Chapter Forty-Two
From Brewer’s The Dictionary of Phrase and Fable:
"Perfectionists: A society founded by Father Noyes
in Oneida Creek. They take St. Paul for their law-giver,
but read his epistles in a new light. They reject all law,
saying the guidance of the Spirit is superior to all human
codes. If they would know how to act in matters affecting
others, they consult ‘public opinion,’ expressed by a
committee; and the ‘law of sympathy’ so expressed is
their law of action. In material prosperity this Society
is unmatched by all the societies of North America."
She was watching him for signs of depression. He had been oddly silent, for Max, since the funeral and Freddy was concerned about him. Trying not allow him to see her vexation, she forced laughter, made cruder than usual remarks and then shut herself up by slapping her face lightly with back of her hand. Rather than serving as a distraction for Max, this merely made him more aware of the difficulties he now faced. All of this, however, did bring about a desired result as he concentrated more on her odd behavior than on his own troubles.
Brianna had stayed with him at the apartment for a few days, but then gone back to London to the man who supported her style of living. She had been more affectionate with her brother than she had ever allowed herself to be in the past and that had soothed him somewhat. Brianna had even been kind to Freddy who managed to turn up every morning at breakfast time and stayed at Max’s side until he was in bed and asleep.
"Don’t you have something to do?" Brianna asked her on the third morning.
"No," Freddy responded. She resented Brianna’s question.
"Well, isn’t there somewhere else you could do this? Some other sick friend, perhaps, or a member of your own family you could watch?"
"I’m here for Max," she said, not looking at his older sister.
"We’re here for each other," she responded with a slightly edgy tone in her voice.
"Are you?" Freddy asked her. "Aren’t you involved elsewhere? Don’t you have a ...I was going to say home, but I hesitate...to go to?"
Brianna glowered at her. Freddy could feel the heat behind the eyes that stared daggers into her own.
"Where have you been all these years, Freddy? All the years when Max struggled alone with people who couldn’t help him, or wouldn’t help him? Where were you, his best friend?"
"Don’t moralize with me, Brianna. Where were you?"
"I was doing what I was brought up to do, thank you. I was doing my part for this family of mine. My... family...." She broke through the sob in her voice and turned her head away so that Freddy couldn’t see her eyes redden as she squeezed back the tears that longed to fall. Freddy could feel them however and she moved to the older woman and put her hand on Brianna’s shoulder.
"You’re allowed to cry, you know," she said softly. "You and Max both. You’re allowed to cry."
Brianna swivelled in her direction causing Freddy’s hand to cross her chest as she stood facing Freddy now.
"Am I? Really?" She paused and Freddy couldn’t read in her face what might come next. "Let me tell you something about crying. It spoils the makeup. It spots the dress. It ages the skin. It wrinkles the corners of the eyes, nose and mouth. It tastes bad. It accomplishes nothing."
"It relieves the heart," Freddy said. "It opens the soul. It freshens the air. It creates a void that can be filled with love."
"I never thought of you as a sentimentalist," Brianna said having regained her composure completely.
"I’m not. I’m just a realist."
"A realist? Nonsense. I’m a realist."
"No. You’re not. You’re too pragmatic for that, Brianna. You alter your reality as needed. Right now you want to be alone with Max so that he sees you care about him and eventually will share with you whatever is realized from your parents’ estates. That’s how I see you in all this."
"You’re a cynic, not a realist, then. You don’t trust even the best instincts in people."
"I don’t hear you denying the accusation, Brianna."
"No. You don’t." She paused, licked her lips to moisten them. "But why don’t I make a few accusations instead? You think you can convert a homosexual, don’t you? You think your womanly ways can turn my brother into a perfect lover for you. You’re a fool."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Freddy spat at her.
"Don’t I? You think I’m so self-involved that I haven’t seen you when you’re with him? Think what you like about me and what I do to survive, but I’ve seen my brother with both of his men and I’ve seen him with you. With Paul Donner he was the perfect helpmate. With Drew he was becoming the natural wild thing that he was bred to be. With you he’s a docile performing seal. You each get what you want from him. He has the same genes my mother and grandmother had, the same genes that inform me and my lifestyle. He has our father’s instincts for survival, too. Within him is the knowledge that nothing is secure unless you own it. He is malleable, Freddy. But his nature is what it is."
"That’s all you know. Max is in love with me. He has been in love with me since we were children."
Brianna threw back her head and roared with laughter. It was so loud, so abrasive and strong, that Freddy instinctively took a few steps backward away from her. There was something truly animal about that laughter.
"You want me out of his life, then." Brianna stopped laughing and looked at her.
"No, Freddy, I want you out of the apartment for two daylight hours. I want him to myself. I know you think I’m a bitch, heartless, manipulative. I’m all that, sure, but with Max I’m only his sister. Try to believe that if you can. His sister. I love him with the only kind of love I understand and, yes, it is an animal instinct, a form of love that may not be available to you. You’re an only child. You have no one of your own blood to care about. For me, it’s this. I need to be here with him, just us, to pull us both through this."
"I don’t want to leave him with you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust that you won’t do something to turn him against me."
"What if I give you something, then, Freddy. Something to bind the ties between us and guarantee that when I leave him Max will be returned to your ministrations."
"What could you give me?"
"I don’t know." She smiled. "Name something."
"Your passport then. You can’t leave this country without it. I’ll hold it until I’m sure you haven’t killed me in there."
"What a child." Brianna opened her purse and produced the government-issued booklet, holding it between her first and second fingers. "Here. Take it. And get out, please."
"I’ll be back."
"In two hours. Two. Is that too much to ask?"
Freddy shook her head, found herself smiling a bit, then turned away to hide her self-righteousness. She picked up her coat and her handbag and left the apartment.
She wandered through Central Park in the late morning light watching joggers flash past and nannies with their carriages strolling the lanes and byways. The late spring air was bracing, a bit too chilly and yet invigorating and refreshing at the same time. She was trying not to think about Brianna and Max and the strange conversation that had brought her outside. She was trying, in fact, to enjoy the unusual freedom of just being in the park by herself.
She emerged from the clump of dense foliage overhead and realized she was near the Sheep Meadow, a wide expanse of parkland in which concerts were held, and the Metropolitan Opera sang in summer. From its center, she knew, she could see all of the buildings that bordered the park on the east, south and west sides. It was a view she hadn’t permitted herself since childhood but this was a day like no other, and she took advantage of it. She hurried across the slightly muddy grass and when she thought she had reached that fulcrum point she stopped moving and stood as still as she could, her eyelids clenched and her hands in fists at the ends of her extended arms. She turned around three times, slowly in place and opened her eyes.
The city was swimming circles around her. Buildings were playing with one another as they seemingly butted up against others. The low-lying trees, their fresh green leaves still in bud in places, made a frame border for the city and the sky above it. She closed her eyes again, extended her arms and fists and repeated her twirl, but in the opposite direction. With her eyes closed she felt like a child again, not a woman at all, but the girl she had been when she first met Max, here in the park, when he came to her aid in the stilt-walking accident.
She was thinking about that when she felt the arms come around her, pulling her arms to their sides tightly, and the mouth meet her own. She was trapped, caught in the grip of a madman who was about to rape her, here, in full daylight, in the middle of the largest open space in a city crowded with structures and people. Panic gripped her and then, suddenly, it fled leaving her in full control of her senses. She knew this mouth.
Opening her eyes she found herself staring into the open eyes of Mikhael. With strength she hadn’t known existed, she wrenched herself free of his arms.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" she screamed at him.
"Kissing my wife," Mikhael said in his still slightly accented voice.
"I’m not your wife. I never was. I never will be."
"Aren’t you even glad to see me again?"
"No."
"That’s it, Fredericka? One word to say so much?"
"One word said it. NO."
"Why are you like this? You were my love."
"You betrayed me in every way, Mikhael. Every way possible."
"And you didn’t betray me in the one way you could?"
"How do you know about that?"
"How do I know about the chair? Are you crazy, Fredericka?"
She realized that she had blundered, had almost given away the secret of her new passion for Max. She paused, took a breath, licked her lips as she remembered Brianna doing.
"Sorry. You took me by surprise, that’s all." Her voice was calm, steady, soft again.
"I have missed you."
"Where have you been? You disappeared like a magician’s rabbit."
"I have been where I have been. Now I am here."
"So I take it that the authorities are no longer looking for you, Mikhael."
"Not any longer."
"And your country? Your father’s people?"
"Gone. Poof."
"And you’re back in New York. What are you doing here?"
"I am talking with you."
"Funny. What are you really doing here?"
"Business. Of a personal nature, Fredericka."
"What does that mean?"
"It means ‘personal’ and ‘private’ and not ‘public.’"
"In other words, shut up and don’t ask questions, Freddy."
"Precisely, my dear."
"How did you find me?"
"I didn’t exactly. I was crossing the park, on my way to keep an appointment when I saw you doing funny turns. I remembered you here in the park, in this place and I wanted to see you."
"Well, if you have an appointment, you shouldn’t dawdle."
"So cold, Fredericka. Is there no hint of the love any more?"
"None. Sorry."
"I wish I could say the same thing."
"Of course you can. You disappeared without a word and suddenly here you are. You never contacted me. Never. There’s no love in you, Mikhael."
"What is in me, Fredericka, is something to discuss with you at another time."
He turned and moved away from her swiftly. She stood and watched him go, but she had questions, suddenly, that she wanted answered.
"When will that be, Mikhael? When?"
"Another time," he shouted belligerently. She watched him walking away, one more time, from her, just as he had done on stilts so many years earlier. She watched him until he was out of view and then she kicked the dirt, dislodging grass and weeds as she did it. This was not turning out to be her day.