Chapter 14
I'm not really sure which got me the more drunk that wild night-Rebecca or the numerous martinis I consumed. At any rate, according to Charles, I made rather a damned fool of myself over Rebecca. He refused to tell me exactly what I'd done ... but for him to disapprove (after what he'd done), it must've been terribly depraved (and embarrassing for him). He ignored me when I apologized.
I was worried. I was dreadfully worried. Rebecca was becoming the one and only subject and object that my mind dwelled on. I could no longer perform the simplest functions without relating them to her, without constructing a vicarious image of her mouth or eyes or ears or some part of her body. I'd pick up an ash-tray to dust it, and I'd immediately compare its color or finish with something I'd seen her wear once, or with some arcane part of her. I'd be shaving my legs, and I'd evoke an image of Rebecca's thighs and calves and I'd caress my own legs lovingly and whisper her name with that reverent, whining intonation with which the faithful call upon Allah.
Charles avoided me all day Sunday an I I brooded about the house like a lost soul, trying desperately to pull myself together. I felt, in truth, as if I were no longer Doris Clinton. I was losing my very identity. I had become so obsessed and infatuated with the little seductress that my very ego was growing weaker, less assertive. And when a stray thought did invade my mind, I would simply brush it aside very impatiently-regarding anything that took my attention from her with antipathy and contempt.
It was around four in the afternoon when something unexplainable happened. Something so strange and compelling ... and yet so wonderful, that I've never been the same since. Charles had left the house, mumbling something about Sunday afternoons making him sleepy and that he needed some exercise. (I'm not sure, I don't remember, but I think he went to play golf.)
I was in the kitchen; I had just made a fresh pot of coffee and was about to pour myself a cupful when-quite clearly, quite distinctly-I heard Rebecca's ironic laugh. A chill went through me. I knew she wasn't in the house because, for some reason, I had locked both the front and back doors after Charles had left. Putting down my cup, I quickly crossed over to a side window and looked out. No car in the driveway; no car in the garage. They were gone. And then I remembered Janet telling me that they were going to take Rebecca to see some relative, and that they wouldn't be home until late Sunday night.
I walked back over to the coffee pot, trembling all over, thinking I'd better hurry and drink some coffee to clear my mind. But as I was pouring I heard her again. Only this time there was no laughter. She called me:
"Doris ... come over ... come over ... I want to talk to you. Come over now, Doris."
"Yes," I replied in a loud voice, "I'll be right there."
You'll have to take my word for it when I tell you that I have absolutely no memory of walking next-door. I remember calling out in reply to Rebecca; I remember saying, "Yes, I'll be right there." But believe me I haven't the vaguest memory of walking out of my house or crossing next-door or of walking into the Evans' front room. But that's exactly where I found myself. Standing there. Scared stiff. Blinking stupidly. Hugging myself and trembling like one with malaria. I was more than scared! I was petrified!
But then I heard the unmistakable sound of water running. "The shower!" I cried out with relief. "Rebecca's home! She's in the shower! She must've been singing and called my name! Oh, Rebecca!" I shouted excitedly and hurried towards the bathroom.
The door was closed but I could see that the light was on. Twisting the knob I was relieved to find it unlocked. I flung the door open and shouted, "Rebecca! Is that you in the shower?"
"Yes," she answered, and with a long sigh of relief I sat down on the edge of the tub.
"Were you calling me a few minutes ago, Rebecca?"
"Yes. I didn't think you'd hear me though. But I'm glad you did. John and Janet aren't home and I'm lonesome I wanted to talk to you, Doris."
"What about?" The shower was full of steam but I could see her outline through the frosted shower-door. She was moving slowly and deliberately; it looked as though she were soaping her breasts. I was still somewhat shook-up, but the sight of her dried my throat immediately and made me fell all warm and anxious.
"About you and me, Doris," her voice, I thought, had turned a bit solemn.
"I'm listening, Rebecca. What about us?"
She didn't answer for some time. I saw her put the soap back in the tray and then lean back against the tile as if she wanted to take her time with what she had to say. I listened a little wistfully.
"You're not a lesbian, Doris. D'you know that? You simply are not a lesbian."
"Yes, I know that, Rebecca," I replied.
"But you're infatuated with me, aren't you?"
"Yes. I guess that's obvious. D'you mind, Rebecca?" I held my breath for her answer.
"I'm flattered, Doris. You're a lovely person. Very handsome. But I don't want to be adored or worshipped or even loved."
"Why? Why not, Rebecca? Everyone wants to be loved." I saw her move; saw her shake her head slowly.
"Not everyone, Doris. You see ... love is a form of responsibility. And not only for the lover but for the loved. It's an attachment, Doris. Oh, I know. Most of us want and need attachments. But I don't."
"What are you getting at, Rebecca? If it bothers you the way I behave around you just say so and I'll stop," I stood up, but when I saw my face in the mirror I sat back down.
"It's not that, Doris. You don't bother me ... not the way you mean. But I can feel your infatuation for me. It pulls on me like a magnet and it's always there. I can't hold myself intact that way. I'm not myself. Part of me drifts off ... to you. And that I don't like. I'm ... I'm a strange sort of person, Doris. I belong only to myself. Sex with you is marvelous. I love it. But please, Doris ... let's not complicate our sex. Let's keep it simple lust. That's enough. For me that's all it can ever be."
"But that's what it has been, Rebecca. What else could you call it?" I objected, beginning to feel an insupportable anxiety.
"No, Doris. Almost from the first I could tell that you were neurotically infatuated with me. I've been fighting it, Doris. But now it's become too strong. I came here to ... to help John and Janet. But now I'm involved with you. Let go of me, Doris. I'll love you with my body ... but leave ... that other ... alone."
"What d'you mean ... that other, Rebecca?" I stared at the shower door trying to make her out better.
"Go home now, Doris. Hurry. Please. Don't ask my why. Just go home. We'll talk about this later. Go home, Doris! Hurry! Hurry!"
I stood up and stared at her blurred outline. Her voice had sounded suddenly strange, unreal. like an echo. I could barely make her out. She wasn't moving. I could hear the water splashing against her body.
"Why, Rebecca? Why should I go home? Are you mad about something?"
"Go home! Go home!"
"Yes, I will," I said, "I'm leaving." I turned and hurried out of the room. I didn't want to hear her say that again; somehow I sensed that it would be profoundly dangerous for me to remain there with her another second.
I went home, warmed the pot of coffee I'd made, drank a cup of it, had another, and tried in vain to come up with some reasonable answer that would explain Rebecca's strange behavior. What had she meant by love my body ... but leave that other alone? Was she alluding to her ... soul? And why had she suddenly wanted me to leave? That puzzled me. But what puzzled me even more was the actual feeling I'd had that unless I did leave, and quickly, something dreadful would happen.
I must've been sitting there in rather a daze because I didn't even hear Charles walk in. I saw him, in fact, before I heard him. He was standing there in the kitchen door looking at me. And on his face was that pensive expression that one occasionally sees on the face of a tiny infant when it has just awakened from an afternoon's nap. As if to say: Who are you? Who am I? What's it all about?
"What have you been doing while I was gone, Doris?" he finally asked me (and his tone was as suspicious as a TV detective).
"Nothing. I've been right here all the time. Why?" I asked him.
"You mean you haven't been out of the house? You didn't go next door for awhile?" his expression now was almost sneering contempt.
I smiled and shrugged. He knew I'd been next-door, that was obvious. There was no use denying it. The only reason I hadn't told him about it right away was that it had seemed simpler not to. "Oh, yes. I went over and talked with Rebecca for a few minutes. Why, Charles; You're acting as if I'd committed some horrible crime or something."
"You say you were talking with Rebecca, eh?" Now his look was patronizing, with an element of pity in it. (Terribly desultory.)
"Yes. She was in the shower, I talked to her for, oh ... three or four minutes."
Charles shook his head slowly. "No, Doris. You simply went next door and turned on the shower. Then you came back here. You couldn't've been talking to Rebecca. Rebecca's been with John and Janet all day. They just pulled in when I did ... ten or fifteen minutes ago. Wait! Don't interrupt me, Doris. You were going to ask me how I knew it was you who turned on their shower. That's easy. They invited me in for a drink. But the house was full of steam and the hot water in the shower was on full force. It had to be you, Doris. No one else knows where they hide their key. And it was still in the door. Now why, why in the name of all that's holy or unholy did you do a thing like that? I'm worried about you, Doris. The crazy way you acted last night towards Rebecca. And now this. You've changed lately, dear. The way you're looking at me right now ... as if you were seeing a ghost. What's wrong, Doris? Can I help?"
"No, Charles. I'm perfectly okay. I'm sorry about last night ... and about that shower thing. I've been overwrought lately. But suddenly, Charles ... I'm beginning to feel a lot better ... a lot better. I think everything's going to be just fine from now on. Come here, darling. I want you to kiss me ... here."