my own place for this very reason.  All my presence does is make us both uncomfortable.  You are miserable, and I hate making you feel this way.

“You don’t understand.  I like your being here.”
“You say you do, but I believe you will feel much better after I’ve left.”  Helen began to store her laptop away.

“You don’t have to stop working, Helen.  I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I know you don’t, Richard.”  She lowered her head; she found that suddenly she could not face him.  “But I have to leave, if not for your sanity, then my own.”  As she was leaving the room, Richard seized her tightly by the forearm.  These physical exchanges were increasing in number and frequency, another reason she had to escape her home.  She was worried that Richard’s physical aggression was intensifying with each exchange.  The last confrontation was especially frightening.  He had backed her into a door and would not allow her to pass until she listened to what he needed to say.  He pinned her by holding her shoulders against the hard door.  That particular episode lasted more than twenty excruciating minutes.

“Richard, I need to get back to work.”  Helen lied.

“What do you mean ‘get back to work’?  You just closed your computer.  You mean you want to avoid talking to me.”

“Yes, Richard, if you are going to continue to manhandle me, yes.  I suppose that is precisely what I mean.”  Helen gave each of his hands a momentary glance to emphasize her point.

He ignored the implication of her nonverbal cue.  “I think we need to talk.”

“Richard, you need to let me go,” Helen asserted.

“Just give me a few minutes.”

Helen winced as his hands constricted the blood flow to her lower arms.  “Richard, time-out.”  She employed the agreed-upon safe phrase they chose the last time they visited their therapist when Helen voiced her concern about Richard’s physical maltreatment.

Richard responded immediately, as if the very phase had burned his hands from her skin.  “I’m sorry.  I apologize, Helen.”

Helen did not wait around to listen to the rest of his apology.  She passed by him quickly once she was released to find the safety of her locked room and her private thoughts.  If only she could shake free of the notion that she was somehow culpable for Richard’s current state of mind, she could free herself from her present situation, enduring Richard’s tirades, and increasing physical abuse.  An hour later, she was in her car, driving toward a stiff drink and enough noise to drown out her problems.

Helen stared into her drink, not really thinking about the physical environment, ignoring completely all the stimuli around her.

“A penny for your thoughts.”  Noami smiled down sweetly.  “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“No?”  Helen swelled with emotion.  Her chest muscles pulled taunt across, restricting the intake of air.  “I did not expect to find you here, either.”

“I wasn’t planning on being here, but it’s LaDonna’s birthday, and Veda asked me over.  They’re up in the VIP area.”  Noami gestured over their heads to the open loft that circled the main floor.  “I saw you come in, so I came down to say hello.”

“I’ve been here for a while.”

“Yes, I thought I’d give you some space, but you look like you could use someone to talk to.”  Noami sat in the chair opposite Helen.  “So, here I am.  Tell me what’s going on.”

Helen’s reluctance to talk about her problems showed clearly on her face.  “No, thanks.  I’m fine.  Why don’t you go back to your party?  I plan to call Angie.  She’ll meet me.  Thanks.”  Helen lied.  She did call Angie, but Orlando had told her she was asleep, and refused to wake her.

“I don’t think she will.  I called to invite her here tonight, and she mentioned that she was planning on turning in early.  She said she wanted to be home to stay next to the phone in case you called.  She mentioned that Richard’s been giving you a hard time.”  Noami hesitated.  “Talk to me.”

Helen was tempted to tell Noami everything she had experienced since the break up—Richard’s boorish behavior, the breakthroughs they had made with the counselor, and her own strides toward independence.  Somehow, the words failed her.  Perhaps she was in too public a place to divulge so much of her private life.  Yet she did want to talk to someone.  Angie was home asleep.  Mom was probably upstairs, and Helen had no intention on crashing that party, though she was sure she would be welcome.

“Do you want to go to my place to talk?  It’s quiet there.”

Helen shook her head.  “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Helen, I’d like to be your friend.  I miss you.  Let me support you as a friend.  You obviously need someone to talk to.  Why not talk to me?”

Helen was uncertain how to respond.  She needed to talk, but was not sure that she could handle being alone with Noami.  That might push her over the edge.  “Noami thanks.  I appreciate your concern.  It’s just that I think that might be a little difficult for the both of us.”

“Yes, I know.  I want to help you.  Besides, there is no way I am going back up there after seeing you like this.”  She put her hand over Helen’s.  “Come on.  Let’s go talk.  We don’t have to go to my place.  We can walk outside.  It’s not as cold as it has been.”

Helen followed Noami out of the club into the cold night.  She and Noami began walking slowly down Hennepin, discussing the events of their lives since their last parting.  Noami eased them into the conversation by informing Helen about the new lucrative job she was offered.  A referral she received led to a six-figure commission of a series of family portraits for a wealthy, well-known Minnesotan family.  It was the largest job she had received in her entire career.  She felt as though her work was beginning to get some real recognition.  She was becoming recognized for her artistic talent.

Helen, on the other hand, was much slower to divulge any new developments.  She was cautious about what she wanted to reveal.  Her news did not match Noami’s good report.  Before long, both women were shivering, and agreed to go to Noami’s place, only to avoid freezing.  Noami’s well-lit, cozy loft was a lovely contrast to the chill damp of negative-one wind chill they previously experienced.

As Helen entered the space, she was instantly overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions.  She looked about the room, recounting every moment she shared with Noami there.

“Helen?”

“Oh, pardon me.  I was just… absorbed with my own thoughts.”

“I know.  This is difficult for me, too.”  Noami smiled, taking Helen’s coat.  “Would you like a drink?  What were you drinking at Bath’s?  Madras?”

“Well, I was nursing one.  I’d rather have wine if you have it.”

“Oh, I have a great Riesling.  I only just discovered it.  Delicious.  It’s white, I suppose.  But you probably already know that.  Or Merlot.”

“Merlot, thanks.”

The wine warmed Helen entirely, eliminating any lingering chill from their walk.  After a few awkward moments, they both tried to relax.  Being in Noami’s home was quite uncomfortable for Helen, though no more than for her host.

“I want you to know, Noami, that as difficult as it was to take, I respect your decision, and I accept why you…”  Helen could not complete her sentence.  Verbalizing their breakup was too painful.  “I mean, I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?”  Noami asked.  “I was hoping you’d understand.”

Helen noticed that her facial expression belied the seriousness of her statement.  There was a glint of mischievousness behind her eyes.

“I do understand.”  One moment Helen was sipping her drink, the next, she and Noami were kissing, desperate to taste what they each had missed so fervently.

Noami whispered in her ear, “You have no idea how hard it is to be this close to you.  You create art with movement.  You are beautiful.  I want you to be mine completely.  I don’t want anyone to think of you the way I think of you, to feel for you what I feel for you.”

Helen was overwhelmed by Noami’s passionate attention.

The following morning, Helen dressed quietly, careful not to wake Noami.  She did not want to leave.  She wanted nothing more than to rouse Noami and make love to her in the wake of the sunrise.

Instead, she left her a note:  Noami, I know last night does not change how you feel about being involved with me, given my current living arrangement and marital status.  In the light of day, I have to admit that you are right.  Last night was special, too lovely to ruin by not getting us right.  Thank you for listening and having me over last night…again, and again.  (Naughty smiley face).  Love, Helen.

NINETEEN

“You don’t have to leave so soon, do you?”  Magda reached past her empty cup to grab Mom’s arm down on the table.  Helen watched with keen interest.  No one held Mom down.

“Yes, I am going.  I’m tired.  I worked late last night at the club, to closing, and I had to get up to bake.  At my age, you should be telling me to go home and nap.”

“Tell her to stay a little longer, Helen.”

“No, I won’t.  Besides, I have to leave very shortly myself.”  Helen responded truthfully.  She had an appointment to keep.  Three weeks had passed since her last row with Richard.  They had been going to counseling faithfully every Tuesday and Thursday at precisely 4:00 p.m.  Richard said he was attending the biweekly session to save his marriage.  Helen did not buy that.  She believed he was attending in order to hold her home.  Truth be told, Helen believed he had long given up on salvaging their marriage.  He wanted to win.  Helen, of course, was very clear about her willingness to spend hours divulging her innermost secrets to Richard and a stranger.  She too had her own agenda.  She wanted to be sure that when she left, she could do so with a clean break, without blame assigned to anyone.  Helen wanted to preserve as much of an amicable relationship as possible.

“Besides, Magda,” Mom insisted, “you always tell me to stay, and then you ignore me for most of the day.”

“What?”  Magda asked, shocked by Mom’s accusation.

“Yeah, right.”  Mom pushed her chair back, ready to leave.  “You know exactly what I mean, who I’m talking about.”  She winked and nodded at Helen.

Helen looked from Mom to Magda, completely bewildered.

“Mom, now you know better than that,” Magda protested.

“Right.”  Clearly, Mom was not buying Magda’s line.  “I don’t know about that, but what I do know is that at least you’re not moping around fawning after my daughter, Veda.”

Helen winced.  Mom had a habit of being blunt in way that made adult women blush.  “Oh, don’t be too hard on her, Mom.  After all, it’s been weeks since she complained about LaDonna and Veda.”  Helen attempted to be helpful and changed the subject.  “But, anyway, I’m going to the Walker Art Center this evening for Noami’s show; anyone want to join me?”

“I’d love to,” Mom answered immediately.

Magda’s response was not so immediate.

“What time?  Should we meet, or drive together?”  Mom continued, not waiting for an answer.  “I know Veda and a few others were planning on going.  Should we all go together?  That way, I know I won’t have to get a cab.”  Mom paused to check Magda’s countenance before she added.  “What about you, Magda?  You mentioned last week you wanted to support Noami with her first exhibit.”

Helen sat patiently, waiting for Magda’s response.  She had gotten to know Magda a great deal on her daily trips to the coffee shop, as being home all day working made her too easy a target for Richard’s sporadic mood swings

“Magda, you should come.  I’m sure we’ll have a great time.  Afterwards, Noami is hosting a reception in her studio.  She says it will be intimate; not too many people are invited.”  Helen’s expression read hopeful.  She did so hope Magda would join them.  As of late, Magda had shown herself to be a great companion, and Helen did enjoy her company.

“We’ll see.”  Magda’s answer was noncommittal, but at least she did not decline the invitation.

“It should be fun, Madga,” Mom coaxed.  “Besides, what else are you going to do?  No one will be at the club if we all go opening night, that’s a Friday.”  Mom meant no one in their group of close friends.

Magda was perturbed by Mom’s last comment.  “If you mean by ‘no one,’ Veda, then…”

“That’s not who I meant.”  Mom cut her short.  “Actually, I’m happy you have decided to do your own thing.”  Mom smiled sweetly at Helen, who was completely oblivious to Mom’s slick nod in her direction.  “I’ll see you later.  Helen, we’ll talk later to get the plans straight.  I’ll call Veda to find out when she planned to go.  I’m sure LaDonna’s going as well.  I’ll let you know.”  Mom excused herself to the back to retrieve her coat and things.

Helen looked out the window at the ice, which had replaced the melted snow overnight.  “She better be careful, or she’ll slip out there.”  She turned to face Magda, who remained silent after Mom’s departure.  “Is there much ice out back?  That’s where she parks, right?”

“Not to worry, she catches a cab.  She won’t drive anymore.”  Magda wore an odd grin on her face, which gave the impression of being slightly perturbed.  “What’s going on with you and Noami?  I know you two aren’t together.  Or that’s what you say, but you spend an awful lot of time together.”

Helen smiled.  “We are working on being friends, getting to know one another.”  She offered no more than that.

Magda leaned back in her chair, a Bosnian interrogator.  “You know, Helen, I think you two are involved, and you are keeping it from us.”

“No, really, we’ve nothing to hide.  We’re just friends.  To be more than that while I am still, you know my situation, would be unfair to both of us.”  Helen felt the sides of her face warming slightly.  She tried to change the subject.  “Are you going to the opening?”

A somber air passed between them.  “Helen, first tell me, are you going to be there as a guest or a host of sorts with Noami?”

“A guest, just like you and the others.  I do hope you will come.  It should be fun; besides, we have to support her on her opening night.”  Helen looked over Magda’s shoulder at the purple clock.  “Shit, I have to go.  I’ve promised to watch the year change with Richard and a few friends.”

“Richard; what are you doing?  Why would you spend such a night with him?”

“A formal evening.  He didn’t feel up to going alone.  So I said I’d go along.  Angie and her husband will be there, too.”

“Don’t go, Helen.”

“I promised.  We negotiated.  That’s all we do, really, negotiate.  Actually, he makes me feel guilty, and I cave in to his demands—at least the ones I can live with.  It’s all a part of saving a part of our lives together so we remain affable in our interactions.”

“What does little Noami think of you two tripping the night fantastic in formal getup tonight?”

“She doesn’t have a say, as we are only friends, but I don’t think she’s thrilled about it.  Anyway, she’s with her family tonight.  They are having a family party celebrating her exhibit.”  Helen shrugged.

“Are you not going?  Were you invited?”

“Yes, her mother invited me.  She’s very sweet.  I’m not going.”

“No, instead, you will kiss away the year with your estranged, sexy American husband.”

“Well, I won’t kiss away the year with him, but a dance might be in order.  As I mentioned, we are meeting Angie and her husband for a New Year’s Eve party.  I have to go and get glamorous.”  She winked, giving her best Mae West impression, which came off more like a cross between Ann Bancroft, Marilyn Monroe, and Helen Mirren; what would have been a better combination?  “Later.”  She bent to kiss Magda’s cheek.  “Have fun on your date, Magda.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.  Which is precisely nothing.”

“I bet you would not say that if you were out with Noami this evening,” Magda teased.

“You are right.  Later.”

The evening started out quite well.  Initially, the party of four enjoyed themselves.  They shared laughs and traded barbs as they had for so many years, poking fun at whomever seemed to be behind the post, three ganging up on the one, in turn.  For the most part, their banter was harmless, until Richard took a swing at Helen’s taste in women.  From there, the evening went downhill.  It took a particularly nasty turn when Richard stepped completely out of line by suggesting to Helen that she might make a better date if she paid him a little more attention, then accused her of sneaking off to the bathroom to call Noami, when she had done no such thing.  The fact that Richard made the remark in hearing range of another small group, thoroughly humiliating Helen, made matters worse.

Richard began to drink much more than he was accustomed after being unreservedly chastised by both Orlando and Angie for his behavior toward Helen.  Once tipsy, he became completely unabashed in his insults and jabs at his wife.  At first, Helen pretended to ignore his rude comments.  However, before long, she found she could no longer disregard his discourteous remarks, too vicious to be disregarded.  He was downright devious.

As the evening slowly progressed, Richard became unhinged.  At one point, he forced Helen out on the dance floor by threatening to make a scene if she refused to dance with him.  Later, while she was standing near the buffet table, conversing with a long-time friend, he came up behind her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her indecently close to him, pressing his lips to her neck, knowing she would not risk him causing a commotion if she were to shun his touch.  Finally, he went too far by announcing to a complete stranger that his life was in crisis because his “beautiful wife standing there, showing the world her tits, had recently decided to leave” him.

Orlando was the first to suggest cutting the evening short.  He discerned in his friend what Helen had hours before—that the night was simply not going to work for Richard.  However, before Richard would agree to leave quietly, he solicited from Helen one last compromise of the evening: he asked if he might escort her to meet an important constituent whose wife was a great fan of her work.  She agreed on the condition that once she met the woman, they would leave.

Richard guided Helen away from the main party in to an ancillary room that was empty, save for a few chairs.  Luckily, Angie was watching from nearby and came to her rescue.  By the time Angie made it to the room, Richard was out of control.

“Orlando!” she yelled for her husband, not sure he would hear her.  The request had been a ruse to get Helen alone.  Angie entered to find Helen struggling silently to free herself from Richard’s grasp.  He had his arms wrapped tightly around her, trying to kiss her.  Angie pulled on his hands, trying to get him to release her, while at the same time pleading with him to stop.  Orlando finally got through to him and managed to get Richard to release her and settle down on the opposite side of the room.

With Helen safely encircled at her side, Angie demanded that Orlando order the limo so that they could leave immediately.  Orlando and Angie exchanged a silent communication that said volumes.  Both were relieved that the ridiculous display had occurred behind closed doors.

Helen was, of course, mortified.  She sat, in tears, between Angie and Orlando on the ride home in the limo.  Richard sat opposite them, scowling at Helen the entire ride home, taking no heed of Orlando’s sensible suggestion that he lay off the complementary alcohol.  Richard ignored his prudent advice.  He insisted that he was fine, that he could handle his liquor.  Helen and the others knew otherwise.  Richard was not a drinker.  As one who rarely drank to excess, when he did, he had no idea that he was drunk until he was too far gone to care enough to stop drinking.

When they arrived home, Richard said his goodnights in the driveway.  Angie would not hear of it.  She insisted on walking the estranged couple to the door, then once there, managed to push her way past Richard inside with the pretense of needing to come in from the cold.  Orlando seemed to agree there was a need to invite themselves in.

They were both correct.  Before Helen had a chance to get her coat off properly, Richard pounced.  He pushed her backward on the small walnut table, which served to divide the entry and the living room.  He caught her with her coat sleeves pulled midway down her arms so she was unable to brace herself for the tumble backwards or save her back from smacking against the hard table edge.  Richard’s attack was so sudden, that he had taken them all by surprise.  By the time Orlando was able to restrain him, Richard had done considerable damage to the living space and Helen’s back.

The third assault of the evening, Helen saw coming.  She and Angie were in the kitchen, brewing a sobering pot of bitter black coffee.  Orlando, who had been guarding Richard in the living room, had gone out to the chauffeur to send him on his way, when Richard began yelling for Helen to come join him.  Despite already being pretty shaken, Helen tipped cautiously into the room with Angie right behind, acting as a guard.  She tried to explain to Richard that she was not feeling especially safe.  She held her hands in front of her, marking the distance she felt he should keep as she spoke to him.

“Richard, we’re making you coffee.  Then Angie and I are going up to my bedroom.  You are going to have to drink the coffee, and then we’ll talk.”

He stared at her with unfocused eyes.  “I love you, Helen.  Tell her I love her, Angie.”  What began as a nod in Helen’s direction ended up as a jerk of his neck as if he had fallen asleep, and suddenly awoke with a twitch.  Richard promised he would not touch her again only moments before he reached forward, taking a small wrist with each hand.  Again, Angie and Orlando came to her rescue.

By the time they liberated Helen from his grasp, Angie demanded Helen go with them to their home.  She had Helen convinced to leave with them until Richard started to blubber all over his beautiful tux.  That was too much for her to stand.

“He’s drunk.  I can’t leave him like this, Angie.  He doesn’t know what he doing,” Helen defended Richard.

“To hell with that!  You’ll feel differently when your back feels like shit tomorrow.  Let’s go.”

“I think Angie’s right, Helen.  You need to come with us tonight.  In fact, you two go to our house.  I’ll stay here with Rich.”  He trained his despondent gaze on his friend and mentor.  “Don’t worry; I’ll stay with him, Helen.  I’ll take care of him.”

Helen did not have a chance to reply.  Richard sprang at her for the fourth time that evening, this time grabbing her by the waist, nearly toppling the pair, screaming garbled pleas into her stomach.  Helen could not make out what he was saying.  She was certain his charge had something to do with loving her not loving him, and his needing her to stay.  Beyond that, his words were unintelligible.

Helen tried to free herself from his grip, but a drunken, desperate man has the strength he would not otherwise imagine.  With Angie and Orlando both joining in the fray, Helen was relieved of her husband’s hold, and was ushered to the door and into her car.  She was too shaken to drive, so Angie maneuvered the car out of the driveway into the night, the tires screeching madly as she turned sharply around the bend, carrying her dearest friend, at an illegal speed, away from her husband.

Helen lay awake in Angie’s guest room in her evening gown as the pain began to settle into her battered back.  She knew she would regret not accepting Angie’s offer of an ice or heat pack in the morning.  She gazed down at the exquisite yards of silk buttercup she wore, her teary eyes swollen, heavy like glass.  She sat up and slowly slid off her silk stockings.  She was wearing a delicately embroidered pair that Noami, who preferred stockings to pantyhose, had slipped on her a few evenings before, when they celebrated, privately, the coming of the New Year.  Helen removed the stockings slowly, concentrating on the pleasures of the night she spent at Noami’s as she placed the pair of nude-colored shears on the night table; otherwise, she might find her present evening too difficult to bear.  The dress she did not bother to remove.  It was only a dress; if it was ruined in her sleep, she would not care.  She would never wear it again—not that she was going to get any sleep that evening.  She turned in the bed to check the time—12:10 a.m.  The New Year had begun without notice.  Helen sighed.  What a fine mess.  In that instant, she made her New Year’s resolution.

“I have to get my own place,” she sighed.  “I must move out.”

TWENTY

As far as available penthouse spaces in the newly revitalized river district go, Helen’s was superb.  Indeed, an ideal place to begin again.  A month before her move-in date, the realtor, Ms. Engles, brought her to view the space in the early evening, which Angie insisted was part of a cunning strategy to sell the condominium.  Helen agreed with her, given her agent’s insistence that they arrive at such a late hour for viewing the condo.  The three spent much of the late afternoon in the space, appraising the details, which was the intelligent way to go, considering its asking price.  Angie warned her not to rush into purchasing a new home, because she would later regret her surroundings if she made an offer before she found a home she absolutely loved.  For the most part, Helen was taking her time, waiting patiently for the perfect home.  Richard had been keeping his distance since the debacle of New Years Eve.  Helen sensed it would be quite some time before Richard’s shame of his conduct would be pushed aside for his desire for her to remain in their home would manifest itself in another tirade, possibly turning physical yet again.

On seeing the outside of the converted warehouse building, Helen did not have any more hope that this home was any more likely to please her than the others before, this being the sixth or seventh; she had lost count of the number in a string of unremarkable homes for sale in the Twin City area.  However, as soon as she stepped though the door, Helen knew that this one was exceptional, a sentiment Angie echoed with her squeal of joy as she stepped over the threshold.  Helen knew immediately that this space was one she would actually have to consider.  The style suited her tastes, and it would be available for occupancy in only two weeks.

They began their tour of the condo with the bedrooms, which deterred from Ms. Engles’s normal style of showing homes.  Usually, she began with the common spaces—the living room, den, family space—and then transitioned to the private areas, ending with what she considered was the greatest marketing point of the space, at which point, she would commence to sell the home on its unique merits.  All the other tours had gone that way.  Conversely, with this condo, she began with what Helen considered made the penthouse condo so marketable: the private elevator and master suite.  She remarked several times while on the quick ride to the top of the building how convenient it was that Helen would never have to deal with the annoyance of having to stop to let others on to slow her down.  Then when they entered the large, airy space, Ms. Engles guided them straight on through the living room to the rear of the sparsely decorated home.

The master bedroom would easily satisfy Helen’s needs.  The view from the east-facing room offered a divine view of the skyline of Minneapolis that she could enjoy from the private terrace overlooking most of the city.  The master bath was another story altogether.  The bathroom was a dream, beginning with its twelve-jet Tuscan-tiled glassed shower, to the enormous step-in sunken tub that would easily fit more than was ever necessary, a feat Angie proved true when she entered the tub, pulled Helen in next to her, and then insisted that a more-than-accommodating Ms. Engles joined them as well.

“Oh, the fun you could have in this baby, Helen.”  Angie winked privately in Helen’s direction, pulling herself out of the tub.  Helen ignored the wink, although the comment intrigued her.  Angie was right.  That tub had potential.

Ms. Engles presented the rest of the condominium, pointing out this unique element or that feature, leading them through as if a story was unfolding before them, each room more spectacular than the previous.  The last room she revealed was the kitchen.  Although Helen understood the merit of a great kitchen, because she liked convenience while in the kitchen, she was not as excited as Angie who, while she would rather be beaten than to cook, loved the idea of a well organized, state-of-the-art chef’s kitchen.  Once they reached the kitchen, Ms. Engles surrendered her role as Angie took over and began to extol the numerous virtues the luxurious chef’s kitchen had to offer, which quite frankly shocked Helen, as the most she had seen Angie sweat in the kitchen was opening a carryout box.  Once Angie completed her sell, Ms. Engles led them again out to the living room.

The evening was settling in upon them.  Shadows were just beginning to peek out from behind whatever was available, giving the room a romantic feel.  The idea of owning this particular condo was starting to become an attractive prospect for Helen, yet she had her reservations.  The home was noteworthy, yet there was not anything that seemed special to her.  She would be giving up a home she had shared for more than twenty-five years.  A house, along with her children and Richard that she had nurtured into a home.  Their many memories in that house made it a home that she would never simply be able to replace merely with four walls and a chef’s kitchen.  There would have to be more than that to attract her to this condo.

Helen went back to the bedroom for one last look at the Minneapolis skyline at dusk.  The view was beautiful.  She entered the evening air of the patio, imagined herself there on the terrace enjoying the sunset.  Then it occurred to her that the balcony was facing east.  She would never be able to enjoy fully the sunset, which she had been able to do from her present home.  That was the reason she and Richard had settled on the home so many years ago—the view from the backyard at dusk.  They enjoyed many there.  Helen rushed back to the living room past Angie, straight to the large window facing west.

She thought it odd that a space so impeccably conceived would offer such an inadequate window from a living room facing west.  Of course, the transom was a very nice size.  It offered a lovely view of the darkening sky, but was simply inadequate, given the rest of the amenities of the home.

Ms. Engles, who must have anticipated and timed this moment, walked over to the wall where she opened a panel previously concealed in the wall.  The realtor pushed a button, and then stepped back away from the window.  The wall was not a wall at all, but two series of panels framing the picture window that tucked in on themselves.  Helen could not believe how ingenious someone had been with this idea.  Not everyone would be comfortable enough to live behind a wall of glass twenty-four hours a day.  She certainly would not want to.  For those times, she simply needed to close the panel, decreasing the transparent window space to one-fourth the size, allowing the homeowner to enjoy, in all honesty still, an adequate view.

Clearly, Ms. Engles had delayed showing this particular architectural feature until the proper moment—sunset.  The entire view from the penthouse was filled with a gorgeous sunset.  “Stunning.  Simply breathtaking.”  Helen felt as though she could step out into the sunset.  She turned to face Angie, who had come to her side.  She looked behind her to Ms. Engles, who was standing there, planning what she could do with the commission.  “Angie?”  Helen pulled her best friend closer to her as she enjoyed the singular feature that turned the condo into a home.  She needed her support with this decision.  Angie smiled and nodded slowly her approval.  Without speaking, Angie turned, her gaze drawn once again to the amazing panoramic view of the encroaching night.

Once she found her new home, Helen was excited at the prospect of being on her own.  She knew it would be difficult at first—at the very least, different.  She was used to sharing a home with her family, then alone with Richard, even if she had been avoiding him as of late.  She would still miss him.  He was a significant presence in her life.  Now she would have to get on with the job of living alone, finding herself—whatever that meant—and certainly creating a residence that she alone would call home.  Helen began this process with an interior decorator that Angie recommended.  She herself had decorated the family house, for the most part.  It had taken her years to fully complete the task, with a new update to a room every year or so over the years.  This job of making the entire condo perfect in a matter of weeks was much larger than she could handle.

Angie was by her side all the way through the process of acquiring and decorating the condo.  Angie was with Helen when she was given the keys and embarked on her first uninterrupted elevator ride to the top floor as owner.  That first evening, they dined by candle light on brie, water crackers, and champagne that Angie had hidden inside her newly acquired large, white Hermes Birkin, toasting the night to life and friendship.  Once Angie was safely tucked in the cab, blowing kisses in every direction as her champagne-fuzzed mind saw fit, Helen said her goodnights to her pal, thanking her for the company and supportive friendship.

The following day, David and a few of his buddies joined her to help his mom haul in her belongings.  She gave David a tour of her new home.  He was greatly impressed, but to Helen’s delight, seemed mostly interested in discovering which of the three bedrooms would serve as his crash space.  She offered him the one farthest from the master suite, at which point, David made a comment to which she was not quite sure how to respond.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to cramp your style.  We’ll have to work out some kind of signal.  If you’ve got your girl over, hang tinsel in the elevator or something.”  He added without any sign that he was remotely uncomfortable speaking to his mother this way, “Otherwise, I might intrude.”  David rejoined his friends and continued their work of unloading boxes and carrying them to their appointed room, leaving Helen blushing over a platter of hoagies in the kitchen.

The only others she had over so far were Mom, who wanted to get a feel for the place, Orlando, who had come over with Angie to bring her a case of her favorite wine to store in the wine cooler as a housewarming gift, and Noami.  Aside from David, whose visit was occupied mostly with moving her in, Noami’s stay was the longest.  Even though Helen and Noami considered themselves only friends, Noami requested a viewing of the new home.

During her visit, Noami commented in various ways a few times that Helen was establishing a space all her own, commencing a new stage, and she wanted to be a part of that phase from the onset.  The visit was bittersweet.  Helen had unconsciously included Noami in every aspect of the design, selecting items and furniture that would meld their likes and dislikes.  While many of the furniture items, including the large, custom master bed were yet to be delivered, it somehow felt right to have her there in the space she was building for herself.  Still, Helen surprised herself by not inviting Noami to stay, despite the long stirring kiss at the elevator door.

Now finally, however, with every room fully furnished and decorated to her specifications, Helen was ready to begin the next chapter of her life: embracing her new existence and all it had to offer.  She had finally recognized the mistake she had made in altering the course of her life so many years before, and was now ready to put her life back on track.  Her decision had not been about Noami at all.  Yet she hoped that Noami would spend more time with her there.

She stood amongst the boxes of her personal effects in her bedroom, not knowing where to begin.  Helen began to work on the nearest box.  She work her way through lunch, halting only to make a cold-cut sandwich.  She did not cease her work again until her bedroom was completely settled.

Late into the evening, Helen walked into the dark living room, thinking she would order dinner for one.  She paused to look at the open view off down toward the river.  Even from her height, she was able to discern that there was very little activity on the thawing Mississippi.  The still night reflected a tranquil calm that came over her.  She stood in front of the glass window, staring through her faint reflection, beyond into the night.  Helen was home alone, the sole occupant of her residence for the first time in her life.  She gazed down at the last remaining box she had yet to open, labeled, “memories.”

Earlier, David had asked where she wanted him to place the box.  She had to consider where she wanted to store the belongings inside.  The large box was full of items she could not bear to leave behind: photographs of her family, Sydney and her family, David, their many vacations and shared events she did not care to frame and hang, gifts that had been given to her over the years by her children, cards they created for her, keepsakes she had collected over her lifetime—one being a intricately designed silver brush her parents had given her many years ago during her early adolescence—and other items that might have been lost long ago, had she not thought to save them for herself, objects that denoted significant moments in her life, such as the tiny silver wedding bell she received in the mail two months after Maggie’s wedding, the only proof she had that Maggie had ever existed, her college diplomas, a faded high school tassel she used to keep swaying from the rearview mirror of her first car, and other items of great to little significance.

Helen pulled the box close to her as she collapsed on the couch.  She did not open the box.  She merely thought about its contents, one reminiscence at a time.  Tonight would be her test.  If she made it through the night without any regrets, she would be ready to wake to face the new dawn.  As she sorted through her memories, a deluge of realizations washed over her.  The comprehension of how she had become the person she was clicked in place like puzzle pieces dating back to when she was just a little girl.  Still, the picture of her life was incomplete, and she was inundated with questions about the dark spaces where bits of memories were distorted or absent.

Helen lay on the sofa, wondering how her life might have been different if her childhood had been different.  It was time.  She had explored and evaluated so much of her past in the last year.  She needed to make the ultimate confrontation.  She must confront her parents, in order to have them to fill in the fragments of her life story in the places she did not have access.

“So, you’ve settled into your new place?  I guess the number on the caller I. D. is your new number?”

“Yes.  My cell is the same.  That hasn’t changed.  Mom, is Dad home…Is he there?”

“He’s here.  He just walked up a moment ago.  You sound great, Helen.  How are you?”

“Fine.”  Helen was unnerved by her mother’s nonchalant small talk.  How could she be so blasé about their past phone call, to the point of not mentioning their conversation?  “Mom, I called because I need to talk to you and Dad.  To ask you both a few questions.”  Helen scratched clarity into her brow.  “Can you ask him to pick up a line?”

“Hey, Sweetie, how are you?  Did I hear correctly, have you gone and moved out of your house?”  He paused.  “We’ve been worried.  I’ve call your numbers.  You don’t answer.  Richard tells us you don’t want to talk.  Well, he never told us you didn’t want to talk…”

“We figured that out ourselves.”  Her mother finished his sentence.  Helena must have detected the same minute crack in his voice that Helen had.  Helena had always been the emotional rock of the family, almost dispassionate at times when others were emotional wrecks.

“I’m okay, and yes I have a new home, Dad.”  Helen was not feeling okay at the moment.  Her chest was tightly stretched, and butterflies pressed dangerously on her lungs.  “I called because I needed to talk.  Is it too late?”

“No.”  Both parents answered.

“Richard’s been keeping us in the loop.  He told us last week you were moving out, but he didn’t tell us you were moving so soon.”

“He couldn’t have.”  Helen’s guilt warmed across her face and neck.  She did not want to experience another one of his tirades, so she had not been open with Richard as to the date of her final departure.  He knew she was moving out, but she elected not to tell him exactly when until the day of her move, and David was present.  “I only gave him a small window.  I wanted to avoid any…”  She searched for an innocuous phrase: “…emotional incidents.”

“Yes, he was quite upset when he told me you decided to move.”  Her father’s voice was soothing.  He was stating a fact, not making indictments.

“Yes, I know.  This is difficult for us all.”  Helen pulled the hair at the back of her neck.  “Dad?”

“Yes, dear?”  To Helen, he sounded as though he was bracing himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Helen imagined that in their silence, her parents were trying to figure out how to answer her question.  “For most of my childhood, the other children teased me about you.  They made gay jokes, and I didn’t see it.  Why?”

“I suppose you saw want you wanted to see,” was her mother’s reply.

“Fine, I can accept that once I was old enough to figure it out, but you hid the fact that my father is gay from me when half the world knew.  I have been old enough to handle it for decades now.”

“We weren’t forthright with you, Helen, because we didn’t want you to be ashamed of us.  Honey, times were different.  It was not as easy as it is these days.  Your father would have been humiliated by the very people who worshiped his work; he would have lost any hope of being taken seriously.”

“He was an artist.  People accept homosexuality in artists,” Helen countered.

“No.  Don’t be fooled by hypocrites.  They only pretend to be tolerant of le artiste,” Helena pushed in.

“That’s no excuse.  Do you understand what your lie cost me growing up?  I was ashamed, not that my father was gay, but of the perception of his being gay.  I equated homosexuality with queerness, don’t you understand?  Had you been honest, I might have been able to come to terms with…what’s taken me more than half my life to accept.”

“I don’t know what to say, except I am sorry.  We are.”

“I might have thought differently about what I needed from life to make me happy…to feel fulfilled.”  Helen’s goal was not to react to the diffidence in her parents’ voices.  Her aim was not to make them apologetic about their relationship with her.  Nor did she need them repentant.  She only required honesty.  “And you told Richard you knew about me.  You warned him?”

“Helen, your father felt he had a right to know,” her mother interjected.

“Well, did you know?  Did Dad tell you he was gay before you married him?”

“Yes.  I knew.  It was one of the things I loved about him, Helen.  That’s all you need to know.  The rest is between us.”

“Mom, are you a lesbian?”  Helen was confused by her mother’s remark.  She did not know what to make of it.

“Helen, there are people put on this earth who live for the pursuit of beauty.  That is my fulfillment.  I won’t say more than that.  Just understand that your father has always been the perfect match for me.  He is my soul mate.”
“  And she is mine.”  Jack added.

“How can you say that when you and Bennie have been together for so long?  Mom, how can you live like that?”

“Helen, you ask me how I can live like I have.  I am happy.  Your father makes me happy.  I love him.  I have always loved him.  You, you have to understand some of what I feel.  Haven’t you loved Richard?”

Helen considered her mother’s words carefully.  She did love Richard.  She recalled the conversation she had with Veda’s mother, Mom, at Sappho’s Repose.  The discussion had been very enlightening.  Mom had told her that she should not allow herself to be so defined by society’s standards or constructions of truth.

“But why didn’t you tell me about Dad?”  She redirect the dialogue to the subject she wanted to discuss.  “And why didn’t you tell me what I was facing?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack said.

Helen took a deep breath.  “You must have recognized what was going on between Maggie and me.  Why didn’t you advise me, assure me that what was going on between us was real?”  Helen fought back tears.  So many years of regret fell upon her with immense force, prodigious incidents crashing about her.  She felt as though she might empty her cracked soul upon her parents that night.  There was so much she might have avoided.

“Honey…”  Her mother’s voice was clear.  She sounded as though she were sitting next to Helen.  “We guessed what might be going on, but we had no way of knowing for sure.”

“You didn’t bother to ask, Mother.”

“And if we had, would you have told us?  Besides, ask yourself why it has taken you over half a century of living to recognize your father for who he is, and then ask the same question about yourself.  Helen, why has it taken you so long to comprehend that what you experienced when you were a young woman was real?”

Helen considered the question carefully.  “Perhaps if I had known that what I was doing was unobjectionable, that what I was experiencing was authentic, three-dimensional emotions, not some sort of college girl’s experimentation…”  Helen paused again, the receiver held against her lips, sealing in her lamentation.  “All this time.  You don’t understand.”  She shook her head slowly.  Helen understood that she could not assign her regrets to her parents’ handling of their relationship.  “All my life.”

“Oh, Honey, don’t.  Don’t regret what you have left behind you.  If you want more, live for it, seize it.  Life is there before you.”  Her father was reading her mind.  “Otherwise, you’ll have too much to grieve over.  Celebrate what you have—our beautiful grandchildren, your wonderful work, your new love.”  He sneaked the last one in smoothly.

“What?”  Helen was stunned by his remark.

“We know about Noami, Helen.  We’ve known about her for a while.  Of course, we didn’t know her name at first.  Richard had only mentioned that you were involved.  He never told us her name.”

”Then how?”  Helen was flabbergasted.

“Our grandson.  You raised them to call us regularly.  At least he still does,” Helena exclaimed proudly.  “David told us.”

“Oh.”  Helen smiled.  David was so wonderful.

“That’s about all he would tell.  He felt like you should be the one to tell us more.”  Jack added the air of a question in his tone.

Helen considered her next question carefully.  Her parents had not given her the answers she wanted.  She had not completely absolved them of their part in some of the mistakes she herself had made, but they were her parents.  They had made decisions based on what they thought was best.  “Dad, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“All those years ago when Richard and I announced our engagement?”

“Go ahead.”

Helen could tell by the way he answered that he already knew what she was going to ask.  “You told Richard?  I mean, what did you tell Richard?”  Helen waited for his answer, but it did not come.  Instead of an answer, she heard her father’s anguish from the other end, and Bennie comforting him with indistinguishable words of love and support.  Of course, Bennie had been there, standing wordlessly, providing her father support, throughout their entire conversation, standing near her father.

“Your father told him about our conjecture concerning your affair with Maggie.  Whether it might be the manifestation of a young woman’s sexual curiosity or a tragic love affair, we could not say.  We did not try to speculate its significance or triviality.  But we felt he had the right to know.”

“He’s been afraid all these years that I would disappoint him, and now I have,” Helen spoke to herself, but her mother responded.

“Helen, he had the right to make an informed decision, just as I was given the chance before your father and I were married.”

“Mom, how’s Dad?”  Helen knew intuitively that her father was no longer on the line.

“He’s distressed.  But he’ll be fine.  Bennie is taking care of him.”
“  Mom, who takes care of you?”

“You see, that’s the benefit of being someone like me.  I don’t need to be taken care of, but when I do, I have your father.  And, Helen, I have Bennie as well.  We are a family, you see.”

“No, I don’t.”  Helen could not fathom what her mother meant.

“Richard told your father he was willing to let you keep your lover if you stayed with him, is that true?”

“Yes.  That’s what he said.”

“Was that an attractive proposition?”  Helena asked.

“Yes, for about five seconds.”  Helen answered truthfully.

“Ask yourself what that would entail.  How would your triad define itself if you were allowed to live and love in that way, each of you getting what she or he wanted or required without guilt attached?  Can you imagine that?  Go back to that five seconds of perfection when you considered his proposal attractive.  There’s your answer.  The details, my sweet, are not your concern.  Now if you’ll excuse me, your father is quite beside himself, and Bennie is a wreck as well.  I shall be up all night pulling them together.  We love you.  Your father is waving he loves you, as is Bennie.  Goodnight.  Call if you need us.”

“Goodnight, Mother.”  Helen ended the call from her end.  Her parents were not as forthcoming as she would have liked, but she did feel better.  She stood at the foot of her bed, wondering if she would be able to get any sleep, wishing Noami was there to share her bed.  They were not officially a couple, yet over the last few weeks, it felt as though they were.  She had even spent a few nights at Noami’s since the New Year.

Helen undressed slowly.  She had not slept nude in years, at least not when she was alone.  That practice she had only resumed with Noami, who preferred sleeping without the benefit of pajamas.  Helen lay prone, spread-eagle, stretching across as much of the bed as she could.  The sheets were cool, yet inviting, and her pillows smelled of lavender, her favorite scent.  Helen buried her nose under her warm covers.  She stared out her bedroom window into the starry night, thinking that what she wanted most of all was a new haircut.

Helen was awoken the next morning by the brilliant sunlight streaming brightly through her bedroom window.  She stretched in her bed, aware that she would have to pull the drapes at night if she did not want to wake so early.  The sun had begun to raise earlier, a sign that winter was slowly winding down, making preparations for its routine, protracted departure.  Helen gazed out the window, squinting into the glare of the sun in an attempt to gauge the day.  Cold.  She knew that for sure, but how cold was her question.  Her plan was to spend most of the day working quietly in her in her office.  For the first time in her career, she was working on two novels at once, an approach that Angie practiced quite adeptly.  Previously, the idea of composing two works at the same time seemed overwhelming, yet Helen felt compelled to begin the second before she completed the first.  The first was a novel idea she developed a few years prior, even before the last novel she completed—the story of a family of sisters, named after flowers, who shared a common secret.  The second, a love story unlike any she had ever read, loosely inspired by hers and Noami’s.  She hoped their real-life narrative would end as well as the one she was presently penning.

Warm, brown liquid splattered across the hard, cold floor.  Helen rushed to clean up the coffee, which spilled from the shattered mug she knocked from the table when the sound of the doorbell startled her.  She was not expecting anyone so early in the morning to be ringing her bell—particularly since she had not given anyone entry to the elevator.

“Richard, how did you get up here?”  Helen had not meant to be rude, but was quite dumbfounded as to how he managed to be standing at her front door, having navigated a doorman, a private lobby, and secure elevator.

“Your door man let me in on the elevator.  I told him I was your husband, and that I’d lost my key.  I hope you don’t mind.  I didn’t think you’d let me up if I’d called from the lobby.”

“You are correct.”  Helen pulled her robe tightly about her, a little disturbed by his effort.  She would have to have a talk with that doorman.  “Richard, what can I do for you?”

“I needed to talk to you.  Can I come in, Helen?”

“Just for a moment, Richard.  I was working,” she lied.  She was feeling slightly nervous with him being there.  She was not sure what his reaction would be.  “I am working on a deadline.”  She stepped aside to allow his entry.

Richard stepped in to the room, taking in his new surroundings.  “David said it was nice.”  He whistled for emphasis.  “He wasn’t lying.  This is nice.”  He walked around, getting a look at the place.  “What’s back that way?”  He asked casually.

“The sleeping quarters.”  Helen answered offhandedly.  She headed back toward the kitchen, hoping he would follow.  “Richard, I was just having coffee.  Would you like a cup?”

“Yes.”  He paused, looked back toward the rear of the condo where the bedrooms were, before following into the kitchen.  “You have a very nice place here,” he repeated.  “How are you getting along?”

Helen poured two fresh cups.  She passed the Splenda and cream.  “Richard, what can I do for you?”  She asked patiently.  She had no idea why he was there, and wanted to know so that she could end the visit before it turned ugly.  Helen knew Richard better than he knew himself, and recognized the internal struggle smoldering before her.  She was staring into the eyes of a quiet storm.

He did not answer at first.  He simply looked intently at her, engaged in silent supplication.  They stood in that way, sharing an awkward silence for countless seconds before he spoke again.  “I needed to talk with you this morning.  I didn’t sleep much last night.  I kept wondering what I could have done differently…if I could have said something that might have kept you from leaving.”

“Richard, don’t.  We’ve already been over this ground several times.”  Helen guided him toward a seat.

“No, Helen, I need you to hear me out.  I promise, I only came to talk.”  He placed both his hand over hers.  “Listen, I’ve been thinking about this all night, and I have come to a conclusion.”  He scooted his chair closer to hers without removing his hands from hers.

Helen was uncomfortable with his proximity, and felt trapped by him.  “Richard, we don’t have to do this now.  Let’s take a little time to think about what’s happening.”  She felt the need for escape.

“Think about what’s happening?  Helen, that’s all I’ve been able to consider lately.  Do you believe that I take your desertion of our home lightly?”  His question was rhetorical.  He did not give her a chance to respond.  “Of course not.  I take our marriage seriously.  I want us to work.  I’ve made some mistakes, especially as of late.  I am sorry for that, but very often, I’ve felt as I have no choice.  I need you to understand where I am right now.”

Desertion?  Helen considered his choice of words.  Yes, she supposed from where he was standing, she had abandoned their life together.  “Richard, I…”

“Please hear me out.  I know you have a lot to say, but I need to get this all off my chest before you answer.”  He took a deep breath.  “I think we can make it work.”

Helen was not sure what he meant by “it.”  Did he mean it as in their separation, or their marriage?  Either way, she was certain she did not like the way the conversation seemed to be headed.

“Helen, I’d like for you to consider staying together.  Before you respond, you should know what I am proposing is to your benefit.”

“Oh, how so?”

“You could have what you want.  You know what I mean.  I want you back home.  However you say.”

“Richard,” Helen interrupted.  “That’s not going to work.”  She was surprisingly immune to his appeal, because she knew him so well.  Richard was not there to appeal to his beloved wife to come home.  He was there to proffer a business deal.  Helen knew he loved her, but he was also proposing they remain together to support the illusion for his political career.

“It’s not too late to come back.  You can keep this place…for when you needed it.  I’ll even pay for it, if you want.  Imagine, you would have the best of both worlds: you could have your life in the city with Noami…”  At least he did not appear to be unsettled by the mention of her name as he had before.  “…or any other you might want to spend time with away from home.”

“There is no other.”  Helen could not let his attempt to dig at her go unchecked.  Richard was attempting to get the upper hand by disarming her.  “You know perfectly well there is no one else.”  Helen was certain he wanted her to go back home to live, but the way escaped her.

“I would even allow you to keep your friendships as long as they do not interfere in our life.  All that I ask is that you are discrete, not allow your affairs to destroy what we’ve worked so hard together to build.”  Richard sat back in his seat.

“No, Richard.”

“Don’t answer immediately.  I believe if you give yourself time to consider my proposal, you will find that what I have put forward is best for all involved.  I urge you to consider what I have said before you answer.”

“No, Richard.”  Helen was adamant.

“She’s that important to you?” he dared.

“I’m that important to me,” she dared.

“And our life together is of no importance to you, then?”  He changed his tactic.  “You once told me that I was everything to you.  Was that a lie?”

“At the time I said it, I meant it.  Just as when you told me that you would never hurt me, you meant it.”  She rubbed her forearm in the place where he left a black-and-blue token of his love.  “You have, Richard.  Did you mean that when you said it?”  Helen wanted to ask him to leave, but thought it best to see the discussion to the end.  He had not until this day spoken so calmly about the state of their relationship.

“I’ve hurt you?”  He was incredulously surprised by her statement.  “How on earth have I hurt you?  You are the one who is destroying our marriage, and for what?  A fling with some young artist who won’t be there when you really need her to be there.  I hurt you?  Unbelievable.  Please explain to me, the injured party here, how I have hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, Richard, I didn’t mean to say that.  I only meant to say that it’s beyond just us.  I cannot control who I am.  I just am.  I can’t go back.”

“I don’t want you to go back.  I simply want you to come home.  I love you, Helen.”

“I know.  I love you too, Richard, but not in the way you need me to love you.”  She closed her eyes to think.  She chose her words cautiously; conscious of the potential for Richard to react sadistically to what she had to say.  “I would like us to remain close, but we may need time apart for that to happen.  Can you understand, Richard?”

“Understand?”  He waved his hand in frustration, overturning the heavy mug.  Coffee splattered over her floor for the second time that morning.

Helen made no effort to clean up the spill.

“What the hell do you mean, do I understand?  For months, I’ve been trying to understand whatever the hell it is you have been going through.  I tell you what, why don’t you try understanding what I am experiencing for once?  Try that on for size.  Let me just tell you, then.  My wife of twenty-six years is leaving me for a younger woman.  Not some guy, a woman.  No, imagine if you will how I feel about that.  Can you imagine what I might be going through?”  Richard’s voice was alarmingly tense.

“Richard, if you can’t lower your voice and calm down, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Helen,” Richard, changed his demeanor.  “I didn’t come here to quarrel.  I want to tell you what is in my heart.  I love you.  I always will.  I want you back as my wife.  I am too afraid to grow old by myself.  I do not want to spend the rest of my life alone.”  He sat again.

“Richard,” Helen relaxed her hand over the side of his face.  “You and I both know that we won’t work.  Not like you propose.  And as far as you growing old alone, we both know you won’t have to.  Angie’s told me about the women you’ve been dating.”  She chuckled at his surprise.  “I assure you, I am fine with that.  I understand that there is one in particular in whose company you have been spending quite a lot of time.  I admit I was a little jealous to hear about Connie.  Richard, understand that I am not jealous of her for taking my place in your life.  It’s more because of the closeness that we shared that might be replaced by someone else.”

Richard turned his face into her hand, kissing her lightly in the palm.  “She will never replace you.  No one will.”
“No, I know intellectually she won’t.  She will never be your first wife, or the mother of your oldest children, or your staunchest supporter.  She may one day become the woman you love and cherish.  I have to be honest.  I am not sure how I feel about that.  I do know I love you enough to be happy that it may happen.”

“Helen, she is not you.  She will never be you.  No woman can.”
“Richard, you don’t want her to be.  Not really.”

Richard stood up, ready to leave.  “I will never replace you.  I love you.  You know that.  I want you to be happy, but I want you to be happy with me.”

“I know, Richard.  You have to move past that.  You have to let me go.  You have to move on with your life, even if it is with Connie.”  She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t suppose I can change your mind.”  He smiled.

“No, Richard, I don’t suppose you can.”  She stood, pulling him with her, and walked with him to the door.

“I guess I’d better go.”

“Yes, I know, you are going out of town this weekend with Connie.  Our annual ski trip…without me.”  Helen smirked slyly.

“Angie told you?”

“Angie.”  She nodded.  Angie had informed her that the newly formed foursome was planning the trip to Colorado, sans Helen.  “She also informed me that you seemed excited to have Connie go.”

“In fact, I am.”  He blushed.  “Helen, I will always love you.  You know that?”

“Yes, Richard.  You have said so.  I understand how you will always love me, because I feel precisely the same.”  She ushered him out the door.  “And Richard?”

“Yes.”  He turned to face her from inside the elevator.

“The door man will not let you up again.”

He nodded as the door closed shut.

Helen returned to the kitchen to clean the new spill.  After doing so, she grabbed the envelope that Richard left for her on the table besides his cup.  Helen tore open the letter and read its contents:

Helen, there is so much I need to say to you.  I am afraid that I will not take the opportunity to tell logically what I need to say when I see you.  My heart controls my actions where you are concerned, and my emotions will take over.  I tried to express this to you New Year’s Eve, but that went horribly wrong.  My intention was to express how I feel about you, about our life together, but the alcohol I consumed clouded my judgment, and you were stunning that night.  You were more beautiful than I have ever seen you.  You do that, you know.  You seem to get more striking with each day.  It’s as though you are more beautiful than when we first married, if that is possible.

I know that I have contributed to our problems.  When I am lucid, I do not place what has come between us solely at your feet.  I do believe that if I were less selfish in our marriage, you may have been content to live the rest of your days by my side.  --That, because I did not fulfill your needs, you were searching for something, someone to bring to fruition what I was incapable of accomplishing.  For that, I blame myself.

At times, I was too engrossed in my business or political career to appreciate fully what I had.  I knew you were not fond of your yearly party, yet I planned one every year, despite your protests.  I saw that time as an opportunity to show off my perfect life, to flaunt you in before all those who did not have you.  Instead, I should have respected you, cherished you, and expressed how deeply in love with you I am.  To you.  It did not matter how lucky the others thought I was, because I was lucky, Helen.  I know that now.

I’m sorry.  I am just as much to blame as you are for our failed marriage.  If I had done things differently, if I had not pushed you so hard, maybe we could be together.  For so long, I took you for granted.  I did not show you how much you were appreciated, and I should have.  I should have shown you every day in a million different ways.  I should have taken you in my arms and showed you how much you mean to me.  However, I did not.  That is my failing.

Now, I cannot imagine my life without you.  Even now, I continue to make the same mistakes.  If I cared about your happiness more than my own, I should be willing to say goodbye and wish you well.  Yet how can I say goodbye to you and let you walk out of my life, when all I want is for you to stay?  You are my life.  I am incomplete without you; I should have told you so.  Our house is not a home without you.  I am a world whose sun has extinguished, and I have lost my orbit.

Please know that every time I should have said I love you, and neglected to do so, has come back to haunt me.  You are my dearest love, and my greatest failure.  I do not know how I will function without you by my side.  I love you.  Good luck.

Richard

TWENTY-ONE

Time passes quickly when the anxious mind is otherwise preoccupied with matters that have little to do with the passing of the day.  Helen had been standing on the river’s edge for longer than she realized, and had grown unbearably cold.  She stood on the grey riverbank surrounded by snow and ice, wondering where time had gone.  She had only meant to go for a short walk to clear her mind.  The letter Richard left was difficult to shake from her thoughts.  Helen had been unnerved by his devotion to her, and was engaged in an inner conflict since his visit.  His words echoed in her head, causing an emotional response that was in direct conflict with her logical resolve to press on with her life.  Was he right?  Would she have been content to remain with him if he had loved her differently?  She was not so sure.  After being with Noami, could she find happiness with Richard?  Or rather, if Richard loved assiduously, would she have sought out Noami?

Helen could not answer that question with any certainty, yet what she did recognize for sure was that she was arrested by a great sense of guilt.  She did love him, after all.  Yet she could not go back to him.  She loved him, but was not in love with him.  Perhaps she had never been, not in the way she now realized she was capable of loving, from her very core, with everything within.  Helen had never loved him that way.  Their love had been easy, safe, and comfortable, even, but never all encompassing or life-altering—not the way love could have potentially been with Maggie, or was with Noami.

She closed her eyes, turning her face into the cold wind.  The memories of a recent morning warmed her from within.  Noami had pulled her out of sleep just as the sun rose with gentle caresses and kisses that swelled into passionate lovemaking.  They had made love in the truest sense, expressing shared emotions and needs, forging a compact that tied them irrevocably together.  The sun’s rays had laid a blessing on the union that was formed with avid declarations of love.  That was what had been missing with Richard, an all-encompassing love.

Helen’s attention returned again to the river.  There was no discernable pursuit on the face of the Mississippi.  However, beneath the thinning frozen surface, the current continued to flow, taking in its wake debris of past seasons, unseen, carrying through it proof of torrent river life, restive and frothy that would again become visible once the thaw came; there was no visible evidence, yet the river chased itself and churned fitfully, moving away from its head waters to the expanse of the Gulf of Mexico.  Helen was feeling the same way.

For so many years, she had suppressed a part of herself that had been most natural, held tightly in place by predilection, concealed by conviction and circumstance; this was her icy exterior.  In spite of that, all along, that part of her still existed, surging in opposition to the torrent, pushing back, and waiting for the spring to melt away her resolve, to liberate her very soul from its counterfeit visage.  The few other people who had braved the bitter morning and passed her with a brief greeting or quick nod, were not at all aware that they were privy to a transformation that equaled the will and might of the mighty Mississippi; just beneath the surface of her frozen façade, the flotsam of her life was presently being stirred by the current, sweeping away the jetsam of her regrets.

Helen turned away from the river to return to her warm home.  The frantic search of a lone, small bird, having arrived a little too early, caught her attention—a sparrow, perhaps, alighted from high above the riverbed, circling a tiny opening where the ice had begun to melt, worn away by the steady coursing of stream in center of the river where the frozen water was beginning to break up.  From there, the creature flew inland.  Helen watched the tiny bird flit and dart about anxiously in search of anything remaining of last year’s seeds.  Finally, the bird abandoned its efforts—the winds proved too cold—and flew away, gradually disappearing altogether, a brown speck against a vast grey sky.  Helen pulled her scarf from her face as she stepped into a bare patch in the snow on ground, an indication of the imminent thaw.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the crisp bite of morning air warmed around her; the wintry chill of night surrendered to day.  Helen pushed her hat from her face and undid her top two buttons.  She had overestimated the frigid temperature.  The day was going to be more temperate than she had anticipated.  Satisfied that she was making the right choice, she returned to her new home in order to shed her heaviest winter garb.  A few minutes later, she walked toward the downtown area, breathing deeply, taking in the fresh air fully cognizant that she, no longer encased in her old existence, was breaking out of an old life to new one.  Winter, at last, was receding.

TWENTY-TWO

As Sydney walked across the threshold, Helen experienced a peculiar sensation, what she might have characterized as immense relief.  Weeks prior to this visit, Sydney declined her mother’s invitation to visit, further vowing that she would never go to see Helen in her new home.  Consequently, Helen was quite surprised when Sydney called to say that she wanted to treat her to a day at their favorite spa, and would arrive around noon to escort her to Village Spa and Tailor for a day of luxurious pampering.

“Mom, before we go, I’d like to apologize.”  Sydney had trouble facing her mother.

“There’s no need, Sydney.  I understand.”  Helen pulled Sydney further into the spacious living room.  “Let me grab my coat.”

Sydney looked around the room.  Her eyes fell upon a beautiful bouquet of roses.  “They are lovely.”  She pointed to the crystal vase.  “Did…?”  She could not manage the question.  She turned away from the flowers to Helen.  “Where did they come from?”  She did not really want an answer, but felt compelled to ask.

“Noami brought them last night.”  Helen did not wish to make Sydney uncomfortable on this her first time coming over, but felt honesty was best.  Besides, Sydney was an adult.

“Is she still here?”  Sydney looked past Helen, toward where she figured the bedroom was located.

“No, she left about an hour ago.”

“Oh.”  Sydney felt like a little girl catching her parents in a compromising situation.  “I’m sorry I missed her.  I would like to meet her again.  I’m afraid the last time I saw her, I was a bit of a bitch.”  She regretted her actions.  “I will probably have to apologize for that stunt.”

“Never mind, Sydney.  She understands where you were coming from.”  Helen buried her face into the roses and inhaled deeply, the scent of the fragrant blooms stirring up pleasant memories of the night before.  “She’s over it, I assure you.”  She turned to Sydney, a bright smile covering her face.  “She says she’d like to take you to lunch when you are up to it.”

“Mom, you are happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sydney, I am.”

“I’ve missed you.”  She pulled Helen into a warm embrace.  “Shall we go?”  She released Helen from the loving hug.  “I don’t want to be late.”

Helen lay on the massage table, thoroughly kneaded, and completely relaxed, sweating bullets in the full body wrap.  She turned to her equally tranquil daughter, who wore the expression of someone who had something extremely important to say.

“Just say, it, Honey.”  Helen offered.

“Mom,” she began tentatively, “you were right about my life.  I mean, you were right about what you said concerning a baby.”

Helen rose to her elbows, intrigued by Sydney’s avowal.

“I don’t want to have another baby now.  It’s caused some tension between Sidney and me.  He’s pretty upset about my decision.  He wants a baby now.  I’m not ready yet.  In fact, I don’t know if I will ever be.  Erica and Sammy are more than enough for me.”  Sydney looked as if she were going to cry.  “I don’t know what to do about that.  I can’t seem to make him understand that a baby is not what I need right now.”

“What do you need?”  Helen asked.

“I’m going back to school.”  She beamed proudly at her mother.  “And I’ve started substitute teaching in Minneapolis.”  Sydney shook her head for emphasis.  “I didn’t know how much I really missed working until I started again.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.  I am so happy for you.”

Sydney was suddenly pensive.

“There’s something else I have to share with you.”

Helen sat up as well, the wet layers of sheet wrapped tightly around her torso.

“I recognized what you sacrificed for us.  I think I understand.”  Then she lay back without further explanation.

That was enough for Helen.  She rolled over on her stomach.

“There were so many good things about my life, Sydney.  I have two beautiful children.  I don’t regret everything about my life.  You understand that, don’t you?”  She continued as if she were speaking to herself.  In truth, she was.  “I’m just glad you understand that I need to be where I am.”

“I’m trying, at least.”  Sydney responded honestly.  “There’s something else.  I spoke with Dad this morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He mentioned that you are planning to meet him for lunch.”

“Yes.”  Helen wiped the sweat and impurities from her face with the corner of her sheet garment.

“He’s going to ask you to the DNC Annual Spring Benefit.”

“Me?”  Helen was shocked.  “Why me, what about Connie?”

“He hasn’t asked her.”  Apparently, Sydney seemed to find humor in this last bit of information.  “He wants to take you.  He even told her so, in front of all of us; David, Sidney, and me when she brought up the party while they were over for dinner last Saturday.”

Helen felt a sudden pang of disappointment.  It dawned on her that that her family was together, celebrating her son-in-law’s birthday without her.  Sydney must have recognized her faux pas.

“Mom, I’m sorry.  We decided at the last minute to get together.  Really, it wasn’t a big to-do.  Very casual.”  She did not know how else to apologize.

“Don’t worry, Sydney.  It’s bound to happen from time to time.”  Helen waved away her concern.  “Anyway, you were saying something about your father’s party.”  She pretended to be interested in gossip, but really, she was still smarting from being left out of Sidney’s birthday celebration.

“Right.  Dad told her he was going to ask you, and if you declined the offer, she could go.  Well, you understand how upset Connie was at that point.  Dad tried to make amends when he realized he’d hurt her feelings.  Why would she want to go, anyway?  After all, she’s a Republican.”

“I’m sure she would like to accompany your father to a party, regardless of her political affiliations.”  Helen shrugged, not at all interested in hearing more about their evening together as a family without her.

“But Dad is not concerned with what she wants right now.  Honestly, he can sometimes be a selfish bastard.  I think that’s why he and Sidney get along so well.  Frankly, all he cares about is his career.”  She sat up again.  “You know, David told me that Dad and Orlando had a terrible fight, because Orlando told him that he needed to drop trying to get you to stay with him in order to appeal to his ‘family values’ constituents.”

“What?  Say that again?”  Helen was suddenly alert.  The muddle-headedness dissipated, along with the steam rising from the small apertures in the floor.  “What did you say?”

“Oh, that Dad wanted you to attend with him, and that Connie is so angry…”

“No, the part about Orlando.  What did Orlando tell your father about appealing to the ‘family values’ folks?”

“Yes.  David told me this; you’ll have to ask him to give you the details of the actual conversation.  Orlando warned Dad not to try to use you to impress those people.  You know they have always loved you, Mom.  So, Dad wanted to get you to pretend to, you know, to be with him so that they would see him as a family guy who pretty much had it all.  I guess Orlando has been trying to get him to move on, give you space, and at one point, Dad was going to fire him as his campaign manager, because Orlando refused to get Angie to put pressure on you to go back.”  Sydney’s faced reflected her confusion.  “Hasn’t Angie told you any of this?  Cynthia told David that her mom and dad are at odds because of this whole mess.”

“Wait, go back a bit, Sydney.  Cynthia told David that Angie and Orlando are arguing over your father and me?”

“No, not really.  Dad is mad at Orlando, because he advised Dad not be so selfish, to let you go because he guessed that Dad wanted to keep you home partly for career reasons.  Do you get it?  Dad wanted to use you to advance his political aspirations.  Orlando did not want any part of it.  But I think Angie thinks he was the one advising Dad otherwise.”  She shook her head.  “It is all too convoluted, and very confusing.  No one is as confused as poor Connie.  She does not know whether she is coming or going.”  Sydney jumped down from the table.  She had enough.  “We better get going, or you’re going to miss your appointment at the hair salon.

Helen checked her compact mirror for the fifth time.  She had shoulder-length hair for most of her life, so the new cut was very different, and would take some getting accustomed to.  Her only request to the hair stylist was, “shorter, but not too short.  Something smart.”  All in all, Helen quite approved of her new hairstyle.  The look was quite sophisticated, and she loved the way her hair felt as it rubbed against her neck, very sensual; the cut was chic and liberating.

She checked the large wall mirror behind the bar where she sat waiting for Richard to arrive.  She did so not due to sudden vanity, but as a reality check.  Helen did not miss the medium-length tresses, which used to curl softly at her collarbones, but she had to get used to the new look.

“Wow!”  Richard seemed to approve.  “You look great.  When did you get that done?”  He settled beside her on the closest bar stool.  “I like it.”  He reached up to run his fingers through her new cut before she could stop him.  “I do, I like it a lot.  Very attractive.”  He leaned over to steal a kiss on her cheek.  “Let’s get a table, shall we?”

Helen followed him toward the main part of the restaurant.  Fugaise was crowded, as usual.  Helen cursed herself silently for not calling ahead to make reservations.  However, despite the fact that there were many parties waiting for tables for lunch, they were seated immediately.  Helen had to remind herself that she was, after all, dining with a state senator, and a well-loved statesman, at that.

“Richard, you look well.”  She rested her chin on closed fists, aware of the many stolen glances coming from their fellow patrons.

“You look great, Helen.  Minneapolis seems to suit you well.”  He turned away from her only long enough to order a drink.  “Scotch straight, please.  Helen?”  He indicated his intention to order her drink.

“Club Soda with lime, thanks.”

“Too early for you, I guess.”  He shrugged.  “I can’t get over your new look.”  He sat back in his chair.  “You are gorgeous, Helen, there is simply no denying that.  How was your morning with Sydney?  She mentioned that you two were planning to get together.”

“Enlightening.  She had quite a lot she wanted to discuss.”  Helen was prepared to leave it at that.

“Oh?”

“Well, she mentioned that you spent the evening in Chanhassen for Sidney’s birthday.”  Helen tried unsuccessfully to hide her disappointment.

“Yeah, that was an evening alright.”  He was purposely vague.  He did not want to share that his date ruined the evening by having a fit over his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Helen understood perfectly and changed the subject.  “They really ought to expand this lunch menu.”

They were halfway through lunch—Helen had the butternut squash soup, and Richard chose the skate—before Richard plucked up enough nerve to divulge the reason for their meeting.    “Helen, you know the annual spring fling is approaching.”  He forked his seafood mindlessly.

“By the way, how is Connie?”  Helen thought the direct approach best in this situation.  “I understand you two are spending a lot of time in each other’s company.  She’s very lucky.”  Helen could tell by his expression her comment had done the job.  Richard was completely disarmed by her frankness.  “Are you planning on taking her to the event this year?”
“Actually, I was planning to ask you to accompany me.  You know, people aren’t quite ready to see me with someone else at major state events.”

“Then what about next year?”  She raised a brow.  “Will they be any more ready next year?”

“Helen, just one last time.”  He abandoned his skate for his scotch.

“Richard, you want me to play a role that I am not comfortable with any longer.”  She softened her expression.  “Why don’t you take Connie?  The party could serve as an introduction of sorts.”  She took his hand in her own.  “Be fair, to Connie and to me.”  She could not imagine Noami’s reaction if she had to explain that she was planning to accompany Richard in the middle of their divorce to a major political party.  That would be a discussion she would prefer not to have.  Besides, Helen had no intention going with him.

“You are right, of course.  Orlando warned me asking you might set us back.  Just tell me I did not do any damage.”

“No, Richard.  No damage, but I’ll have to ask you not make this kind of request again.”  She rubbed the back of her bare neck.  “It only…”

“…makes you uncomfortable.  Yes, I know.  I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s just that it’s so unnecessary.  We both know you have moved on, Richard, so when you ask me to go with you to events, it’s a little uncomfortable.  Especially since the reason you want me to attend is…”

“Political gain.”  He completed her sentence as she searched for a polite way to speak truthfully.  “Have you been speaking to Orlando?”

“No, in fact, I haven’t.  Well, not about you.  I had dinner with them a few nights ago.”

“Orlando has been cautioning me about mixing our personal life, our… friendship with politics.”

Helen smiled.  She was planning to share that information with Angie the moment she saw her again.  Angie had been complaining about Orlando.  She was disappointed in him, because she thought Orlando was encouraging Richard to mix politics and personal stuff, when he actually had been trying to convince Richard that if his relationship with Helen was going to survive in any state, it had to be about his love for her, nothing more.

After lunch, Helen kissed Richard tenderly on the cheek.  She thought their lunch date was going to prove to be awkward and tense.  However, for the most part, their meeting was anything but uncomfortable.  In fact, she rather enjoyed Richard’s company.  He was charismatic and charming, his old self.  In addition, if nothing else, she had gathered information to absolve Angie’s husband for any wrongdoing.

Richard helped Helen to put on her coat.  He turned her gently to face him as they traded the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant for the chill of outdoors.  They stood on the street, facing one another with so much left unsaid between them.

“Our separation was not completely your fault.  Helen, I have allowed you to shoulder too much, and that was not fair.  I know that I have not always given you what you needed.  I’ve been selfish and allowed you to give without properly thanking you for thirty years.  I am sorry for that.”

“Richard, you don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do.  I need you to hear me out.  Our divorce will become final soon, and I want to know that although this was a complicated time for me, that you are okay.  I know that I was sometimes difficult during the proceedings.  Hell, at times, I was a jerk.  I want to us to remain close, if that is at all possible.  I haven’t always been the easiest to love.  I know that.  I guess what I am trying to say is that I love you.  I want you to know that.  I also want you to know that you may call on me whenever you need me.  Good luck.”
“Richard.”  Helen was overwhelmed with emotion.  She had not expected this from him.  She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, not able or caring to hold back the deluge.  “I am sorry for so much.”

“Forgive me, Helen?”  Richard held her at arm’s length.  He smoothed the tears from her face.

“Let’s say that we forgive each other,” she offered through salty tears.

He pulled her once more into a warm embrace and held her there until her tears quieted.  Then he allowed her to pull away.  Richard nodded slowly.  He turned away and began to walk up the block away from her.

Helen watched his departure before turning toward home.  They were both going to be okay.

TWENTY-THREE

Come join us for a night of fun as we celebrate the Emancipation of Helen Dahl.  Private Party – Invitation Only – Bath’s Wife – VIP Circle.

Angie and Noami planned the party without Helen’s consent.  Helen did not suppose that her divorce being final was an occasion to party, but was coaxed into the celebration by the two who insisted that the party was not about her divorce, rather her liberation.  Helen was feeling a little anxious about the whole evening.  She was not sure what to expect from the night.  Neither Angie nor Noami shared with her what they planned.  When she asked either of them for any information, they remained tight-lipped about the evening.  Their stock answer any time she asked was simply, “wait and see.”  In fact, the only reason she even knew that there was supposed to be a surprise party at all was because Noami insisted that they tell her, because Helen had once expressed her aversion for the surprise birthday parties Richard would throw for her every year.  For the last ten years, Helen had developed a bête-noir for the elaborate celebrations.

Angie tried to explain to Noami that Helen’s aversion to the parties was less about the surprise, and more about the fact that Helen had felt that the parties were never really about her, but rather a vehicle Richard used to charm clients, business partners, and political associates.  Nonetheless, Noami did not want to risk upsetting Helen over the surprise, so she gave her one of the invitations while they were out to dinner two mere weeks before the scheduled event, at which time Helen clarified the reason behind her displeasure for Richard’s past parties.  Angie was correct—her distaste for her past birthday parties had been because they were about Richard, not her.  Still, it did take some convincing by both Angie and Noami for Helen to get into the spirit of the evening.

Helen had even gone out and purchased a special ensemble for the evening.  She chose a black form-fitting two-piece number that fit her quite well.  The knee-length skirt hugged her in all the right places, and the matching shirt with wide neckline showed off her long neck and collarbones, not to mention revealed the perfect amount of cleavage—that was the part Helen appreciated most, and hoped that Noami would agree.  The purchase of the dress was the thing that clinched the deal for Helen.  After she tried on her new clothes, she knew she was in for a great evening.  By the time the night of her party arrived, Helen was pretty excited about the dress and planned affair.

The evening of the party, she dressed in front of the mirror, satisfied that she looked her best.  Her slow titivation began with black sheer stockings and ended with sexy black high-heels that she had been inspired to purchase by naughty thoughts a few months past.  By the time she finished preparing herself, Helen was certain that she was guaranteed an evening to remember.

She was correct.  The moment she walked into the door, she was surrounded by friends who wanted to congratulate her on her newfound freedom.  Many, in fact, also commented on how great she looked.  Before she had a chance to thank them all, Noami swooped in on her, steering her up to the VIP section of the club on the second floor, stealing demonstrative touches and tender kisses along the way.  When they reached the second floor, the party began.  Everyone she had known and formed a connection with was there: Mom, Veda and LaDonna, Magda was there with a nice lady she had recently started dating, Kat, one of the bartenders, Sheila, Lisa, Veda’s little sister, and her best friend, Jack, Ro, Monica, Noami’s sister, all three waitress from Sappho’s Repose, and dozens of others who Helen had gotten to know over the past three seasons.

Angie made sure Helen was never without a drink in her hand, and Noami never left her side the entire evening.  Helen was graciously thanking Monica for coming when Noami came behind her, taking her lovingly by the waist, and backed her onto the small, cramped dance area.  Although there were only a half a dozen couples dancing, the floor the space, less than one quarter the size of the main floor down stairs, was crowded.  This of course forced them to dance close, which Helen did not mind at all.

“Are you having fun, yet?”  Noami asked, swaying slowly to an old Luther Vandross tune, her voice barely above a whisper, despite the blare of the romantic music.

“Yes.”  Helen nodded and swayed gently, following Noami’s lead.  “Thanks again.  This was a marvelous idea.”

“My pleasure.”  Noami pulled her closer, if that was possible.  “Let me know when you are ready to go.”

“Go?  We just started.”

“Just let me know, huh?”  She busied herself with the length of Helen’s neck.

Helen was having the time of her life.  She had never danced so much in her life.  As the evening progressed, the party only improved, reaching its zenith around midnight.  By that time, many of the invitees were inclined to dance, so the tight-knit assemblage migrated with their merrymaking down to the main floor where there was more room and a greater assortment of beverages to be had.  Helen sat sideways, close to Noami in a chair near the front of the room, watching Angie and a collection of women groove on the dance floor.  She laughed heartily.  Those women did love Angie.

“She never gets tired, does she?”  Helen shouted over the music.

“No, she never gets tired.  Are you ready to go yet?”  Noami smiled wickedly before biting her gently on her bare shoulder.  “Have I mentioned how good you look tonight?”

“Yes, you have.”  Helen punctuated each syllable with the nod of her head.

“Okay.  Did I tell you yet how much I like your new haircut?”  Noami ran her fingers along the back of Helen’s neck, resting them neatly in the small groove at the nape of her neck.

“Yes, you did mention that.  And it’s a hairstyle,” she teased.

“Fine.  But have I told you how much I’ve missed you?”  Noami leaned to the side and back in order to bury her nose in and bite at the small of Helen’s back.

Helen wiggled until Noami was forced to sit up.  “Behave.”

“I will, but are you ready to go yet?”

“No, I’ll let you know.”  She turned to face Noami.  “Why would you go through all the trouble of planning this party, and then try to get me to leave early?”

“Early, Helen, it’s after midnight.  And I have to get up early.”

“Then you go.  I don’t mind,” Helen teased.  There was no way she was letting Noami get out of there without her.

Noami did not reply immediately.  From where she was seated, she pulled Helen to her feet and turned her so that she landed in her lap.  Then she kissed her.  The kiss began tenderly, but ended passionately.  When she released Helen to her chair again, Noami looked deeply into her eyes and asked simply, “Ready yet?”

Helen did not get the chance to answer.  Before she had the chance to recover, Wire had walked up and was standing directly in front of Noami.

“Oh, hell.”  Noami did nothing to mask her annoyance with the new arrival.  “We were having so much fun.”

“Helen,” Wire ignored Noami’s rude remark, “I guess congratulations are in order.  I hear you’re divorced.”

“Yes, I am.  Thank you, I guess.”  Helen still was not comfortable about celebrating her legal separation from Richard.  “Would you like to join us?”

“No, she would not.”  Noami answered for Wire.  “Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t that your date over there?”  She motioned across the dance floor to the opposite corner of the bar.

Wire looked over her shoulder.  “Yes, she is there.  I just thought I’d drop by to offer my congratulations.”

“Congratulations for what?”  Angie had joined them.  “Who is she congratulating?”  She took her seat next to Noami.

“She is congratulating me, on my divorce.”  Helen responded.  “That’s very kind of her, don’t you think, Angie?”

“Hell naw!  I don’t get why she has the audacity to even be over here,” Angie snapped.

Both Helen and Noami looked at Angie, stunned by her callousness.  No one there wanted Wire around, but that was taking matters too far.

Angie ignored their startled expressions.  “Why don’t you tell them the real reason you are here, Wire?”  She did not give her the opportunity.  “I will tell you myself.  Wire’s interested in playing silly-ass games.  Look, girl, your childish games do not appeal to any one sitting here.”

“Angie, let’s go to the bathroom,” Helen interrupted, leading her away from the table.  “What is wrong with you?”  She asked when they were far enough from the table.

“Nothing.”  Angie shrugged her shoulders.  “I just don’t want anything to ruin your evening—especially not Wire.  Now that you and Noami are officially a couple, I don’t want Wire hanging around, trying to antagonize you.”

“Officially a couple?”  Helen stopped in her tracks.  “What are you talking about?”  Helen turned to face Noami sitting alone across the room.

“Didn’t Noami ask you to be her girlfriend?”  Angie doubled over in a fit of laughter.  “Or isn’t that how you do it?”

Normally Helen would have found Angie’s infantile remark slightly funny.  Yet tonight, she was thrilled by Angie’s teasing.  She and Noami had broken up as a couple months prior, because Noami wanted to wait until both she and Helen were free to develop as a couple without relationship baggage; she with Wire, Helen with Richard.  Noami had managed to un-entangle herself from Wire some time ago.  Helen was the one who was attached—at least until the day when her legal separation was settled.  That was two days ago when the divorce was finalized.

“What are you talking about, Angie?”

Angie covered her mouth.  “Oops, didn’t she mention yet she wanted to be your girl?”  She laughed harder.

“I cannot stand you.”  Helen walked away, only slightly amused by her best friend’s taunts.

“Wait, Helen!”  Angie called after her.  “You have to act surprised when she asks you.”

Helen rolled her eyes in exasperation as she turned toward the bar to chat with Mom.  She had not taken the opportunity to sit and chew the fat with Mom all evening.

A few minutes later, when Helen returned to the table, Angie and Noami had their heads together deep in conversation.  They were clearly discussing Orlando.  Helen only caught the tail end of her comment, but distinctly heard Angie complaining that Orlando was in the doghouse for not standing up to Richard and doing what was right concerning Richard and Helen.

“Please, Angie, what are you talking about?”  Helen interrupted.  “You should know Orlando better than that.  Why are you the last one to realize that Orlando encouraged Richard to behave honorably?”  It was Helen’s turn to be annoyed that evening.  She had already told Angie what she learned about Orlando’s involvement and his efforts to get Richard to do what was right for both him and Helen.  “I have told you.  You better give him a break, Angie.  You have a great guy there.  You are being stubborn because you were wrong about him, and you can’t admit it and let that go.”  She turned to Noami.  “The entire time, her husband did not choose sides.  He managed to support us both.  Angie chose sides, and he didn’t get angry with her, yet she is punishing him for the very thing she did herself.”

“Ladies and Gentlewomen.”  Helen, along with the rest of the patrons turned her attention to the small stage.  Veda, Lisa, and Jack stood together on the newly lit karaoke stage.  “We would like to dedicate this song to our dear friends, Helen and Noami, who just tonight embark on what we hope will be a long-lasting relationship.”  The music began.  Helen recognized the song immediately: At Last.  Helen turned to face Noami, who was on her feet with her hand out, an offer to dance.  Helen stood, placed her hand in Noami’s, and allowed her to lead them to the dance floor.

Helen relaxed in Noami’s embrace, living the words to the song:

At last, my love has come along,
My lonely days are over,
And life is like a song…

Angie came up behind Helen, placing her hand gently on her back.  Helen turned to face her best friend.  She could tell by the look on her face that Angie was happy for her, yet there was more behind her expression.  Angie was a little sad; she was uncertain as to how Helen and Noami’s relationship would impact their friendship.  Helen turned from Noami to give Angie her full attention.  She took both Angie’s hands in her own.  She lowered her face so that their foreheads touched and said, “You are my best friend.  I love you, you know that.”

Angie nodded.  “I’m going home to have sex with my husband.”  She planted a sweet kiss on Helen’s cheek.  Helen returned the gesture.  “I love you, too, Hells.  Rock her boots tonight.  She deserves it, and so do you.”  With that, Angie turned to leave the bar.

I found a dream that I could speak to,
A dream that I, can call my own,
I found a thrill, to press my cheek to,
A thrill that I, have never known…

“Now are you ready to go?”  Noami asked once the song ended.

“In fact, I am.”  Helen headed toward the door, holding Noami’s hand tightly around her waist.  They departed together, leaving the party behind.

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Helen offered.  “We can wake early and watch the sun rise.”

“It’s nearly two now; we may as well stay awake to watch the sun rise.”

“Stay awake; what are we possibly going to do for four hours?”  Noami reached inside Helen’s leather trench, encircling her waist, pulling Helen’s body close for an impassioned kiss that Helen felt in every part of her body.  She knew by the command in Noami’s touch and the slightly forceful kiss that she was in for a very stimulating romp once they arrived at her home.  After they stepped out into the quiet of the street, Noami backed Helen into the outside wall.  Helen, not completely comfortable with public displays of affection that were of an obviously sexual nature, turned her mouth slightly out of reach of Noami’s.

Noami went instead for her neck.  The gentle suckling turned Helen on.  She acquiesced to Noami’s ascendancy, accepting a long, ardent kiss, which claimed her completely, and served as a precursor for the rest of the night.  Two young people passed them on the street.  One of the two called out a request to join them.  The other whistled and congratulated them on a job well done.

In the past, Helen would have been embarrassed, but this time, she was not.

Spring does not pounce upon winter in the Midwest, as is the case elsewhere—the west coast and in the south.  The Minnesota winter cannot be seized and sequestered so effortlessly by the impetuosity and novelty that spring possesses.  Spring arrives quietly to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, lingering patiently until winter tires of its sentry and lumbers away to the other side of the world.  When spring does take hold, it does so splendidly, that the citizens of Minnesota are so inspired, that they scarcely remember why they were so enthralled with winter’s frosty beguilement.

Helen awoke shortly after noon, twisting into a stretch toward the new spring warmth that streamed into her window as the sun rose beyond her view on its ascent west.  She and Noami had fallen asleep in each other’s arms just after the sun rose, as promised, and she had been asleep most of the early morning.  She sat up, aware that Noami had slipped out of bed and was already gone.

“I’ll have to leave pretty early.”  Noami whispered between kisses.  “I’m following Mr. Standt today…starting the sketches for his portrait.  It’s a surprise from his wife.”  She barely was able to voice her excuse, as she was otherwise involved tasting greedily small stretches of Helen’s anatomy.

“Stay a little longer,” Helen sighed before surrendering.  Half asleep, Helen found Noami’s mouth without the benefit of opened eyes, and kissed her there.  She was basking in the afterglow and the dawning of a spectacular sunrise.  She smiled as she enjoyed her private joke.  Later when they were together, she would tease Noami that she would no longer be able to take any more female clients, because that was how they met.

Later, Helen sat in the sudsy bath, utterly relaxed by the hot water, enjoying simply relaxing.  For the first time in a while, she felt totally content.  Her entire body tingled with happiness.  Overcome with giddiness, she slid under the water beneath the fragrant foam, and allowed her body to float for as long as she could hold her breath.  When she could no longer fight the need for air, she used her feet to push up again to the surface.  She emerged through the soap bubbles, covered completely, ready to embrace the newness and prospects of the coming year.

Helen felt her way blindly to the shower, leaving behind her a trail of sudsy footprints.  She stood in the stream of the hot water, counting her blessings.  The water cascaded over her skin, washing away any lingering doubts that plagued her.  She turned her face into the hot stream, clearing away any remaining uncertainties, washing off all residual reservations concerning what the new season might bring.

As she stepped out of the shower, she started.  In the tawny light of the new day, Helen caught a glimpse of own reflection in the fogged mirror.  For an instant, she did not recognize herself.  It was as though there was a stranger in the room.  Helen stepped toward the mirror, seeing a great life reflected in her eyes; she saw herself clearly for the first time in years.  She gazed at her distorted reflection, amazed at how different she had become.  With the exception of her hair, her external appearance had not changed; but her perception of herself had altered greatly.  She stood naked in the mirror, a different being altogether.  The past year had brought many changes in her life, and those transformations were reflected in the depths of her being in the most insignificant gestures.

After dressing for the day, Helen made ready to settle at her desk to begin working on her novel with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee.  She looked over to her answering machine and noticed she had five messages waiting to be heard.

Helen sat back in her chair to listen to her messages.  The first message was left by Marsha, her agent: “Helen, Dear, get ready.  We are on for the last leg of your book tour.  I’ve added two cities, given our spring projections.  I’m really excited about the interest and numbers your book is generating.  Give me a call, so we can settle all the details.  Check on you later.  Look forward to hearing from you.  Later.”

Helen made a mental note to call Marsha back before the end of the day.  She was excited about the sales of her book so far.  The tour would be a lot of fun, especially on the east coast.  She had not been to New York for a while, and hoped the city was on the tour.  As she thought about it, she was certain that New York was one of the cities her agent would be adding.  They were both shocked when the publishers sent out the initial itinerary, and the vital city was absent from the list of stops.

Sydney left the next message: “Mom, it’s me, Sydney.  I’m calling to arrange lunch next week.  The girls are hoping to see you as well.  They really miss their grandmother.  And I miss my mom.  We all want to get together soon.  How about lunch early next week?  We’ll be in St. Paul on Tuesday.  I’m taking Erica and Sammy to the Children’s Museum, so that might be a great chance to get together.  Just let me know.  It’s about 8:30 p.m. on Saturday.  I can’t imagine where you might be right now…having fun, I suppose.  Anyway, if you get this call before nine, give me a call.

Helen grabbed her Blackberry to check the date.  She made a special note to accept Sydney’s invitation.  Erica and Sammy were not with Sydney on their last date.  She would have to get there early in order to buy them gifts from the gift shop.  Sydney never allowed them to purchase those overpriced stuffed animals in the lobby shop.  Nor would she allow Helen to buy them for the girls if she was there to stop her.

The next call was a complete surprise: “Hello, Helen.  It is me, Magda.  I just wanted to say I had fun at your party.  I am sorry I had to leave early, but you know Sunday at the bakery starts pretty early.”  She paused before continuing.  “Look, I just wanted to say, well, I am calling because I was wondering if you want to go out for a drink or dinner.  Maybe, I don’t know.  It looked like you and your sweet young peach might be getting on pretty well.  But I thought I’d give you a call.”

Helen did not know what to make of Magda’s call.  Helen thought back to the first time she had ever met Magda.  It was during her first trip to Sappho’s Repose.  Magda was engaged in a serious conversation with Mom, and was rude to Helen when they first met, despite the fact that she was there as a customer.  Helen hit the rewind button in order to listen to Magda’s message again.  She did not want to misinterpret the message.  She listened again.  The second time assured Helen that she had indeed properly interpreted Magda’s message.  Her voice was soft and hopeful.  Magda even sounded a little timid.  To Helen’s memory, Magda had never sounded bashful.

Angie’s serene voice filled the room next: “Helen, it is I, Angie, Queen of All She Surveys.  It is exactly 3:48 a.m.  I am calling to let you know that I have just made mad passionate love to my man.  In fact, it is only because he has boned me so expertly that I have the clarity to remember that Marsha called me yesterday.  Looks like we have a few common tour dates.  Give me a call so we can compare dates.  I know Orlando wants to get to know Noami, so consider bringing her along.  Well, I have to go now, because Orlando is trying once again to ravage my body.  I love you.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but I bet you are right now as I speak.  Oh, and check your fax.  Marsha planned to fax over our dates.  I have mine, so you should have yours.  Call me, woman.”

Helen shook her head.  What was she going to do with Angie?  She looked over at the fax machine.  Sure enough, there was a fax waiting there for her.  She would to retrieve it later before she called her agent back.

The final call was a hang-up.  Helen picked up the receiver and scrolled down.  Richard’s number flashed on the caller ID line.

Helen opened one of the book files she was working on.  She was not quite ready to return any of the phone calls.  She was feeling pretty good, and wanted to keep out the rest of the world for a while.  She reached up to open the small window over her desk.  She breathed in the fresh, cool air.  She shivered a little, but did not mind the slight chill of the new season.  She wanted to keep the world away, but did not mind welcoming in the spring.

END