Chapter 10
The Circle of Life
Pittsburgh – May, 1968
Sloan watched as Sabrina came forward, wondering in his mind what insults she would have in store on such an auspicious day as this.
Reaching his side, she held out her hand for his, saying, “Well, I suppose there’s no getting around it. Looks like they’re really going to marry each other, despite what it may portend.”
Ignoring the innuendo, he responded, “Hello, Sabrina. You look quite lovely today, if I may say so.”
“You look pretty good yourself,” she replied.
“Thank you, but to be honest, you look quite as gorgeous as the day we were married,” he responded, hoping to rekindle something, anything at all. Accordingly, he inquired, “Why did you marry me after the war, given your admittedly pent up loathing for me?”
“Oh, God, I knew you’d ask that!” she exclaimed. “You can’t have known this, but by the time you asked me to marry you I was already pregnant. God, I really loved screwing your brains out in New York, but that was nothing more than revenge. I hated your guts, but I had no choice but to marry you. I’d have been fired from my job when they found out I was pregnant, and I would have thenceforth had no way to care for Elise. So you see, I had no other option.”
At this Sloan arched one eye inquisitively but said nothing in response.
Pressing ahead, she volunteered, “But, being a hot-blooded woman, I really did enjoy having my way with you night and day there for a while. You were one nasty boy, Sloan Stewart. It was only later, when I’d had you for a bit, that I began to rethink the entire matter, eventually realizing that, by marrying you, I’d essentially repeated my reprehensible behavior of that summer, choosing immorality over virtue. I despised myself for it, and I knew that I could never regain my own self-respect so long as I had you.”
“Whaaat?” he responded in obvious incredulity.
“Not to worry,” she interjected, “It wasn’t easy by any means, but I did indeed eventually grow into a better person. Unfortunately, I was by then even more convinced that you yourself were absolutely reprehensible, thereby leading me to the conclusion that I was by then too good for you.”
“As indeed you were,” he responded in agreement.
She glared at him doubtfully, replying, “What’s going on up there in that devious mind of yours, Sloan?”
“Why, nothing, nothing at all,” he replied in denial.
“Isolde once told me you never lied, you liar,” she responded.
“Oops, I’m afraid I’ve been caught out,” he responded.
“Really? I’m not sure I’ve ever caught you lying before,” she replied in mock surperiority.
“Nor this time, either, I dare say,” he replied, “Actually, if truth be told, I was lying to myself.”
“Oh, psshaw!” she spat out, “Can’t you just let me have my small victory, you idiot!”
“Right, my mistake,” he replied diffidently. “I confess, I was actually hoping that on this, the day that our daughter marries, you might be in a forgiving mood towards her father.”
Eyeing him doubtfully, she paused momentarily as if deep in thought, eventually responding, “You’ve been a good father, Sloan. There, will that do?”
“Actually, it will do quite nicely, Sabrina. Thank you. Now, suppose we get down to the business of getting our daughter married to Robert Moorehead, son of our old friends James and Isolde. I ask you, who’d have thought it, all those years ago?”
“Not I, that’s for sure,” she responded serenely. “In fact, the thought would never have entered my mind, not even when they began dating at Harvard two years ago.”
“Me either. So, do you suppose they’re a good match?” he queried, “After all, I’ve not had much opportunity to observe them together.
“What?” she replied in stupefaction, “Of course they’re a good match. Actually, I’d go so far as to say – it’s a match made in heaven – although how the angels settled on such an unlikely pair I’ll never know.”
“Perhaps they were looking down on the four of us that summer, all those years ago. At any rate, it does my heart good to hear you say such niceties, given how badly we failed.”
“Failed?” she spat out, “Now, you’re getting me riled up, you pervert!”
“Sorry, please accept my apology. I can’t seem to be with you without wondering what might have been, Sabrina.”
“Good grief, Sloan, get on with it! Move on with your life. Now, let’s get on into the church and get these two youngsters married!” and so saying, she took his arm and dragged him forward through the door.
The wedding was quite perfect, the pair radiating their adoration for one another to a pitch seldom seen before, and afterwards, the reception having ended spectacularly, Elise came forward to Sloan, saying, “Daddy, I’m so happy. Robert is just the most perfect man ever. That is, excepting you, of course.”
“Ha!” he blurted uncontrollably, “That’s the kind of lie that I can appreciate! Well said, Elise!”
At this she giggled, hugged his arm, and replied, “Seriously, Daddy, he reminds me of you. So often, I catch myself saying, “That’s just like Daddy!”
“Well, they say children look to marry their parents and, failing that, they marry the next best thing available,” he replied jovially, “But seriously, Elise, you’ve done well. I’m so proud and happy for you. A parent always wishes his children to exceed himself, and you, daughter, have exceeded your mother and me on this day. I wish you a long and successful marriage, but I doubt that you shall need my good wishes.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Now I must be off, as we are to be at the airport in under two hours.”
“And where, if I may ask, are you off to?”
“It’s a secret!” she replied with a burgeoning grin, but for you, I can say this much, “Ye dinnae ken whar it may be!”
Boston – June
Sloan came forward to the table within the upscale restaurant, his visage incongruously expressing simultaneous joy and confusion. Arriving by her side, he drew her up into a polite embrace, saying, “So good to see you, Isolde. It seems like only yesterday we were in Pittsburgh for the wedding.”
Somehow unable to summon a smile of her own, she responded, “Yes, I suppose so.”
“So, what’s up? You sounded on the phone as if it were something quite serious.”
At this, she instructed ominously, “Please, sit down, Sloan.”
Sensing her demeanor to be one of inexplicable despair, he replied, “Why so solemn? Is something the matter?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she answered matter-of-factly, then repeated to herself despondently, “I’m afraid so. You see, dear Sloan, I’m afraid I’m dying.”
“What! How can that be?” he responded, half lurching from his seat in abject disbelief, “You appear to be perfectly healthy!”
“Yes, well, that may be, but looks can deceive. I’m very much afraid that I shall be dead within a few months,” she murmured desolately, “At least, that is what my doctor tells me.”
At this pronouncement, he stared doubtfully at her, barely able to summon the fortitude to inquire, “What on earth is the matter, Isolde?”
“It’s cancer, and I’m afraid it’s quite far along. Apparently, it started as breast cancer, but it’s got into everything else. So you see, by now it’s much too late to do anything at all about it.”
Leaning forward, he grasped her hand within his, murmuring woefully, “Isolde, dear Isolde. This simply cannot be! How shall we go on without you?”
“All things come to an end, Sloan. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that my time has grown quite short. You shall find a way to muddle through,” and at this, she stared forlornly at him, a gloomy silence stretching out between the pair as each reminisced over past encounters.
Eventually, her demeanor shifting noticeably, she took up again, announcing pointedly, “Listen, I ask
ed you here for a reason today, and it certainly wasn’t for the purpose of burdening you with my illness. It’s something of far greater importance, I’m afraid.”
“What could be more important than your physical wellbeing, Isolde?”
“It’s to do with that summer long ago, I’m afraid,” she responded, catching his eye pointedly.
“What, you mean the summer in New Hampshire, before the war?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. My, it’s been more than a quarter of a century…” she murmured to herself in disbelief.
“Yes, just so,” he responded wistfully and, apparently recalling the event in his own mind, he stared silently into space. But then, suddenly regaining his composure, he inquired with an inquisitive frown, “What about it?”
Abruptly gazing off into the distance, she responded, “Right, it’s just that I’m afraid things were not exactly as they seemed that summer.”
“In what way?”
“For starters, I was in love with you,” she exclaimed bluntly and, catching his eye fleetingly, she stared downward at the table in apparent embarrassment and admitted, “Actually, I fell for you during the passage from Portsmouth, and I’ve been so ever since.”
“What! What on earth are you talking about, Isolde?” he responded in obvious shock.
“Look, I know this is preposterous,” she responded defensively, “It must seem far too late to bring up ancient matters, but when you’ve read the whole story, you shall understand why it has particular relevance now. And hopefully, you shall also understand why it has taken me half a lifetime to come forth with the truth.”
“What truth?” he inquired in rank stupefaction, but suddenly comprehending, he blurted, “Wait! What did you say? Did you say - read the whole story?”
“Yes, Sloan, that is precisely what I said,” she replied patiently and, brushing away a renegade tress, she recomposed herself and continued with, “You see, I wrote it all down. Actually, I scribbled much of it down years ago, but I supplemented it as further developments materialized. So I have it for you,” and so saying, she extended her open palm toward him, a key resting therein.
“What’s this? A key? What on earth is going on, Isolde? I don’t understand.”
“Just take the key,” she replied, thrusting it towards him. “Here, take it.”
At her insistence, he accepted the key from her and, drawing it back toward himself, he stared at it in confusion.
For her part, she explained, “It’s a key to a safe deposit box. The box is in your name, at your bank, and the security code is my son’s birthdate.”
“Why ever on earth is there a need for such clandestine subterfuge, Isolde?” What on earth is going on?”
“When you’ve read it, all will become quite clear, Sloan. Now, I must ask a favor of you. You must promise me that you shall not read it until after my passing,” and at this she peered intensely at him, commanding gravely, “Promise me.”
Staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief, he hesitated a moment but, unable to conjure up a reasonable alternative, he responded diffidently, “Yes, of course, I promise, although I still don’t understand.”
“You shall, dear Sloan, all in good time, all in good time. Now, I have one further admission before I go – I must apologize abjectly for anything that I may have done to come between you and Sabrina.”
“What? You never came between us, Isolde. It was entirely our own doing. It’s nothing at all to do with you.”
“Well, despite your own part in it, I’m afraid it is, Sloan. You shall understand when you’ve read the details. And let me say that it is my fervent hope that the revelations therein shall restore you to her good graces.”
“Would that it were so, but I doubt that possibility,” he responded despondently.
Ignoring his own self-deprecation, she replied compassionately, “After I am gone, I shall be looking down on the both of you, Sloan, and rest assured – I shall be hoping for the best for you. Remember what I have said to you today, and when the time comes, rediscover your true love.”
His eyes glistening, he responded, “This is all too much, Isolde. I’m afraid I’ve no idea to what you’re referring.”
Placing her hand over his, she responded affectionately, “I know, I know, dear Sloan, but know this – you are loved, and ever shall be. Now, as this is the last time that I shall ever see you, please give me a kiss, and if I may - please, if you have any fond memories of me at all, appear as if you mean it,” and saying this, she rose from her seat and approached him.
Still baffled by her entire demeanor on this singular occasion, he too arose and, taking her gently in his arms, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. Drawing back, she now grasped him fiercely and, leaning forward, she pecked him one last time on the lips. Drawing back yet again, tears now visibly streaming down her face, she abruptly turned on her heel and strode away.
Peering wistfully as she crossed the room toward the door, he pondered with certitude the realization that this was the last time he would ever see her on this earth.
Boston – October
Sloan slumped into his easy chair, propped his feet on the adjacent ottoman and, taking a sip of scotch from his glass, he settled in to read the manuscript. Reminiscing about the funeral as he did so, he couldn’t help wondering what mysteries were yet to unfold from a woman now deceased. Isolde had been valiant to the end, or so James had informed him. A month having passed since, he at last felt himself able to cope with whatever lay within her covert exposé.
Removing the cover page, he discovered not so much as a title or a signature. Instead, she had lit directly into it, writing as if it were a letter to an old friend, that person being clearly himself.
Dearest Sloan-
It all started for me when we made the crossing from Portsmouth to Boston in 1939, shortly before the war began. At the time I was but seventeen and, never having been away from home on my own, I was enthralled to be confined onboard a ship for two weeks with a dashing young man. If memory serves, on that very first night aboard you announced your intention to make me your ‘friend’. And, although I confess that I was at first put off by such brazen conduct, by the time we had disembarked in Boston, things had progressed, at least for me, well beyond mere friendship. I was by then in point of fact desperately in love with you.
Not surprisingly, I made it my purpose in life to capture your affections, as you had mine, and the logical means within my grasp was to entice Aunt Fiona into allowing me to attend Harvard alongside you. I don’t mind telling you, the year that I had to endure before joining you in Boston was sheer misery for me as, having set my cap for you, I lived in constant dread that some other competitor might capture your affections before I had my chance with you.
As it turned out, when I arrived in Boston the following fall, you were still up for grabs, as the Americans say, and I was thrilled to have a go at you. Unfortunately, being engrossed in your studies, you displayed little interest of the type that I so desperately desired. And, like a fool, I enlisted help from your friend James. James suggested what at the time seemed like the perfect strategy. He proposed an innocuous dance contest, one that I would be guaranteed to win, in the process attracting your attention and hopefully even your heightened interest in me.
Of course, as you well know, the first two entrants in the contest unexpectedly removed articles of clothing, thereby leading the audience to expect the third entrant, yours truly, to shed perhaps even more. Accordingly, despite having been forewarned by you, I was quite terrified, having had no notion that I would be placed in such an awkward position. Given my state of excessive inebriation, I danced about in fear and confusion, reluctantly discarding articles of clothing, when you bounded forward and saved me from myself. I don’t mind telling you, I’d have surely ended up compromised had you not intervened and, despite my seeming displeasure at the time, I am deeply indebted to you.
Being by tha
t time admittedly obsessed with you, I continued to take every opportunity to cross paths with you, ergo I must admit to you that my employment at The Orchard Inn the following summer was indeed no coincidence at all. You see, James informed me of your intentions for the summer and, my purpose growing more fervent than ever, I induced Aunt Fiona to intercede on my behalf with the inn management. She succeeded in gaining employment for myself at the inn, thereby fueling my self-avowed intention to win you over with my feminine wiles. I am now certain that James chose to inform me in the expectation that I would follow you, thereby affording him the opportunity to keep an eye on the both of us.
That first night, when I met you and James at The Orchard Inn, you will surely recall that I feigned it to be mere coincidence. Sabrina hadn’t yet arrived, and wouldn’t until nearly a week thereafter. For a few days then, I had you to myself and, although I didn’t quite know it yet, on the following night I fell even more deeply in love with you. The event that did it for me was when you told me about the time you cheated, when you were just a wee lad of ten. If memory serves, these were your exact words that night – ‘I hated myself so much, I promised myself that I would never ever cheat or lie again’.
That was for me quite beyond belief, that anyone at all, most especially a man, could manage to be convinced of his own honesty, much less actually be so. But sure enough, as the summer progressed, you demonstrated such to me time and time again. By the time a month had passed, I knew that my heart would forever belong to you. Sure, you had a gruff exterior, and you were capable of the most arrogant and priggish of actions, but deep down inside, I idolized you for your honesty. And to tell you the truth, despite several rather untoward events that occurred years later, my deep abiding love for you has never wavered throughout the course of my life.
Unfortunately, as you well know, those first few days were the only ones that I had you to myself and, being unaware as to what was about to unfold, I failed to make the most of them. On her arrival shortly thereafter, Sabrina somehow managed to spirit your attentions away from me, thereby allowing me not the slightest possibility of making up for lost ground.
By the time we embarked on that misbegotten camping trip I was quite certain that your heart had been stolen by Sabrina. Still, when you chased into the lake naked I played my hand as best I could, deciding to shamelessly bare myself in hopes that you might sneak a peek, in the process somehow reigniting your passion for me. Instead, you made to steal Sabrina’s panties, thereby further reinforcing my conviction that you had fallen for her.
But there was one final serendipitous opportunity for me, toward the end of the summer. One day, perhaps two weeks before our departure, James approached me, explaining that he had observed some strange goings on. He claimed that he had seen you going into the lakeside men’s locker room with a hand drill, and as this had seemed unusual to him, he had subsequently followed you, covertly observing as you drilled a hole in the wall between the men’s and women’s showers. Having thereby assumed your intentions to be less than gentlemanly, James had then cautioned me to refrain from showering when men were around. I don’t mind telling you, I wondered for the longest time why you would have done such a thing. I now know what actually happened, but before I divulge, first let me tell you what transpired immediately thereafter.
Of course, I told Sabrina straightaway what James had told me, the expectation being that she would thenceforth refrain from showering in the women’s locker room as well. I then thought no more of it until, on the night before Sabrina’s departure, she came into our room in an awful state. Horrified, I did my best to console her, even going so far as to undress her and help her into the shower, whereupon I discovered that her nether regions had been cleanly shaved.
She admitted the whole story to me between sobs, how she had searched out the hole in the wall and, subsequently peering through it, she had observed you on several occasions showering naked within. I don’t mind telling you, her confession caused me extreme jealousy, as I admit that I would have quite enjoyed partaking of such a revealing display by you. Furthermore, despite the fact that she herself had clearly been wounded by you, upon hearing her describe the penance you had meted out to her for her transgression, I wished even more so that I had been the one with you in the shower that night.
At any rate, I helped calm her down as best I could, she for her part insisting on going directly to bed, her pride still obviously injured quite badly. For my part, I immediately hatched a last ditch ploy, sensing that this might indeed be my final chance with you, our summer soon to draw to an inglorious ending. Pretending illness, I therefore locked myself in the bathroom and shaved myself, exactly as you had forced her to do. I’d never done such a thing before, and I don’t mind telling you, I felt the experience quite exhilarating, thereby heightening my already feverish ambition that night.
I was no fool, being aware that what you had perpetrated on her was quite possibly sufficient to induce your own insomnia. I therefore returned to the ladies’ locker room and sort of camped out in the hope that you might return at some point, prurient thoughts perhaps getting the better of you just as they had me. Sure enough, around midnight, you reappeared, and to my endless delight, you disrobed before my very eyes. You subsequently swam straightaway to the dock, thereby affording the perfect opportunity for me.
My libido by then raging completely out of control, I hurriedly changed into my swimsuit and, donning my bathing cap and goggles, I set off in your wake, driven by nothing more than fleeting hope. Such was the enormity of my desire that I nearly caught up to you and, on my arrival at the dock, I took you quite by surprise. As I had anticipated, the darkness affording perfect cover, you thereby mistook me for Sabrina and, as you have by now doubtless discerned, I was indeed fortunate to finally have my way with you.
My dear Sloan, now that I am laid forever within the ground, I can say this to you - that was THE penultimate experience of my entire life. That night, you made me a woman. Nothing nearly so exciting has ever happened to me before or since. I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart, and I apologize abjectly for misleading you. But know that you have been loved by me, ever so deeply.
I never told anyone at all about that night. For my part, I resolved to spend the remainder of my life awaiting the possibility of having you for myself, but, as you well know, that was not to be. By the time reports reached us that you had been killed in Burma, I was in terrible trouble. You see, dear Sloan, that night on the dock, you made me pregnant.
A few months later, my predicament becoming increasingly apparent, I was forced to confess my situation to James. Having been apprised of your demise in Burma, he did the gentlemanly thing (or so I thought at the time), immediately proposing marriage to me. We were married shortly thereafter.
And now, I come to the most disconcerting part of my story, one that has been a heavy burden for me all my life – I had a child, your child, in May, 1942. That child was and is my son, Robert Moorehead, whom I needn’t tell you, is also your son. That being the case, your son is also the husband of your daughter, Elise Stewart. Yes, dear Sloan, incredible though it may seem, your son and daughter are married to one another!
But here is the bright side of such a macabre development – they seem to be perfect for one another. That has been my solace, indeed my only comfort, through all these dark and turbulent years. I have suffered, oh how I have suffered with this covert knowledge, and now that I am in the ground, I have passed that suffering on to you. I am so sorry for having done so, dear Sloan.
Were it not for other issues, I should never have imparted this sad revelation to you. In fact, I am quite certain that your two children, one of them mine as well, need never know that they are siblings, or half-siblings, to be exact. They are such a lovely couple. I hope you shall agree, and that you shall never reveal this dark and foreboding secret to them.
As I said, had it not been for o
ther developments, I should have refrained from divulging all of this to you, but there is more –indeed, much more to impart. In truth, it all began shortly before that selfsame summer in New Hampshire. I can now say to you that my entire life has been one enormous lie, one not of my own making, but a lie nonetheless.
My first inkling that something was amiss did not occur to me until quite a few years later, and it was due to something that Sabrina told me. I happened to have lunch with her in the summer of 1957, after the two of you were divorced. She had flown to Boston for the purpose of fetching Elise, who had been spending a month with you during the summer break. She actually invited me to lunch, why ever for I shall never know. But I must tell you, being thrilled at the prospect of healing old wounds, I jumped at the opportunity.
On the occasion of that luncheon, I recall feeling somewhat favorably disposed to her quite dire circumstances, and despite my still profound feelings toward you, I hoped to somehow rekindle my former friendship with her. Unfortunately, in a misplaced attempt at reconciliation, I brought up the campus dance contest shortly before we four converged at The Orchard Inn, snidely insinuating that James may have attempted to outwit me that night.
I can’t be certain of her motive, perhaps Sabrina was herself nursing feelings for James at that point but, in any case, she told me that James had already informed her about the dance contest. She told me that he had intimated to her that the entire contest was my idea, including enticing the other two entrants to shed specific articles of clothing, thereby affording me the pretext for displaying my attributes for your perusal. And although her presumption that I was desperate to have you for myself was true, she maintained steadfastly that James claimed he’d had no part in the contest at all, thereby casting her suspicion on me.
I don’t mind telling you, at this revelation I was in complete shock, for as I mentioned above, James was indeed the instigator of the dance contest. Despite the fact that he had suggested the contest to me, I had up to that point in time had no notion that he might have somehow had a hand in the bizarre turn of events that night.
Some years later, I happened across one of the other two girls who had performed that night. Having by that point in time become seriously concerned about the entire event, I managed to glean from her that he had orchestrated the entire scheme. Having no notion as to the gravity of events that night, she volunteered to me that he had actually paid her to remove prearranged articles of her clothing. Having assumed that he was simply playing at typically nefarious games boys are notorious for, she had thus been his unwitting dupe in the whole scheme.
You see, having by then become seriously concerned that you might outshine him at Harvard, James meant to cause sufficient upheaval for you that you might neglect your studies, perhaps even to the point of dropping out of school. For my part, I was to have been little more than collateral damage.
That, as far as I know, was the first time he attempted to undermine you, his foremost competitor. I now know that, certain that I had stolen your heart, he planned to come between us. Of course, his rather immature attempt failed, but his ploy would nevertheless have been devastating for me had you not spirited me away from the contest that night.
Having by that point obtained sufficient evidence to be convinced of his evildoing on that occasion, it was the first time in my life that I had proof that my husband had lied to anyone, and that tiny slip by James, more than a quarter of a century ago, began the unraveling of it all, ultimately leading up to the complete destruction of the lie that was my life.
As one might expect, it didn’t come to me immediately, but sometime later, one night when I was unable to sleep, it came back to me, the words you had said that caused me to fall for you – that you promised yourself when you were yet a small boy to never cheat or lie. On that night I asked myself for the first time, “If one never makes that pledge to oneself, then where might one end up?” My quest for the answer to this question began with a trickle but, eventually becoming a veritable torrent, it ripped my world apart over the succeeding years.
As for myself, I might have been better off had I never asked that question, but you, dear Sloan, you have suffered, and dearly, I might add. And that is why I have provided you with this exposé. Although you have been quite unaware of it, you have been the victim of one whose transgressions have, over the course of a lifetime, been beyond anything you could possibly imagine.
I have never been able to confirm the second lie, but I believe that you will be able to do so as a result of this exposé. As I said before, James told me that summer that you had drilled the hole in the wall between the shower rooms. If my guess is correct, he told you exactly the opposite – that either Sabrina or I drilled the hole. If this is indeed the case, I expect much will become clear to you.
The third lie was unearthed by me shortly thereafter. I’m not certain whether you know, but James is the person who told me that you had been killed in Burma. Following up, I eventually discovered that he was in fact the ultimate source of this misinformation. On hearing of your posting to Burma, James simply wrote directly to Sloan’s father Alastair, whereupon he was informed of the particulars – that you were indeed in Burma and doing well. Being aware that there was no one else who should know the truth on this side of the Atlantic, he simply spread a total falsehood. It wasn’t until several months later that you went missing and were presumed captured, but you were at no time ever listed as killed in action. This revelation was disclosed to me by your father, to whom I wrote years later, never having previously thought to ask as to your circumstances during the war.
Thenceforth possessed of evidence that James was indeed a patent liar, I resolved to follow that trail of evidence to its conclusion. I eventually also determined that he had in fact forged the doctor’s statement of his ineligibility for military service during the war, thereby avoiding his solemn duty to his country!
But that was as nothing compared to the horrifying realization that James had determined to marry me not in generous regard for my pregnancy, but rather out of jealousy. And that is why he planted the lie that you were dead, so that I would be forced into marrying him, thereby obviating the possibility of you marrying me should you in fact return home at the end of the war. Of course, he couldn’t have known that you were already in love with Sabrina, or he wouldn’t have bothered with me, but there it is nonetheless.
Dear Sloan, as you must now be painfully aware, I have lived a loveless marriage my entire life. You may say that there is nothing worse in this world, but I must point out that indeed there is – and that is to also live a lifetime with a scurrilous underhanded villain. Before I have completed my exposé, I am quite certain that you shall agree with me regarding James.
Unable to force himself to read further, Sloan arose from his easy chair, stumbled to the bar and, pouring himself a much-needed glass of scotch, he pressed it to his lips. Abruptly, he babbled audibly, “This is quite unbelievable! How could this have happened? And how shall I ever explain it to anyone?” He then strode to the glass door and, shoving it wide, he stepped out onto the balcony in complete disregard for the encroaching frigid night air.
Leaning on the balcony railing, he took yet another swig from his scotch and grumbled, “Damn it! How could she leave this to me? How in hell am I going to clean this mess up?” The chill eventually inducing a calming effect, he stepped back inside and, striding purposely to his chair, he collapsed disconsolately within it.
Simultaneously revolted by and attracted to it, he picked up the infuriating manuscript yet again, murmuring to himself, “This is ridiculous! It’s like some repugnantly engrossing novel. I can’t stand it, but I can’t seem to put it down. If only it weren’t true, and worse still – if only it weren’t about myself!”
The Following Day
Sloan awoke with a start. He had been dreaming, a dream in which he had been a young man, embracing a woman on a dock – someh
ow the wrong woman…and then it came to him – it had not been a dream! It had actually happened – and to him! Shaking his head in denial, he was still unable to grasp the reality of it all.
Within hours he had determined what his first act should be in the light of this inexplicable development. Reaching for the phone, he dialed a number, a voice answering on the third ring.
“Hello, it’s me,” he posited, at which he paused a moment, apparently listening to the response on the other end, then replied, “Yes, I am quite aware that you didn’t want to hear from me, but it’s important.”
He halted again and, taking in the reply on the other end, he thenceforth interjected, “No listen, I have something, something that changes everything….really. And – trust me on this – you’re not going to believe it!”
Halting momentarily yet again, he then said, “Just meet me, I shall fly to Pittsburgh tomorrow. I promise you, if this doesn’t change things between us, I shall never bother you again.” After yet another pause, he said, “Right then, the usual place, noonish? See you then,” and at this he hung up the telephone.
Pittsburgh - The Following Day
He observed her reticently as she came forward and, rising as she reached the restaurant booth, he offered politely, “Thank you, Sabrina. Thank you for coming. If you will, please sit down,” and so saying, he gestured towards the bench opposite his.
She slumped unenthusiastically into her seat, and without so much as a hello, she inquired in obvious frustration, “So what’s so important, Sloan? And please don’t give me another one of your hair-brained hypotheses!”
At this rather insulting opening, he gazed nonplussed at her and ceremoniously pulled the tattered document from beneath the table, announcing, “No, my dear, on the contrary, no more hypotheses, just facts. From now on, only facts.”
She glanced disinterestedly at the parcel and murmured, “And what, pray tell, is that?”
“The proof, Sabrina, all the proof in the world!”
“Just tell me what it is, you idiot.”
“All in good time, my dear, but first, can we go over something together?”
“Don’t call me my dear,” she mumbled, “What do you want to go over?”
“That night, in the shower.”
“My God! That was nearly thirty years ago. Why do we have to dredge up old memories?”
“Just bear with me,” he responded.
“I already bared for you that night. So don’t give me that crap!”
“I’m sorry…poor choice of words, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, shut up! It was easily the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me.”
Eyeing her diffidently, he proceeded with, “Well, funny you should mention that, because it seems that all may not have been as it seemed.”
“What on earth are you referring to, Sloan?”
“Tell me this, Sabrina, why did you leave so abruptly the following morning?”
“Because I was afraid, you idiot!”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that you would make me do the show in the shower.”
“The show…what show?” he frowned in confusion.
“Oh, don’t act innocent. You threatened to make me strip off and prance around naked so your buddies could ogle me through the peep hole.”
“Oh, right, I remember now,” he pondered, “Surely you know that I was only kidding.”
Flashing her eyes in fury, she exclaimed, “Right, and surely you don’t expect me to believe that!”
“I say,” he responded and, realizing that this line of discussion was going nowhere, he inquired, “Let me ask you another question – who drilled the hole in the wall?”
“This is ridiculous,” she spat out derisively, “You did, you pervert!”
“I assure you, Sabrina, I did no such thing.”
At this she gaped at him in confusion, exclaiming, “Of course you did! Isolde told me that you did.”
“Actually, I believe that you are in error on that point,” he responded serenely.
“What! What do you mean by that?”
“I believe that, in point of fact, Isolde told you that James told her that he had seen me drill the hole in the wall.”
“So? What’s the difference?”
“The difference is this – James told me that he saw Isolde drill the hole in the wall!”
At this she drew one hand to her face in astonishment, gasping, “You’re kidding!”
“I assure you, I remember the event in question as if it were yesterday.”
“Wait a minute,” she blurted, “Are you telling me that you didn’t drill the hole in the wall?”
“Yes.”
“Then who did?”
“I’m afraid that the evidence points to James.”
“What! What on earth are you talking about, Sloan?”
“It’s all right here, in Isolde’s exposé.”
“But…if you didn’t drill the hole in the wall, then you didn’t plan the whole thing to catch me in the shower.”
“Right, Sabrina, that is quite the case, at least up to a point.”
“What does that mean?”
“Look, James did indeed tell me about the hole. For my part, I determined to seek out the offending party. I therefore drilled a second hole in the wall, subsequently observing you peering through the hole that James drilled. Presuming that either you or Isolde had drilled it, I sought a means of rectifying the situation.”
“So you sought revenge on me.”
“I’m sure it must have seemed that way to you, but I assure you, that was not my intention.”
“What evidence can you offer to the contrary?”
“Sabrina, don’t you see, I showered naked for your pleasure for an entire week. Does that sound like revenge to you?”
“Well,” she responded thoughtfully, “There is that, and admittedly, you put on quite the show for me. I must say, you nasty boy, you had my attention. So if it wasn’t revenge, what was the reason you cornered me?”
“I did indeed have a loftier ambition than revenge,” he offered sincerely.
“Oh, and what, pray tell, was that?” she responded doubtfully.
“Look, I was by that time desperately taken with you,” he admitted, “The fact that the object of my affection had done something reprehensible sent my world into a tail spin. Having considered potentially rectifying alternatives for two days, I determined to find a way to right both our ships, as it were. I therefore laid a trap for you in the hope that I might teach you a lesson, one that would properly chastise you, simultaneously restore my affection for you, and perhaps even instill affection for me in you.”
“You’re not serious!” she exclaimed.
“I assure you most ardently, I am quite sincere.”
“But you behaved quite despicably!” she blurted angrily.
“I can see how you would think that, but in my mind at least, I was the perfect gentleman. After all, I could have had you for the taking that night had I so desired. Despite the fact that the object of my affection was displayed totally naked before me, I restrained myself.”
“I suppose there is that,” she said thoughtfully.
“At any rate, there is more to the story,” he relayed confidently.
“Oh?” she murmured in confusion.
“For obvious reasons, I found it impossible to sleep later that night.”
“Tell me about it!” she expounded in reminiscence, “I was so upset that I stayed up all night. And then I left first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, which hurt me terribly, if you must know,” he responded searchingly, hoping for a glimmer of reborn interest on her part but, seeing none, he continued with, “In my case, as I couldn’t sleep, I went for a walk.”
“A walk?” she queried and, eyeing him suspiciously, she queried, “Where to?”
“I wandered aimlessly, eventually arriving at the lake, and for
some inexplicable reason I decided to go for a swim. As I hadn’t thought to bring my swim trunks, I undressed and swam to the dock naked.”
“That sounds rather lurid,” she posited dubiously.
“Perhaps, but I did in fact believe that I was alone,” he suggested ambivalently, “At any rate, you followed me immediately thereafter, and popped right out onto the dock.”
At this, her eyes bulging in utter shock, she exclaimed in concerted denial, “What! I did no such thing!”
“I know that now, but up until yesterday morning, I spent my entire life convinced that you had,” he responded forlornly. “The truth is, that night convinced me that you were in love with me, so much so in fact, that I don’t think I would have sought you out after the war had I known it wasn’t you.”
“What! This is all too much!” she responded in obvious denial, “If it wasn’t me, then who was it?”
“It was Isolde.”
“My God, Sloan! How do you know that?” she exclaimed, her mouth agape in astonishment.
“Because she wrote it here, in this exposé.”
“But I don’t understand,” she frowned in apparent denial, “How could you have mistaken her for me?”
“It was quite dark that night, and she was wearing goggles and a bathing cap. And to top it off, she was shaved just as I had forced you to shave yourself.”
“What!”
“You heard me. When you came back to the room that night, she determined to have me for herself. So she shaved herself and followed me, knowing full well that I would think she was you.”
“Oh, my God! This is not to be believed!”
“Right. But it gets worse, Sabrina.”
“Worse? How could it possibly get worse?”
“That night, I made her pregnant.”
“What!” she cried in utter disbelief.
He peered at her somberly and whispered, “You heard me.”
She stared doubtfully at him, murmuring, “But if that were true, she would have had a child.”
“Yes, she did in fact have a child, Sabrina.”
Shaking her head in bewilderment, she blurted, “What! I’m confused. Then what happened to the child, Sloan?”
“The child she had is Robert.”
“What – Robert Moorehead?” she shrieked in abject horror and, now clutching her throat, she exclaimed in utter shock, “He is your son?”
“Apparently so.”
“But that cannot be, Sloan, for that would make Elise his sibling.”
Eyeing her despondently, he corrected, “Half-sibling.”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she murmured to herself, “Unbelievable…absolutely incomprehensible.”
“Yes, just so,” he responded morosely, “Shall I tell you more?”
“More?” she replied and, dragging her suddenly moribund eyes to his, she spluttered, “No, I think not, Sloan. This is all far too much for me to absorb. I’m afraid I must go,” and, having said this last, she reached for her purse and abruptly arose to depart.
“I understand,” he responded disconsolately, but she was already making her way toward the exit.