Authors: Elizabeth Brundage

The Doctor's Wife (22 page)

BOOK: The Doctor's Wife

8.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” He sang it softly into her ear.

“I don’t know what got us onto this conversation.” Embarrassed suddenly, hoping no one had overheard them, she glanced around at the other guests, who were huddled in small groups on the creaky patio chairs. Felice Wendell noticed her and gave a little wave.

“I’m coming over to interrupt,” Felice said. “What’s the subject?”

“We were talking about my wife,” Simon said. “The truth is, to answer your question, Annie, I haven’t painted my wife in years.”

“He hasn’t painted
anything
in years,” Felice Wendell said, pouring them each a fresh glass of merlot. She stood behind Simon, rubbing his shoulders playfully. “He’s in a slump.”

“While his public waits in vain,” Joe said sourly, joining them, pouring his wine into a tall glass and drinking it down like milk. “I should be so lucky.”

“We’re all in a slump around here,” Felice said. “It’s the St. Catherine’s curse.”

“We do a lot of landscape painting,” Simon offered as an explanation. “The board of trustees has an aversion to self-expression. I’m convinced it’s been the very thing that squelched my work.”

“Squelched?” Annie said.

Simon slammed his big hand down on the table. “Squelched,” his voice boomed. All the guests looked at him with alarm.

“Ooh, that hurts!” Felice said.

“Speaking of the board of trustees,” Joe Rank interrupted. “I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you, Ms. Knowles.”

“Here we go,” Felice said, rolling her eyes. “Big Daddy isn’t happy. Remember, Annie, I warned you about him.”

“Everyone is entitled to their opinion, Ms. Wendell,” Rank said.

“Thank
God,”
Felice said.

Rank gave Felice a sharp look, then narrowed his eyes on Annie. “I was on the committee that considered your application, Ms. Knowles, and I’ve read all the work you submitted, including a disturbing article in a rather unimpressive publication that you carefully omitted. I think you should know that people don’t appreciate that kind of sentiment around here.”

Annie knew he was referring to the late-term-abortion article. She met Simon’s eyes across the table.

“What was it about?” Felice Wendell asked.

“The legislation regarding late-term abortion.” Annie supplied the answer matter-of-factly. “It was just an informative piece. It wasn’t biased in any way.”

“Well, that’s
your
opinion,” Joe said.

“Oh, that’s a tough subject for Joe,” Simon said. “Just look at poor Edna. Barefoot and pregnant is an understatement in his case. He doesn’t even bother taking off her shoes.”

Annie could see Edna through the window, sitting on the couch next to Lydia. Edna took Lydia’s hand suddenly and placed it on her belly to feel the baby kick. Lydia’s face brightened for a moment but then returned to its sullen stare.

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Joe stood up.

“I’m just joking around, Rank,” Simon said. “You’re taking it too seriously.”

Dana Roach patted Joe’s hand in an obvious attempt to appease him. “You can rest assured, Joe, that unlike the rest of us sots you’ll never lose your job, and when you die you’ll have your glorious spot in heaven.”

Simon and Felice snickered.

“Laugh all you want, but there are people in this town who don’t support her line of thinking. Prominent people. Our trustees, for one.”

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” Annie said. “That was certainly not my motivation.”

“Let me put it this way, Ms. Knowles. At St. Catherine’s, we try to encourage basic family values.”

Like what,
she wondered.
How to do hospital corners? How to assume the missionary position?
“Basic family values?” she repeated.

“Uh, forgive me, Joe,” Simon said, “but what are those?”

Joe ignored him. “You can do what you want, Ms. Knowles.” He gave her a savage look. “But I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Careful of what?” Now she was getting mad.

He stood, holding up his hands as if he were under arrest. “I wanted to say it, and I said it.”

“I have no intention of stirring things up, Mr. Rank. I’m not interested in making anyone uncomfortable, I have more important things to do with my time. But I won’t compromise what I believe in. And I certainly won’t keep information from my students.”

Simon Haas raised his glass. “Hear, hear!”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Rank said, “I think this conversation has gone far enough.” He left the table gruffly and went inside. Annie could see his wife standing up, Joe pulling on his coat; they were going home.

“He’s an old-timer here at St. Catherine’s,” Felice tried to explain. “It’s an ownership thing. We all just ignore him.”

“Yes,” Simon reassured her, squeezing her hand. “Ignoring Joe Rank is a very good idea.”

EDNA RANK HAD LEFT HER stranded on the couch. Lydia cringed at the thought of going outside on her own. She’d been sitting there entertaining the garish fantasy of her father jumping down off the canvas and strangling her. Lydia had never liked the painting, and she didn’t like being in the same room with it now. Yet she was too afraid to talk to anyone, and perhaps Olivia, who was coming toward her, could see this on her face. “You’re much prettier in person,” she said, nodding at the painting. Lydia smiled gratefully as Olivia poured her a fresh drink. “Come,” Olivia said, the magnanimous hostess taking her hand, “let’s go outside.”

They went through the French doors out onto the terrace. Simon was busy talking to the new professor, Annie Knowles. With her dark eyes and gushing brown hair, Knowles exuded a confidence that Lydia had only witnessed in the pages of the fashion magazines. The way she moved, looking off in distraction at the yellow Labs romping in the grass, then returning to Simon’s eyes with a casual shrug of her shoulders, as if she wasn’t impressed with whatever he was saying to her, which he, of course, assumed was brilliant, but to her, well, she couldn’t care less. Lydia sat down with her drink, sipping it quickly, relishing the warm release it gave her, and watched her husband and Annie Knowles laughing and talking, completely absorbed in each other. Watching them made her feel sad and she drank the whiskey quickly, like her father always had because he was always sad, and suddenly she was back in her tight little room hearing the knob slowly turning, rolling over to see her father sitting at the foot of her bed, stinking of bourbon and sobbing like a child.

A hand on her shoulder, Simon’s mouth at her ear. “I told you you’d be bored.”

“I’m not bored. I’m watching you. You’re very entertaining.”

“There’s a TV in there, if you’re interested.”

“I’m fine, Simon. Go back to your friends.”

He looked uncomfortable, as if he’d just swallowed a pit. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He pulled her up, squeezing her wrist, a threat.
Don’t speak, just stand there and be quiet.
He brought her over to the group. They studied her; they feasted their eyes. “This is my wife,” he told the group. “The famous Lydia Haas.”

Later, after she’d had three or four drinks, she felt much better, and took it upon herself to wander about the house. She found various interesting things. Upstairs, in the Spaulls’ master bathroom, the medicine chest was abundant with lovely pills, some of which she decided to swallow with the rest of her drink,
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,
and others that she slipped into her pockets for later use. The Spaulls had an inviting home, with books all over the place, and lovely little paintings by undiscovered artists, and clay pots—
ceramics,
Simon would correct her— that they’d purchased in other countries and carefully toted back to place on their shelves and windowsills and nightstands. There were photographs, too, all over the place, black-and-white pictures of their children, two boys, the twins, who were at college (
They’re at Brown,
she’d heard Jack say), and a daughter, who was a speech pathologist in Boston. Feeling the pills now, she watched her husband through the window on the second-floor landing, out in the grass with Annie Knowles. They were laughing raucously, enjoying themselves enormously. They brought their glasses together in a toast, laughing and laughing with their eyes stuck on each other, and it came to her rather sharply that the woman outside would bring about a force of change in her life, and the change would be ugly, and it would be soon.

OLIVIA SPAULL SERVED dinner outside: curried potato soup and Moroccan chicken over couscous with grilled vegetables. The food was delicious and they ate by candlelight in the growing dark. Simon and Lydia Haas sat together and ate without speaking. Lydia picked at the food warily, as though the piece of chicken on her plate were a live bird. Simon ate hungrily, like a peasant, licking his fingers, helping himself to seconds. Watching him eat made Annie feel anxious, as though the food tasted even better in his mouth. He looked her in the eye as he ate, as if he were reading her thoughts, and smiled as if to say,
I want you, too.
There was something between them; she sensed it the way an animal senses a brewing storm. What either of them would do about it remained to be seen.

After the meal, Olivia turned the television in the living room on. “I don’t usually do this at dinner parties, but I thought you’d all like to watch the debates. They won’t take too long, and we can have our dessert afterward.” Several of the guests, including Lydia Haas, immediately went inside and stood in front of the TV. But Annie and Simon didn’t move.

“I can’t think of anything more boring,” Simon said. “It’s like a fucking sporting match.”

“You’re right,” Annie said, wondering whose side he was on.

“I’m for Nash, of course,” Simon said. “He’s got my vote.”

Annie shot him a look:
You can’t be serious?

Jack Spaull sat down and handed Simon a cigar. “He’s the only man for the job, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hearing this, Annie had to control the urge to walk out. Now that dinner was over, she could say she needed to get home to relieve Christina. Spending time with people who supported Nash, whose right-wing agenda made her stomach turn, was like waltzing with the enemy. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off Simon Haas, who was now relishing his cigar. Was it possible that he actually supported Nash? she fretted incredulously. Nash was adamantly opposed to abortion and gun control. He had limited legislative experience and had aligned himself with the Christian Right. Annie hoped in vain that Simon was lying for Jack Spaull’s benefit, but she couldn’t be sure of that; she couldn’t be sure of anything when it came to Simon Haas, and if he
was
lying for Jack’s benefit that, too, would disgust her.

“Hell of a cigar, Jack,” Simon said.

“Nothing like a good cigar after a fine meal,” Jack said. “All I need is a smoking jacket and a pair of satin slippers.”

“Where’s the girl in the cake, that’s what I want to know,” Simon said. “You see, Annie, he’s corrupting me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Simon,” Jack said. “In fact, I know it’s not.”

BOOK: The Doctor's Wife

8.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads