"I guess that's good advice." Kevin wondered for a moment how he would react to discovering either he or Miriam was sterile. Having his own child had always been so important to him. Like any prospective young parent, he often daydreamed about taking his son to baseball games or buying his daughter dolls. He would start their college funds the day they were born. They had already decided they wanted a boy and a girl and would go as far as trying four times to have them. With the money he was going to make, he could afford four children if he had to.
"Yes, well, we've discussed adopting."
Kevin nodded. "Whatever happened to the Jaffees' child?"
"Richard's brother took him, and guess what—his brother is an attorney, too. He told Mr. Milton he would do everything he could to make it possible for Richard's son to follow in his father's footsteps."
"Mr. Milton knew him?"
"He took charge after Richard's . . . Richard's suicide. That's the kind of guy he is. Well," he said, rising, "I'll let you get back to work. Good luck. Oh"—he turned from the doorway—"scuttlebutt around here is Mr. Milton will be having a party in honor of you in his penthouse very soon. And believe me, when Mr. Milton throws a party, it's a party."
Miriam sat back on the couch, exhausted. Excluding lunch, she hadn't stopped from the moment they got up this morning. Norma and Jean were a wonderful help, but she thought they got a little silly at the end, arguing over who would invite her and Kevin over for dinner first. Finally, she told them to toss a coin, and Norma won. Kevin and she would go there tomorrow night and then to Jean's the night after.
But the most trying moments of the afternoon came when Helen Scholefield stopped by. It was weird the way she suddenly materialized like a ghost. No one heard the doorbell or heard her come in. Norma, Jean, and she had just stopped for a moment after pushing the couch from one side of the living room to the other and then back again, laughing at their indecisiveness. Miriam sensed someone else was in the room and turned toward the doorway. She thought Kevin might have come back because he had forgotten something.
But there she was, clutching the wrapped painting against her body and staring at them with a soft smile on her face. She made Miriam think of an older woman caught smiling enviously at young children at play.
"Oh," Miriam exclaimed. She looked quickly to the other girls.
"Helen," Norma said. "We didn't hear you come in."
"How are you?" Jean asked quickly.
"I'm all right," she replied and turned her attention to Miriam. "Hello."
"Hi."
"Helen, this is Miriam Taylor," Norma said quickly. "Miriam, Helen Scholefield."
Miriam nodded again.
"I brought you something, a welcoming gift," Helen said, stepping forward and handing her the wrapped painting. "I hope you like it."
"Thank you."
"I'm sure Helen painted it herself," Jean said.
Miriam looked up quickly from the package.
"Yes, yes I did, but don't be afraid to say you don't care for it. My work is...
special, different. Not everyone appreciates it, I know," she said, looking pointedly at Norma and Jean.
If that were the case, Miriam wondered, staring at Helen, why bring someone one of your paintings as a welcoming gift? Why not find out first if they appreciate the kind of art you do?
"Kevin and I have absolutely no artwork to hang. I'm afraid we're both a little ignorant when it comes to that sort of thing."
"You won't be for long," Norma warned.
"Maybe Helen will come with us to the Museum of Modern Art this week," Jean said.
All eyes were on Helen. She widened her smile. "Maybe," she said with a tentative tone.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" Miriam asked, not yet having unwrapped the painting.
"Oh no, please. You're very busy."
"We should take a break," Jean said. "We're getting a little stupid, moving pieces of furniture one way and then another."
"I can't stay anyway," Helen said. "I have a doctor's appointment."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Miriam replied.
"I just wanted to stop by and say hello."
"Perhaps you'll stop by later, when you return," Miriam suggested.
"Yes," Helen said, but there was no promise or hope in it. She looked around.
"Your apartment is going to be lovely, as lovely as . . ." She looked from Norma to Jean. "As ours are."
"I'm excited about living here—the views, the proximity to so many museums and good restaurants . . ."
"Yes. We're close to everything, good things as well as bad."
"We don't want to think about anything bad," Jean said quickly, in a reproachful voice.
"No ... no, I don't suppose you do. Why should you? Why should anyone?" she asked rhetorically. She suddenly looked as if she were all alone, thinking aloud.
Miriam turned to Norma, who shook her head. Jean raised her eyes toward the ceiling and then looked away.
"Is Charon going to take you to your appointment?" Norma asked her, obviously anxious to see her move along.
"Charon takes us everywhere," Helen replied. "That's his purpose."
Miriam's eyes widened. What a strange way to put it, she thought.
"Well, maybe he's waiting for you downstairs," Jean suggested.
Miriam noticed Helen's expression change from a soft, esoteric look to a sharply knowing one as she focused on the two women. Then she smiled warmly again and turned to Miriam. "I'm sorry my first visit is so short, but I wanted to be sure to stop by to say hello and welcome you before going to my appointment."
"Thank you. And thanks a lot for the painting. Oh, I didn't even unwrap it. How rude. I was just. . ."
"That's all right," Helen said quickly. She touched Miriam's hand, and Miriam looked into her eyes to see what she thought was excruciating mental anguish. "It's different," she admitted, "but it makes a statement."
"Really? That sounds interesting." She started to unwrap it. Helen stepped back and looked at Norma and Jean, both fixed on the painting being unwrapped.
Miriam pulled all the paper off before holding it up.
For a long moment, no one said anything. The colors were vibrant, so bright it seemed as if there was a bulb behind the canvas. At first, Miriam wasn't sure which side was up. Since Helen didn't say otherwise, she assumed she was holding it correctly.
The top of the painting was done in long, soft strokes of sapphire emerging from a wafer at the center which was the color and texture of a Communion wafer.
Directly below the blue was a dark green area shaped like palisades, the edges sharp, the incline very steep. Pouring over the palisades was a female figure stretched and twisted into a liquid form, but there was a distinct face caught up in an expression of agony and dread as her body spilled over the brink and down into what looked to be a sea of boiling blood. There were tiny, bone-white bubbles popping up out of the sea.
"Well," Norma said, "that certainly makes a statement."
"What colors!" Jean remarked.
"I've never seen anything like it," Miriam said and then wondered if she had sounded negative. "But I..."
"If you don't want it, I'll understand," Helen said. "As I said, my work is special."
"No, no, I want it. I want it very much. I can't wait to see Kevin's reaction ... anyone's reaction, for that matter." She turned to Helen. "It's definitely the kind of thing that draws attention and sets everyone talking. Thank you." She stared at Helen for a moment. "It was very special to you, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Then that makes it even more valuable to me," Miriam said, trying to sound sincere but realizing she sounded too patronizing. "Really," she added.
"If it isn't now, it will be," Helen said prophetically. Miriam looked to Norma and Jean.
Both pressed their lips together as if to contain their laughter. "Well, I'm sorry I have to go so quickly, but..."
"Oh, no... no. I understand." More than you think, Miriam thought. "You go on.
We'll catch up later. Once I get settled here, I want you and Paul to come over for dinner."
Helen smiled as if Miriam had made the most ridiculous suggestion. "Thank you," she said and started away.
"And thank you," Miriam called after her. No one said anything until Helen left.
Then Norma and Jean looked at each other and burst into laughter. Miriam shook her head, smiling.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Hang it in the hallway closet."
"Or on the outside of your front door," Jean suggested. "It'll serve as a deterrent, keeping burglars and salesmen away."
"I just felt so sorry for her. She is disturbed. This painting." She held it up again.
"It's like a nightmare!"
"It makes a statement," Norma quipped, and Jean and she laughed again.
,
"Yes, it says 'aarrgh'!" Jean exclaimed, seizing her own throat and falling to her knees. Norma and Miriam laughed.
"I'll just leave it in the corner until Kevin comes home. Once he sees it, he'll see why I would rather not hang it."
"You were wonderful, though," Norma said. "You handled her well."
"She's going to see her therapist, I gather."
"Yes. Paul's got his hands full. I feel sorry for him. We have tried to help, haven't we, Jean?"
"For weeks after Gloria's death, we called Helen and invited her to go places with us, but she locked herself up in the apartment and brooded. Finally, Mr.
Milton got Paul to do something. If you think she's strange now, you should have seen her just after Gloria's death. She came to my apartment once and became hysterical, crying that we all had to move out of here, that we were all in danger...
as if the building caused Gloria's death and Richard's suicide. I couldn't make any sense out of what she was babbling, and finally I called Dave. He got a hold of Paul, and Paul came to take her back to their place."
"They called a doctor who put her on sedatives," Norma continued. "Obviously, she's still somewhat sedated."
"She must have been very close to Gloria Jaffee."
"Not any closer than we were," Jean said sharply, a note of resentment in her voice.
"I just thought..."
"She's just... so sensitive," Norma explained, holding the back of her right hand against her forehead. "Because she's an artist and the artist's soul is in continual turmoil.
After all," she went on, taking on the voice of a pedantic college professor, "she sees the tragic irony that lives beneath all things." She sighed.
"Still, I can't help but feel sorry for her," Miriam said, looking toward the front entrance as if Helen were still standing there.
"So do we," Jean said. "We're just getting a bit tired of it all. It's such a downer. All right, Gloria Jaffee had a tragic ending and Richard's suicide was horrible, but it's all over and there's nothing any of us can do to change what happened."
"We've got to go on with our lives," Norma added.
"The best thing we can do is be emotionally up whenever Helen's around," Jean said. "Mr. Milton told us that, remember, Norma?"
"Uh-huh. Well. .." She looked at her watch. "I guess I'd better go shower and prepare dinner."
"Me too," Jean said.
"I don't know how I'll ever thank you two."
"Nonsense, you'll find a way," Norma said, and they all laughed again.
It was good to feel happy, Miriam thought, and these two could make anyone feel that way quickly. She hugged them both, and then they left.
As soon as they did, Miriam plopped down on the couch and closed her eyes.
She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, Kevin was standing before her, smiling and shaking his head. He still had his briefcase in his hand.
"Goofing off on the job, huh?"
"Oh, Kev." She scrubbed her face with her dry palms and looked around. "I must have dozed off. What time is it?"
"A little after six.'.'
"Really? I did doze off. Norma and Jean left over an hour ago."
"See you guys did a lot, though," he said, looking around. "You deserve a wonderful dinner out. On the way back in the limo, Dave and Ted told me about a restaurant only two blocks west, a small Italian place run by a family. Everything has that home-cooked flavor and it's very informal. Sounds wonderfully relaxing, doesn't it?"
"Yes."
"Let's shower .. . together."
"If we do that, Kevin, we may not eat for hours."
"I'll gamble," he said, reaching down to pull her into a standing position. He embraced her, and they kissed. "After all, we have to break in our bedroom. First night here." She laughed and kissed him on the tip of his nose. They started away, arms around each other's waist.
"Whoa . . ." Kevin suddenly said. "What's that?"
He looked down at Helen Scholefield's painting. Miriam had placed it on the floor against the rear wall.
"Oh, Kevin ... Paul's wife stopped by. It was ... weird. She brought us that painting as a welcoming gift. I didn't know what to do about it."
"You didn't make her feel bad, did you?" he asked quickly.
"Of course not, Kevin, but look at that thing. It's ghastly."
"Well, we'll hang it for a while and eventually take it off."
"You're not serious, Kevin. I can't have that thing hanging on my walls. People will. .."
"Just for a while, Miriam."
"But she will understand. She said so herself. She admitted it was special, different, and she said she would understand if someone didn't like it."
"You can't do that," he repeated, shaking his head.
"Why not? This is my house, Kevin. I should be able to decide what I put in it and what I don't."
"I'm not saying you shouldn't, Miriam." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to hurt Paul and Helen Scholefield any more than they have been."
"What? What do you mean?"
"On my way to the office, I met Helen in the hallway and realized she was having emotional problems. Paul stopped by and we talked, and he told me they got very depressing news yesterday. Seems she is incapable of having children."