Wendy was in the room. She was holding the damp, sweat-soaked body shirt Janice had taken off during intermission, and she was kissing it. Janice looked at her coldly, and Wendy put the body shirt down on the dressing table and walked toward her. "I love you, Janice."
An expression of pain crossed Janice's face, and she pressed her lips tightly together as she turned toward the mirror. Her hands trembled as she wiped the beads of water from her hairline with the towel.
Wendy stopped, a foot from her. "I love you, Janice."
The damp, heavy towel whistled through the air as Janice swung it around like a whip, and it struck Wendy across the face and the side of her head. She uttered a muffled shriek of pain and surprise as she fell, and she caught herself on her hands and knees. She shook her head rapidly, then she looked back up at Janice. "I love you, Janice." Janice's face twisted and she moaned slightly as she dropped the towel. Wendy crept closer to her on her hands and knees, then she raised herself to a kneeling position in front of Janice, holding her hands up. "I love you, Janice."
Janice's right hand slashed around, and Wendy tumbled backwards as the back of Janice's hand struck her solidly across her face. Janice turned and walked to the dressing table, and she reached into the black bag for her wallet and keys. "I love you, Janice," Wendy wailed, tears coming from her eyes and a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. She pushed herself up to a sitting position as she watched Janice walk through the door and slam it, then she put her hands over her face and began sobbing, her thin shoulders shaking. "I love you, Janice," she sobbed. "Oh, I love you so much."
The house seemed like a haven, a quiet, restful retreat from the turmoil, but she couldn't escape what was inside her. She went into the bedroom and undressed, then she went into the shower and turned the faucets until the water was beating against her in a stinging spray. Self-disgust was gnawing angrily at her, loathing for what she had done. Her behavior toward Christina had been inexcusable. She'd have to call her and apologize. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day. Or perhaps she'd even go see her and apologize. But Christina would have to learn that there were times to back away and leave someone alone.
Wendy was another matter. That had been abominable. Actually striking the child. Cruelly and viciously. But it had been unbearable. The child had directed a thrust through a vulnerable spot in the wall of isolation and impersonality and it had seared agonizingly to the very core of her being. Janice stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel off the rack. She would have to do something to make it up to Wendy. Something. But she would have to be cautious and judicious, or it would simply spur the child on to greater importunities. Janice dried herself and tossed the towel aside, then walked into the bedroom and took a gown and soft slippers out of the closet. It would have to be something substantial to make up for what she had done, but it would have to be essentially impersonal. That would be difficult. Perhaps she would think of something, or some opportunity would present itself.
She walked into the living room. She felt tired, but she didn't feel like sleeping. There were also tiny, gnawing pangs of hunger, but she didn't feel like eating. She sat down at the piano, opened the keyboard, and began practicing.
The doorbell rang, snapping her out of her reverie. Time had been passing in a bland, featureless flow while she'd been practicing, and the tight feeling in her forearms indicated it had been a couple of hours, possibly more. The chime of the doorbell was still ringing in her ears, and she got up from the bench and walked toward the front door. Who could it be? If it was a reporter, the statement he'd get wouldn't be of much value because he wouldn't be able to print it.
It was Wendy. Holding the black bag she'd left at the music hall and looking up at her with a frightened yet somehow determined expression. She felt a rush of relief and gratitude, and at the same time the chilly finger of warning moved in her mind; she could begin to make it up, but she would have to be cautious. She opened the door wider. "Come in, Wendy."
The cordial greeting seemed to startle her. She glanced up with a shy smile then dropped her eyes again as she stepped in. "I brought your things and… and came to apologize…"
Janice looked down at her blankly, closing the door. "Apologize?"
"For having addressed you by your first name. That was inexcusable, and I apologize, Doctor Wycliffe."
Janice drew in a deep breath and sighed. Wendy had changed into one of the plain print dresses she seemed to favor, and she looked like an angel. An angel with her hair in a ponytail. "It is I who should apologize…"
"No!" Wendy almost shouted, then she flushed with confusion. "I mean, it wasn't… wasn't you… all my fault…"
Janice sighed again and reached for the bag; it looked outsized and heavy in Wendy's small hand. There were delicate lines of blue on the inside of her thin arms and the back of her hands where veins showed through her white, almost translucent skin. "Thank you for bringing my things, Wendy."
"Oh, it wasn't anything. I did the body shirts – took them home and washed them for you…"
"That was very nice of you, but you shouldn't have done all that."
"It wasn't any trouble, and… will you forgive me? Please?"
"If you will call me Janice I will, Wendy."
Her face flushed with pleasure and a wide smile spread across her features as she looked up at Janice, beaming. Janice noticed that her lip was slightly swollen on the right side. "Do you really want me to?"
"Really. Have you had dinner?"
She looked blank, then surprised. She had for gotten to eat; it happened frequently. "Well, no, I guess not…"
"Let's see what I have in, then. Come on."
"Oh, no, really I couldn't…"
"Of course you can, Wendy. Come on."
Janice put the bag on the couch and walked on through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, and Wendy followed her, looking around.
"You certainly have a nice house, Doctor… Janice."
Janice smiled over her shoulder at Wendy as she opened the freezer door on the refrigerator. "Thank you."
"Say, you know, it's late and you're tired and everything. Just let me fix you something…"
"We're both tired, Wendy, and we'll fix it together." She poked through the freezer and took out a couple of filets and put them on the countertop as the freezer door clicked closed. "Look in the refrigerator and see if you can find something for a salad."
Janice unwrapped the steaks and put them in the countertop broiler, turning it onto a low heat to thaw them, and she took a couple of large potatoes from the bin under the sink, washed them, and put them in the oven to bake. Wendy stood at the other end of the counter, shredding lettuce into a couple of salad bowls and cutting up a tomato and a bell pepper.
"They say the concert tonight was the best they've had." Janice glanced at her and opened the countertop broiler to turn the steaks. "The orchestra performed well."
"It wasn't just that," Wendy replied quietly. "I've been in a group which performed Symphonie Fantastique… oh, perhaps eight times, and it was never like it was tonight. I've never heard anything like it. And the Mahler was marvelous. I've heard people talk about inspired performances, but I never knew what they were talking about tonight. It was a very… profound experience to be a part of it, a part of what you did… caused."
"How do you like your steak?"
"The same way you like yours."
"But you don't know how I like mine."
"No, but I know that's the way I'll like mine."
Janice smiled as she turned up the heat in the broiler. Wendy put the bowls of salad and the leftovers in the refrigerator, then cleaned up the bits from the countertop. "Where's the garbage, Janice?"