Smaragdus

“Nurse?” Therese repeated, stupefied.

“My husband had a series of strokes several years ago, and I hired Miss Gerhard to take care of him.” Carol couldn’t understand why Therese seemed so upset about Abby’s presence in her office.

“How long has she worked for you?” Therese asked in trepidation. What she was learning terrified her beyond belief, her entire body recoiling from the shock.

“Umm… three years, maybe?” Carol tried to think back. “Yes, that’s right. This is my fourth year at the Met.”

Three years. The absurdness of it all blew Therese away. They’ve been on it for three years. She felt sick to her stomach, guessing how ruthlessly Madame had planned this one. Carrying on with the operations first in Phoenix, and then in Dallas, Therese had been totally oblivious as to what Martha was up to in New York at the same time.

“Will you excuse me for a while?” Therese managed to say, and before Carol had a chance to utter a single word, she ran out, heading toward the main entrance.

She bolted out of the doors and down the main stairway, but Martha was nowhere in sight. Panting, she remained standing next to the fountain. She was perspiring all over, but she couldn’t tell if it was cold sweat or the regular kind. Powerless to do anything more at the moment, Therese climbed the stairs to return to the museum.

“Therese…” Martha was standing behind a column, adjacent to the entrance. Therese had run out without noticing her there. Now that she had her in her sight, her eyes were blazing with anger.              

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Therese hissed at her. “Why are you here, and what are you doing with her, dear Martha ?” she lashed out at her viciously.

“Keep your voice down... and please don’t call me that,” Abby’s eyes darted nervously around. “Let’s walk.” She attempted to grab Therese’s arm, but Therese wouldn’t have any of it. “I came here to let her know I’m taking her husband to the doctor’s.” Soon they were safely out of range for anyone at the museum to hear them.

“Her husband?” Therese nearly exclaimed. “Where is he? What have you done to him?” Her breathing was becoming agitated again.

“Relax, I haven’t done anything to him,” Abby assured. “Once I got outside, I called the boys and asked them to take him to his appointment.”

The news did nothing to soothe Therese’s troubled mind. “You asked Karl the Bull and Jimmy Three Fingers to take Mr. Aird to the doctor’s? Are you mad? He’s not only going to be scared shitless, he’ll tell Carol what you’ve just done.” She was beside herself with worry, although she wasn’t sure which reason bothered her more.

“He’s not going to say a word,” Abby commented dryly. “He can’t speak, and as far as the other stuff, I’d welcome a day not having to change his diapers.” Having said that, she frowned at her own words. “That was uncalled for… Harge is okay.”

Therese stared at Abby incredulously. They hadn’t seen each other for a long time, and not just because Therese had kept avoiding her. Abby had done the same; she had chosen to steer clear of her since she knew only too well what Therese thought of her. Seeing the younger woman she had befriended all those years ago was enough to stir up too many pent-up emotions in her. Where had once been laughter and easy camaraderie, only guilt and regret prevailed. She had done her best, Abby had told herself repeatedly, but had she really believed in her own conviction? But she hadn’t had any choice, not really, for she had known Madame for more than half of her life, already when they hadn’t been ‘Martha and Karen’.

Twenty years ago

“Will you be my maid of honor, Abby?” The question wasn’t as big a surprise for her as the decision to tie the knot had been.        

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Abby asked, her brow askew. “He’s old, and I don’t mean in any May-October way either,” she specified. “I look at you, and it’s more like a flapper getting hitched to Moses.” The light-hearted tone she attempted wasn’t at all what she had hoped it would be.

“I like Julius,” the bride-to-be stated in a manner that defied all objections. “He’s quiet, gentle, and content with what he’s got.” Brushing her hair in front of a mirror, she had a rapturous gleam in her eyes. “And he’s loaded.” She winked at Abby mischievously.

“He also spends most of his time in an iron lung!” Abby exclaimed. “The poor man has one foot in the grave, and you’re dragging him down the aisle.” Truth be told, she was disgusted by all of it. She did, however, fail to anticipate the reaction her heated words would trigger.

“You want me to be smacked around like I’ve been so far?” her friend asked menacingly. “I’m up to here with so called virile hunks using me as their punching bag,” she shouted. “I’ve been pushed around all my life – first by my father, then by my brothers as soon as they got big enough to follow his lead.” Exhausted by her unexpected outburst, she put the brush down. “This is not the grand finale, Abby, and you know it although you don’t want to face it.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I want us to be together – you and me – but before we can do that, we’ll have to have a decent nest egg to build upon.”

Abby didn’t want to face it. She didn’t care to see or hear about it, because being privy to her friend’s plan to marry a helpless invalid made her an accomplice, whether she liked it or not. But she loved her, desperately, passionately. What Abby wanted to believe was that this wasn’t just the beginning of something sordid but also its end as well. She told herself adamantly that it was so, but deep down she feared what was to come.

Neither one of them had ever had much money, but only Abby had made her peace with it. Neither one had known security of any kind. Maybe I haven’t been cold enough to yearn for the tropics, not thirsty enough to know no limits to my goblet, she had mused in comparison. I look at you and it already runneth over, Abby wanted to confess, but the words got stuck in her throat like thistles and thorns pricking a barren field.  

The haves and have-nots, she had mused, reluctantly mingling among the fat cats and the high rollers because her friend wanted it so. Too many nights rubbing elbows with the nouveau riche had left a permanent stench of money in her clothes, Abby agonized privately. None of it had seemed to perturb the woman she focused all her attention on, she had noticed sadly. Maybe it’s good she at least marries someone with a reputable name and solid wealth, Abby consoled herself.

“I know,” she said in a more conciliatory fashion. “It’s just that Julius can live for many more years, and I’d hate to think I’ll be alone all that time.” She tried her best to make amends.

“Don’t worry about it, darling. We’ll think of something.”

Two weeks after Abby’s friend Genevieve had married Julius Cantrell in a modest ceremony in London attended only by the three of them, a priest, two nurses and the bridegroom’s solicitor, Lord Cantrell passed away after a violent heart attack. No foul play was suspected, the ailing husband having been 92 at the time.     

For a while Therese couldn’t get a word out of her mouth. She wanted to pace around but couldn’t since it might have attracted unwanted attention. The plaza wasn't crowded enough for them to risk any ill-advised scene.

“So if you’re already taking care of this, why am I even involved with it?” she asked finally. She was angry and unbelievably frustrated.

“Apparently I’m not doing a very good job at it,” Abby said. She remembered the last time she had shared Carol’s bed, how devoid of real passion it had been, at least on Carol’s side.

“Not good job at what?” Therese wanted to know. “You’re fucking Carol but the earth just doesn’t move for her, huh?” She was losing it fast.

“It moves alright,” Abby spat back, “but obviously not often enough, or at least that’s what Gen thinks.” Genevieve’s criticism and Therese’s hostility combined were way too much for her to handle at the moment.    

Therese pictured Carol in bed with Abby, and it nearly crushed her. “You’re fucking Carol…” she mumbled without realizing it herself. Abby, however, read her loud and clear.

“You know what, Therese,” Abby interrupted. “You know what I am to Carol Aird?” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to admit it to anyone other than herself. “I’m her pity fuck,” Abby scoffed, “and lately I’ve been even less than that.” Why would she hide it if she knew it to be true? Even Genevieve had cracked a tasteless joke about it the other day.

“What do you mean?” Therese asked, rubbing feverishly the corner of her right eye. The way it stung, she must have caught some dust in it. 

“For a long time it’s been more like collecting a bonus for a job well done. She is broke after all,” Abby explained. “But these past three weeks she’s been stingier than ever, distant and evasive. And I’m not a bad lay either, I’ve been schooled the same way you have,” she stated confidently. “It’s too bad, actually… she may look like an ice queen, but she’s a real wild cat in the sack. And that body of hers, oh my God… it’s so sizzling hot, you could fry eggs on it,” Abby went on, her eyes dimming involuntarily. “She’s a nice person, too,” she concluded hastily. It was an understatement, for Abby cared deeply about Carol. Then again she wasn’t going to tell that to Therese. No way. 

Something in Therese seemed to arise from the dead. “Oh…” she said. “That’s good to know…” Narrowing her eyes, Abby glanced at her amusedly. “That she’s a nice person.” Therese felt uncomfortably warm under her sudden scrutiny.

“Sure,” Abby said, seemingly unfazed. “It’s good to know we’re zooming in on decent folks and sucking them dry.” She looked at Therese sternly. “Because that’s what we do.”

Before Therese could respond, a sound of a broken tailpipe interrupted their conversation. “That’s Jimmy’s car,” Abby noted. A rusty, old Buick ran a red light and approached them too fast. “I hope everything went well with Harge. The doctor he’s been seeing lately may not have his license anymore but he’s still a damn good one,” Abby told Therese proudly. Listening to Carol’s financial troubles, she had found a way of her own to economize.

“Since you said he can’t speak or anything,” Therese started cautiously, “could I have a quick look at him?” She wanted to know what kind of a man young Carol had married.

“Of course,” Abby agreed. “Hang on.” She opened the rear door for Therese to have a peek inside. Harge was sitting in the middle with a gruesome-looking thug on each side. “I don’t know if you’ve met Dave? We call him The Dentist,” Abby introduced motioning to the guy sitting on Harge’s right side.

“Hello, Dentist,” Therese said, nodding kindly at the hoodlum with a winning toothless smile.

“Baldo, say hi to Therese,” Abby asked the bald goon on Harge’s left side. “He doesn’t believe in speaking,” Abby whispered to Therese. “And then we have Harge… you haven’t met Therese yet, but I’m sure you’ll be seeing a whole lot more of her in the near future.”

The look in Harge’s eyes was oddly familiar to Therese, but it took her a while to remember why. The resemblance to the famous painting by Edward Munch was simply uncanny. He must’ve been a handsome man in his day, Therese thought, and it saddened her. She didn’t know squat about Harge, but she thought of Carol, of all the things she must have sacrificed to take care of her disabled husband.

“Therese,” Abby called her one more time before leaving with Harge. “Gen wants us to operate on this together. I may not be in the position she had wished for, but she wants me to back you up any way I can.”

Therese grew silent. She didn’t need anybody’s help, least of all with Carol. “I don’t know about that,” she hesitated. “And I don’t know about you.” She wasn’t going to forget her betrayal.

“I don’t think we have any say in the matter,” Abby said quietly. “I know how you feel, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about what I did or, rather, didn’t do. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.” The time was running out – the guys in the car were getting restless.

Unwilling to get into any deep discussion, Therese cast a disappointed glance at Abby and turned away. Halfway up the stairs, she grabbed her chest to calm her racing heart. Something else was stirring as well, cracking and turning in its cavity, never missing an opportunity to rub its hard, green edges against the tender flesh.