Bathing the Lion Page 2

  Some people want you to share their moods, feel their pain, hate or rejoice or get drunk along with them. Others want your sympathy, a foot rub, their hand held, or a cup of hot tea. His wife, Vanessa, wanted none of those things. Give her space and silence and be sure to leave her alone. If you happened to be around when she was unhappy, the best thing to do was retreat to the other side of the house and ignore her until she showed she was ready to communicate again.

  Locking his hands over his head, he stared out at the snow and wondered if telling her how he felt had been wrong. But what was the alternative? Going on for more months or even years in a house full of barbed wire conversations and too many instances when it was very plain neither of you wanted to be in the same room together? He assumed she felt the same way, especially judging by how she had acted toward him the last six months. Someone once told him most people would rather die than change. At the time he thought that was generally accurate, but now? Sometimes death came if you didn’t change. Not the stopped heart/no pulse/flatline kind, but the death of curiosity, optimism, and desire.

  On impulse, he put out a hand and touched the window. Feeling the cold beneath his fingertips, he slid them around and around on the glass as if they were skating. “I have a question. Can I ask you a question?” He did not think it odd to speak out loud now, although his wife was not there. He had a question he wanted her to answer. He knew she was gone. He watched her car move away down the street. “I have a question for you.”

  TWO

  The steering wheel was icy cold. Vanessa kept lifting her hands off it one at a time, making fists and blowing on them to bring back some heat. Everything was quiet except for the car heater and the muted sound of the tires crunching snow. When she entered the car minutes before, her first impulse had been to turn on loud music. But her heart wasn’t in it and she let the quiet stay where it was.

  In such a rush to escape the house, she drove three blocks before pulling the car over to the curb to check and see if she’d brought everything she needed. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to go back home and sheepishly retrieve her cell phone or wallet while he watched.

  Thank God she’d brought it all. But what was she going to do now? Where was she going to go for the rest of the day? Out of the blue, her life had capsized and suddenly she was hanging on to a piece of shipwreck in the middle of a vast and dangerous morning.

  Picking up the phone, she pressed #9 and held it down to speed-dial Kaspar. While waiting, she prayed he would answer. He was the only one she could talk to about this.

  “Hi. This is Kaspar. Leave a message.”

  Grimacing, she said to please call her back as soon as he got this message. It was an emergency and she was desperate for his help. Vanessa was certain her message would grab his attention because in all the time they had spent together she’d never used a phrase like “desperate for his help” or any other like it. With Kaspar she was the Queen of Cool and Independence. Even in bed, where they devoured each other, she held certain things back. This was the first time she had ever said she needed him. It was going to be interesting to see how he responded.

  Still holding the telephone in her hand, she wondered who else she could call now for help. Her sister was a horror and a judgmental twit. Her parents lived a thousand miles away and loved her husband much more than her. She didn’t blame them though because Dean was a much nicer person than she. Vanessa loved that about him and had often used his kindness either against him or to her advantage.

  If she had been someone else, Vanessa probably would have been upset or disheartened to realize there was no person other than her lover who she could call at this paradigm moment. But this was Vanessa Corbin, who placed “friends” down around number twelve on her list of the most important things in her life.

  She dropped the phone into her lap and picked up the wallet. Inside it were fifty-seven dollars and three credit cards, two of them on Dean’s account. Lifting her head and looking through the windshield, she began to smile. One T-shirt she owned said, “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping,” and that’s exactly what Vanessa would do now. Go to the mall and spend a lovely long morning shopping and charging things on her husband’s credit cards. No, even better—she’d shop as if she were going on a long trip. Since she didn’t know where the trip would take her, she’d have to buy both winter and summer things to cover all possibilities. Afterward she’d have a gorgeous lunch at her favorite restaurant near the mall and then perhaps see a movie.…

  She had a plan now. Whether or not Kaspar called, there was plenty to keep her busy for the next few hours. Reaching forward, she pushed a CD into the machine. An old woman shoveling snow ten feet away looked up quickly when James Brown’s voice exploded from inside the little red car as it pulled away from the curb.

  * * *

  A quarter of an hour later, Dean Corbin’s telephone rang again. This time he answered it. Pulling the phone out of a pocket, he momentarily wondered if it was Vanessa. But it wasn’t her style. When his wife was wrong about something she did not like to admit it. Prove her wrong and she turned stony. She was an Aries. People born under the sign evidently think they’re never wrong about anything. Dean didn’t much believe in astrology, but this detail was correct about her. Over their years together he had learned the best way to keep things peaceful between them was to back off when confrontations arose about who was right. Generally he was an easygoing man and letting his wife have her way didn’t bother him. Besides, he had always enjoyed Vanessa’s passion. It was one of the first things to attract him years ago. Her passion and her talent lassoed his heart and bound it tight to her. A person cannot be passionate without a strong ego, because “I” plays the main role in any kind of passion: I love. I want. I need.

  Before they met, Dean’s life had been relatively pleasant, quiet, and uneventful. Then one night after work he walked into a bar in Greenwich Village for a drink with some friends and there she was at the piano singing The Beatles’ haunting song “For No One.” Dean loved that tune, but the way this woman sang it was like nothing he had ever heard before. He was absolutely spellbound. Somehow she managed to imbue her voice and phrasing with grief, longing, passion, and even contrarily hope—all at the same time. After ten minutes of listening to the singer, Dean had forgotten his friends and his drink and was thinking, “I have got to talk to her. I’ve got to tell her … I don’t know what I’ve got to tell her, but I have got to talk to this woman.”

  At the end of the set, she went and sat alone at the bar. After several deep breaths to rouse his courage, Dean Corbin got up and walked over. Because he could not think of anything else to say, he shyly asked if she’d recorded a CD he could buy.

  Without hesitating she patted the red leather barstool next to her and said, “Sit down. You are wearing a very beautiful tie; the most beautiful tie I have seen in I don’t know how long. Any man who likes my singing and has such great taste in ties, him I want to talk to. Sit.”

  * * *

  On top of the sledding hill now Dean took off his gloves and looked at the telephone screen to see who was calling. On recognizing the name, he visibly relaxed. “Hello?”

  “We’ve got a problem.” The voice was deep, warm, and soothing—like the sound of a cello. It said the word “problem” as if it were something fun and interesting.

  Dean moved the phone from one ear to the other. “No, you’ve got a problem. I’ve got the day off, remember?” Sitting on his sled at the top of Donut Hill, he still hadn’t ridden down yet because he was enjoying the moment too much. Being up there with those dazzling views of the town and the valley, the snow-covered Vermont mountains in the background, and winter’s crisp cold embrace, it was more than enough for him to just sit there, take it all in, and be grateful.

  “The shipment of Borrelli shirts didn’t come in and we’re screwed. We’re not going to have them by Christmas.”

  “I’m not listening to you, Kaspar. It�
�s my day off, remember?” Smiling, he continued looking at the spectacular view from the top of the hill.

  “Why do you sound so happy, Dean? It’s too early in the day to be happy. Did something happen?”

  “Yes, I guess you could say it did.”

  “What?”

  “I told Vanessa I think maybe we should separate.”

  There was a long low whistle on the other end of the line and then Kaspar asked, “No kidding?”

  “Nope. We had a fight this morning because I said we don’t like each other anymore so what’s the point of staying together?”

  “And you’re not in the house now?”

  “No. I’m up on Donut Hill with my sled. The snow is perfect, the view is beautiful, and I am ready to fly. I’m telling you, Kaspar—sledding makes me feel ten years old again and after what happened this morning, I need some speed to clear my head.”

  “Where’s Vanessa?”

  “I do not know, my friend. She threw a cup of coffee at me after I told her; boiling hot coffee, can you imagine? Then she stormed out of the house and drove away. It was all very dramatic.”

  Kaspar had ignored Vanessa’s phone call earlier because he was not in the mood to talk. After listening to her message, he really wanted to avoid her. Vanessa was a drama queen of epic proportions. When he heard her message saying she was desperate, he took it as his cue to disappear from her radar screen for a while. “Aren’t you worried about where she went?”

  “No. My wife is not Anna Karenina. She won’t throw herself under a train, especially not for me.”

  “You sound way too upbeat about this whole thing, Dean. Aren’t you upset at all?”

  “No, I’m relieved. It’s been building up between us for way too long. Something had to give.”

  Kaspar half-listened to what his partner said while trying to figure out how to avoid Dean’s wife for the next few days. At least until some of the dust had settled from this unexpected bomb.

  Being around Vanessa Corbin any time was like eating a piece of double rich chocolate cake: You were hungry for the first few bites and they were absolutely scrumptious, but halfway through you’d had enough. If you ate more, you usually felt ill.

  Kaspar Benn was one of those people to whom nice things happen all the time. Partly because they’re genuinely nice but mostly because they just seem to be blessed, as if life watches out for them and often serves them the nicest slice of meat. Although he was heavy and plain looking (like an East German metal worker, as he often described himself), women were attracted to him because he knew how to make them laugh and more important, feel cherished. He had almost no morals but did his best not to hurt others if it was possible. However, he didn’t think twice about sleeping with his partner’s wife when the opportunity arose years before. The way he saw it, what went on between Vanessa and him was their concern and no one else’s. He ate at their house at least twice a month and the three of them hung around together frequently. Dean never suspected anything because they never gave him reason to suspect. When the three were together, Kaspar was smart, charming, and witty as hell. He treated Vanessa with fond respect and kept his distance from her except for hello and good-bye kisses on the cheek.

  She was dull in bed but a great cook, and Kaspar liked food more than anything. He was an accomplished lover but couldn’t boil an egg. One of his dreams in life was to make enough money to hire a really first-class full-time cook. Vanessa suggested he marry someone who was good in the kitchen, but marriage was not for him. He believed people should marry only in their twenties or late fifties. No other time. When you’re twenty you can build a life together; after fifty, you marry for companionship. Who wants to be alone when they’re old?

  “… is it all right with you?”

  Thinking about Vanessa, Kaspar had tuned Dean out completely. “Excuse me; I’m still in shock from what you told me. What did you say?”

  “I asked if we could hang up now so I can go back to my day off?”

  “Yes, of course. Sure. Listen, if there’s anything I can do for you or Vanessa…”

  “Thanks buddy, but this is only round one with her. You can be sure there’s going to be a lot more to come. Bye-bye.” Dean broke the connection and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Sighing, he let his mind wander. He could take off right now and begin a whole new life somewhere else. Take a wad of money out of the bank; leave her a note saying, “I want to live the rest of my life wonderfully,” and then head for … Fiji. Or the Florida Keys. Margaritaville, ahoy! Maybe someplace grim and original, like Bucharest. Or Estonia. He had recently read a magazine article that said Estonian women were uncommonly beautiful, so why not go there? Dear Vanessa, I am living in Estonia with a six-foot-tall blond mathematician named Triin Ploomipuu.

  He looked up in the sky and saw an airplane miles overhead moving south in front of a long white softening contrail it was drawing across the cornflower blue sky. When was the last time Vanessa and he had flown anywhere together? Last May to Italy on the buying trip for the store. A nice two weeks, but so what? What difference did it make now? “The cat is out of the bag,” as she had rightly said, so those nice trips, nice meals, and nice years when they had been genuinely happy together were like Confederate Army money now: they looked pretty but were worthless. He thought, in just sixty minutes what once was, meant next to nothing. An hour after the confrontation in their kitchen, the life they had created together for a decade was completely in limbo. Everything stable and sure had the foundation knocked out from under it and gone wobbly.

  Shaking his head, Dean Corbin looked once again at the town and the mountains. He closed his eyes and kept them closed. He could only hear and smell the familiar world. He wondered what it smelled like in Estonia.

  * * *

  The first person Vanessa ran into at the mall was her boss. By then she was feeling more balanced, considering what had just happened to her at home. She’d bought a new cinnamon-colored bra at La Perla. It looked pretty damned nice on her. Now she was thinking about going back and buying a cute purse she had seen a few minutes before.

  Vanessa was standing there thinking about what direction to take when a smoky voice behind her asked, “Whatcha got in the bag?”

  Without turning around Vanessa asked, “Do lesbians go out and buy underwear the minute their partner says the relationship is over? Or is that a strictly heterosexual reaction?”

  The other woman said, “I don’t need an excuse to buy new underpants. I have this self-timer thing inside me—like an egg timer, you know? Whenever it goes ping, it’s time for me to go to a lingerie shop.

  “Why, are you and Dean calling it quits? That’s surprising.” Although the voice showed no surprise at all.

  Jane Claudius was the most poised, elegant woman Vanessa had ever known. She would have been a wonderful diplomat because in whatever she did she acted with a combination of intelligence, natural grace, and great humor that was very winning. People liked her but were also slightly hesitant because she kept her distance. Kaspar described Jane as “nice but magisterial,” and he was right. She was very black and quite tall, which added to her stature. She was open and casual about being lesbian but in no way aggressive about it. Vanessa once admitted to Jane that she couldn’t picture her all down and dirty, sweaty and groaning.

  Jane had grinned and said, “Butter wouldn’t melt in my bed, huh?”

  “Maybe butter, but not you. I can’t imagine you breaking a sweat over anything, boss.”

  Now Jane asked if Vanessa would like to go for a cup of coffee and talk. Vanessa thought about it but said no. “I’m not really ready to yet. Right now I have the feeling you get in your stomach after eating something bad and your body is deciding how to react. You don’t know if you’re going to puke or not.…”

  Jane patted her arm. “I know the feeling; it’ll pass. Today’s your day off, right? Are you coming in tomorrow or do you want some time off?”

  “Oh no, I’ll be in.
It’s the best way to take my mind off this.”

  “I agree. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Vanessa nodded and watched the tall woman walk away. Catching a whiff of Jane’s woody perfume, she wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to touch her. She called out, “Hey Jane, were you ever here? I mean, did this ever happen to you? Someone you loved said it’s finished—I want out.”

  Smiling, Jane walked back. “Of course, everybody’s been there. Nobody gets out of love alive, Vanessa. That’s half the deal and we all know it by the time we’re fifteen years old. You gamble and lose about 90 percent of the time. It’s like buying a lottery ticket. The chances of winning anything are a million to one. We know it but it doesn’t stop us from trying again and again.” She held up her index finger. “Which I think is good because it shows people are optimistic about the most important thing in life.

  “But are you sure it’s finished? Or are you two just going through an intermission?”

  Vanessa said quietly, “Dean told me he wanted to separate.”

  Jane put a hand behind her neck and leaned back on one leg. By day she dressed like a hip kid. Now she was wearing a black ski jacket as shiny as licorice, army pants with lots of pockets, and scuffed hiking boots. In great contrast, at night in the bar she always wore the same all-black outfit—a silk shirt beneath a sleekly tailored jacket and matching slacks. It made her look like a silky ninja. “If things really do go bad between the two of you, you can always come and stay with us, Vanessa. Remember that. I hope you don’t need it, but when the same thing happened to me a few years ago I had nowhere to go, which made it a world worse. Just know the offer’s there.”