The War Of The Roses Part 7

Oliver sat in his office long after the others had gone. He had shooed away the cleaning woman, a portly Spanish-looking lady who looked at him knowingly. He was certain she had guessed that he was sitting there because he had no place to go.

Looking at his image in the darkened window, he seemed transparent. The eyes looked back out of hollowed pockets. The declivity of his cheeks had increased. The disregard for his usual fastidiousness showed everywhere. His tie was awry, the collar of his s.h.i.+rt rumpled. His beard seemed to have grown more rapidly than usual, and his mouth felt oddly smoky. He was sure he had caught Goldstein's halitosis and he blew into his palm to confirm it.

He could not stand the sight or smell of himself any longer. Leaving his office, he went into the street. He couldn't bear the thought of eating alone in a restaurant, waiting for service, choosing from the menu, feeling the b.u.t.t of wandering eyes and their pity for his aloneness, speculating on his miserable existence, on his life of quiet desperation and terror. He continued to walk, unable to stop the jumble in his mind, bemoaning the tragedy of his life, once so promising. He had given up the possibility that he was dreaming. Indeed, losing Barbara had once been a consistent nightmare and always, upon awakening, he would reach out to her and cuddle his body full length against hers, proving her presence.

'I'll die if I ever lose you,' he would whisper, wondering if she had heard. 'I couldn't bear it.'

It was a nightmare no longer confined to the darkness.

Without consciously making a decision, he walked into the Circle Theater, remembering Goldstein's suggestion.

They were playing a double feature - The Lady Vanishes The Lady Vanishes and and The 39 Steps The 39 Steps - - two early Hitchc.o.c.ks. He bought the largest bucket of popcorn, drenched it in b.u.t.ter, and walked into the darkened theater. Both movies had been made before he was born, he noted, surely a less complicated time. Had people really been that simple and direct? The stories gripped him at times, took him away from his problems, but when his consciousness snapped back and revealed his isolation, he would feel a momentary wave of claustrophobia. What was he doing here, away from his family, away from his rightful place? two early Hitchc.o.c.ks. He bought the largest bucket of popcorn, drenched it in b.u.t.ter, and walked into the darkened theater. Both movies had been made before he was born, he noted, surely a less complicated time. Had people really been that simple and direct? The stories gripped him at times, took him away from his problems, but when his consciousness snapped back and revealed his isolation, he would feel a momentary wave of claustrophobia. What was he doing here, away from his family, away from his rightful place?

With sustained anger and not an iota of fear, he walked along the dark and crime-ridden streets, almost hoping that he might be attacked so that he could vent all his frustration on the antagonist. He tried to will himself to be a lure, slowing down when he heard footsteps approaching, disappointed finally when he discovered that he was in front of his house. As always, Benny was waiting, snuggling against his leg.

Through the front windows he could see the dull glow of the kitchen light and when he opened the front door the aroma of her cooking reached his nostrils. The meaty flavor of her pate pate had once been overwhelmingly tempting. Now it filled him with nausea. Before he could reach the foot of the stairs, Barbara materialized, still dressed and ap.r.o.ned, her face flushed from activity. He turned his eyes away and felt his hands reach out for the coolness of the bra.s.s banister. The chandelier was unlit. In the dim light he could make out the tension in her face. had once been overwhelmingly tempting. Now it filled him with nausea. Before he could reach the foot of the stairs, Barbara materialized, still dressed and ap.r.o.ned, her face flushed from activity. He turned his eyes away and felt his hands reach out for the coolness of the bra.s.s banister. The chandelier was unlit. In the dim light he could make out the tension in her face.

'I think we should talk,' she said gently. His heart lurched as his mind leaped at the possibility of a reconciliation. It was too tempting to ignore. He wondered how he should play it. That depended on the degree of her contrition, he decided. Please, let G.o.d be magnanimous, Oliver urged.

He followed her into the library. She turned on one of the Tiffany lamps and the soft glow enveloped her as she wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. Lady Macbeth. He smiled at the errant image. She sat down on the edge of one of the leather chairs, remarkably cool and businesslike. He wondered if it was an ominous sign, and was quickly rewarded for his curiosity.

'You can't stay here, Oliver,' she said crisply. 'Not now.' Her voice was soft but firm. He was ashamed of his hopefulness.

'It's a question of facing reality,' she said, sighing. 'I just feel it will be better for all parties. Including the kids.'

'Leave them out of this,' he snapped, recalling Goldstein.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. 'Yes. I suppose you're right. But certainly it won't be a healthy situation.' What troubled him most was her command of herself. Her firm a.s.sertion. You've come a long way, baby, he thought. Why are you doing this to me?

His gaze washed over the room that he had created, the rubbed-walnut shelves, the rows of leather-bound books, filled with so much now-useless wisdom.

'I thought I offered you a most reasonable solution,' he said, trying to capture his usual lawyerlike demeanor when dealing with clients. But the tremor in his voice gave him away.

'Not to me,' she said quietly.

'Reasonable? To take everything. Leave me with nothing. That's reasonable?' His voice started to rise, but he remembered Goldstein's caution.

'It's my payment for being your security blanket for nearly twenty years. I can't possibly earn in five years what you can earn in one. No matter how great my business goes. For me, that's reasonable.'

He started to pace about the room, touching objects. He stuck a finger into one of the cubbies of the rent table and spun it around.

'I've invested so much of myself in this place. Surely as much as you.' He was being deliberately calm, trying to hold in his temper. He looked down at her. She seemed cold, clear-eyed. Unbending. 'I can't believe you're so ruthless about this, Barbara, considering all we shared for eighteen years.'

'I'm not going to yield to any guilt trip, Oliver. I've come to grips with that. The problem for you to understand is that I'm thinking only of myself for the first time in my life.'

'And the kids?'

'Believe me, I intend to fully discharge my responsibilities.' She frowned. 'Now who's using the kids?'

'It's just not clear, Barbara. If I understood it, maybe I could be more tolerant.'

'I know,' Barbara said, with what seemed like a hint of compa.s.sion. She bit her lip, a normal gesture for her when she was troubled. 'I'm changed, that's all. Not the old me. Any explanation sounds cruel. I don't want to be cruel.'' "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." '

'That's one of them. One of the things I detest so much in you, Oliver. All those literary allusions that forced me to ask for explanations, as if they were a proof of your superiority.'

'Pardon me for having lived.''Now you're getting hostile.'

I need you, Goldstein, he shouted to himself, brus.h.i.+ng his hands through the air as if that would dispel the conversation. Goldstein had warned him not to deal with her directly. But how could he avoid her, living under the same roof?'

'Did you truly expect any other response?' he said quietly.

'It won't matter. I have to think of the long pull for myself.' She stood up and again wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. 'I'm sorry, Oliver. I know it seems selfish. But I have to protect my future.'

'You're inhuman,' he snapped.'I can't help your perception.'

He turned to the library entrance and paused, emptying his mind of false hopes.

'I don't intend to leave this house. I don't intend to give it up. I do intend to fight you every foot of the way, regardless of expense in dollars or emotions. I want this house and everything in it. And I do not intend to lose.'

'It's not going to be that simple,' she said quietly. He marched up the stairs and into the guest room.

As he closed the door, snapping the thumb lock, he decided to put in a better lock, complete with key. From here on in, he told himself, reveling in his belligerence, this is company headquarters.

12.

The house was staked out like a battlefield. Ann tried desperately to maintain a scrupulous neutrality lest it affect her own circ.u.mstances, although she did not know how long she could hold on in the midst of the unbearable tension.

Barbara and Oliver had installed locks on their respective bedrooms. At first that seemed to Ann unnecessary until she began to observe the extent of their growing hostility. They had separate phones installed as well, leaving one of the original lines intact for the children. The kitchen was hers. He apparently had given up all rights to both the food and the facilities, although she saw a little carton of orange juice on the ledge of the side window of the guest room, conveying an utterly incongruous boarding-house look. He never took his meals at home, and he maintained Benny from a stock of dry dog food he kept in his room. Benny spent the day poking about the neighborhood, continuing his endless service to the local b.i.t.c.hes, and returning home by instinct so that he could spend the night sleeping at the foot of Oliver's bed.

Oliver also retained rights to the maintenance of his orchids. And he continued to spend a great deal of time in his workroom. By silent consent, it was considered his domain. It was there that he generally met with the children and, at times, with Ann, who used the most transparent pretexts to visit. The Ferrari's special place in the garage was his domain, as well. Sometimes, when feeling very down, he would strip away the Ferrari's cover, remove its fibergla.s.s top, and take it out for a brief spin, or he would spend hours tuning it and polis.h.i.+ng its body. Allowing him such pursuits required no sacrifice on Barbara's part. Besides, she was literally working herself at double time to build her catering business. The house was constantly filled with the aroma of her cooking.

Ann was fully aware of her unrequited feelings for Oliver, which prompted even more caution on her part. It was, she knew, downright dangerous to poke one's head above the sh.e.l.l holes of no-man's-land. Even the humor of it, the sheer illogic of the process, paled as the days wore on. By force of will, she maintained an observer's distance, while inside she seethed with a profound and exasperating curiosity.

Every movement in the house became a signpost, every unguarded look a nuance, every stray word a symbol of some impending action. At night she would go over what she had observed during the day, attributing motives, calculating advances or retreats.

She wondered if they observed her inspection and when she felt anxious about this, she retreated further into her pose of indifference. Even the children seemed to have given up. At first they had been slyly trying to effect a reconciliation, but that had quickly dissipated in the face of their parents' obvious unrelenting hostility and they a.s.sumed an air of grudging acceptance and, finally, tolerance.

'My parents have simply gone crazy,' Eve told her one night. The announcement seemed in the nature of an epiphany and Ann noted that Eve was spending more time with her friends, less time under her scrutiny. It was pointiess, she decided, to attempt to maintain a more rigid discipline over the children at a time of such trial. Josh found solace in basketball and other sports and, since he had not lost contact with his father, he seemed to be maintaining a business-as-usual equilibrium.

Sometimes she felt uncomfortable about her inspector's role. It took effort and concentration. And, of course, she had to hide her own interest. Was it possible for Oliver to see in her an alternative? The question gnawed at her and filled her with guilt.

'You're awfully quiet,' Barbara remarked one day.'I hadn't realized,' Ann responded.

'I suppose I can't really blame you. The way things have altered around here.'

It was her first real attempt at self-justification to Ann, who listened quietly, deliberately averting her eyes so they would not betray her. 'Who can possibly understand but another woman who has undergone the same experiences? You can never really transfer your outrage. The house, in my opinion, is fair compensation. He can have another one just like it in a few short years. Maybe sooner. I can never have it again unless I marry. Then the whole cycle starts again.'

Although she was working harder, she seemed more beautiful than ever, glowing, in fact; a quality totally incongruous, considering her "plight."

'I'm not competent to judge,' Ann replied, remembering the undeclared war of her own parents' married life. She had rarely seen even the most primitive gestures of respect between them. They seemed to survive on a diet of mutual hate. 'I'm not a good one to ask about married life. My background is very traditional,' she lied.

'I know. The husband pulls down a paycheck and the wife cooks, cleans, and f.u.c.ks.' Ann had also detected that Barbara had gotten harder, more vocal and intransigent.

Between Oliver and Barbara communication was, in the early days of the new arrangement, nonexistent. Sometimes it was unavoidable, and Ann would hear sc.r.a.ps of conversation that always disintegrated into a rising crescendo of vituperation.

'I'll pay all electric and gas bills that can be attributed to normal household operations. Not to your business activities. Those you pay for.' He had confronted her in the kitchen late one evening. Ann, who was helping to baste a roasting goose while Barbara prepared a batch of baking dough, quickly faded from the scene, far enough to be out of their vision but close enough to hear.

'How can you calculate the difference?' Barbara asked sarcastically.

'I'm having a man come in from the electric and gas companies. If necessary, we'll put in separate meters.'

'What about the power from your workroom and the sauna?'

'I take no profit from that.''But I help pay for it.'

'Would you like to charge me for the use of my room as well? The cost of my electric blanket?' 'If I could, I would.'

'And I don't appreciate your fudging on the food bill. Thurmont agreed that you would keep those charges separate. There's no way the family can use six pounds of flour and three pounds of b.u.t.ter a week.'

'And what about the orange juice? I know you filched a carton of orange juice the other day. It could only have been you.' Barbara had asked the question so innocently of each of them, including the maid. Ann had wondered about the intense probing.

'I admit it. It was a d.a.m.ned mistake. I used it for screwdrivers. I ran out.'

'I've been meaning to tell you. Those juice cartons on the ledge are ugly.'

'It's my ledge.'

'And I don't see why you have to lock up the liquor cabinet and the wine vault.'

'What's Caesar's is Caesar's,' he said facetiously, the logic deteriorating.

'And what's G.o.d's, G.o.d's. You b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' 'I'm not kidding about the food, Barbara. I'm not counting the water.' 'The water?'

'Water costs,' he mumbled, but Ann could tell that his heart wasn't in the argument on that issue. 'All I'm asking for is a reasonable estimate.'

'You toss around that word "reasonable" as if it were from the beat.i.tudes.'

'Now you're getting biblical. Are you going "born again"?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact. You forced it on me.''Well, you're not rid of me yet.'

The matter, as Ann soon discovered, was resolved by an injunction. Barbara had charged hara.s.sment and violation of their maintenance agreement. Goldstein had gone to court and won, and an injunction forced Barbara to keep her business expenses separate.

'You've only run up our legal bills,' Oliver told her in still another confrontation.

'I don't care.'

'You can't just run to the court every time we have a dispute. It's bad enough we have to wait such a long time to resolve the main matter. But what's the point of these interim decisions?'

'I'm not going to let you hara.s.s me, that's all.''I'm not hara.s.sing you.'

For a long time after that they did not speak at all, and things appeared to settle down into an armed truce. Oliver's routine was unvarying, and Ann noted that he had greatly curtailed his out-of-town travel, as if leaving the house meant giving Barbara a special advantage.

He would come home around midnight. After dinner at a restaurant he would go to the movies. Any movie. He carried around with him programs offered by the various repertory film theaters. He had shown them to her with all the dates checked off so that his secretary could record them in his calendar. For breakfast his secretary provided coffee and a doughnut, and a business lunch took care of his midday meal.

He had explained the routine to Ann on those evenings when, with Barbara out on a catering job, she mustered the courage to accost him on his way up to his room. For some reason, she had noted, he was nervous in her presence, a condition that she greeted with even greater curiosity.

'It's no life, Ann,' he told her one evening as they stood in the foyer. 'But the movies are a fantastic escape. Something about the darkened theater and all those strangers sitting beside you. Not like television. It's a d.a.m.ned lonely life.'

In the privacy of her thoughts, she could be outrageously blatant in her efforts to seduce him, and, more than once, these fantasies had become quite aggressive. But, near him, she could not bring herself to make a single untoward move, although she watched him carefully for any sign of interest. It was a struggle to put those thoughts aside. Besides, she dared not hope. Her fear of rejection was gnawing at her, and its actuality might have sent her skulking into the street, never to return.

At times even their armed truce erupted into near-violent confrontations. Once, when Ann was out, he had broken into their old room to get a bottle of Maalox he had left on the shelf of their once jointly shared medicine chest.

The household was awakened by Barbara's frantic pounding on his door. The fury of her attack frightened the children and they huddled beside Ann on the third-floor landing, like spectators at a bullfight.

'You broke into my room, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she had screamed. She had been supervising a late buffet and had discovered the break-in when she returned. He had opened the door and confronted her, bleary-eyed with sleep.

'I needed a d.a.m.ned Maalox. I had a hiatus-hernia attack.'

'You have no right to break into my room.''All I took was the d.a.m.ned Maalox. It was too late -''There are all-night drugstores.'

'I needed it immediately. I had no choice. I had run out. Really, Barbara, I was in pain.'

'You had absolutely no right. That was violation of our agreement. A legal violation.'

'Bulls.h.i.+t.'

'Breaking and entering. I have every intention of calling the police.'

'There's the d.a.m.ned phone.' He had pointed to the phone in his room and in her anger she stormed in and picked it up, dialing 911.

'I would like to report a robbery,' she said. 'Barbara Rose, sixty-eight Kalorama Circle.' There was a long pause. 'I'm not certain what else was stolen. But I do know that 'a bottle of Maalox was taken. My husband broke into my bedroom. No. He did not rape me.' She took the phone away from her ear and looked into its mouthpiece. 'G.o.d d.a.m.n it. We pay you to protect people. Not to ask silly questions.' She banged the phone in its cradle. He had rarely seen her so agitated and he was amused.

'Feel better?' Oliver had asked smugly. He leaned against the doorjamb, smiling.

'You had no right,' she sputtered, storming across the corridor, slamming the door behind her.

'Don't talk to me about rights,' he called to her through the door.

'This house has become a loony bin,' Eve had whispered.

'It's like a television show,' Josh said. 'I wonder how it's going to come out.'