V is for Vengeance

5

For Nora, the weekend had started on a sour note. She’d spent the early part of the week in Beverly Hills, taking care of routine appointments. She had her hair done, manicure, pedicure, massage, and her annual physical, which she was happy to have out of the way. She returned to the house in Montebello on Thursday afternoon. She and Channing had bought their second home the year before and she loved every minute of their time away. Though the new place was only a hundred miles north of their permanent residence, she felt she was traveling to another country. She could hardly wait to get there. This was a second marriage for each of them. When she and Channing met, he had shared custody of his twin girls, age thirteen. Her son was eleven. They’d decided against having children of their own, opting instead to keep life simple. Summers, all three kids would be under the same roof with them, and that was sufficient chaos, especially as puberty struck, bringing with it the squabbles, the shrieking, tears, accusations of unfairness, and doors slamming upstairs and down. While appreciating the current household peace, Nora looked back on that era with fondness. At least the family was intact, however bumptious and loud.

Channing had intended to join her Friday in time for dinner and stay until Monday morning. At the last minute, however, he’d called to say that he’d be bringing the Lows. Abner was a senior partner in Channing’s law firm and one of his best friends. Meredith was Abner’s second wife, the woman responsible for the breakup of his first marriage ten years before. He was a serial womanizer, currently cheating on Meredith with the woman who’d doubtless turn out to be wife number three-if she was smart and played her cards right.

Nora and Meredith had met in a Jazzercise class early in their fifteen-year friendship, and they’d loved nothing better than dishing about the various scandals in their social set. They’d bonded initially over the revelation that the wife of a pretentious bank president had had when she returned home unannounced and caught her husband cross-dressing, decked out in an Armani suit and designer heels. On another occasion, a mutual acquaintance was accused of appropriating large sums of money from the charity for which she volunteered as treasurer. Charges were filed but the case never went to trial. An agreement was reached and the business was swept under the carpet.

At least twice a year some outrageous impropriety would come to light, and the two would busy themselves trading rumors and howling with delight. Nora and Meredith had built an entire relationship on salacious gossip. This allowed the two women to compare notes, test their mutual values, and reinforce shared attitudes, to swap any number of snobbish put-downs. Not that they considered themselves snobs.

Then Meredith met Abner and within a year the two had abandoned their respective spouses. Nora and Channing had stood for them at a simple ceremony at city hall, followed by an elegant lunch at the Bel-Air Hotel. As Channing and Abner were such good friends, the two women became even closer. Nora had been a staunch support to Meredith after she’d caught Abner in the first affair. The irony wasn’t lost on either one of them. They’d forged a bond based on the misfortunes of others, and Meredith’s suffering now occupied front and center. Nora became her sounding board, counseling her during hour-long telephone conversations and drunken lunches, wherein Nora played life coach and marriage counselor, feeling wise and superior and above it all. Together they analyzed every nuance of Abner’s infatuation with the other woman, who (to their way of thinking) was not only coarse, but had put herself in the hands of the wrong cosmetic surgeon. Problematic was the fact that Meredith loved the lifestyle Abner provided, so once she’d exhausted her emotional responses, she managed to make her peace with his infidelity. Though he never admitted to the affair, he bought her an armload of expensive jewelry and took her on a Silver Seas cruise through the Mediterranean.

With Meredith’s discovery of affair number two, the same scenes played out. A renewed cycle of tears, rage, and vows of revenge continued during the next few months. Nora found herself bored, though it took her a while to admit it to herself. She wanted to be loyal and sympathetic, but the drama soon became tedious, and she was impatient with the ineffectual anguish and spite. Meredith would never file for divorce so why make such a big deal of it? The breaking point was when Meredith made a scene at a dinner party where the other woman was in attendance. The hostess quickly put a stop to Meredith’s drunken catcalling, but not before she’d made a thorough fool of herself. This offended Nora, who thought Meredith’s conduct was unseemly and unbecoming. Regardless of the righteousness of Meredith’s position, there was the matter of etiquette. In their social circle, everybody was supposed to be too well-bred to expose any unhappiness to public view. Whatever their marital status, whether delirious or disaffected, couples were expected to maintain at least a facade of amicability. No sniping, no zingers, no hostility expressed as teasing or bantering. Nora realized that Meredith had become hooked on playing victim because she loved to occupy center stage. Nora confided this sentiment in a candid conversation with a mutual friend, a moment of openness that turned out to be a miscalculation on her part. She knew it was indiscreet to pass along information she should have kept to herself, but the other woman had brought it up and Nora couldn’t resist. Somehow Meredith had gotten wind of it, and she and Nora had had a huge falling-out. Over time they’d mended their fences, but Nora was uncomfortably aware of having failed her friend and was therefore happier keeping her at a distance.

Channing had invited them up once before without consulting Nora, and she had bitten her tongue. She’d spent two days walking on eggshells, and once Abner and Meredith were out the door, she’d made her feelings known. “Jesus, Channing, the last thing in the world I want is her unloading on me. I feel sorry for her, but I don’t want to be in the position of having to commiserate. If you can avoid inviting them again I’d be grateful.”

This had apparently annoyed him, though his tone of voice was light. “Just because you and Meredith had a parting of the ways doesn’t mean Abner and I should be penalized.”

“It’s not a question of penalizing anyone. You have to admit it’s uncomfortable, knowing what Abner’s up to. I mean, what if she asks me outright? What am I supposed to say?”

“What he does and how she feels about it is none of our business.”

“Maybe not, but the man’s a shitheel.”

“Agreed, now let’s drop the subject, please.”

From that point on, Nora had kept her observations to herself.

She had no way to guess if Meredith knew about affair number three, and this put her in the awkward position of editing her words. She didn’t like keeping secrets. Even though the friendship had cooled she was conflicted. Should she raise the issue or not? If Meredith already knew about the liaison and Nora mentioned it, the weeping and hand wringing would erupt and the weekend would be shot. By the same token, if Meredith was in the dark and Nora failed to alert her, she’d be setting herself up for recriminations: Why didn’t you tell me? How could you have let me go on when you knew what was happening?

Nora made sure the housekeeper, Mrs. Stumbo, readied the guest room, setting out fresh flowers, distilled water in a crystal carafe with matching glasses, and two sets of Egyptian cotton towels folded together and tied with color-coordinated satin ribbon. Though it was April, evenings were still chilly, and she made sure all the fireplaces were laid with wood. Meals might be a problem. She and Channing had recently lost their personal chef, and Mrs. Stumbo couldn’t be counted on to cook for the four of them. Nora checked the freezer, where she still had several dishes the chef had prepared before she left their employ “to pursue other goals.” She’d actually jumped ship in order to work for another couple in Montebello, who’d offered a thousand dollars more a month. Nora had bid the chef a fond farewell and cut the couple from their social list.

She decided she’d thaw the casserole of boeuf bourguignon and serve it that night with salad, french bread, and berries for dessert. Saturday night, she’d make reservations for the four of them for dinner at the country club. She wrote out a grocery list and sent Mrs. Stumbo off for items to cover breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday mornings and one lunch. Abner would insist on reciprocating their hospitality, taking them out for a meal on Sunday, and that would be that. The Lows would be on their way back to Bel Air by 2:00, and with luck she and Channing would have Sunday evening to themselves.

She’d hoped he’d arrive first so she could find out from him what, if anything, Meredith knew about Abner’s latest fling. She wanted to be in the proper frame of mind so she could play her part. She also wanted to chide him for springing guests on her at the last minute when he knew she’d been looking forward to time alone. She’d have to underplay any suggestion of criticism. If Channing started feeling defensive, he’d trot out that little-boy-pouting act of his. He had a knack for sounding pleasant when he was actually being chilly and withdrawn. As it turned out, the opportunity for conversation didn’t present itself because Channing and the Lows arrived at the same time. First his car then theirs pulled into the courtyard, and from that point on she had no chance to quiz him. Her irritation was quickly dispelled by cocktails and conversation. Who could hold on to a bad mood in the presence of expensive wine?

Abner was at his most charming, a sure sign he was otherwise engaged. Meredith surely sensed what his behavior signified. Nora could tell Meredith yearned for more of the sympathy she had once lavished on her. Nora kept her manner light and saw to it that exchanges between the two of them were firmly anchored in the superficial. Twice Meredith gave her hangdog, beseeching looks, and once seemed on the verge of speaking up, but Nora sailed on.

Finally, when Channing and Abner were off making fresh drinks, Meredith touched Nora’s arm and said in a woebegone tone, “We need to talk.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I don’t even know where to start. Maybe we can do a beach walk in the morning. Just the two of us. I really miss you.”

“Fine. Let’s see what the guys have in mind and maybe we can carve out some time,” Nora said brightly. Inwardly, she felt a little stubborn streak kick in. She didn’t relish the idea of an intimate chat with Meredith, and she would make sure it never happened. Really, it was time for Meredith to take responsibility for the bargain she’d made when she married the man. She was the reason Abner was unfaithful to his first wife so what did she expect? She should suck it up or move on. Wallowing in misery was self-indulgent, especially when her woes were those she’d brought on herself.

To Nora’s great relief, the weekend had finally wound to a close without the much-dreaded beach walk. When Abner and Meredith pulled out of the driveway at 1:00, Nora finally felt herself relax. Unfortunately, the rest of Sunday was cut short by a call from the office that came in just after the Lows left. Something had come up with one of Channing’s celebrity clients, and he would have to dance attendance. No explanation or apology was needed because Nora understood. That was the nature of the beast. Channing was an entertainment lawyer, and his roster of clients included the up-and-coming talent, along with the longtime players, in the industry. He’d made a fortune on the basis of personal service. Like a doctor, he was ready to roll, at any hour, if the phone rang.

Which meant that the personal matter she wanted to discuss was squeezed into the last few minutes of his visit, when he was literally packing files in his briefcase on his way to the car. What she’d wanted to clarify was the recent tiff she’d had with his personal assistant. Thelma (whose last name she had trouble remembering) had been with him two years, and while Nora had had trifling problems with her in the past, there was never any overt insubordination.

She’d met Thelma when she first came to work for him. Nora made a point of putting in an appearance at the office whenever there was a new hire on board. That personal connection, even if it was only once, ensured a better phone relationship. Nora seldom called the office but occasionally something came up about the house, or his twin daughters. Channing’s taste was consistent when it came to underlings. Secretaries, bookkeepers, administrative assistants, even housekeepers, were cut from the same cloth-women of a certain age who grew up during the Great Depression in an era of deprivation and want. These women were grateful to have well-paying jobs; they were schooled in old-fashioned values of hard work, loyalty, and thrift. His previous “girl,” Iris, had been with him for seven years when she suffered a stroke that forced her into retirement. Thelma was the exception, some twenty years younger, plain, slightly overweight, and ever so faintly officious.

Nora had talked to her on countless occasions since their first meeting, and there was never a suggestion of friendliness on the woman’s part. To be fair, Channing did discourage chumminess. He’d often complained about his ex-wife, Gloria, who was forever befriending the hired help, becoming enmeshed in their personal upheavals. The cleaning lady, a drunk, had taken to calling Gloria in the middle of the night, asking for advances on her salary. The gardener talked her into buying him new equipment when his was stolen from another job site. When the cook’s daughter got pregnant, Gloria was the one driving the girl to her doctor’s appointments because she was too sick to ride the bus. Channing thought it absurd that Gloria was at the beck and call of people on the payroll. With Nora, he’d put his foot down and she’d been happy to comply. She assumed he’d given Thelma the same stern talking to, which was why her tone of voice bordered on the chilly.

Thelma, either unsure of herself or obsequious by nature, insisted on consulting Channing when Nora made even a minor request. Now when Nora called the office to talk to him, she was greeted by a wall of cobwebs. Thelma was subtle about it, putting up a nearly imperceptible resistance that Nora couldn’t call her on. If Nora asked her to cut a check, Thelma would sidestep until she could clear it with him. The second time it happened, Nora complained to Channing, and he’d said he’d speak to her. For a while Thelma’s attitude had improved, but then she’d reverted to the same sullen behavior, leaving Nora in the uncomfortable position of saying nothing or having to object yet again, which made her seem churlish. Thelma refused to recognize Nora’s authority. Channing was her boss. Nora might be the boss’s wife at home, but not where Thelma was concerned.

Nora was ready to lower the boom. “Channing, we really need to talk about Thelma.”

“We can do that later. Right now, I’m trying to get to this meeting before the situation blows up in my face,” he said as he headed out the door. “I’ll see you Wednesday. Traffic probably won’t be heavy. If you’re in Malibu by five o’clock, it should give you plenty of time to get ready.”

Nora stopped in her tracks. “For what? I’m not coming down at all this week.”

“What are you talking about? We have the fund-raiser for the Alzheimer’s Association.”

“A fund-raiser? In the middle of the week? That’s ridiculous!”

“The annual dinner dance. Don’t play dumb. I told you last week.”

Nora followed him down the front steps. “You never said a word.”

He glanced back at her, irritation surfacing. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding. I have plans.”

“Well, cancel them. My presence is required and I want you there. You’ve begged off the last six events.”

“Pardon the hell out of me. I didn’t realize we were keeping score.”

“Who said anything about keeping score? Name the last time you went anyplace with me.”

“Don’t do that to me. You know I can never think of an example in the moment. The point is, Belinda’s sister’s coming into town from Houston. She’s here one day and we have tickets for the symphony that night. We had to pay a fortune for the seats.”

“Tell her we had plans and it totally slipped your mind.”

“An Alzheimer’s event and it ‘slipped my mind’? How tacky is that?”

“Tell her anything you like. She can give your ticket to someone else.”

“I can’t cancel at the last minute. It’s inconsiderate. Besides, you know how much I hate those things.”

“This is not meant as entertainment. I bought a table for ten. We’ve gone every year without fail for the last ten.”

“And I’m always bored out of my mind.”

“You know what? I’m tired of your excuses. You pull this shit at the last minute and it leaves me scrambling around, trying to find someone to fill in. You know how embarrassing that is?”

“Oh, stop. You can go by yourself. It’s not going to kill you for once.”

“Screw you,” he said.

He tossed his briefcase and a duffel in the trunk and then moved to the driver’s side with Nora close behind. She was exasperated having to trot after him, which reduced their conversation to fits and starts.

Channing slid in under the wheel and slammed the car door. He turned his key in the ignition so he could power down the window. “You want to talk about Thelma? Fine. Let’s talk about Thelma. She said you called on Friday, asking her to cut you a check for eight grand. She said you were very frosty when she said it would have to go through me. She was worried she’d offended you.”

“Good. Perfect. She did offend me. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You should have told me she controlled the purse strings. I had no idea.”

“Stop. You know better. Every expenditure gets funneled through her and then through me before it goes on to the accountant’s office. With seventeen attorneys in the firm, it’s the only way I can keep track. She doesn’t say yea or nay to anyone without checking with me first. That’s just a fact.”

“Fine.”

“There’s no reason for you to get all prickly about it. She’s doing her job.”

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“That’s unlike you. You’re usually hell-bent on talking everything to death.”

“Why are you acting so put-upon? It’s a goddamn dinner dance in L.A. It’s not the White House.”

“I told you twice.”

“No. You did not. You’re bringing it up now because you’re hoping to deflect the issue.”

“What issue?” he said.

“I don’t see why I should have to justify myself to her.”

“You didn’t offer an explanation. You told her to cut you a check. Is it too much to ask what you have in mind? Believe it or not, an eight-thousand-dollar check isn’t trivial.”

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“And why is that?”

“Six months ago, I wanted to buy shares of IBM. You pooh-poohed the idea and the stock jumped sixteen points in two days. If I’d had access to even a modest sum of money, I could have cleaned up.”

“And two days later, it tanked. You’d have lost it all.”

“I’d have sold before the price dropped and then bought it again at the new low. I’m not stupid about these things, whatever you might think.”

“What’s this really about? Clearly, you’ve got your nose out of joint.”

“I wanted the eight thousand dollars to buy shares of GE. Now it’s too late. By the time the market closed on Friday, the stock had jumped from 82 to 106.”

“Eight grand? What good would that have done?”

“That’s irrelevant. I shouldn’t have to beg.”

“There’s no point in throwing a tantrum about good business practice. You want money, I’ll set up an account for you.”

“You’ll open an account for me, like you’re my father?”

Channing’s sigh was accompanied by a rolling of his eyes. High theater for him. He lowered his head, shaking it with resignation. The window slid up. He put the car in reverse and backed across the courtyard until he had the necessary clearance to pull out, which he did with a testy chirp of his tires.

The next thing she knew he was gone.

She returned to the house and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t the first time they’d clashed and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The emotional uproar would fade and cooler heads would prevail, but she wasn’t going to drop the matter. For the most part, they were capable of settling their differences, but she’d learned to avoid negotiations when one or the other of them was in high dudgeon.

She went into the kitchen and cleared the counter of stray martini glasses, which she placed in the machine. She loved having the house to herself again. Monday morning, Mrs. Stumbo would do a thorough cleaning, changing sheets, doing four loads of laundry, and generally restoring order. For now, Nora was free to enjoy the quiet. Briefly, she checked the guest room with its spacious adjoining bath, making sure the Lows hadn’t overlooked personal items. Nora didn’t like other people’s stray shampoo bottles accumulating in the shower, and there was always the chance someone had forgotten the odd piece of jewelry or a garment hanging in the closet. Meredith had left a copy of Los Angeles Magazine on the bed table.

Nora scooped it up, intending to toss it into the trash. Instead she took it with her to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea. She carried both teacup and magazine to the sunroom and sank into an upholstered chair. She put her feet up on the ottoman, grateful for the rare moment of relaxation. She leafed through glossy pages, checking the advertisements for shops on Rodeo Drive, expensive salons, art galleries, and boutique clothing stores. There was a six-page spread on the mansion of the month, some overblown though tastefully done palace built by one of the hot new movie producers. She also read the feature-length profile on an actress she’d met and disliked, taking a wicked satisfaction in the journalist’s acid observations. What was meant to be a puff piece was devastatingly snide and unkind.

When she reached the society section, she checked to see who’d been in attendance at various charity events. Channing was right about her begging off the last six occasions. She knew many of the couples who’d been photographed, usually paired with friends, or linked with board members or celebrities, drinks in hand. The women were all decked out in full-length gowns and fabulous jewelry, posed side by side with their self-important husbands. The men did look elegant in their tuxedos, though the pictures, two inches by two, were monotonously similar. The photographs represented the Who’s Who of Hollywood society with some couples in attendance at every event.

She was secretly congratulating herself for ducking out on so many tedious evenings when she spotted a photograph of Channing with Abner and Meredith at the Denim and Diamonds Ball, which she’d also missed. The Lows beamed as though blissfully happy. Now that was a laugh. She looked at the voluptuous redhead on Channing’s arm. She didn’t recognize the woman, but the dress she wore looked like a knockoff of the strapless white Gucci Nora kept at the house in Malibu. It couldn’t be an original because she’d been assured hers was one of a kind. Briefly she considered how awful it would have been if she’d showed up at the same party in a similar gown.

She looked back at the redhead, alerted by the doting smile the woman was lavishing on Channing. It was the only photograph on the entire page where a woman was gazing at her companion instead of smiling directly at the camera. She read the caption and felt a silvery chill, like a veil of mercury, envelop her from head to toe. Thelma Landice. She had her hand tucked in the crook of Channing’s arm. His right hand covered hers. Thelma was still overweight, but she’d managed to compress and confine every excess pound into a bloated approximation of the hourglass figure Marilyn Monroe had made famous thirty years before. Gone were Thelma’s yellowing teeth and the drab, ill-cut hair. Now her gaudy dyed red tresses were smoothed into a french roll. She wore diamond earrings, and the smile she flashed showed several thousand dollars’ worth of snow white caps.

Nora felt the heat rise in her face as comprehension flooded her frame. She’d misunderstood. She’d misread the signs. Meredith hadn’t sent her those beseeching looks in hopes of confiding her own marital misery. She’d pitied Nora for what she and half of Hollywood knew was going on between Channing and Thelma Landice, the fucking typist who worked for him.