Splintered Heart (35 page)

Twenty-minutes — he'd said!

Marian dashed to her closet.

Her kimono slipped off the hanger onto the floor. Picking it up, she remembered Eddie/Ernie — the heat of his breath as she was lying on the bed.

The evening was warm. The air-conditioner was on but Marian took off the light-weight dress she was wearing and got into jeans and shirt. She buttoned up all the shirt buttons. It was silly. Kay was just a kid and he certainly hadn't invited himself over to her home for anything personal. Nevertheless, Marian carefully re-combed her hair which had been hanging loose, pinned it back into the lady-executive's bun.

The moment Dave Kay walked in, he began talking about the show he was working on. He waved the music which was rolled up like a telescope and followed her into the living room. When she went to the kitchen, he followed, she didn't get a chance to ask him if he wanted something. Kay opened the refrigerator and helped himself.

Dave Kay downplayed the pipe dream aspects of the project. "Every musician who gets a commission to write a show thinks it's going to Broadway. All I know is they're paying good money. They want my kind of music, they're not giving me any restrictions. I can be far-out, melodic, or whatever I want!" Kay described his basic musical ideas. He talked about his
 
Arp
, how he was using it, adapting it, expanding it into the equivalent of a
 
Moog 55
. He made no explanations of the terms. He assumed Marian was following the discussion, and she was. Even as Kay was speaking of filters, system modules, sound envelopes, somehow she found herself understanding and gaining a sense of the scope of his concept.

"So, that's it." Dave Kay gulped down a glass of milk.

"That's very interesting," Marian said. She'd never managed to lead him out of the kitchen. She was loading the dishwasher.

"Don't tidy! Talk to me."

She dried her hands on the sides of her jeans. "Talk about what? I don't know why you're here."

"Hey wow, you know something?"

"I know a lot of things!"

"I like you."

"That's good. I like you too when you're not overbearing."

"Yah, I get that way. Too much passion in my passionate soul." He banged his chest as if to illustrate the location of his passionate soul.

"Can I put away the dishes, now?" Marian found herself laughing.

"You remind me of my mother," Kay replied.

"Swell," Marian said. "That's terrific. So what do you want from me?"

"Got any chicken soup?"

"I'm out of chicken soup today, so just tell me what you want."

"I want you to work with me. I want you to collaborate with me."

"What?" But of course she'd heard him. She was having difficulty putting together the annoying Professor Kay with the clownish, sweet boy. She found it hard to believe that Kay liked her work enough to ask her to be his collaborator.

"I know, it's out of nowhere. But I trust my instincts. I've liked every assignment you've brought in — even that first page of homework. But your 32 bar improv knocked me out. I got a feel of who you are when I was transcribing it onto the
 
Arp
. You really zapped me with the melody and that's not easy. I mean you're a different generation — sentimental, kinda corn ball, romantic — "

"O.K., you can stop with your list of adjectives. I get your point, but if I'm so sentimental, corn ball, romantic, why do you want me to work with you?"

"With my sound, my beat, it's what the show needs. Even your attraction to the classical mode is a help. If I write the music for this show by myself it'll be too far out, but with you, I can go as far out as I want because you'll bring the sound back to a melodic line."

Dave Kay was intensely excited, "Let me tell you about the show's libretto..." He plunged into a synopsis of script and lyrics and then, without transition, he was talking about the money. "A sixty-forty split, how does that sound?"

Before Marian could reply, he was negotiating. "Common, that's good, I checked your registration card, you're a fund-raiser, a rank amateur."

As she opened her mouth to speak, Kay said, "I'm giving you a break!"

"But — "

"O.K. I'll make it fifty-fifty because you're a nice lady, and I really want you to do this and dammit, we got to get to work. Right now. We're wasting precious time!"

No music paper was needed at first, just an exchange of ideas. They worked in the kitchen. They moved to the study. They drifted back to the kitchen for more milk for him, coffee for her. As she was leading him toward the maid's room, Kay veered off in the direction of Ferris' study.

"No, that's my husband's room!" But it was too late. Kay was already making himself right at home on Ferris' director's chair.

When Ferris phoned, that's where Kay was sitting.

"Wish you'd answer that," the young man said, after a few rings. "What's the matter? Don't you want to talk to your old man?"

Ferris spoke in a whisper. "I've just finished talking to Charles. I told him all about my new corporation."

"That's good."

"Maybe. I'm not sure what Charles' reaction is. He's gone to the other office to make a personal phone call."

Kay was humming, not softly.

"That's my music teacher," Marian explained.

"What is?"

"The noise in the background — my teacher dropped in. He's here right now, in fact."

"How nice."

"Yes."

"You need to keep your mind occupied, Marian dear. I know you're worried about Ralph. I'll be home late. Charles and I will go out for a drink, hopefully."

"I probably won't wait up."

"That's O.K. dear."

The ping pong annoyed her. It annoyed her that Ferris hadn't asked why Kay had dropped in. "Aren't you curious why my teacher's here? We're going to be working on a music project together, maybe."

"We are if you get off that phone," sang Kay, not softly.

"It's good you've got something to keep your mind occupied," Ferris said a second time. "I'll certainly give Charles your regards!" Ferris was letting Marian know that Charles had come back into the office.

"Your old man works late a lot? Bet you're the type that's steadfast, loyal, and true-blue faithful." They were in the living room, Kay was at the piano.

Marian didn't answer.

"Are you and I going to be more than work buddies?"

"What do you mean?" But Marian knew what he meant.

"You know what I mean," Kay illustrated musically — left hand jungle rhythms, a lyrical melody in the right hand.

She had to laugh. "You're crazy. You're young enough to be my son."

"You're pretty well preserved, I must say, for a lady who's old enough to be my mother."

"I thought you came over here because you wanted me to work with you on your show?"

"I do! Believe me, I do. I think you're great. I thought so from the first time you walked in to class in that far out outfit. Pow! I thought you were something terrific."

I'm…thirty-ni — " It seemed important to be what she really was. "Dammit Kay, I'm forty-four-years-old. "

Kay was concentrating on a chord with which he'd been experimenting.

Marian repeated the number loudly. "Forty-four, did you hear me?" It seemed very old.

"Big deal." Kay banged out the chord with pedal pressed so that it kept resonating. "I like you, you like me. What difference does your age make," he modulated the chord into a minor key, "You like it with pedal or without?"

"It makes a difference!" But even as she was saying it emphatically, Marian wasn't exactly sure why it made so much difference. "Anyhow, I'm married and as you said, I am the kind of true blue, corny, loyal person who's sticking to her commitments."

"O.K. Let's knock off for tonight." Kay cracked his knuckles. "Since you're at the hospital tomorrow, how about working at my pad Saturday?"

As soon as Kay said it, Marian was envisioning his "pad" — one room, with a big bed or a couch.

"My bed's in a closet." Dave Kay rolled up the music. "I'll pick you up around ten. I'll deliver you back home when we're tired."

"Dave, I can't go to your place!"

"You slipped. You called me 'Dave!' Look, you told me you don't want to sleep with me, I won't lay a hand on you. You afraid your old man will worry?"

"Ferris is not my 'old man.'"

"It's just a term we younger generation folk use, now and then. Marian, we have to put in a strenuous session before we make a commitment. You can have your — " He started to say
 
old man
. "Your husband can phone you every hour if you want."

"OK, OK! All right!"

As Marian bolted the door, she was humming.

++++++++++

Chapter 58

The Nurse said "You might as well have a seat Miss, it'll be awhile."

Marian sat in the University Hospital waiting room and flipped though the pages of a magazine, back to front.

At one o'clock, the Nurse said, "You might as well relax, Miss. They're still in the O.R. It'll be awhile."

People came and went. A couple in their sixties sat down on the couch. The woman made a to-do of taking off her yellow sweater, taking out needles and a ball of wool. She started knitting energetically, sighing noisily every once in a while. Every so often she burst into a harangue. It was in Spanish, but clearly it was a complaint about something.

The man skimmed through one magazine, then another.

Every time they looked at the clock, Marian did, too.

A young Doctor came over to them. He spoke in Spanish except for one sentence in English, "It's God's will."

They gathered up their things. Marian was suddenly aware of the bags under the woman's eyes, the wrinkles, the loose flesh on her neck and arms. The lines on the man's forehead glistened with sweat.

The man put his hand on the woman's elbow, steered her away from the waiting area. The sweater seemed a garish spot of color in the colorless corridor, a tiny sun that got smaller and smaller as the couple shuffled off. They both looked very old and frail as they disappeared through a door.

Suddenly, Marian was terrified. It was as if she and the woman were of the same family, what happened to one would happen to the other.

She hurried over to the desk.

"Any report yet, on Ralph Melnik?"

"Still in the O.R." The Nurse did not bother to look up.

"Are you sure? "

"They haven't told me different."

"I really would appreciate it if you'd check." Marian was panicking as she always did when confronting bureaucratic routine.

The Nurse did not look up. "I'll check with them in fifteen minutes, that's the best I can do."

Marian paced, looked out of the windows and exactly fifteen minutes later, approached the desk.

The Nurse shook head "no".

"Isn't there a Supervisor I can talk to who could tell me what's going on?"

The Nurse shrugged, went back to her chart.

"Dammit. Page Dr. DeLisio."

"The Nurse looked up. "Well, I don't really think — "

"I am not asking you,
 
I
 
am
 
telling
 
you to
!" Marian had never spoken like that to anyone in her life.

The Nurse reached for the telephone.

While they were paging DeLisio over the loudspeaker, Marian could feel herself shriveling and wizening like the Spanish woman. She kept thinking, "Suppose Ralph dies?" but beyond that question, was forbidden territory that she could not explore. She thought about going to the ladies' room, but couldn't bring herself to leave the area.

Dr. DeLisio appeared in his operating room shower-cap and green smock. "Your brother is doing fine, my dear. I just left him."

"Can I see him, Doctor?"

"He'll be in Recovery for at least two hours. If I were you I'd go home. It was nip and tuck for awhile but thank God we've got a good surgical team." The Doctor was proud of the good work that they'd done. "Now it's up to Ralph."

The gears and wheels of her life began to click in and turn.

"First the ladies room, then the telephone and home, a warm bath, supper — I'll work on music afterwards so I'm ready for tomorrow," Marian mused.

...A bed in the closet? I wonder if Dave was just teasing me...

++++++++++

Chapter 59

"Do you like bagels?" Dave dug for his wallet. "Bagels are good for my creative process, I'm going to get a half a dozen."

"Buy an extra one for me." Marian gave him a five dollar bill.

When he returned with the purchase, he gave her $4.60 change. "We're work buddies. Got to keep things straight."

Marian too, liked to keep things straight. "You're a nice boy."

"Man," said Dave with his grin. "Not a boy, Marian, a man."

Marian wondered how old Dave Kay was. ...Young enough, old enough, forty-four, twenty-nine, thirty-nine were numbers, a pick-one choose-one lottery, but there was no winning combination of appropriate ages for a couple. Ferris was forty-two and she was forty-four and a half; Charles was forty-three and Henri was probably twenty-four; Anatol had been fifty-five when Mamma was fifty, and Jeanna Dawson was six years younger than her George...

Dave's pad was even starker than Mari's office. The corner with the
 
Arp
 
was like an airplane cockpit — knobs and rheostats, blinking amber, red and green lights from amps, pre amps, equalizer and V.U. meters. Another wall was an upright piano with the panels removed so that the insides were exposed. It looked like a harp with a keyboard. The rest was books and a desk. There was no sleeping or eating equipment, nothing personal except cactus plants. Tiny pots were on the sills, on the high most shelves, even around the doors to the other rooms, if there were other rooms. There was no chance to look because they were working from the moment they entered.

There were many areas where they agreed. When they disagreed, they locked horns and argued, vehemently, loudly, passionately.

Music pages accumulated. The bagels disappeared. Food was the one area where they always agreed. They sent out for Chinese food and nibbled, later had pizza.

Marian used the piano. Dave worked the
 
Arp
, taping and re-dubbing to show her the full concept of a phrase. Then, she worked with the synthesizer and he was using the old upright. Each hammered away at the other's ideas until the ideas melded and flowed together.

She called it "flowing." He called it "grooving." Words were an area where they inevitably disagreed. Dave deliberately chose words that ruffled Marian. And when she commented about his slang clichés he would take on a teasing, pontific tone, "Ah well, 'tis the generation gap, Mrs. Cooper! Don't be annoyed at me because I'm a child of the times."

Ferris phoned while they were in the middle of a furious battle.

Marian didn't want Dave listening in on a private conversation, not that she and Ferris were really communicating anything of any importance, but Dave was unabashedly listening, so Marian was extra brief, quite crisp.

"Hi. Dave and I are working well, I hope dinner is O.K. Don't bother with the dishes, I'll do them when I get home, I'm not sure when, so don't wait up. Dave will put me in a taxi, so don't worry, I'll be safe. Get a good night's sleep!"

"Wow, it's a minuet, the way you and your husband dance around," Dave said, when Marian hung up.

"We just try to be civilized, Dave."

"Is that his idea or yours? You know, it would probably be good for you to go to bed with me."

Marian said nothing.

"You got a thing about age, and you got a thing about being true-blue faithful. Boy, are you old-fashioned!"

"Dave, we have different ideas on this subject."

"O.K." He played movie music to underscore
 
trouble
. "But give it some thought." His music was a thunderstorm rumbling. "What about dinner?"

Marian was giving it some thought.

...Dave is brilliant, sensitive, not unattractive — certainly not as handsome as Ferris, not as gentle. Stephen is gentle — I wonder why Stephen divorced — was he unfaithful, or was she the one? I wonder what Ferris would say if he knew about Courtney...

"What about steak?" Dave opened a door. A large refrigerator appeared.

She didn't answer, she was thinking about Ferris. His arms had always been home-sweet-home. The idea that she might not be able to find her way back to that home was extremely painful.

"Hey, what about spaghetti with red sauce, Marian?"

They were side by side. His hand was on her shoulder, his wild hair brushing her cheek. She was totally unprepared for the physical contact.

"I like spaghetti!"

She wasn't sure if she was amused or relieved, as Dave started getting out the ingredients — he obviously enjoyed cooking. It was fun to watch, to listen to his descriptions of growing up in Long Island — his Mom cooking, his passionate devotion to music which had made him a misfit in the eyes of all his friends and family, except Mom.

"How old are you, Dave?" Marian asked, as he served.

"You want milk? Wine?"

"Milk, please. Your Mom has you well-trained."

Dave dug into the food. "I'm twenty-eight. It really bugs you, doesn't it, that I'm so much younger than you?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Because that fact puts us in a category — older woman with young man, showing him the ropes or something?"

"Something like that."

"You were sweet sixteen when I was in diapers. Are you older than you husband, is that it?"

She was about to say "of course not" but she caught herself in time. Marian didn't want lies between them. "It's none of your business, Dave. What's for dessert? Don't tell me, let me guess. Pistachio ice cream?"

The food revived them. They went back to work on their show with energetic glee.

It had somehow become "their show." Marian couldn't have said at what moment exactly, she'd begun to feel that she was truly a part of the project. But there was no longer a pull and tug on her concentration; she stopped being concerned about why she was there; she stopped wondering about the flirtation aspects of their relationship. The sense of being the fundraiser Mari, fulfilling the Doctor's prescription was gone. There wasn't time to feel how she was feeling.

"I think I'm slowing down," Dave announced at ten-thirty. He looked over her shoulder to see what she was working on.

Marian's heart was pounding.

"We do good working together, don't we Marian?"

Marian wasn't sure what she would do if he touched her.

"Let's walk you home, make the good time last a little longer." Dave said.

"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I'm in the mood to do," Marian replied.

As they walked, they talked about Beethoven.

"Hey, that's strange!" Dave whirled around, stopped as they were about to turn onto Marian's street.

"What?" Marian couldn't see what he was staring at, but the street was dark, just a row of deserted loft buildings that were being torn down.

"Any reason why a kid would be following you?"

"No. Is somebody following me?"

"Maybe I'm wrong. There was this kid in your hall the other day, smoking a cigarette when I got out of the elevator."

"Really?"

"I thought I saw the same kid just now — real young kid, couldn't be more than ten or twelve."

"Maybe it's one of your students?"

"You never know. Could be some nutty kid got me pegged as the reason for everything being so rotten in the world."

"There are a lot of sad and lost young people these days, Dave. It's hard to grow up. And when you're grown up, sometimes you're still sad. And lost."

He looked at her, didn't say anything for a moment, just stared. "I really like you, Marian."

Suddenly, more than anything, Marian wanted to hug Dave and kiss Dave goodnight.

Dave Kay, wise man and mind reader said, "Wow! I feel like kissing you. But it will confuse us, won't it?"

Marian nodded. She wasn't sure why, but all of a sudden she felt amazingly happy.

++++++++++

Chapter 60

"Ralph Melnik is dead, Mrs. Cooper."

The nurse on the phone waited a moment before she continued. "Your brother was sleeping nicely. He just didn't wake up. When the second shift came in to check his vital signs, he was gone. Dr. DeLisio has been notified. There are papers to sign. Sometimes God sees fit to take them and we wonder why, Mrs. Cooper, especially when a patient seems to be doing fine and he's young, but in this case..."

"Yes," Marian said.

She did not cry. Felipe and his assistants were cleaning and in and out of every room. Nor could Marian let herself break down in the elevator in front of Jimmy. The taxi cab driver wanted to talk about being a taxi driver in the city. At the hospital entrance, the tears started but there were things to be done, arrangements to make.

Marian took her mother's hand. "Ralph is gone, Mamma, he slipped away while he was sleeping."

Hannah smiled.

She wasn't certain that Mamma understood so she said it again. "Ralph is dead, Mamma."

"Your Mother doesn't understand, Mrs. Cooper." Arlene spoke in a whisper. She was standing respectfully out of the way but near enough to help Marian if the patient needed anything.

Hannah looked sharply at Arlene, then back to Marian.

"I'll make the arrangements, Mamma."

Arlene whispered, "Mrs. Cooper, I really don't think your Mother is well enough to understand."

Mamma was reaching for the photograph that was on the table — it was Ralph, two-years-old, on his father's lap, one of Hannah's most precious possessions. Marian handed it to her mother but Hannah tapped the cardboard, indicating she wanted Marian to take it out of its frame. So Marian took it out of the frame, and placed it in Hannah's waiting hand.

Hannah mumbled something.

"Speak louder, Mamma. Try to enunciate."

"It's the Aphasia. It's very hard for your mother," Arlene whispered tactfully.

Again, Hannah gave Arlene a look. She said, "I want him…ashes." She spoke quite loudly, clearly enough for there to be no mistake. Then, closing her hand around the picture, she crumpled it, moved her arm to the edge of the bed and let it fall to the floor.

The cremation was scheduled for twelve noon at the Bauman Mortuary.

Aunt Paula called, last minute. Marian was in a hurry, but Paula wouldn't let her off the phone.

"It's so tragic. I haven't slept a wink. Poor Hannah. Such a tragedy. I was up all night and now Milton has a tax audit and I think I'm coming down with a fever. Sammy's children have the flu! Maybe I should take a cold pill?"

"Aunty, I told you. You really don't have to come."

"I know, I know, it's just a formality. But cremation is so…so final!" Paula broke down and wept noisily.

Marian waited, certain that Aunty would pull herself together shortly, and give a few more words of consolation to her niece.