Читать книгу The Women's Club - Abusive partners are winding up dead… Criminals who target women are the victims of nasty accidents… Pretend it's not happening, you might live longer - Michael Crawley - Страница 15

‘Daisy! Where are you, my love?’

‘I’m in the bathroom, Del,’ Daisy yelled over the drone of her blow dryer. ‘Pour yourself a drink and…’

Del, fifty-three, though he didn’t look a day over thirty-five, appeared in the open doorway of the bathroom. ‘Hello, my love.’ He gave Daisy a smoochy wet kiss on the lips.

‘… and make yourself at home.’ Daisy turned her attention back to her hair. ‘Talk to me about tonight. Will it be wildly decadent and tons o’ fun?’

‘Of course.’ Del grinned at her in the mirror. Del was ruggedly handsome, with a full head of dirty blond curls, a squared chin, impish dimples, impeccable taste and a magnificent physique. ‘Especially if you’re there, my love. You are the party.’

He struck a bodybuilder’s pose and admired his own reflection. Though he was just goofing around, his perfect pecs pressing against his tailored white dress shirt made Daisy’s breath quicken.

‘Will there be any straight guys in attendance?’

‘I’m having a bunch of ’em flown into Seattle right now, just for you, Ms Duke.’

‘Thank you Dellie. It’s a pleasure being your fag hag.’

‘And thank you, my love, for accompanying me to this important business function. Where, of course, everyone will be straight. Even me.’

Del’s dazzling grin abruptly disappeared. ‘Hey.’ He motioned to her to sit on the toilet-seat lid. When she was seated he began to rake through her hair with his fingers.

‘What?’

‘I saw – I thought – aha!’

‘Ouch! That hurt!’

‘You’re going grey.’

‘Not grey. Silver. And yes, it’s true. I’m no longer in my forties, Del.’

‘There’s no need to take “hag” so literally,’ he complained.

‘Like it or not, I’m over fifty and so is Delly Dilly bar.’

‘It can’t be. I get to be a fifteen-year-old girl forever. It’s the best part of being gay.’

‘The terrible truth must be told.’

‘I can’t get old, Daisy Mae. It was bad enough turning forty. But fifty? I can’t do it,’ Del whined. He plucked another offending strand of Daisy’s long blonde hair out.

‘Stop it. I mean it, Del.’ Daisy pulled away from Del. ‘Don’t pull it out. It might not grow back.’

‘You’re right, of course. You stay here and I’ll zip over to the drugstore and get you a rinse. Warm tones, like honey, right?’

‘Wrong. I’ve never dyed my hair and I’m not starting now.’

‘But Daisy…’ He shrugged helplessly, at a loss for words.

‘I’ll be done in here in five minutes, ding-dong Del. Wait in the living room, OK? Build us a couple of drinks.’

‘OK.’ Del paused in the open doorway. ‘Daisy, my love, if you look old and we met in high school, well, that makes me old by association. You do see that, don’t you?’

‘Poor Deli sandwich. Drinks! I’ll be out in five!’

It was more like fifteen, but when Daisy sashayed into the living room, she was a vision of loveliness. Which is exactly what she expected Del to call her, and which he very well might have, if he’d still been there. But Del had gone.

Daisy cried for days, starting in the car on the way home from work and only ending for the night when she finally fell asleep. For sustenance, she choked down bits of bread, with coffee in the morning and wine at night. Her sister Mary checked in every day and her best girlfriend, Viv, called every evening. When the pain was too great she called either of them, depending on the kind of sympathy she needed.

Mary’d been in a lot of relationships over the years and so, while she was sympathetic to the pain Daisy was going through, which was so visceral Daisy sometimes doubled over from the cramps, she was envious of the accompanying weight loss. Once a man was gone, Mary refused to mourn for long. Even though, as she’d pointed out to Daisy, she’d been having sex with the men who broke up with her.

Mary thought Daisy should slap on the make-up, squeeze into latex, throw on something shimmery and a pair of snake-hunting boots and go cruising. Daisy wasn’t ready for that. Mary was beginning to get impatient with Daisy’s wallowing and Daisy knew it. Brutal honesty followed impatience in Mary’s version of giving comfort, and Daisy wasn’t ready for that either. So when she was the one who made the calls, most of them were to Viv.

‘I’m dying,’ she sobbed into the telephone. She was in the kitchen, where she spent most of her time these days, even though she almost never ate.

‘I know, honey,’ said Viv. ‘But you’ll get through this. There’s still a possibility that he might come back. You and Del have had your little snits before.’

‘Not like this. We didn’t have, you know, words. We didn’t say mean stuff that we need to beg forgiveness for. He offered to buy the dye and I said “never” and he told me why he was leaving and then he left. The end.’

‘Except for the dye…’

‘Except for the packet of dye that he left on my doorstep.’ At the thought of the white paper pharmacy bag she’d found and opened to discover a high-end colouring kit with the original name of Light Honey Blonde x’d out and replaced with ‘Fag Hag Yellow’, she moaned. ‘He thought it was funny,’ she managed to gasp.

‘Yeah, well, Del is a dick, we all know that. I mean, I agree with you, he thought it was funny. Maybe a peace offering?’

‘The intention is clear, Viv. I dye my hair, he takes me back. I go grey, he dumps me. After everything we’ve been through…’ She groaned as the cramps seized her gut in a punishing grip. ‘…his coming out to his friends, his decision not to come out at work. I stood by him.’

‘I know honey.’

‘What about the eighties? Jesus, Viv, he lost everyone in the eighties. Not just his lover; not just Jim. Every one of our gay friends tested positive, everyone but him, and they all got AIDS right away. Remember? And then they died. I was there for him. All the funerals? Jim’s funeral? I was there.’

‘I know you were…’

‘He said, “You’ve taught me how to laugh again.” Remember? You were there when he said it.’

‘I remember!’

‘So how can he do this to me?’ Daisy doubled over in her chair. ‘Christ. These cramps. It’s worse than the worst period ever. I thought menopause meant the end of this particular kind of agony.’

Viv laughed.

‘I’m serious.’

‘I know, honey. It’s not good. I talked to Paul about it and he was surprised, too, at Del. He’s sorry to hear that you’re suffering, by the way.’

‘I’m in love with your husband.’

‘Only because he’s unobtainable.’

Daisy laughed. ‘Look! You’ve taught me how to laugh again!’ Her giggle ended in a sob.

‘Paul and I were thinking that maybe you have to take into consideration that, while Del is a gay man, he’s still a man. You know how men can be.’

‘You’re saying he might already have forgotten me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know it for a fact? Have you talked to him?’ Daisy knelt on the floor, holding her belly with one hand. She propped the other one, the one holding the telephone receiver, up on the seat of the kitchen chair she’d just vacated. ‘Tell me the truth.’

‘I always tell you the truth,’ said Viv. ‘No. I haven’t seen or talked to him. He hurt my friend. I don’t talk to people who hurt my friends.’

Daisy whispered, ‘Thank you.’

For a moment, neither spoke.

‘Maybe I expect too much from him,’ said Daisy. ‘He really is shallow, Viv. I mean, deep down.’

‘I know. Fun and handsome and – well, adoring…’

‘That’s exactly it, though. Adoring. Not loving. Remember when my mom died? I’m crying on his shoulder and he gets stiff as a board. He says, “Take it to Viv.”’

‘And you did and we got you through it. And vice versa! We don’t need Del, honey. We have each other. And you have Mary.’

‘Now that I’m nobody’s hag she wants to turn me into a cougar.’

‘Listen. I’m going to talk to Mary. Maybe between the two of us we can come up with a way for Del to remember you, at least for a little longer. Okay?’

‘Kill him.’

‘Nobody’s killing anybody.’

‘But you will make it physical? ’Cause that’s all he really cares about, Viv.’

‘I’ll do my best. And you do your best to get some rest and eat something, OK?’

Daisy choked back a sob. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, hon. You start thinking about what you have in your closet that you can wear to the clubs, now that you’ve lost all that weight. Unless you want to do some retail therapy. I’m up for that.’

‘I am pretty tiny.’ Daisy’s mouth turned up at the corners. ‘Hey, I think I’m smiling.’

‘There you go! Keep it up!’

Daisy dragged herself up on the chair and cradled the receiver on the base of the phone. She really was very tired. Still not hungry, though. She patted her belly with grim satisfaction. If she started exercising soon she could get it flat again. Almost. What did a stud muffin think of a cougar’s tummy having a tiny pooch? He’d pretty much have to like it, she surmised.

Daisy grabbed a Fresca from the fridge and went to the bedroom. Fiddy was still curled up in the covers, exactly where she’d left him a few hours earlier when she’d carefully extricated herself from the bed. She crawled back in again, curling her body around his. She closed her eyes and willed visions of colourful little cocktail dresses to dance in her head.

‘Oh Fiddy-fat,’ she said. She let her hand rest on his hip. ‘Oh kitty-cat, maybe you’re all the man that I need.’