"It was."
"I like the way you make me look tender… not the way I am on TV."
"That's how I see you tonight."
She laughs. "I'm glad, because I wouldn't want you to see me like Mr. Potato Head – just an empty oval."
Early in the morning, when I return to my room to shave, I notice the message light blinking on my phone. I call down to the desk.
"There's a package for you, sir, left here around midnight," the deskman tells me. "I'll have the bellboy bring it up."
The package turns out to be a large envelope enclosing what appears to be manuscript accompanied by the following note:
Dear David:
I've been doing a lot of thinking since your visit, especially about your comment that maybe it's time to finally put the family nightmare to rest.
Yesterday I pulled out Mom's diary and tried again to read it through. Just as before, I didn't get too far.
Perhaps you will have better luck. Enclosed please find a photocopy, which is yours to read, study, do with as you like. I believe you'll find it painful to read, but, hopefully, not nearly as painful as it was for me.
Sincerely,
Robin Fulraine
My heart starts to pound as I glance through the sheets, several hundred pages of photocopy paper upon which are centered smaller handwritten pages. The writing on these is clear, inscribed in a fine hand, feminine, elegant, authoritative. I'm no handwriting expert, but the evenly penned forward-slanting script, the even rounding of the letters, and the nearly total lack of cross-outs suggest a writer in full command, inscribing carefully, perhaps even slowly, as she puts her thoughts to paper.
My visceral reaction – speeded heartbeat, trembling hands – reminds me of how he felt when I first looked at Barbara's bare breasts n Max Rakoubian's Fesse photograph. It's as if I've suddenly been transported very close to this woman who has attained a mythical status in my mind.
I take the pages to my bed, lie down, and start to read. Barbara's journal, it's soon clear, is not merely a recording of events, but an extremely personal diary meant for no one's eyes but her own. No entry dates are given, though she always jots down the day of the week. Some entries are terse, while others are long and, sometimes, quite eloquent:
Monday
Bad dream. Went riding two hours then drove out to see J. Lousy time had by all!
Tuesday
Played tennis with Jane. Mopped up court with her! Lunch with W. Left him feeling empty and scornful.
Wednesday
First appointment with Dr. R.. He seems a gentle soul. Felt strange to lie on his couch. Felt at a disadvantage. Different than when we met at the school.
Laid everything out for him, all my insecurities. No idea what he thought. Probably hated me for being so troubled in my privilege.
Afterward rode for an hour, then spent an hour currying and cleaning tack.
Stupid party at L amp;D's. Dumb conversation. False laughter. We're all so bored with one another.
Hope tonight I don't dream the dream!
Thursday
W called early, dished L amp;D's party for half an hour. Couldn't stand talking to him, couldn't wait to get him off the line. Why do I put up with him? Basically we can't stand each other, so what inner emptiness drives us to bother?
Afternoon: screwed my brains out with J, then felt lousy. He picked up on it, said: ‘You know, cutie, we're two of a kind.’ Hate it when he calls me that!
Friday
Second session with Dr. R.. This time more relaxed. He asked for my ‘erotic history.’ Gave it to him no holds barred! Told him about J. No reaction. Then when I said I was afraid of J, I could feel him tense up.
Kids' cute new tennis coach turned up wearing short. Nice boy, nice legs, seemed lonely, also a bit in awe of how we live. Afterwards I brought down glasses and pitcher of lemonade. Kids worshipful toward him. What must he think of us? Important not to make him feel like a servant.
It's not hard for me to date these entries since I know from Dad's agenda that Barbara commenced therapy on Wednesday, April 23.
Her entries continue in this vein until Friday, May 9. Then something occurs that alters the scope of her journal, and justifies her hiding it inside one of her equestrian trophies:
Friday
Difficult session. Dr. R silent. Turned to him: ‘I need you to react!’ R asked why I needed that, what emptiness I hope he can fill.
‘Emptiness in my wound,’ I tell him. The word just popped out of me! I was really surprised. Still no reaction, so I raised the level of the game. ‘I need you inside me, in my-,’ and I touched myself down there. That got his attention!
Drove straight from medical building to Elms. Found J in office, grabbed his crotch, told him, ‘I want you to screw me till bells ring in my ears!’ J told me he was busy, I'd have to wait. ‘No way! I'm not waiting,’ I said, squeezing him hard. ‘Okay, okay, mercy, mercy!? But in bed I wasn't merciful at all!
Late afternoon, resting in my bedroom, I heard kids playing tennis with T. ‘Love-fifteen!’ ‘Love-thirty!’ ‘Love-forty!’ ‘Game!’ Hey, I thought, I could sure use some of that love!
I made up a pitcher of lemonade and took it down to them. Three guys, two of my own flesh, shirtless wonders all. T looked scrumptious. I changed into togs then we played a set. We hit the ball hard and sweated like beasts! Great turn-on. Hope kids didn't pick up on it. They're so innocent. ‘Watch out! He's beatin’ you, Mom!’
In the end, I took him 7-5. Afterwards we sat around, then I invited him into the house to shower. He was shy at first, then agreed. I showed him the guest room bath, handed him some towels, we looked at one another, and I couldn't resist. Two minutes later, we were all over each other. And all the time through the open window, I could hear the kids splashing around in the pool, their cries echoing ours!
When we were done, just lying there, he got very tender with me, so tender I started to cry. ‘Whatsamatter?’ he asked. ‘oh, nothing. Just that you're so sweet and I can use some sweetness these days.’ He kissed my breasts like they were precious jewels. ‘I've dreamed of doing this since I first laid eyes on you,’ he said.
God! Till today I never thought of him as lover material, even though I did find him cute. We showered together and I went down on my knees on the tiles and took him in my mouth beneath the spray. ‘No one's ever done that with me before,’ he said. ‘Plenty more where that came from!’ I told him.
No wonder Robin couldn't get through hi smother's diary and didn’t want to show it to Mark! It's hard enough for me to read of Dad's growing obsession with Barbara in his truncated case study and to hear from Izzy Mendoza that he wanted to divorce Mom and run off with her. How much worse for Robin to read this. How could he bear to?
On May 16, my biting, indeed mean-spirited caricature of Mark Fulraine was published in our student newspaper, The Hayes Eagle.
On Monday, May 19, Mark, encountering me between classes in a corridor at school, called me ‘Jewboy’ to my face.
On Friday, May 23, before a hundred or so witnesses, we met to settle our differences in a grudge fight in the lower school gym.
Reading Barbara's account of that day brings back a jumble of warring feelings – anger, indignation, fury, pain, outrage over what Robin told me, and also a measure of regret. The latter makes me want to forgive everyone involved, including myself. This feeling, which I struggle to understand, is based on a conviction that all of us – me, Dad, Mark, Barbara, and Tom Jessup – were caught up in a web of conflicting passions that today, through the prism of twenty-six years, seem but tenderly triviaclass="underline"
Friday
R arrogant today. Did he know our boys were to fight? If so, he didn't let on. But I had a secret and inwardly I reveled in it. T's been training Mark to box, and there probably won't be a fight anyway if I hadn't pushed Mark to call out R's son!