Deaths of Jocasta (44 page)

“Um.” She nodded. “Ever been in therapy?”

“Me? No.”

“Ever considered it?”

“No.”

“Oh. Just a thought. Joanne’s seeing a woman who’s very good. You might talk to her about it.”

“No, thanks, Joanne’s…I’m not Joanne.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that…Joanne has reasons for seeing a therapist I don’t have.”

“You mean her father?”

I stared at Cordelia, “How did you…?”

“Joanne, though I don’t think she was aware of it, told me. I had asked her about her family, and the way she talked about her father made it obvious that there was more to it than she was telling. Joanne can be very transparent at times. And once, after I told her what had happened to me, she said, I wish I had your mother, then rapidly changed the subject.”

She pulled back the covers and was getting into bed. I got in the other side, propping myself up on one elbow.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“I had a funny uncle. A Southern one, not really related. He would corner me in the barn out at Granddad’s estate and make me jerk him off. I told my mother and she was furious. I don’t think I ever saw her that angry.”

“At you?”

“No, of course not,” Cordelia replied, looking at me. “At him. She almost brought charges, but the D.A. convinced her that given who he was and who he knew, they would never get a conviction. Plus putting me through cross-examination. So she had to settle for making sure that every mother in his circle knew why they should keep their children out of his reach. And making sure that he was never seen with anyone in the Holloway family again. She threatened to divorce my father if he didn’t cooperate completely. Once the whispers reached enough ears, he fell rather heavily from social grace and moved to some place out west, maybe Texas. When my mother knew she was right, hell couldn’t stop her.”

“Good for her.”

“Good for me. At least I’m not in therapy to get over that.”

“You see a therapist? But you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“One of the most sane people I know.”

She laughed. “Probably because of all the time I’ve spent in therapy.”

“Oh.” I lay down, fluffing the pillow under my head.

Cordelia shut off the light. “I wish I weren’t so tired.”

“It’s been a long week. You need sleep,” I answered.

“But Micky,” she said, “significant parts of my body aren’t interested in sleep.”

She rolled over on her side and flung an arm across my stomach.

“Funny, I have a number of awake areas myself.” I moved her hand up to my breasts.

“Can you still be taken?” she whispered in my ear.

“Very much so.”

“Can I get on top?”

“Oh, yes,” I responded, delighted at the idea of her weight pressing down on me.

“Usually it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m on the bottom.”

“Not with me.”

I moaned softly as she covered me.

“Your shoulder?”

“What shoulder? That was a clitoral message.”

She laughed. Then started seriously kissing me.

Rook never once tried to get into bed with us. Some cats have a modicum of brain power. I certainly wouldn’t have attempted to get into any bed with two people thrashing around as much as we did.

Cordelia finally said, “Damn, I wish I weren’t so tired. I’d like to stay awake all night doing this.”

“I’d like to keep you awake. But I don’t think your patients would appreciate it.”

She rolled back to her side of the bed, then reached out and took my hand.

We fell asleep holding hands.

The alarm clock rang at a brutally early hour. Cordelia cursed and slapped it off, then rolled over and bumped into me.

“Hey, you’re here. I was afraid you were a dream.”

“You might wish I was if Danny ever hears about this,” I replied.

“Well, I won’t tell her, if you don’t,” she suggested, then she half climbed on top of me.

“I won’t, believe me.”

“What am I doing?” Cordelia muttered as she slid off me. “I have to get up. Sorry.”

Her other alarm clock went off. She slapped it off, too, then swung her legs off the bed. She shook her head for a moment or two, then got up and trudged to the bathroom.

I sat up slowly, trying to wake myself. I glanced at one of her clocks. Five-forty-five, no wonder I was so groggy. I went to bed at this hour more often than I got up at it.

Cordelia returned.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll feel better if at least one of us gets enough sleep,” she said as she started fishing underwear out of one of her drawers.

My response, unplanned, was to yawn.

I watched her as she gathered her clothes. She’s beautiful, I suddenly thought. Certainly not conventionally beautiful. Her hair was tousled, she slumped sleepily.

“Don’t watch me in the morning,” she grumped. “Not before I’ve had coffee.” She tossed her clothes over her shoulder and headed back to the bathroom.

I forced myself up and padded to the kitchen. Rook, asleep in a corner, awoke at my presence. I wasn’t the right person, but that didn’t stop her from rubbing against my legs in hopes of food. I made coffee first. Then, in a burst of generosity, fed her.

“Micky?” Cordelia said, stepping into the kitchen. “I thought I smelled coffee.”

“Now can I look at you?” I asked as I handed her a cup. She was dressed, her hair combed neatly.

“Thanks, you didn’t need to do this.”

She leaned against the counter and sipped the coffee.

“Did you wash your face well?” I inquired.

“I hope so,” she said with a slight smile. “Elly’s going to be with me at the clinic. She can be remarkably astute about things.”

“Let me check it out,” I volunteered.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. I pushed her hand with the coffee cup out of the way, then kissed her.

“Well?” she asked.

“Coffee. I think it needs a further test.”

I kissed her again. Thoroughly.

“I’m late,” she broke it off. “I have to go.”

“I could be here when you get back.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“How about tonight?” I pushed.

“I’m…having friends over for the weekend,” she replied. “Do you remember Nina? I’m picking her up at the airport this afternoon.”

“Oh. Okay.” I turned from her and went to get Rook some fresh water.

“I’ll call you sometime. I…”

“Yeah, do that. Say hi to Nina for me.” Don’t use banal clichés to get rid of me, I thought angrily.

“I will.”

“Aren’t you late?” I retorted.

“Yes, I am.” She turned to go, then spun back. “Look, I can’t just put my life on hold waiting for you to show up.”

“Of course not,” I replied coldly.

“Micky…I had a great time last night.”

“So did I. I’m sure I’ll remember it,” I replied sardonically.

“I will call you.” She started for the door.

“For at least a day or two,” I called after her, then turned to scratch Rook’s head.

I heard her footsteps stop, hold for a beat, then she stalked out of the apartment and slammed the door. I could hear her stomping down the stairs.

Rook looked quizzically at me.

“What did you expect? Me to believe her polite bullshit? ‘I’ll call you sometime.’ Before hell freezes over, Rook, old buddy,” I said, scratching her back. “Next time she feels so goddamned horny, she can just wait the extra day for her girlfriend to show up. Damn her. Damn her!” I hit the kitchen cabinet. Rook ran away; evidently there were people she wouldn’t consort with even for food. “Goddamn her!”

I changed the sheets on Cordelia’s bed, then did all the dishes. I cleaned up the living room. I even found her missing shirt and put it in the laundry.

I wrote a note:

Dear Dr. James,

You needn’t be embarrassed. I’ve obliterated all traces of my presence.

Then I crumpled it up and threw it in her trash can. Leaving the note would be leaving a trace.

After one last check, I left, making sure the door locked behind me.

I walked back to my apartment. The bus would probably be quicker, but I was in no mood for dealing with Saturday morning buses.

Hepplewhite meowed at my entrance.

“I have fed enough cats this morning,” I snarled at her. She meowed again and I threw my jacket at her. Discretion being the better part of valor, she hid behind the refrigerator. Then I got annoyed at her for avoiding me.

Calm down, Micky, don’t get angry at a cat for being a cat.
In apology I gave her some of the canned food that she prefers.

Then I hit my kitchen counter. “Goddamn her!” I could still smell her on my fingers and my face. “Get out of my life.”

I headed for the bathroom, throwing off my clothes as I went. I got under the shower and scrubbed myself several times, removing all traces of Cordelia.

As I stood drying myself, I realized I felt tired, but more than that, enervated and empty. Why did she have to kiss me? If that was all she wanted, a quick fuck, why take it from me?

Because that’s what you have a reputation for.

I went into my bedroom, pulled back the sheet and got into bed.
Sleep, Micky, maybe you’ll feel better when you’ve had some sleep.
I debated taking a few belts from the bourbon Joanne had left, but finally talked myself out of it. Fall asleep and hope you don’t dream, I told myself as I closed my eyes.

Hell hadn’t frozen over. Cordelia hadn’t called. Not that I had expected her to. Not after my final comment.

Why the hell couldn’t I have been…nicer? Said, yes, please call me sometime. Let’s have an affair while your girlfriend is out of town. Maybe if I was nice and decorous she would dump Nina for me. Maybe if I let her fuck me a few more times she might… Might what? Fall in love with me? What chance did I have against Nina? The perfect all-American blonde versus tall, dark, bayou trash. Who the hell did I think Cordelia was going to pick?

Saturday, I had tried to sleep after I’d gotten home from Cordelia’s. But late in the afternoon, after waking from dreams I didn’t want, I had driven to the old shipyard I still owned out in Bayou St. Jack’s. I had inherited it from my father, and Aunt Greta was never able to make me sell it. There were some repairs I needed to do there, although the middle of summer wasn’t really the best time of year to be fixing a dock. But the heat and the physical labor exhausted me and let me sleep without dreams.

I had gotten back into the city a few hours ago, hoping for some message from Cordelia. Today was Thursday. It had been five days. There were messages on my machine, but none from her. Bernie and O’Connor had called. I returned the one from O’Connor. He wasn’t in. I left my name and number.

Then I sat staring at the phone, feeling betrayed by it. I looked through my mail. Bills and trash.

The electric bill demanded some compromise between my bank account and my air conditioner. My comfort, no doubt. Then I noticed a flyer with handwriting on it. It was an announcement for an oyster po-boy night every Thursday at Gertrude’s Stein. A scribbled note in the corner read, “Come on by, Mick. We miss you. G.” Gertie herself had signed it.

Oyster po-boys have cured many a broken heart, I told myself. And fed many a stomach, I noted, as mine growled. Tonight was the night.

The phone rang. I grabbed it, but it was only O’Connor. He wanted to look at the hate mail being sent to the clinic and asked me to bring by the ones I had. When I pressed him as to why, he admitted that some women’s clinics had received bomb threats printed with a dot matrix printer and he wanted to compare the two.

At my suggestion that Frankenstein was the letter writer, O’Connor informed me that there was no evidence that the letters were linked and even if they were linked, no evidence that Frankenstein had sent any of them. And still no evidence, as far as he was concerned, that Frankenstein even existed.

I thanked him for his astute observations and said I’d be by with the letters at my earliest convenience. He grunted and hung up. My convenience would be around dinnertime.

The phone spent the next half hour not ringing. I left it to its stubborn silence and headed for O’Connor’s office and, more importantly, Gertie’s po-boys.

O’Connor’s thanks for my efforts was a nod and a grunt.

I headed for Gertie’s. She had renovated since I had last been here, adding more space and a real restaurant area instead of a few tables crowded at the far end of the bar. The display of steins and exotic beers was still proudly displayed over the bar, but it was now lit properly, a gleaming collection of porcelain and pewter instead of murky shapes.

I suddenly got very thirsty for a cold beer. The heat, I told myself.