Poison
"In every tyrant's heart there springs in the end this poison, that he cannot trust a friend." Aeschylus
"Damn nation!" Teena hissed under her breath. Her husband was still out, probably working (since he surely wasn't running errands or doing anything helpful), so she knew that whispering her curses was ridiculous. Bill became offended if she cursed, though he did so often himself. He had been brought up in an old fashioned home and thus now believed that ladies shouldn't use four letter words like damn.
"God damn it!" Teena spat, louder this time, enjoying the emphasis of each word.
The guests would be arriving in less than an hour, and here she was in the upstairs powder room with half a bottle of perfume seeping into her freshly starched petticoats. With an exaggerated sigh of frustration, Teena unbuttoned the garment at the waist and let the soft layers of satin whisper to the floor so that she now stood in front of the full-length mirror in only her bra and girdle. A small glint of silver at the hollow of her collar bone reminded her that she'd forgotten to remove the necklace she often wore under her blouse. She tilted her head forward, pushed the rollers curling her hair aside, and undid the tiny clasp. For a brief moment, she gazed at the Star of David cradled in her palm before quickly burying it in the top drawer of her vanity table. Frantically, she began rummaging through the dirty clothes hamper in search of a passable petticoat.
"Honey, what are you doing? Everyone will be here soon, and you aren't even dressed yet."
Teena glanced over her shoulder to see Bill leaning against the doorframe.
"I've had no time today! First I had to go to the market to make sure Laney had all of the ingredients for her recipes, and then I had to see about the flowers and the champagne and the decorations and the cleaning…I only started dressing about twenty minutes ago, but I ruined my petticoat so now I have to find another!"
"Calm down, darling. You can always play hostess in your undergarments. It doesn't matter what you do, you'll always be beautiful."
Teena sighed and smiled despite herself as her husband, always the charmer, helped her to her feet and pressed a warm kiss against her forehead. He cradled her cheeks with his palms and gently brushed his lips over hers.
"Where have you been?" she breathed against his mouth.
"Work," he whispered. "It's been a long day."
She turned her head to rest on his shoulder.
"I wish I knew what it is you do all day," she muttered.
"Honey, I can't—"
"Talk about it. Yes, I know. The work is for the State Department, and it's classified," Teena sighed.
"I'm sorry. But guess what? I don't have to be in Washington on Friday after all. How about you and I take a drive through Maine this weekend? We'll go to a bed and breakfast in the mountains and drink hot chocolate and watch the snow fall. How does that sound?"
"Wonderful," she smiled sweetly, knowing it would never happen.
"I'll greet the guests as they start to arrive. Take all the time you need."
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before scurrying down the hall. She heard the locks click as he turned the key in his office door.
--
Teena rested her forearm against the evergreen-draped oak banister in the foyer. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her crimson silk evening dress and absently twirled the string of cream pearls at her neck with her pointer finger. A cacophony of voices and laughter floated around the corner from the kitchen and sitting parlor in the back of the house. They were mostly Bill's friends and acquaintances, since this was primarily a holiday gathering for the men with whom he worked. She'd become acquainted with some of their wives over the past few years, but her relationship with them had never passed small talk. At a party last year, she'd tried speaking in confidence with some of the other women about the disturbing secrecy enveloping their husbands' lives, but it seemed that she was the only one interested in the subject. Popular topics included children and fashion and cooking and nannies—nothing Teena cared to discuss. Now her heart fluttered with nerves at the prospect of entertaining a group of nearly strangers. She told herself she was being ridiculous, plastered a friendly smile onto her ruby red lips, and turned the corner toward the parlor, her skirt swishing around her narrow hips as she moved.
--
"Teena! There you are, darling. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come out. You remember Ronald," Bill gestured to the flushed, jovial, curly-haired man standing beside him.
"May I say, you look lovelier than ever, Mrs. Mulder!" Ronald exclaimed. He clumsily placed his champagne glass on the kitchen counter, liquid sloshing over the rim, and extended his hand. Teena politely shook it and smiled warmly.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Ronald. How have you been?"
"Well, no wife yet, but I'm still looking. Of course, the work keeps me busy… Now, when are you going to have some kids? The two of you together, you would have beautiful children. You've been married for, what is it, five years now?"
"Four," Bill replied.
Teena felt her cheeks grow hot, and she dropped her chin to examine the linoleum beneath her feet.
"All in good time," Bill said lightly, "It's best not to rush things."
"Oh of course, of course," Ronald chortled, taking another swig of champagne. "Do you have any eggnog? I know we have awhile before Christmas, but I could really go for some eggnog."
--
Teena felt as though she was missing out on some integral part of life but couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Sadness wasn't necessarily the root of the problem; it was more of an emptiness, really. If she told Bill about it, he would laugh at her and say she was being silly. The ladies giggled as they sipped their wine and played cards, discussing the shopping in New York City. Teena felt herself staring into space while the hurt within her seemed to grow stronger. She pushed it away and sat up straighter when the conversation finally broke, clearing her throat.
"So what are your opinions of John Kennedy? I think his presidency will do quite a lot for this country. Finally, someone is willing to not only address, but actually do something about poverty and raising the minimum wage. And he promises to instigate new laws for civil rights. It's time for equality in America," Teena said, hoping to start a more interesting discussion.
The women sat in silence, regarding her quizzically, until one finally spoke up. "I think my husband voted for Nixon," she said.
"Please excuse me for a moment. I'll be passing through the kitchen, is there anything I can get for any of you?" Teena asked as she pulled her chair back from the card table.
The women smiled politely and shook their heads as Teena fled.
--
She released a sigh of relief as she stepped outside onto the back porch. Her breath made a little white puffy cloud in the icy air in front of her mouth. Teena shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her body as she gazed out into the field and the thicket of trees beyond, all bathed in winter starlight. Patches of golden light spilled out from the first floor windows and the voices from inside blended together in a distant hum as the party continued into the tipsy hour of the night. At least she knew she wasn't missed. She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a pack of Morley's and a box of matches. Delicately placing the cigarette between her lips, she removed a match from the small pack and struck it with no result. The box must have gotten wet somehow, probably from spilled champagne.
"Damn," she whispered, dropping the useless matches back into her pocket.
"Please, let me," a man's voice offered, fracturing the silence.
Teena gasped, startled, one hand flying to her heart. "Who's there?" she asked, slightly alarmed that she hadn't been alone.
"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to frighten you."
The man stepped toward her from the far left corner of the porch. He was tall and thin with dark hair, but she couldn't make out his features in the shadows. Suddenly a tiny spark illuminated warm, dark hazel eyes that sparkled with flecks of green. Teena hesitantly leaned into the flame of his chrome lighter until the tip of her cigarette glowed a soft orange. She inhaled deeply and stepped back to a safe distance.
"Are you one of my husband's guests?" Teena asked as she turned away from him to look into the night, attempting to conceal her unease.
"Yes, though a very poor one at that. I'm afraid I lack respectable social skills. Parties make me nervous, even when I'm acquainted with everyone present," he replied. His voice was soft and smooth, like running a hand over velvet.
"I don't like them much either. I guess I've stumbled on your hiding place."
"I suppose you have…I'm sorry, I should introduce myself. Well I did warn you that I lack social skills. My name is Christopher Spender. Chris."
"I'm Teena," she replied, taking his hand.
"Yes, I know. Bill talks about you all the time. I feel like we've already met."
For a brief moment, silence fell between them, but it felt more natural than awkward. Teena quickly moved back when she realized she'd neglected to drop his hand.
"So you work with Bill?" she asked, nonchalantly taking a long drag.
"Yes. We've known one another for a long while actually. We met in service in the army ten years ago, and our paths have crossed multiple times since then. And now our work brings us together often."
"Why haven't I seen you at any of the other parties?"
"I admit I'm anti-social. Usually I avoid these events…I should have attended your wedding, though. I received an invitation, but unfortunately business took me elsewhere that weekend. I heard it was a lovely ceremony."
"Yes it was," Teena replied softly.
"Are you happy?" he asked after a long pause.
"Yes, of course! Why do you ask?" she questioned defensively.
"No particular reason, though you are fleeing your own party, so I was just curious if something is wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"When you first walked out…you seemed sad. Never mind."
"You were watching me the whole time?"
"I'm sorry. I'll go inside and give you your privacy."
"No, please stay. I wouldn't mind the company…but to answer your question truthfully, isn't everyone a bit sad?"
"Why are you sad?" he asked.
"I don't even know really. Maybe because I can't seem to fit in at parties or maybe because…I get bored with this life sometimes or maybe because I wish I really knew my husband and I wish he really knew me."
Teena flinched after the words had spilled out of her, and she felt the flush of embarrassment rising in her chest. What had possessed her to speak so openly with a complete stranger when she had trouble sharing her thoughts with her closest friends?
"Everyone is a stranger. We live in little worlds of our own, always instinctively shutting out those we love. That's what life has taught me at least," Chris shrugged, "He who learns must suffer."
"And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart—"she continued, and his soft baritone joined her, "and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."
"You know Aeschylus?" he asked.
"Like my heart," she replied.
"Look! I think it's starting to snow," Chris noticed as he gazed out over the field. Sure enough, little white flurries danced in the air, settling lazily atop the frozen earth.
Teena smiled and pulled her sweater closed tighter when she became aware of her shivering and put out her cigarette on the glass top of the patio table. Chris removed his long wool coat, offering it to her.
"You'll freeze," Teena said.
"I'll be fine."
"Thank you," she murmured, draping the coat over her shoulders.
"It's frigid out here! You two are crazy!"
Teena jumped when Bill's voice called out from the kitchen doorway.
"Honey, I've been looking for you everywhere! Were you trying to steal my wife, Chris?"
"Not at all. I think we both just needed a little escape from the crowd inside," Chris said.
"Understandable, but come back in now before you catch a cold."
Teena turned and followed her husband back indoors. She looked over her shoulder before letting the screen door fall shut to see Chris' back turned to the house as he lit up a cigarette, wisps of smoke floating into the night.
--
AN: Thanks for reading! This is a WIP; I plan on updating weekly, but possibly more frequently than that. All comments/criticisms welcome!
