Jennifer bluffed around for a while, but didn’t fool Marilyn for a minute. She finally blurted out that Lee had spent the night with her.
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Then Marilyn said in crisp, businesslike tones, “I’ll be right over.”
Jennifer heard the click of disconnection before she could protest.
* * * *
Marilyn arrived to find Jennifer in the middle of cleaning out her drawers, and items of clothing and other miscellany were strewn about the bedroom in untidy piles. She surveyed the chaos and shook her head.
“Trying to work off our frustrations, are we?”
“Failing,” Jennifer responded, tossing a mateless sock into a laundry basket with others of its kind. She looked up. “Where’s Jeff?”
“With a sitter,” Marilyn answered. “I thought we should conduct this conversation without interruption.” She looked around. “Come out to the living room. You’re doing more harm than good in here anyway.”
Jennifer got up off her knees and followed Marilyn into the other room. Marilyn plopped into a chair and put her feet up on the coffee table.
“Okay, sweetie. Give.”
Jennifer recounted everything that had happened since the morning of the previous day, including the conversation she and Lee had had before he left Marilyn listened, interrupting only with an occasional pertinent question or brief comment When Jennifer was all talked out, Marilyn leaned forward and peered at her owlishly.
“Is that it?”
Jennifer nodded.
“So. As I understand it, the problem is that he feels a relationship with you would go against his whole background and way of life. Has he said this?”
Jennifer made a frustrated gesture. “He doesn’t have to say it, I know him, I know what he thinks. He would really like to go back and work on the reservation in Montana, and I’d be totally out of place there. In some small, atavistic part of his mind, the part that remembers things it has never seen, I will always be esumissa, a white woman, the enemy.”
“Jennifer, that’s absurd,” Marilyn said gently.
“Is it? The Blackfeet hated whiles, wouldn’t trade with them, never took white captives. I’ve been reading about them.”
“You’re talking about the attitudes of one hundred and fifty years ago!” Marilyn said.
“So what? If you were in his position, would you forget? What was done, and who did it?”
“You didn’t do it!” Marilyn almost shouted. “When the Indians were being exterminated your ancestors were up to their necks in some peat bog, as poor and as persecuted as his!”
Jennifer shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. He looks at me, and sees somebody who’ll want him to turn his back on what he is. You should have seen his face when he was talking about his sister, about the imitation WASPs. The contempt, the bitterness in his voice. He talked about the marriages he’s seen between Indians and non-Indians in which the Indian always gives up his past and adopts his spouse’s culture.”
“He may not have been saying that for your benefit.”
“I was the only one there, Marilyn,” Jennifer said dryly.
“Well, did you tell him you’d never ask him to do that?”
Marilyn’s obtuseness was getting on Jennifer’s nerves. “Of course I’d never ask him to do that. I wouldn’t have to. It’s a subtle process of erosion of spirit, and only one of his own people could prevent that from happening.” She snorted. “And just by the merest chance, one of them has shown up, on cue, to drive the big bad bogeywoman away.” Jennifer told Marilyn about Dawn, and her past relationship with Lee.
“But you’re not sure anything is going on between them.”
“No, I’m not. But I noticed something at his house that only half registered at the time, and the more I think about it, the surer I am that Dawn is staying with Lee.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I was there I passed this sort of guest room that he has, and there were bags on the floor, and personal items about, as if someone were occupying it And I think I know who that someone is.”
Marilyn waved her hand in the air. “That doesn’t prove anything. You said she was an old friend. If he has the room, why shouldn’t she stay there?”
“I know, I know. But the idea of it doesn’t make me too happy.”
Marilyn pulled at her lower lip thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you that he might be using this Dawn as a shield, retreating to the familiar in defense against his feelings for you?”
Jennifer rubbed her forehead distractedly. “Even if that’s true, how does it help me? I don’t want to be someone he has to erect barriers against for fear of losing his identity. And I’ll tell you something else. Even if I could transform myself into a full-blooded Siksikai, I wouldn’t do it I have my pride, too. If he can’t take me as I am, and accept me for what I am, then he has no real regard for me anyway.”
Marilyn smiled. “Spoken like Seamus Gardiner’s daughter.”
“Up the rebels,” Jennifer responded, and they both laughed.
Marilyn glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to go, I was only able to get Barbara to stay with Jeff for a couple of hours.” She regarded Jennifer closely. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course. I’ll deal with it.”
Marilyn didn’t look convinced. “Call me if you feel like you want to talk again.”
“I will.”
The apartment seemed very empty after Marilyn left Jennifer trudged back to the bedroom to dig out from under the avalanche, hoping that the work would make her tired enough to sleep.
* * * *
The season began, and Lee’s personal appearances came to an end as the games got underway. Jennifer didn’t see him anymore in connection with work, and after the manner of their last parting, she knew he wouldn’t call her. So she contented herself with memories of their night together and spent a lot of time daydreaming, lost in thought.
“You look tired,” Dolores said bluntly one morning. They were settling down to work in Jennifer’s office.
Jennifer was tired. She found herself taking naps at odd times, but ascribed the fatigue to depression.
When Jennifer didn’t respond, Dolores tried another tack. “I saw your ex on a talk show last night,” she said brightly. “He’s taking flying lessons.”
“From what I remember of his drinking habits, he will rarely need a plane,” Jennifer answered.
“Hostility,” Dolores said. “A lot of hostility there, Jen.” Dolores had been attending an encounter group and was lately given to such observations.
“My experience with Bob entitles me to a little hostility,” Jennifer said. “Now are we going to get these letters out, or what?”
Dolores ignored the question and started snapping dead leaves off the Swedish ivy plant hanging in the window. “Have you seen Lee Youngson since the company dinner?” she asked, too casually.
“No.”
Dolores tossed the brown vegetation into the trash, wiping her hands on her skirt. “So that is the reason for this funk.”
“Dolores—” Jennifer began.
Dolores stabbed an index finger at her. “No, Jen, don’t shut me up. I may not be Einstein, but anyone can see that something is wrong with you. You’re going around like an extra on the set of The Night of the Living Dead. Don’t you plan on doing anything about it?”
Jennifer turned in her swivel chair and deliberately looked out the window. “No.”
Dolores folded her arms and leaned against Jennifer’s desk. “It’s not one-sided, you know.”
Jennifer revolved back in her direction.
Dolores fluffed her hair with her fingers. “Did you ever see that old movie with Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly?”
Oh, God. Was this going to be another one of Dolores’ flights of fancy? Jennifer was in no mood for “Hollywood Squares” today.
“Which one?” Jennifer said patiently.
“Ah, let me see, I can’t think...oh, yes. The Country Girl. It’s about an alcoholic actor and his wife, and the director who falls in love with her.”