The streetcar rattled on. Diana could see the freeway overpass up ahead, beyond it Lee Circle where a statue of General Robert E. Lee stood upon a tall pillar, facing north, so he’d never have his back to his enemies. She wasn’t far now from her stop.
Rob wasn’t coming over till much later this evening. Nineish, he’d said. Then she could give him the good news, minus the complicating details. With Gloria’s vote, his job was in the bag. They’d crack open a bottle of champagne, celebrate. Maybe play one of their favorite games. Strangers assigned to a sleeping car on the Sunset Limited to Los Angeles? Or... wait. Rob had suggested something earlier on the phone. Still rattled by Gloria, she couldn’t remember what...
“Vengeful? Well, I never thought so, particularly, but when we were brainstorming in class today, I totally changed my mind.”
“Yeah,” Chloe agreed. “That story she told about how, a long time ago, somebody wronged her, and she fantasized about burning his house down? But then, like she said, everyone has revenge fantasies. The real question is whether people act on them or not.”
“I know,” said Amber. “But just the way she said it, Burn his house down, it gave me shivers.”
Wait a minute. Diana was about to pull the signal cord, gathering her things. The girls were talking about Amber’s married boyfriend, Amber did say he was married, didn’t she, and now they were talking about her class? Her story assignment? Her?
“He’s been so careful,” Amber continued. “And it’s really brilliant, the way that whole pitiful charade she’s insisted on, his being her secret boyfriend, has played right into his plan. But once he has the job, well, anyway, by Christmas of next year, he can dump her. And then we can go public. My momma is crazy about him, you know. She thinks he’s the spit and image of Harry Connick, Jr.”
“And your dad likes Rob, too, right?”
“Oh yeah, he...”
Diana didn’t hear Amber’s reply as she stumbled blindly through the rear exit door and fell out into the rain.
Her feet had barely hit the wet grass of the neutral ground when her stomach heaved and she spewed hot yellow vomit.
“Oh my God!” someone cried.
“Ma’am? Can I help you?” another asked.
But Diana waved them away. Please don’t. Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. Don’t pity me. Don’t.
She didn’t remember much between that spinning moment and stepping out of a taxi at her own doorstep. She must have hailed the cab, must have realized she couldn’t drive, her ears ringing, her eyes blind to this world.
Once inside her house, Diana fell on all fours to the faded red-and-blue Kirman in the foyer, one of the ever-so-tasteful treasures Richard had left behind. She writhed. She howled like a dog. She tore at her hair, her clothes. She cursed Rob’s name. She cursed Amber.
And then Amber’s words cut through the din and the frenzy: pitiful, secret boyfriend, played into his plan, the job, dump her.
Amber, the golden girl. Amber, one of her favorites. Amber, whom she’d taken to her heart. Amber, the fresh young bitch.
Pitiful, pitiful, pitiful, the chorus resounded.
They’d made a fool of her. A tidal wave of shame washed her from top to bottom.
Eventually, after what seemed a year, a decade, an eternity of agony, Diana made it to the sideboard and sloshed three fingers of bourbon into a glass. As she tossed it back, her stomach lurched once, then settled, and the amber fire felt good.
Excellent, in fact. The burn in her belly would help her focus.
Not as if there were that much to decide, really. Not many options.
First, of course, she’d “compromise.” She’d withdraw her support for Rob’s candidacy and cast her vote for the young blond feminist.
That would be just deserts for Gloria and take care of the job question.
Not that it would be even a step toward addressing the hatred that had begun to bubble in her belly for Rob. Oh, Rob. Rob, Rob, Rob. A bubble that would eventually fill her to bursting, she was certain of it. Just like the hatred she’d felt for Richard. The hatred that had had her dreaming of fire, rat poison, knives, guns. The hatred that still lingered even now, long after AIDS had devoured him. And the need to get even. There was no way such humiliation could go unpunished. Revenge would be hers.
But first things first. No position for Rob. No reward for Gloria.
Though, wait. Not too hasty. What might Gloria serve up in return? Thwarted Gloria, who no more wanted the blond hottie hired than she wanted a third arm, the young woman just a tool in her scheme? Diana had long been witness to Gloria’s wrath. Gloria would not take being crossed lightly.
No. She couldn’t risk it. She needed to think.
Just then Diana’s phone began to ring. Let it. She sloshed more bourbon into her glass. Let it ring, ring, ring off the hook. There was no one on God’s green earth she wanted to talk to. No one. She couldn’t even imagine forming words.
Once again Diana doubled over with pain. Hot tears cascaded down her face like boiling rain. She felt as if someone had ripped her skin off in one piece, discarded everything inside but for her hatred, then left the husk. She was a semblance of a human being. But only a facsimile. She would never be whole again. Never.
Then a deep voice boomed through her answering machine. “Hey, darling, it’s Fred.” Her neighbor, a lawyer, and the head of the block association.
“Just wanted to remind you you need to be hypervigilant until the cops catch this burglarizing s.o.b. Not that there won’t be another one right behind him. Marcia Pennington said she thought she heard somebody snooping around her back porch this afternoon. Lock up and batten down, hon.”
Diana froze, staring in the direction of Fred’s voice, her glass halfway to her lips. Now she remembered what Rob had said earlier. Now she recalled the game he’d proposed.
Two hours later, a little after ten, Diana’s living room. Fred, in striped pajama bottoms and a faded Tulane T-shirt, stood with a strong arm around Diana. The red-and-blue flashers atop the small fleet of NOPD cruisers outside lit up the room, lending it an eerie carnival air.
“Like I said, I called her and reminded her to be extra vigilant,” Fred rumbled to the officer in charge, Officer Jackson, a mountainous black man whose powder-blue uniform shirt was damp with the rain still pouring outside.
“Absolutely.” Jackson nodded. “Way things been in this neighborhood recently, you can’t be too careful.”
“But I wasn’t careful!” Diana cried, her face smudged with tears. “If only I’d checked the outside door to the sun porch, he’d never have gotten that far. It’s my fault. I’ll never forgive myself,” Diana wailed, shaking her head. “Never.”
Behind them, back through the dining room, was the sun porch in question. Rob’s body lay half-in, half-out of the French doors between it and the dining room, his blood pooling on the hardwood in a dark red lake.
Fred hugged her tighter. “Now, darlin’, you know it wasn’t your fault. How were you to know that boy would come round so late to talk? Stupid ass, like that was the way to get a job? Busting onto your sun porch ’cuz your front doorbell’s broke?”
“But I should have recognized him,” Diana moaned, running a hand through her hair, clutching at her black silk dressing gown. “Like I said, he’d mentioned something at school today about dropping by, and I’d said, no, that wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t appropriate...”
“Ma’am, it was dark. It was raining. Way he was dressed? Break-ins all over the neighborhood. It’s a shame, but what’re you gonna do?” Officer Jackson shook his massive head slowly, looking for all the world like a giant mournful Rottweiler. “I say, despite the mistaken ID, it’s a good thing you had that gun.”