Crossroads and Mountaintops

By Helen Zoe Dubenski

Two married couples of the now generation had it made, or so they thought. Good educations, excellent incomes, prestigious professions, and all the trappings of the good life had them set for the future. Good looks and healthy bodies added to the aura of life being a bowl of cherries.

A solid friendship between them had matured over a ten year span, with the wives being extremely close. Their husbands too were friends, although less dependent on each other because of their successful careers and other interests.

Upon reaching their mid-thirties, each couples bowl of cherries dwindled as they assessed the future. Something was missinginner happiness. In its pursuit, each of the four made grievous mistakes at times of critical crossroad decisions. Finding the elusive mountaintop of happiness suddenly became their pressing goal. Ironically, that pursuit took each of the four into a lowly pit of degradation before finding their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 26, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462839728

Helen Zoe Dubenski

Serving as Director of Engineering for a Fortune 50 company provided me with numerous creative opportunities. Since retiring, and now with adequate time to pursue hobbies and special interests, my creative energies are now used in writing fiction - - an activity totally unanticipated or even considered while working. Writing not only fulfills creative urges, it has become a passion - - a productive use of time - - a legitimate reason for rising at three AM - - and a catalyst that makes me more aware of the world around me. Simply stated, I write for personal enjoyment - - not for fame, fortune or any other hidden agenda. I am content to write a story or essay, lay it aside unseen by others, and then begin another. A person may consider any topic, issue or plot, but I have found that until a subject is researched and reduce to clear written words, earlier conclusions or assumptions are usually half-baked. Writing forces me to take the extra and necessary steps, especially when writing about controversial subjects. The fun of writing comes in organizing plots, developing interesting characters and reducing it to a lucid story, i.e., creating something from nothing. Allowing friends to read my manuscripts, or even publishing for mass consumption, is only icing on the cake and far less important to me than the inner satisfaction that comes with composing. The absence of a readership base will not deny me the joy of writing, nor will minimal writing talent. However, I am pleased to make my stories and essays available to friends and the public, and I actively solicit their feedback. My writing style is simple story telling, easily comprehended, with plots sufficiently complex to engage the reader. Memorable characters also add zest. I can assure readers that my novels are uplifting and rewarding, and will never leave the reader in a “downer.” Further, my writing is suitable for general consumption, without filthy language, ribald humor, or provocative sex. Instead, it is wholesome narrative about mythical people similar to those we know and meet daily, people who become involved in unusual circumstances and unique personal relationships. Without apology, religious and moralistic values are woven into my plots, both overtly and subliminally. Readership range is suitable from late teens and older. My genre is difficult to pigeonhole. In describing my stories, readers have generously used terms such as intriguing, suspenseful, venturesome and highly imaginative. My honest desire is that readers of my novels will enjoy them a half-measure of the pleasure I had in writing them.   Undeniably, a person is shaped by his or her early upbringing and environment. Being reared in Danville, VA during the depression years of the thirties, poor by any standard, I had parents who during the worst of times lived respectably and trusted their God. Inducted into the Army prior to the end of WW II produced another influence on my life. Exposure to men of different backgrounds and being stationed in Italy gave me another view of the world while still a young teenager - - an eye opening experience to be sure. After obtaining a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering from Virginia Tech in 1951, I moved to Winston-Salem, NC and began a career with a large corporation. Advancement came in incremental steps, culminating in being appointed Director of an eighteen hundred-person engineering and related activities department. Successful career notwithstanding, the highlight of my life was marrying a wonderful person, Sara Watson, and having three outstanding children and two super grandchildren.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Hello, Ms. Joan, I saved yo favorite table by de window. You go sit down and I’ll bring you a drink while you waits fo yo constant companion, Ms. Leah. Will it be coffee or cocktail?

Thanks, Caleb, and Leah will be joining me soon. We have met here at the club for lunch every Tuesday and Thursday for the last ten years. People may say we are creatures of habit, but the truth is you have spoiled us terribly. Lunch wouldn’t be the same without you serving us. Coffee will be fine while I wait!

You’s most kind, Ms. Joan, and it be a pleasure to serve you and Ms. Leah. Furthermo, der ain’t no members of dis here Oaks Country Club nicer to me dan you two is. I’ll bring de coffee.

Joan walked to her table, waving and speaking to acquaintances as she moved along. The table for two by the window was her special haven, ideal for the Tuesday and Thursday lunches with Leah, and it removed the social obligation to invite other members to join them when the room was filled. The window on one side and the aisle on the other gave them privacy and prevented their conversations from being overheard. Also, the outside view was beautiful, especially in spring and fall. Flowerbeds around the clubhouse and putting green seemed to always be in bloom and immaculately groomed. The neatly mowed fairways and greens were restful to the eye, plus the stately oaks and tall pines lining the fairways were pristine, without ugly signboards, telephone poles and wires. Only soundless electric golf carts and amateurish golfers swinging at the ball marred the vista.

When lunch conversations dragged, Joan and Leah could look down on the adjacent putting green and enjoy a good laugh. They took great care to avoid other diners from hearing as they made fun of fellow member’s outlandish golfing togs. They didn’t think of it as belittling the golfers, but rather a commentary on human exhibitionism. Watching some of the older members as they practiced was a hoot. With their bad eyesight and golfing ineptness, a putt would frequently scoot past the pin and off the green, or sometimes, only a third of the way to the target. With neither being golfers, Joan and Leah didn’t understand their husband’s addiction to the game.

The saying, ‘Golf isn’t a game—it’s a disease,’ was only a humorous oxymoron to them.

After Caleb brought Joan’s coffee and placed it on the snow-white linen tablecloth, she took a sip, turned in her chair and faced the window. Unconscious of her actions, Joan rested her left elbow on the table and cupped her head in the palm of that hand. With her head bent down and sideways, she lapsed into deep thought, with her pose resembling Rodin’s sculpture, The Thinker. She sat in that position for five minutes, totally unaware of the clatter of dishes and conversational noise throughout the dining room. Her gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular—just staring at everything but seeing nothing. Fortunately, her face was hidden from view because it would have revealed a forlorn expression.

Joan, honey, what’s the matter? Are you sick or did someone steal your sucker? Leah asked with a radiant smile illuminating her pretty face as she took a seat opposite Joan. She also chuckled in an attempt to lighten the air.

Joan snapped out of her downcast pose and said, Hi Leah, nothing like that—it’s just my time to be blue. That should change now that you are here, sweetie!

Gosh, Joan, I’d have cut my parents off during their long distance call had I known you were in such despair, Leah offered as justification for being late.

No problem, Leah. I came in blue and Caleb said something that made it even worse. I’ll be okay.

What did he say, Joan? Normally he is the friendliest and most polite person that I know.

Stow it a second, Leah, here he comes to take our orders.

After small talk and eating their salads, Leah said, Spill it Joan, what’s so depressing? Is Hardy running around on you? Oops, I’m being too personal, and you have a right to tell me to mind my own business. Please forgive me, honey.

I hope I am your business, and will always be. My individual problems are about fives on a scale of ten—nothing major about any one of them—but Leah, when I think about all of them at once, it’s enough to make me sad. First, I’m thirty-four years old with no children to nurture. My husband is okay in bed but he seems more interested in his work than in me. I probably get enough sex, but not the tender, loving and stroking type that I need. I’m not a career type gal or heavy into hobbies, so I guess I’m just bored with life—nothing to push me or consume my time. We both probably should have gone to work after finishing college but didn’t need to financially. Frankly, I didn’t want to—guess I’m lazy.

Leah interjected, Well, Joan, at least you have a fast friend to help you through boredom, one who cares tremendously about you. In case you don’t know who that is, it’s me!

Yeah, Leah, that’s bugged me too after Caleb asked, ‘Will your constant companion be joining you as usual?’ Tell me the truth, do I monopolize your time and smoother you with my friendship? We are together at least three days each week, plus Hardy and I routinely do something with you and Matt on the weekends. Caleb’s innocent question made me realize that I don’t leave you much time for other friends and activities. Should I back off and let you breathe? I want the truth, Leah!

Leah’s eyes opened wide in shock and she blurted, "Joan, that’s ridiculous! Your friendship means the world to me—my lifeline—

my crutch—and without you to lean on I’d be a basket case. Perish the thought, dear, but is this a tactful way of saying that I am dominating your life?"

"That’s a big ha ha, Leah! Me your lifeline or crutch? That’s a joke. You have it all girl—outstanding looks, a fabulous body, a

MENSA type brain, and excellent family income. You don’t need me but I love you for saying it. As usual, you give me a lift. Thanks sweetie!"

Same here, Joan. I too get the occasional blue funk and my problems are almost identical to yours. I’m barren and you had that early hysterectomy. Matt and I probably should have adopted children when in our twenties but I’m not sure it would be a good idea at age thirty-three. Joan, we’re being denied the satisfaction of mothering, and all women have that urge. About the sex thing, you stated it perfectly for me as well—-enough but not the right kind.

After a brief pause in conversation, Joan continued with the sex topic, very tentatively, and obviously unsure if it was appropriate subject matter. Leah, I mentioned that my sex life is less than adequate but I should elaborate and give Hardy his due. He is a good husband, and as far as I know, has never ventured out of the nest for sexual pleasures. In addition to satisfying his physical needs with me, he often expresses concern for mine. It’s not that he is selfish, but during the last half of our marriage there have been too many competing interests and demands on him, things like making money, involvement in politics and civic work, and he is very generous with his time for any group that asks.

Yeah, I know exactly what you are saying, Joan. Go on.

"In Hardy’s defense, he is doing what males have done for thousands of years. He’s out hunting and providing for me, quite well I might add, and he seems genuinely interested in my safety and general welfare. Our assets have already reached $2 million and Hardy’s business could really soar during the next ten years—maybe worth

$50 million before he retires early, like by fifty. If so, he would have truly earned it by working the long, exhausting hours to make it happen. In the meantime, he remains a task oriented person, works hard at everything he attempts in short spurts, and quickly moves to another task, if you get my meaning."

I not only get your drift, but experience it week after week. Joanie, let me ask a really personal question—one I wouldn’t dare ask anyone else, but for some reason I feel safe in asking you. So, dear, hedge if you wish or even refuse to answer. Have you ever considered filling your needs with another man?

Joan’s beautiful and expressive brown eyes widened, and a grimace replaced her warm smile. That would be exciting but probably unproductive because most men are alike. Also, I’d soon become a wreck from worrying about being caught. I’m only borderline psychotic now, but the compensating factors that I just mentioned make life tolerable. No, Leah, I don’t plan on going elsewhere any time soon.

Leah kept her eyes fixed on Joan during the denial, and continued to stare without revealing a clue to her inner thoughts. Joan wondered if Leah’s smile was only a smirk hiding skepticism. She couldn’t stand the silence any longer and blurted, What, Leah? You asked and I answered. That should warrant a response.

Leah’s smile turned into a serious expression and she tilted her head down, breaking eye contact with Joan. "Honey, we have been friends for a long time and I’ve often wondered why we bonded so well. Even stronger than our social compatibility, we have common traits and even similar problems. We even think alike on most serious subjects, and I don’t remember us ever having harsh words. Your answer to my question about taking a lover hit the mark for me too—

ditto—amen—and well stated. Joan, I can truthfully say that you are my best friend and I’m beginning to better understand why."

Tears formed in Joan’s eyes and she began batting them rapidly in a windshield wiper fashion to wipe the moisture away. A broad smile did not hide her emotions as she tried to continue the subject in a lighter fashion. Leah, honey, it’s true that we are alike in lots of ways, but do you think our differences are pluses or minuses?

What differences, Joan?

For starters, I am fair complexioned, have light brown, shoulder length hair, I’m peppy and impetuous, and a lot more aggressive and outgoing than you. That pegs me at times as a flirt and flighty, whereas you are more reserved and laid back. Honey, you are twice as smart as I and can express yourself in an intelligent, articulate manner. Like me, you are extremely friendly and considerate of people but you don’t push your freight like I do. However, you are entirely accessible to everyone who wants to be friendly. Because I’m not smart and articulate, I tend to relate with people whom I like by touching and getting close. My affection comes as a hug, a kiss on the cheek or a tender caress; I was brought up that way. As a family, we didn’t go around telling relatives that we loved them, but we sure did a lot of hugging and kissing—action instead of words. Does that make sense to you?

Absolutely, Joan, but I’m not smarter than you. I just think more before speaking—a bit more cautious.

Something else, Leah, you simply don’t realize how beautiful you are. With your dark, clear complexion and steel blue eyes, short chestnut hair and pretty facial features, you are a stunning beauty, both inwardly and outwardly. Your total package attracts like nectar draws a bee. I was and continue to be drawn to you for all those reasons, but not by any specific one. Honey, you can lift your head high and stop that blushing! Modesty is another of your attributes, but for once in your life, stand up and take a bow to your admiring public—me at this moment.

Leah tilted her head up slightly, smiled and coyly cut an eye at Joan. Noticing Joan’s hand resting on the table, she reached over and laid her hand on Joan’s, squeezed it warmly, and said, Joan, I found you today as blue as the Pacific Ocean, and I too was having a bad day emotionally. You have made me as high as a kite, with warm fuzzy feelings inside. I truly hope you are feeling better too because I can’t feel good if you are sad.

I do feel better, thanks to you. Leah, I guess we would sound like lovers to anyone hearing our conversation but we know better, don’t we?

Right, Joan, words can be deceiving.

Like I explained earlier, I’m the touching, feeling type and I’d like to touch and hug you at this moment to express my love since I have trouble saying it. Does that make me a lesbian?

Heavens no, Joan, and you can touch me any time you wish. I might even have the same feeling at times about the touching thing. Gosh, sweetie, we aren’t lesbians. Remember the time you were so weak with the flu that you couldn’t raise your head for three days? I gave you a bath each day, washing you all over, and touched everything you have. And you helped me in and out of the bathtub several times when I had that cast on my leg. You sat on the edge of the tub, held my bad leg the entire time, and then dried me. Lesbians would have capitalized on those opportunities.

Joan’s earlier dour expression changed into a happy face during the frank discussion with Leah. She had said things to Leah that she had always wanted to say but found difficult to put into words. Furthermore, explaining that Hardy was not supplying her psychological needs elicited surprising news of the same problem between Leah and Matt. Aside from liking each other, this common problem reaffirmed that they were soul mates. Their friendship was extremely important to both, and it kept them mentally stable—lifelines to each other as Leah had put it. Joan was especially happy to learn that touching and caressing Leah at times would not be offensive to her. What really surprised Joan was that the altogether Leah expressed similar needs.

Being the more impulsive and adventurous of the duo, Joan blurted, Honey, we need to get our husband’s attention. Let’s go buy ourselves the skimpiest, most alluring nightgowns we can find and spring them on our inattentive hubbies tonight. It might buy us some of that TLC we’ve been missing. Whatcha think?

Let’s do it Joan, and I suggest Annette’s. She has nice stuff and large changing rooms. We might even have the run of the place, and she never pressures you to buy things.

Great with me. I’ll follow and you can drop your car off at your place. I’ll drive to Annette’s and bring you back home, Joan replied enthusiastically.

On the way out, they stopped at Caleb’s stand at the door to sign their lunch checks and Leah said, Thanks Caleb. You are the best waiter in this state and we are fortunate to have you.

Caleb’s gold-capped front teeth shined and he bowed slightly. Joan inserted quickly, Caleb, you mentioned that Leah is my constant companion and it reminded me how important she is as a friend. Very perceptive of you, and it also reminded us how nice you have been to us over the years. We’d probably eat elsewhere if you were not around. Joan patted Caleb’s back in praise, entirely consistent with her touching philosophy.

Caleb grinned ear to ear from being stroked by his favorite patrons, and after making certain that nobody was within ear-shot, stroked back in like kind, I’z noticed over de years dat when two womens run together one is nearly always purty and de other be ugly. It ain’t fair fer you two equally purty girls to keep it to yosef—you should be sharing dat great beauty wid some ugly women.

Joan and Leah laughed modestly. Caleb enjoyed a jolly chuckle, then added, Anyway, like I told Ms. Joan, you two be de purtiest and nicest people at dis here club, and dis old man don’t blow smoke! I’ll see you both agin on Thursday, so have a nice day, you hear!

CHAPTER 2

The drive to Annette’s was typical of their times together, never without things to discuss, and topics were usually dictated by where they were and activities. Both were good listeners, although Joan typically introduced the topics and Leah joined in with pertinent comments. Leah’s style was more of a counter puncher, usually offering the more thoughtful observations, followed by a, Good point, Leah, response from Joan. Differences of opinions had never created contentious moments; concession on minor things was easy with the realization that they saw eye-to-eye on major issues.

One thing that set their friendship apart was the ability and patience to talk for hours about inconsequential things without being bored. They found humor in nearly all situations and laughed a lot while together. Neither dominated discussions, however, when one or the other was wound-up on a particular topic, the other one listened attentively, genuinely interested in what her friend was saying. Each was the alterego of the other and aside from their appearances and mannerisms being different, they looked at a mirror image of themselves and heard an echo of their own thoughts when together.

Neither felt superior to the other in intelligence or appearance. Leah had a much higher IQ but Joan was more street wise, less innocent and naive than her friend. Approximately the same height and weight at 5’-7’’ and 135 pounds, both with shapely figures and beautiful faces, they were attention getters everywhere they went. Their grooming, hygiene and attire were impeccable, always dressed properly for the occasion, and never overdressed to call attention to themselves. They were simply chic young women who unconsciously used each other as shields to ward off solicitous attention from those who sought their company.

Annette made them feel welcome but didn’t follow them around the shop, which allowed them to discuss items fully, some seriously and others contemptuously. After careful selection, each found a nightgown that highlighted their individual assets, with colors just right for their hair and complexion. The shop was empty and Joan spoke to Annette who was up front near the door, Annette, we are going back to the dressing room to see how these gown look on us. If we think they’ll do a number on our husbands, we’ll probably buy them. Okay?

While walking back, Joan said, "Leah, this is probably a waste of time and money. Even though we might like these gowns, our