Authors: Elizabeth Brundage
The Doctor's Wife (14 page)
Nobody seemed to notice her, which was a relief. Her husband’s paintings had made her notorious, and people would stare at her with rude fascination, as if she were grotesque, when in fact she was nearly flawlessly beautiful. Her beauty, which so many had envied since her childhood, had become an evil thing in her life, and now, as an adult, she did her best to ignore it. She tried to pretend that hers was a common face, with features that didn’t quite fit. But it wasn’t the truth, and, especially in church, under the gaze of Jesus, her beauty radiated. Many of her fellow congregants had seen her in Simon’s paintings. Many had studied her naked form, lingering obsequiously before a canvas in a gallery or museum. But here, now, in this quiet place, as she sat alone in the pew, she felt an unerring sense of peace, the sense that Jesus was sitting right next to her.
“I, too, have developed a mistrust of organized religion as we know it,” the minister told the group. “And now it’s time to find our own way. Will you help me do that?” Everybody shouted yes, yes they would, and she shouted too,
yes!
A chill of inspiration went through her body like the breath of Christ. She did not think she would ever be the same.
yes!
A chill of inspiration went through her body like the breath of Christ. She did not think she would ever be the same.
Lydia told her husband that she would be going to the new church every Sunday, whether he went with her or not, and she asked him to make a donation to it. “For me,” she said. “Because it’s important to me.” Simon seemed stunned. Without a word, he wrote her a check for five hundred dollars. It was the only time over the rigorous course of their marriage that she had ever asked him for anything.
Several weeks later, on a sweltering August Sunday, Lydia stopped by the community bulletin board to read the flyers. She liked looking at the bulletin board, with all its different colored papers and announcements of good things to do. She had been dreaming about getting a job, and Reverend Tim had gone throughout the community gathering listings for people and putting them up on the board. He said work was good for people; it made them useful. Well, she thought, maybe there was something here that she could do. A yellow flyer caught her eye:
Operator needed for growing company. Fair pay, good benefits. No college degree required.
Reverend Tim came up behind her, startling her, and tore off the little yellow tag with the phone number on it. “Don’t let an opportunity like that pass you by, Mrs. Haas.”
Operator needed for growing company. Fair pay, good benefits. No college degree required.
Reverend Tim came up behind her, startling her, and tore off the little yellow tag with the phone number on it. “Don’t let an opportunity like that pass you by, Mrs. Haas.”
The little yellow notice sat in her pocketbook for a week before she mustered the courage to make the call. Her husband didn’t want her to work. Church was one thing, but other than that he didn’t like her going out of the house. He told her people wouldn’t understand her. How could she stand their scrutiny? They would try to take advantage of her. It wasn’t safe, he insisted.
Lydia took out a stack of bills that he hadn’t bothered to pay, shoving them under his nose. “How do you expect us to pay these, Simon? Tell me that.” Drinking up all his money, his modest salary at the college. The drugs he took on occasion,
to feel inspired,
not that they worked. He hadn’t painted anything good in years. “We have no choice,” she told him. “We need the money.” She went up to him and kissed him. “You can’t keep me cooped up in here forever.”
to feel inspired,
not that they worked. He hadn’t painted anything good in years. “We have no choice,” she told him. “We need the money.” She went up to him and kissed him. “You can’t keep me cooped up in here forever.”
The company was situated in a sprawling warehouse chopped up with cubicles that represented workstations. It sold clothing and accessories through a glossy mail-order catalog called McMillan & Taft. Her supervisor, Martin Banner, a studious-looking bald man, hired her on the spot. He explained to her, at length, the kind of consumers the company appealed to, using words that made Lydia feel exotic and important:
upwardly mobile, aggressive, status-conscious.
The catalog, he explained, with its photographs of attractive people in captivating settings, allowed the consumers the fantasy of a privileged life and gave them the stirring feeling that they were part of a larger destiny. Mr. Banner tugged on his little beard when he spoke, his eyes wandering in the dreamy fashion of a poet reciting a verse. “It’s all there,” he told her, handing her a copy of the catalog, “like a contract. All they have to do is buy.” He gave her a serious look and shook her hand. “You make them feel good about what they’re buying. Not like any ordinary purchase. Like they’ve done something wonderful. Like it’s a significant accomplishment.”
upwardly mobile, aggressive, status-conscious.
The catalog, he explained, with its photographs of attractive people in captivating settings, allowed the consumers the fantasy of a privileged life and gave them the stirring feeling that they were part of a larger destiny. Mr. Banner tugged on his little beard when he spoke, his eyes wandering in the dreamy fashion of a poet reciting a verse. “It’s all there,” he told her, handing her a copy of the catalog, “like a contract. All they have to do is buy.” He gave her a serious look and shook her hand. “You make them feel good about what they’re buying. Not like any ordinary purchase. Like they’ve done something wonderful. Like it’s a significant accomplishment.”
The work was easy, and she took to it well. She enjoyed getting phone calls, a new experience for her since the phone rarely rang in her own home. It made her feel needed. Each morning, she took her time getting dressed for work, carefully pinning up her hair and applying her makeup, copying the instructions in the fashion magazines. Lydia recognized many of her coworkers from church, but they seemed distant. Lydia knew it was because of Simon. The art world was foreign to them. Their husbands were carpenters and electricians, or worked at the factory down the road that made plumbing parts. Most people thought they were rich from Simon’s art, but they’d gone through that money,
he’d
gone through it, long ago. Simon had a reputation for being wild and dangerous. In the old days, when his work was popular, they’d find photographers peeking through the windows of his studio, stealing shots. Once Simon had discovered a photographer in the toolshed and beaten him with a shovel. He didn’t work at home anymore; he’d rented a studio downtown. Nobody knew the real truth about her and Simon, and Simon wanted to keep it that way.
he’d
gone through it, long ago. Simon had a reputation for being wild and dangerous. In the old days, when his work was popular, they’d find photographers peeking through the windows of his studio, stealing shots. Once Simon had discovered a photographer in the toolshed and beaten him with a shovel. He didn’t work at home anymore; he’d rented a studio downtown. Nobody knew the real truth about her and Simon, and Simon wanted to keep it that way.
Lydia had hoped, in vain, that Simon would notice the changes in her once she started working, that he’d be proud of her. After all, this was her first real job. But his reaction was quite the opposite. He seemed to resent her independence. He’d drink, and accuse her of being disloyal. He’d throw the past in her face. “After all I’ve done for you,” he’d scream. “I should never have gone back to that fucking house. I should have put you in the orphanage, good fucking riddance!”
She turned her computer on, logged in, and answered her first call. The woman’s voice was hoarse from too much smoking. Perhaps she’d been up all night with her lover, Lydia fantasized. Lydia’s customer spoke softly, with some urgency. She ordered the satin tap pants and camisole set on page 24 of their Intimates catalog. “Going on holiday?” Lydia asked, waiting for the woman’s card to clear.
“You could say that,” the woman blurted. “I’m spending the weekend with my boss.”
Lydia watched Martin Banner circulate the room.
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Lydia encouraged, but they were rehearsed lines. In truth she found the woman’s affair with her boss disgusting.
“I never thought I’d be doing something like this,” the woman admitted. “He’s older. He’s got kids, for Christ’s sake, like he could be my father.”
Lydia waited, thinking of her own father. Then the woman said, “Let me ask you something. Is that teddy on page fourteen really as nice as it looks?”
“The black lace one? That may be sold out.” She asked the woman her size. “Hold on a sec, I’ll check.” Even though she knew there was no shortage of merchandise, Lydia paused, retrieved a Life Saver from her roll on the desk, then went back to the customer. It was a trick one of the other girls had taught her, and it always worked. “You’re in luck, we’ve still got two left.”
Her customer sounded relieved and ordered both. Lydia completed the sale and hung up.
Patty Tuttle, a coworker of Lydia’s, leaned over the wall of the adjacent cubicle to say hi. She had on her sky-blue pantsuit and her matching eye shadow. She fanned out a handful of snapshots taken at the birthday party of a little girl. “Take a look,” she said. “My little jewel.”
Lydia examined the photographs. The child, who was three, didn’t look right.
“She’s got Down’s syndrome,” Patty explained. “I guess that’s just the way the Lord wanted her. But we still think she’s beautiful.”
“She is beautiful, Patty.”
“I’ve got three others. All girls, can you believe that? Oldest one’s in college. You have any children yet?”
Lydia shook her head. Unexpectedly, something kicked over in her belly and her throat went tight. Then, from somewhere deep, she heard herself admit, “We lost a baby, once.” It was something she’d never told anyone. “My husband didn’t want it,” she said.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Patty said.
Lydia felt tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know why I just told you.”
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
“I was fourteen.”
Patty shook her head and took Lydia’s hand. “Sometimes we go through things, Lord knows why.”
“It’s been ten years but I still think about it.”
“You never forget a loss like that, honey.” Patty squeezed her hand.
“And I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
Lydia and Patty became good friends after that. They ate lunch together in the employee lunchroom. They smoked together outside. Lydia never seemed to have cigarettes and Patty always gave her one. Patty smoked Salem Menthols and Lydia liked the taste of them. Patty was almost like a mother to her. Several weeks went by and one afternoon on one of their cigarette breaks Patty glanced around covertly and lowered her voice to a raspy hush. “We’ve been wanting to ask you to join our group,” she said. “A couple of us from church.”
“What kind of group?” Lydia said.
“From church. Let’s don’t talk about it here. Can you come to a meeting tonight?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Well, let me give you some of our literature. You can read up on our cause and let us know.” Patty’s eyes were a blazing shade of blue, and the expression on her face made Lydia think the woman was capable of anything. “I thought, well, when you told me—” She stopped suddenly. “Here, it’s pretty self-explanatory.” She handed Lydia a pamphlet on pink paper. “I know you’re committed to leading a good Christian life.” Lydia glanced at the pamphlet. The cover had a picture of a pregnant woman on it with a crucifix drawn across her belly. The cross turned into a dagger at the bottom, heading for the woman’s womb. The woman’s head had the special tilt of the Virgin Mother, only there were tears falling from her eyes.
“We’ve got a lot of interesting people involved. Educated people. People from the college. I think you’ll be impressed. You know Reverend Tim. Well, he’s our leader. He’s just a wonderful man. I’ve been involved for a few months now. It’s changed my life.” Patty paused, trying to put the intensity of her feelings into words. “Suddenly everything made sense. It was like I woke up one day and I didn’t question anything, I just knew what I had to do.”
After work, Lydia drove over to the church and found Patty in the big room they used for recreation. “Good for you for coming, Lydia. Come over here and have a seat.”
“Thank you.”
A few other people were already there, people she recognized from Sunday service. Somebody took her hand and showed her where to sit. It was the woman from the beauty parlor in town. Lydia had always been afraid of the woman and had never gone into the shop because of it. But now she was sitting right next to her, and it felt all right. Some of the people had brought their kids and they were off to the side on the floor, coloring or doing homework or playing with toys. The walls of the room were pistachio green, and the chairs were uncomfortable metal and made fart noises whenever you moved. People would look at you with scandal in their eyes. Lydia noticed Reverend Tim standing in the corner, talking quietly to a man in a postal uniform. He had his hand on the man’s shoulder in what seemed to Lydia as a gesture of comfort. Patty came over and sat down next to Lydia and squeezed her hand. Reverend Tim walked over wearing an easy smile. He had a boyish face under his yellow baseball cap. He had on a crisp white oxford shirt, khaki pants, and penny loafers. “I see we’ve got a newcomer,” he said, smiling at Lydia. “Well, that’s just great. Welcome, Mrs. Haas.”
Reverend Tim sat down at the front of the room and began to talk. She could see he had on argyle socks. “I just hoped we could share our perspectives on things,” he said, “in an informal manner.” He cocked his head and smiled as if he were somewhere far away for a moment. “Life is full of chaos, I know you all feel that from time to time. The complexities we face drive us to make certain choices. One man chooses order, another chooses
disorder.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t see too many happy people around. You think the system works? Well, then, explain the confusion I see on your faces. Explain to me the bitterness and dissatisfaction. How can a person be content if they can’t trust their government to do the right thing? How can an individual be content living in a society that condones the murdering of innocent children?” People had given up, he said. They didn’t have anything to believe in. There was no real trust, no real devotion, no purity of expression. “What this world needs is for us to get down to basics. If you’re a man, go out and work. Support your families. Provide for the people you love. And if you’re a woman, well, then use your blessed gifts and raise your children. Raise up your children like flowers under the sun. Be fruitful and multiply and you will be blessed and Jesus will reward you.”
disorder.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t see too many happy people around. You think the system works? Well, then, explain the confusion I see on your faces. Explain to me the bitterness and dissatisfaction. How can a person be content if they can’t trust their government to do the right thing? How can an individual be content living in a society that condones the murdering of innocent children?” People had given up, he said. They didn’t have anything to believe in. There was no real trust, no real devotion, no purity of expression. “What this world needs is for us to get down to basics. If you’re a man, go out and work. Support your families. Provide for the people you love. And if you’re a woman, well, then use your blessed gifts and raise your children. Raise up your children like flowers under the sun. Be fruitful and multiply and you will be blessed and Jesus will reward you.”
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