Authors: Jonathan Carroll
* * *
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.”
“
Wow!
Well, thank you. I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to—” Surprised and overcome by the kindness of the offer, Vanessa was at a loss for what to say.
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.”
* * *
Jane did not like Vanessa Corbin but was indebted to her. Two years before, her bar was failing. She’d invested every cent of her money and time into it. But like so many bars and restaurants, Jane’s did not possess the mysterious ineffable magic always needed to bring customers in to a new place. She had studied interior design in college so from the first day the builders started work on the space she knew exactly what kind of feeling and look she wanted them to create. She hired a good piano player from the music department at the local college, a skilled cook, and a bartender who had worked for fifteen years at the Locke-Ober restaurant in Boston before retiring to this idyllic Vermont town. What more could she have done? Jane had planned every detail and saved up for years to do this. The bar had been her life’s dream, but as the dream evaporated, she didn’t know how to save it.
One night a pretty, overweight woman sat down at the piano and began playing the song “I Wish I Were in Love Again.” After she sang the first verse, most of the people in the room had gone quiet and were listening. By the time she finished the song, almost everyone applauded enthusiastically. She was
that
good. She looked at Jane and asked if it was all right to continue. Jane steepled her fingers as if praying and said, “Please!”
The singer was exceptional. Not only did she play the piano beautifully, but her voice covered three octaves. After she’d sung five songs ranging from standards to pop to country and western, she asked the audience if they had any requests. She was obviously used to doing this. Her demeanor was funny, intimate, and completely relaxed in front of listeners. Someone called for Steve Winwood’s “Back in the High Life Again” and she knocked the song out of the park.
For an hour this big stranger did what Jane Claudius had been unable to do in all the time she had run her bar: she made it magical. When the woman finished with a slow, dreamy rendition of the ’50s classic rock song “He’s So Fine,” the whole room was hers; they loved her.
She walked back to a table and sat down next to a thin bald man dressed in an elegant pinstripe suit and open-necked white shirt with silver cufflinks. He kissed her on the cheek. Smiling, she put her forehead on his arm. Jane went over to them and signed to the bartender to bring drinks. She asked if she could join the couple. Both seemed happy for her company.
They were the Corbins, Vanessa and Dean. Along with a business partner, Dean owned the stylish men’s store on the town’s main street. Like Jane, the Corbins were ex–New Yorkers who had gotten fed up with city life after having been robbed twice. They moved here to Vermont because Dean had attended college here years before and both of them loved the intimate yet urbane feel of this town.
Despite its size, it was a wealthy community. The college was small but exclusive and cost a fortune to attend. Most of the students had a lot of pocket money, and in winter the skiing in the area was so good that expensive sports cars and SUVs with Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New York license plates lined the streets. A bar like Jane’s or an upscale clothing store fit well into the demographic.