Plantation (14 page)

Wake Up and Smell the Opium

}

2000

HERE was no good reason I could conceive why Richard should have been out until two in the morning.

T His absence served as a stinging reminder of his trip to London with Lois during Eric’s birth. Still playing games. The lingering scent of Opium in my bedroom made me so mad that all night, I dreamed of murder.

I dreamed of ways to snuff out the breath of my miserable brother, his phylum Sub-humanis wife, and my husband. And, Lois.

Oh, the fun I had in my somnambulistic state! The power I felt! I was Blackbeard—Ms. Blackbeard, if you please—slashing away at their greedy wishes, making them pay for their self-serving ways.

In one dream, I dipped my brother in a huge vat of boiling Velveeta and then turned his hunting dogs on him—his Labs love cheese and would kill for it. In this case, they licked him to death.

In another, I tied Richard to his desk chair and tossed his first-edition Jung and Freud books into a fire. He hyperventilated into 1 0 2

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k oblivion. Oh, yes! I was in complete control! Ah!—and Frances Mae, my despicable sister-in-law? I held her hair bleach high out of her reach and watched her roots grow at warp speed. Handing her a mirror, I reveled euphoric as she screamed over and over. For an added measure of macabre torment, I told her that Mother had left all her worldly goods to me and that she would get nothing.

Moo-hoo-ha-ha!
She became a puddle at my feet like the Wicked Witch of the West, calling out in anguish, drowning in her sodium-free tears, disappearing forever.

And finally Lois! I summoned her face and slapped it over and over, her head swinging back and forth like a rag doll. The Domi-natrix of the Land of Morpheus, wearing a perfect black crepe dinner dress and pearls. After all, these were my dreams, not theirs.

I woke up surprised, half laughing at my creative and brave self, only to face the reality of Richard and Lois first, and remembering I’d have to deal with Trip and Frances Mae all too soon.

Not to mention Mother.

I decided to handle Richard with the silent treatment. Making breakfast for Eric in my robe, I fried two eggs for him and microwaved two pieces of bacon. Eric was drinking his orange juice and packing his backpack at the same time.

“Want more juice, sweetheart?” I asked.

Enter Richard.

“Good morning, everyone! Do we have any bagels?”

He delivered a salutatory peck on my cheek. I said nothing.

The spousal chill.

“Something wrong, Caroline?”

“Eric? Would you tell your father that the bagels are in the freezer next to the bottle of Opium?”

“Pop? Mom says—”

“I heard her.” Richard sighed one of those sighs that says,
Why
me? Why do I have to deal with this? I married her, didn’t I? Yes, I suppose
. . .

Eric shrugged his shoulders and took the plate of eggs and P l a n t a t i o n

1 0 3

bacon to the table to inhale. I stood with the spatula in my hand and rubbed the corner of my eye with the other hand, suggesting complete indifference. I threw in a small yawn to make sure my annoyance was absorbed into his thick sponge of a brain.

“You know, Caroline,” Richard said, reaching in the bag of frozen bagels and popping one off, “I think you’re a bit paranoid.

Would you like to talk about it?”

Paranoid?

“Don’t patronize me, Richard. Are you going to tell me that you didn’t go to Lois’s house last night?”

“No. I went there to see my son—”

“
Other
son,” I said, reminding him of how insensitive he was.

“This would be my cue for departure,” Eric said and dropped his plate and fork in the sink. “Take cover. Incoming!” he said on his way out the door.

“Wait here, Sigmund,” I said to Richard, “I’ll be right back.” I hurried to the door and found Eric waiting at the elevator. “Eric?

Don’t mind your father. This is about him and me. Not you.

Okay?”

“Sure, Mom,” he said, but the familiar pain was clear in his eyes, “I know that. Every time I get around Harry it’s always that pack-order alpha-male thing with him. He can’t help it. Neither can Dad.”

“I love you, Eric, so very much. Wait, I’ll walk with you.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m walking with a million people,” he said and hugged me. The elevator door opened and he all but jumped in. As the door was closing I heard him say, “You’re the best, Mom!”

“So are you!” I said, calling out as the door closed with the bing of a bell.

I turned and faced my apartment door. I should say
our
apartment door, but at the moment I didn’t want to think of sharing. I went in and closed it, intending to ignore Richard, because what was the point? He preferred his other son. I knew it, Eric knew it, 1 0 4

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k Lois knew it, and dear, precious, and perfect little Harry knew it and worked it too. They all worked it, including Richard. Harry was a tool and loved it. He was like the little brother of Tony Perkins at the Bates Motel. Harry Bates, just waiting to stab someone through a shower curtain.

I will admit that I tried to sneak down the hall, but good old Richard was waiting for me at the door of the kitchen.

“Shall we talk?” he said, motioning for me to follow him to the living room.

I just looked at him. Not a shred of guilt or remorse on his fifty-year-old face. “I don’t have the strength, Richard, to play psy-chodrama with you this morning. I have a yoga class at ten.”

“And I have a very busy morning too. Caroline, I think you know well that I love both of my sons equally.”

There he was. Receding hairline, gray at the temples, wire-rimmed glasses, camel-colored cashmere cardigan with woven leather buttons, fresh white shirt, and loose gray flannel trousers.

The Jungian King of Denial.

“Nope, I know nothing of the sort,” I said, rising to his bait.

“And neither does anyone else.”

“I can’t be held responsible for the opinions of others.”

“Of course, but even
you’ll
admit it is possible to influence them.”

“Perhaps.”

“Would it be out of line for me to inquire where you were until two this morning?”

“Was it that late?” He reached in the humidor on the coffee table and began packing his pipe with tobacco.

“Yep.”

He cleared his throat, tried to look boyish, and said, “I didn’t realize, but with the weather and all, it was impossible to get a taxi.”

“Right. That’s why you came to your marital bed reeking of your ex-wife’s vile Opium. No cabs. Gee, I knew that.”

“Caroline, she merely gave me an innocent kiss on the cheek as P l a n t a t i o n

1 0 5

I left.” I wasn’t buying that load of malarkey and he saw that when I cocked my head to the side and pursed my lips, blinking my eyes to say,
Right, honey. I fell off the turnip truck yesterday.
I tried to get past him but he blocked my passage. He grabbed me by the arm in anger and just looked at me. The rage was there, right under his civilized surface.

“Let go of my arm, Richard.”

He jerked it loose, sending it around the front of my body. “I just want to talk, Caroline. I don’t want to fight.”

“Then quit lying to me. Better yet, quit lying to yourself and everyone else.” Why did he get angry with me when he was wrong? I wasn’t taking it this time.

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Look, you want to talk? Let’s talk.” I pushed by him and sat in his favorite chair. Waiting. He watched me, taken back that I’d have the nerve to take his spot. He then took a seat opposite me. Silence.

“So, tell me how you happened to come in so late with that rarest of all fragrances clinging to you like a virus. Nothing like a little Eau de Ex to boost a girl’s confidence in her husband.”

“Caroline, I know you’re jealous of Lois and at some point you’re going to have to deal with that. Ever since she moved into the city, you’ve been out of sorts. Of course, that’s perfectly normal, given the circumstances. But I’d like to assure you that you have nothing to be jealous about. In fact, I’m flattered by it.”

“Richard, we’re not going there, dear. No, we’re not. What we’re talking about is your fidelity. And the hour of your return.

And the unmistakable scent of Lois, who’s perpetually on the prowl to get you back, which is why she moved to Manhattan in the first place! And the way you constantly deride Eric. Words hurt, Richard, and so does a lack of them.”

“My fidelity is unquestionable, Caroline. I got home late because I fell asleep on our couch.”

“Our?”

“Sorry, her couch. But, I was sitting on it with Harry. We had 1 0 6

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k just finished reading his application essay to Choate, the fire was warm, I had drunk two cognacs, there was an old movie on . . . I guess I fell asleep. Lois had gone to bed earlier, and then Harry turned in as well. I guess he thought I’d wake up. Anyway, at some point, Lois came out and woke me. All very embarrassing, you know. When I left, she gave me a peck on the cheek.”

“She probably put melatonin in your drink.”

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t put it past her. And as to my remarks in front of Eric. Look, I don’t want to hurt him. I truly love our son.

I do. But you must admit that you baby him and I am left in the unfortunate position to be the tough one.”

“I don’t baby him, Richard. I show him that I care about him.”

“Look, Caroline, let’s face facts, darling. Shall we?”

“I’m all in favor of that,” I said, thinking any minute I was going to rise from his chair and strangle him with my bare hands.

“Eric has limits. Harry is rather, well, a superstar.”

“What?”

“Harry is going places in this world, and living with Lois is enough to make him fail and never get anywhere. Boarding school would be a blessing for him. I try to step in when I can and lend a hand. That’s all.”

“No, Richard, that’s not all. Eric isn’t perfect, to be sure, but he’s very bright and happens to have had a fine-motor disability that prevented him from writing all that’s in his head. But he’s been doing really great and you know it!”

“I’ll admit that he is vastly improved.”

“Harry is practically sociopathic. He hasn’t been here once in ten years when he hasn’t tried to hurt Eric and then lied about it until the cows come home. I hope he gets into Choate. Maybe they can teach him how to behave.”

“He probably will. His chances are excellent. I have a colleague on their board.” He could see me bristle at his Old Boys’

Network. “All children lie, Caroline. It’s part of their developmen-tal growth of self-protection.”

P l a n t a t i o n

1 0 7

“Richard?”

“Okay, I admit it. Harry can be difficult. But you must admit, he’s brilliant.”

“So is Eric!”

Richard lit his pipe and examined my face, saying nothing at the assertion that Eric and Harry were intellectual peers.

“Because we have a screwed-up educational system, a kid like Harry will get to go to one of the best boarding schools in the country and Eric is in special ed! It’s not right!”

“You wouldn’t want Eric to go away to school anyway, Caroline!”

“That’s not the point! Look, maybe Eric’s not a genius, but he’s extremely bright. More importantly, he’s also sensitive, loving, and generous, and your attitude is hurting him. If you can’t see that, I don’t know how you got a license to practice head medicine.”

“If you think I’m hurting him then I will try to be more cognizant of that and attempt to be more sensitive. So what else is on your mind? I can see that you’re troubled. You have this provincial puritanical belief that you must bear your burdens alone.”

Cognizant. I love it when he’s cognizant! Provincial?
Why was I always wrong?
Puritanical?
It was one of the most maddening features of his personality—this ability to shift blame. He had done it again. But, maybe he was right.

“Nothing,” I said. I wanted to say,
Why don’t you do something
provincial like take your cognizant and stick it up your puritanical ass,
buddy?
Obviously, I’d been watching
The Sopranos
too much.

“Come on, Caroline,” he said in that voice he usually only used when naked, “tell me what’s bothering you. I don’t want you to carry your sack of stones by yourself.”

I was suddenly aware of the light behind him. It came streaming down through the window and the bleak grayness of the late February morning like razor-thin shards of spring promise. For some reason I believed that he was not fooling around with Lois and that he did truly love Eric as much as Harry. At least it was 1 0 8

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k what I wanted to believe—what I needed to believe. I wanted to tell him everything to lighten my heart and ease my mind.

“It’s Trip,” I said.

“Ah,” he said.

“Exactly,” I said, shaking my head back and forth, acknowledg-ing his instantaneous understanding. “And, it’s Mother.”

“Ah, well,” he said, arching his eyebrows and looking way too amused for my money. “What bit of naughtiness has my mother-in-law found her way into now?”

“Trip is such an asshole,” I said.

“True,” he said, waiting, as if to say,
But that’s not the answer to
my question.

“He thinks she’s sleeping with Jenkins.”

“That’s absurd. Interesting, but absurd.”

“He thinks she’s losing her marbles.”

“Who knows? He may be losing his.”

“As if he ever had any,” I said. “But here’s the kicker. He says he’s going to have her committed to an institution.” I went on to explain how it was possible for him to actually get away with it and Richard was visibly horrified.

“Good God, Caroline,” was all he said for what seemed like a long time. “Well, you simply can’t allow that to happen. Plain and simple.”

“What am I supposed to do about it? I live a thousand miles away, I have a husband, a son to care for, and a business to run!”

He looked at me like the doctor again. “It’s perfectly normal for a daughter to resent this kind of imposition, especially given your relationship—or lack of a relationship—with Lavinia through the years. But, Caroline, she is your mother and you are her only other child. You can’t stand by and watch her be robbed of her independence without at least looking into it.”