Other people

Forty-six Widmer

Saturday is my day of rest. Sunday is my day of peace. Priscilla and I had lazied around on Saturday, gone to an early evening showing at Cinema Two. When George woke me Sunday morning, I didn't go back to sleep. I was ready to commune with the out-of-doors. I planned to put on my chino pants and a T-shirt and see if I couldn't transplant the Exbury azalea that was being crowded by a fountain of weigela without mucking up the root system, the kind of thing I could do perfectly if my mind was at ease. As it was, until I pulled the drapes and saw the rain streaming down against the evergreens. Dear God, You had all week long to water the lawn and You, in Your wisdom, saved it for Sunday. The lengths You will go to to get a few reluctant parishioners into church!

In the shower, soaping myself, I thought why not take the bar of soap out-of-doors and shower in the rain? No one would see. It wouldn't be dotty. Showering in the shower was unnatural if it was raining outside. Was the peace I felt attributable to Sunday? Or to Francine going out with that nice young man again? Or to learning that Thomassy had reported that Koslak's lawyer would plead his client and the trial I didn't want to imagine would now not have to take place? I had started it with the phone call. Now it could all stop. I wish I had the talent to write a ballad, a song that could tell it all.

"You were singing in the shower," said Priscilla.

"Oh was I? I don't recall."

"Who was that who phoned so early?"

"George Thomassy. Looking for Francine," I said, toweling myself dry, wondering if I was a visual temptation to Priscilla as she was to me when she gentled a bath sheet around her.

It was early afternoon when Francine phoned. She sounded upset. "You should be in a celebratory mood," I said. "Aren't you glad you won't have to go through with the trial? By the way, did George Thomassy reach you?"

She started to cry. I couldn't make the connections, but I invited her to come over.

Priscilla poured tea for the three of us. "Damn rain wiped out my gardening for the day," I said, but I could see Francine was not up to small talk.

"What is it, Francine?"

"I seem to have mucked up my life."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Yes and no."

"You should be very pleased about Koslak going to Jail. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I didn't think what happens when he gets out of jail. I can't go on living in the same apartment, waiting for him to get out. Do I move to a different part of the country? Do I change my name? I'm determined to make a career for myself in broadcasting, how the hell do I do that anonymously?"

"Koslak," I tried to reassure her, "is likely to be chastened by his punishment."

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed. "He's a nut! He'll want revenge!"

I had thought the story was over. It was apparently not to be.

"First things first," I said. "Thomassy has got to get you out of that place."

"I thought leases were unbreakable."

"No contract is unbreakable if your lawyer is good enough. I'll speak to your friend Thomassy."

"I guess you might as well know. George and I are no longer… friends."

I had to conceal my delight. "He's still your lawyer."

"I don't know if that's possible."

"I'll have a word with him. Now do have another cup of tea."

I had to think.