Susan walked to the closet and opened the door. All Brett's things were still there. After he'd driven into the ocean, she couldn't bear to think of him as dead, let alone give away his clothes. Even after they'd found his body, she'd still find herself thinking that she really ought to have his good blue suit cleaned in case he came home unexpectedly and needed it for a job interview. And then she'd catch herself with a start and remember that he'd been at the bottom of the ocean staring at wonders he couldn't see, would never see again.
She shut the door and started toward the kitchen. Jeffy was napping, and it gave her a chance for a quiet cup of tea. Halfway down the hall, she turned and went back into the bedroom. The closet door was ajar, and she could see the clothes, dark clothes, men's clothes, Brett's clothes.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. The old mattress squeaked. When she and Paul made love it sometimes felt as if the bed would collapse and send them tumbling to the floor. The night before they'd laughed about it. He swore he'd try to break the bed the next time, and she'd asked him if that was a promise.
Squaring her shoulders, Susan picked up the phone.
"Jo Lisa . . . can you come over?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I just need help cleaning Brett's closet.” There was response, and Susan thought she’d lost the connection. “Jo Lisa, are you still there?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Can you come and help me or not? If you're busy, say so and I'll do it myself." Her sister said string of words that that made Susan’s ears burn. “Bye, Jo Lisa.”
“Wait . . . I'll be there. Just give me time to put my clothes on."
o0o
Twenty minutes later, Jo Lisa came in wearing jogging shorts and a tank top that said "Eat Shit and Die." Turquoise earrings dangled almost to her shoulders.
Susan laughed. "You didn't have to dress up for me."
"Smarty pants . Just give me that garbage bag and shut up."
"Here." Susan handed her a garbage bag. "You start with the shirts."
"We're organizing all this stuff?"
"I'm giving them to the Salvation Army, and I thought I'd save them some work."
Susan took out Brett's good blue suit and was surprised when it didn't trigger any bad memories. It was merely a blue suit that nobody was using.
Beside her, Jo Lisa worked with the shirts, complaining every breath.
"The very idea, organizing this mess. You'd think I was some stupid secretary or something."
"Just hush up, Jo Lisa. Nobody here believes a word you're saying."
Still, as Susan took down a pair of pants, she was glad her sister had come. Jo Lisa brought the same kind of comfort Susan felt when she tucked her son in at night then settled into the corner of her sofa under a fuzzy throw, even in summer. Air conditioning often left her feeling chilled.
"I had no idea pants could get so wrinkled just hanging here." She shoved two pairs into her sister's hands. "Here, hold these."
"What are you doing?"
"Smoothing them out." She shook the wrinkles out, then folded them neatly and put them into one of the bags.
"We're putting them into garbage bags, for God's sake."
"We don't have to put them in there all wadded up."
Susan took another pair of her husband's pants from her sister and shook them out. A small shiny object slid out of the pocket and rolled onto the floor.
"What in the world?"
Susan and Jo Lisa bent down at the same time, but Susan was closer. She scooped the object up. Light from the window caught the tiny heart-shaped rhinestone and sent sparkles across the white wall.
"It's a button." Susan turned it over, inspecting it. "A rhinestone button." She held it toward her sister, then dropped both button and pants and put her hand on her sister's forehead. "Jo Lisa . . ." Jo Lisa's skin felt clammy and her pupils were dilated. "Is something wrong?”
o0o
Everything was wrong.
Jo Lisa stared at the telltale button.
"Here, sit down." Susan led her to the bed. "Let me get you some water."
After Susan left Jo Lisa picked up the button. She wanted to rant and rave and tear her hair out. She wanted to be in L.A. where she belonged, in a sleazy nightclub with lecherous old men leering at her body. She wanted to strip off all her clothes, even the G-string, then stand naked in the thick blue vapor like a sinner awaiting death, stand there until she became a part of it, until she and the vapor both dissolved into nothingness.
Instead she sat on the edge of the bed with the button clenched in her fist and her fist pressed to her mouth.
She heard Susan coming back with the water. Quickly she slid the button into her pocket, then awaited her sister, her excuse already forming on her lips.
"My period started yesterday," she said, taking a long drink of the cool water. "You know what a nightmare mine can be."
"I know. Why don't we leave this for a while, go in the kitchen and have a bite to eat. That sometimes helps."
Jo Lisa put her hand into her pocket to assure herself the button was still there. As she followed Susan, she prayed to a God she didn't even believe in that her sister would never discover its terrible significance.
Curt was sitting with Tyler's wife in Tyler's house enjoying a before-dinner drink from Tyler's wine cellar.
"To us," he said, clicking his glass against Jean's.
She didn't repeat his toast, but that didn't matter. Curt wasn't toasting them, anyhow. He was toasting himself.
. After the drinks, they drove to Curt's place for dinner. He'd insisted and she hadn't protested. In fact, she'd said very little.
“Nice night for a drive." It wasn't much in the way of conversation, but somebody had to say something.
"I'm sorry I'm not very good company tonight."
"Most women talk too much. Give me a good quiet companion any time."
"Thanks, Curt. You're gallant."
Curt liked compliments. He’d have preferred sexy, but gallant would do.
By the time he and Jean arrived, the caterers he’d hired had come and gone. Pleased,
Curt sat at the candlelit table for two, close enough to rub his thigh against Jean's. She didn't say anything, didn't even smile, but neither did she move her leg away.
"Have some more wine." Smiling, he filled her glass to the rim.
o0o
Jean didn't try to stop him. It was perfectly obvious to her what Curt was doing. The seduction game was as old as time, and she was a willing object. Why not? At least Curt wanted her.
She drank the wine too fast, and when he slid his hand up her skirt she felt a slight awakening. It wasn’t anything to turn cartwheels over, but she figured it was about as close to excited as she was going to get.
"Why don't we skip dessert?" he said.
"Sweets are fattening, anyhow. It seems that everything pleasurable is fattening." She could play the game too.
"I know something that's not."
It had been inevitable from the beginning.
Jean went to his bedroom and lay down on his bed. There were no preliminaries, no pretense, no promises. That was fine with her, too.
By not thinking too much, she managed to get through it. When he asked, she even told him it was good. That could have been a lie. Or maybe not. She hardly knew the difference anymore between what was real and what was imagined.
Ttangled in the rumpled sheets she watched Curt sleep. Who was she to expect promises, to dream of a future, she who had let her own son die?
She eased from the bed, went into the bathroom, and drew a hot bath. Then she spent a long time scrubbing her skin. Afterward she lay down beside Curt, smoothed the sheet, and folded it neatly under her chin.
If she could keep everything in its proper order, she would be all right.