Tasting the Bitter with the Sweet

By Claudette Carrida Jeffrey

Claire Soublet lives inside herself...it is her way of coping. Before any conclusion is reached: every person, every emotion, every problem is thoroughly examined inside her head.

From New Orleans to New York, and finally to California’s stunning San Fernando Valley, travel with Claire through a life filled with joy, tragedy, family and friendship. Through her eyes, understand first-hand the struggle to thrive in a world that all-too-often measures worth by the color of our skin.

Claudette Carrida Jeffrey, a native New Orleanian, is a retired teacher who lives in Northern California. Tasting the Bitter with the Sweet is her third book in a four book series. The Color of Life (2015) is her second book. A Brown Paper Bag and a Fine Tooth Comb, her first book (2012), begins the coming of age story of Claire Soublet, a young Creole of Color, growing up in 1940s and 50s New Orleans.

Book four, The Journey to Hummingbird House (working title), is expected to be completed late 2021 or early 2022.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claudette Carrida Jeffrey
• Release date: Jun 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781772421330

Claudette Carrida Jeffrey

Claudette Claudette Carrida Jeffrey, a native New Orleanian, is a retired teacher who lives in Northern California. Tasting the Bitter with the Sweet is her third book in a four book series. The Color of Life (2015) is her second book. A Brown Paper Bag and a Fine Tooth Comb, her first book (2012), begins the coming of age story of Claire Soublet, a young Creole of Color, growing up in 1940s and 50s New Orleans.Book four, The Journey to Hummingbird House (working title), is expected to be completed late 2021 or early 2022.

Book preview

Dedicated to all the teachers of the world

who wear many hats. They’re parents;

doctors; psychologists; nurses; disciplinarians;

storytellers and janitors; givers of hugs, kisses and compliments;

and often suppliers of materials not in the school’s budget.

Their greatest joy comes when a child succeeds.

To my great-aunt, Miss Mary Victoria Rilley, who was all

of the above and who retired from the New Orleans

Public Schools at the end of the 1944-45 school year after

fifty-five years of teaching. I honor her not only for her

service but for what she gave to me: my love of

books; my writing discipline; my desire to teach.

The mind is the master over every kind of fortune;

it acts in both ways,

being the cause of its own happiness and misery.

Seneca (c. 4 B.C.—A.D. 65)

Roman Statesman and Philosopher

PART ONE

JAMAICA, NEW YORK, NY

PROLOGUE

October 10, 1957

Dear Luis,

Something tells me you already know I’m back in New York City and have been for several months. I’m sure Frank didn’t let go of me so easily. After all, I was slated to be his prized broodmare. It’s my guess he called New Orleans again and spoke to the minister who bought Jo’s house. Fortunately, he could only have found out I returned to New York but was unable to obtain my address and phone number. I suppose he complained to you and Charlie while calling me a few choice names.

After our conversation in Penn Station on my way back to New Orleans, and then Frank’s angry phone call to me there, I knew Hamilton Terrace was not the place for me. There was no way I was going to return there or spend any amount of energy getting him to realize I wasn’t like the Swiss maids he’d preyed upon to get through medical school in Switzerland. He couldn’t have a relationship with me, marry me and keep me barefoot and pregnant without my consent. He was a friend and that’s all he’d ever be.

Please forgive me for not getting in touch with you sooner, but it has been a whirlwind getting back here and settling in. I decided to let go of graduate school for now and have gotten a job. My plan is to move to California in about three years. I’ve always wanted to live there.

Right now, I’m sharing a house with an old school chum. We went to high school together and met accidentally last month in New Orleans. Ironically, we were both there to bury someone. Things are going great because we get along well—no surprises or arguments...yet.

I have deliberately not given you my address or told you where I work because I thought if Frank or Charlie got this letter by mistake, that would create a problem for me. That’s the reason I used a fake return name and address.

One day soon, I’ll call your office so that we can set up a date and time to meet. I have so much to talk to you about.

Again, I ask your forgiveness for sending you this clandestine letter. I don’t miss Hamilton Terrace, but I do miss you!

See you soon,

Claire

1

Reciprocity Is a Bitch!

Claire, Neal was shouting up to me from the foot of the stairs, c’mon, you’re going to make us late…I know you don’t want to do this, but we have no choice because Father Duggan is not going to back down, so either we get married or I lose my teaching position at the school…and remember, I got you out of New Orleans, now it’s your turn to help me keep my job. Had he held that in for weeks and was finally spitting it up at me all at once?

I was ready, dressed that is, but not prepared mentally or emotionally to marry Neal. He was right; he had rescued me in New Orleans. I was filled with grief and anxiety after leaving New York to return to New Orleans having only arrived four days earlier. Jo, the elderly woman who gave me a place to stay and cared for me after my great-aunt Sera’s death, was seriously ill and I needed to return to help her. She had no one else. She died in her sleep the night I arrived.

Jo had chosen to conspire with the lawyer, Edgar Souté, to get me to come back to New Orleans so that she could die with me there and also allow the lawyer to finally meet me. After knowing me for a week, Edgar confessed his love for me. I was attracted to him, but he had so many problems I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle a relationship with him. The greatest of his problems was that he had lived as White all of his life. I, too, am mixed, but live as an African American. And in order for him to live in peace with me, he suggested we leave the country.

Edgar was extremely sensitive because of the way he had been treated by his parents his entire life. He seemed volatile, always ready to explode when situations didn’t go the way he thought they should go. I needed to get back to New York and running into Neal, who lived there, was heaven-sent. He was in New Orleans to bury his father, and when he learned of my plight regarding Edgar, we hatched a plan to get me back to New York City.

Today was payback!

Neal, I called to him from my bedroom doorway, I’m having a little trouble with my hair. The church is only fifteen minutes away and we’ve still got almost an hour. Bella and Miguel are meeting us there. I’ll be down in a few minutes, so stop acting like a nervous groom. This is pretend, remember? As soon as we move to Los Angeles, we’re getting a divorce.

You don’t have to remind me, Claire. I don’t want to get married any more than you do. Neal suddenly changed his voice and his mood. Come on down, toots, I know you’re gorgeous!

I grabbed my clutch and headed for the stairs. As I descended, Neal put his hand over his mouth as if to stifle a scream.

Oh, my God, you’re gorgeous! There is no one I’d rather marry. When we found out we were both born on September 8th, I knew we were blessed.

Stop it! You know this is make-believe. Don’t lose sight of that.

Neal took a small bouquet of white lilies out of its box on the table and handed it to me.

Lilies and lace, they look beautiful with your dress. He had a lily in the lapel of his beautifully tailored, navy blue suit. His brown wing-tips were highly polished.

You look handsome, Neal. That white tie looks really sharp. I like your hair that length. His dark-brown curly hair was about two inches long and didn’t form the ringlets it usually did when it was longer. He didn’t look like a cute boy anymore—he was now a tall handsome man. The white tie on the white shirt against his naturally tan skin looked elegant and quite pleasing to the eye.

Thank you, wife-to-be. I actually feel handsome today.

Get outta here, you’re vain all the time! But I must admit, husband-to-be, I do love this dress and it fits perfectly. You have great taste. I think I’ll let you do all of my shopping.

Let’s not get carried away, Claire. You wouldn’t shop for it and we were running out of time, so I bought it. I know you’re size seven and you like full skirts and three-quarter sleeves, so I knew what to look for. The piping around the neck and the sleeves is satin, so I bought white satin shoes and a satin clutch. After everything was picked out, I met Bella on her lunch hour last week so that she’d buy all of it with her Macy’s employee discount card. As for the hat, I found it in a small millinery shop on Sutphin Boulevard here in Jamaica. I thought you’d look great in a pill box with a short veil over your eyes and nose. Are you comfortable in it?

Yes, it’s very comfortable, but please…stop patting yourself on the back. Now listen, Bob Mackie of Jamaica, New York, let’s just get married before I change my mind.

With all of Neal’s rushing and driving like a madman to get to the church so as not to be late, we arrived twenty minutes early. Bella and Miguel were already there.

You’re beautiful, Claire! Bella rushed out of the pew and patted the skirt of my dress and then the sleeves. She fluffed my hair. Miguel, isn’t she beautiful?

Bella’s husband looked at me and nodded. I had only met him once and on that occasion and this one, he seemed disgruntled. He was shorter then Bella and always walked in front of her. He never said more than a few words and often shook his head to mean yes or no.

Stand right in that spot with your back to the altar, Bella told me as she took her camera out of her purse and quickly snapped two pictures of me.

I was so pleased when I saw what Neal had picked out for you, she told me, I knew you’d be lovely in it. He’s going to be a great husband, Claire, just like my Miguel. She looked over at her husband and giggled. Bella had a sexy, breathy voice like Marilyn Monroe’s. She loved frilly outfits and had worn a light blue dress full of ruffles. It suited her personality. She was buxom with a small waist and big hips. The ruffles accentuated everything below her waist. A white lace mantilla covered her wavy blond hair.

Thanks, Bella. I love this dress. Neal really does have great taste. He knows what I like and what looks good on me. Thank you for getting everything with your employee discount card. You saved us a lot of money.

Have you seen Father Duggan, Bella? Neal interrupted us as he continued to pace up and down the aisle. He took a lily out of my bouquet and stuck it in Miguel’s lapel. The two men shook hands. Miguel muttered, Thank you.

Neal looked at Bella and said, You’re flowerless, too. He took another lily out of my bouquet and slid it under Bella’s watch band.

She sniffed it and thanked him. And, no, I haven’t seen anyone since Miguel and I arrived. Come, stand next to your future wife and let me take a picture of you two.

Just as Bella snapped the photo, a loud Irish brogue rang out from the doorway of the sacristy. If you’re all here, come and join me. The ruddy-faced priest with his lilting tenor voice and watery blue eyes had the biggest smile on his face when we walked into the room behind the altar.

After the short ceremony was over and we’d exchanged vows and gold wedding bands, we signed all the papers and took several pictures. Neal told Father Duggan we were going to celebrate our wedding in the city and invited him to join us. He accepted.

Neal, the priest and I drove home so that I could change out of my wedding clothes. Bella and Miguel followed us in their car. When I was ready, we all piled in Neal’s car and drove to the 169th St. subway station and parked about a block away. I marveled at how easy it was to get to most places without a car. I wasn’t too eager to drive in New York, so the subway was definitely a plus for me. Neal had insisted on buying a car after we got back to New York and I insisted on teaching him to drive it. I took the bus and the subway into Manhattan to work; Neal drove a few miles from our house in Jamaica to the school in St. Albans where he taught.

Our celebration was held at Café Seville in Greenwich Village. It was Miguel’s favorite restaurant and he had made the arrangements for Neal. We arrived shortly before five o’clock and were escorted to a table in front of a small platform. A huge fire pit to the left of the stage had a roaring fire inside. After we took our seats and snapped a few photos, a waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and filled our glasses. Father Duggan gave the wedding toast.

To Mr. and Mrs. Neal Fontenot. We raised our glasses and took a drink. The priest continued, I married you this afternoon on a brisk autumn day, but I expect you to honor your vows in every season of the year for the rest of your lives…especially you, my boy. I have counseled you for a few years and feel I know you well. I have only just met Claire. So it is your duty, my boy, to live your life obeying the rules of the church and to direct your wife’s life so that you’re both moving in the same direction. I expect children from your union in the near future because that is what marriage is for, is it not? It is not a dress rehearsal; it is… the priest stopped talking and watched me take a drink from my glass. The pink faded from his cheeks.

My mouth had suddenly become dry. And with the priest still watching me, I took another drink but swallowed too quickly. I started to cough and then choke. Neal grabbed my arms and quickly raised them above my head the way my grandmother used to do. Bella put my napkin under my chin to catch the champagne as it sputtered out of my mouth and bubbled out of my nose. Neal seemed unsure of what to say, but he finally put my arms down and spoke.

Sorry everyone, I think Claire gulped down that champagne when she’s not used to fizzy drinks. Is that what happened, honey?

My throat was still smarting and I was unable to answer. But my head was about to burst with thoughts I couldn’t express. Honey, he’d actually called me, honey. Claire, damnit! Call me Claire! I knew I had a lot to talk about with this new husband of mine. I was sure Neal wanted the marriage to look authentic, but this was a bit much.

Father Duggan was glaring at me when I looked over at him. His squinting eyes and twisted mouth told me he knew it hadn’t been the champagne that had upset me; it had been his toast. And he was right, so I glared right back at him.

Bella saw what was happening and took me by the hand and led me to the ladies room. Let’s get you cleaned up, Claire.

Once inside, Bella grabbed me and hugged me. I know you were pissed off at Father Duggan and was about to let him have it, so I got you out of there. Where does he get off telling Neal to direct your life? You’re not a damn dog Neal owns. My God, sweetie, I’m so sorry you have to start off your marriage like this. Forget what that man said. Neal has to know how insulting that was. Maybe he’ll talk to the priest about it. This is a small headache. Let it go.

Oh, Bella, I cried, you don’t know the half of it. There’s so much I haven’t told you.

Sweetie, I’m married, remember. I know what’s going on here, no respect for women. I’m Bella Martinez, wife of Miguel Martinez, a Latin man. He rules the roost. I don’t have much say in what happens in our marriage. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up. Freshen your lipstick and brush your hair, Claire. We need to get back to the table. We’ll find some time next week to talk.

Bella and I found the three men enjoying tapas, champagne and a lively conversation when we returned. We put on our fake smiles and joined in.

A few minutes later, the lights flashed a few times and then dimmed. Four flamenco dancers, two men and two women, took the stage. Three accompanists on drums and guitar sat on the floor in front of our table. The group played, danced and sang for almost an hour. I watched Bella watch Miguel as he ogled the women. Neal and Father Duggan were engaged in serious conversation, but what they were talking about couldn’t be heard over the drumming, the stomping feet and the loud clapping. I would have given anything to know what they were talking about, but instead was forced to watch the dancers.

While the performance was in progress, paella was cooking in different size pans in the fire pit. And shortly after it was over, one of the large pans was placed on a metal stand in the center of our table. The waiter put our first servings on our plates. We ate, drink wine, and Neal entertained us with some of his great stories about the mistakes he made when he first started performing at the Jamaica Playhouse, a neighborhood theater company. Then a small wedding cake arrived. Neal and I cut it together and served it. This time, Bella gave us a short toast.

We were then treated to a half-hour serenade by a wonderful Spanish guitarist. Everyone was quiet as we watched the musicians leave the stage. Father Duggan took that opportunity to say it was getting late and everyone agreed. We left the restaurant about eight-thirty.

It was almost ten o’clock when we got back to Long Island and dropped off the priest at St. Raymond’s rectory. After he got out of the car, he leaned on the rolled down window and spoke directly to me for the first time.

Claire, I wish you great success in your marriage to this dear boy. Marriage is forever; this is not a test run. He’s a great young man and I trust he’ll cherish you and take you in the right direction. Don’t pull against him; give him the baton and let him lead. Goodnight, all of you. I had a wonderful time today. Take care of each other and keep God’s commandments.

Three people responded in unison, Goodnight, Father Duggan. I wasn’t one of the three. At that moment, I was wondering how I was going to tolerate this man who would, without a doubt, be a constant thorn in my side. There was no way I’d ever trust him. I had always been so close to God and the church—what was happening to me and my faith?

Bella and Miguel picked up their car parked in front of our house and left Neal and I to finally be alone.

Claire, Neal started as he flicked on the ceiling light in the living room. I want…

Sorry, I’m not in the mood to get into it tonight. Let’s do it tomorrow, okay? I headed for the stairs. Goodnight, Neal.

Goodnight, Claire…Mrs. Fontenot, he chuckled. I like the sound of that.

2

Meeting a Hostile Neighbor

Mrs. Fontenot, Neal was knocking on my door and calling me softly in a sing-song voice, wake up; I cooked breakfast this morning. Come down, Claire, it’s already on the table.

Okay, but I need to wash my face and clean my teeth first. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. So this was how it was going to be…not a moment to think my way out of this paper bag. Sunday morning was my time for introspection. I usually mulled over my problems and tried to think my way through them, not solve anything necessarily. But I’d take them apart and lay them bare in my mind where I would be able to, at the very least, vividly picture what was bothering me without having everyday living crowd my ability to see and to think.

As I swung my legs out of the bed, the doorbell rang. What now! I looked at the clock; it was eight-thirty. I opened my door and stepped out into the hall so that I could hear what was happening.

Come in, please. Have a seat. May I get you some coffee? Neal was in the dining room. Claire, he called up to me, it’s our neighbors from across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield. Get dressed and come down, please. They’d like to congratulate us.

Ten minutes later, I walked into the dining room, but Neal and the Mansfields were not there. They were standing on the screened-in-porch talking.

Good morning, I said. Sorry I wasn’t dressed when you arrived. Yesterday was a long day. I thought I’d get to sleep in this morning. Why did I say that? I sounded angry. I needed to apologize. But before I could, Mrs. Mansfield tried to reply, I…

Mr. Mansfield interrupted her. We’re sorry, Claire, you should be sleeping in. Yesterday was your big day. I saw that wonderful breakfast your husband prepared for you, so go in and enjoy it. When you have a few minutes, come over and let us congratulate you. Mr. Mansfield grabbed his wife’s arm and pulled her out of the door onto the sidewalk. She looked back at me with eyes filled with the hateful things she had not been allowed to say. That look caused a cold feeling to course through my whole body. I knew this woman was not going to be a good neighbor.

We ate in silence—cold eggs, cold sausage, and cold rubbery toast. The only thing still hot was the pot of coffee. I felt bad that Neal’s genuine attempt to make me feel better about our situation had been sabotaged by my attitude and our nosy neighbors. I knew he deserved an apology.

Neal, I’m sorry for my poor behavior this morning. The fact that I’m still in shock over being a married woman is no excuse for acting like a ten-year-old.

No apology necessary, Claire. I had planned to eat breakfast with you and then let you go back to bed. I was going to go to Mass. I had no clue the Mansfields would trot over here to bestow their blessings upon us. What’s with Mrs. Mansfield and you? I saw that look she gave you when her husband made her leave. Have you ever actually met her and her husband?

No, I’ve returned their smiles and waves, but there’s never been a formal introduction to either of them. How well do you know them?

I talk with them every now and again and Mrs. Mansfield and my mother were friends. In fact, she helped me take care of my mother before I took her to New Orleans where she told me she wanted to die and be buried. Perhaps, my mother confided in Mrs. Mansfield and she thinks you don’t know I’m queer or that you’re trying to take advantage of me in some way. She can’t possibly know it’s because of Father Duggan’s ultimatum that we got married. I have a feeling she’ll confront you one of these days when her husband’s not around.

Holy moly, how did I get so lucky? I ran away from New Orleans twice and refused to go back to my apartment on Hamilton Terrace only to come here and be put upon by a neighbor I don’t even know.

Claire, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Mrs. Mansfield has no bearing on your day-to-day life and certainly doesn’t figure at all in our marriage. She can’t say or do anything to impact our lives. Forget her! Here...take the Sunday paper and stretch out on the couch with it. I’ll clean up the dishes and then I’ll join you. That is, if you don’t mind.

Of course I don’t mind! I’ll even clear the table while you wash the dishes and then I’ll help you dry them. We can enjoy the paper together. Neal, nothing has changed between us as far as what kind of friends and housemates we are. I think what the outside world expects of us is where we’ve suddenly run into trouble.

Thank you. Neal’s eyes clouded over with tears. I’m happy to have my old friend back. And…if you want to discuss Father Duggan, his wedding toast or his set of expectations, I think we should get it all out of the way and not put it off. Let’s do it now.

Wow, okay, that’s fine with me. So, let’s talk, I quipped. I want to start with the endearing term, ‘honey.’ Please, don’t ever call me that again. I know you were ‘in character,’ but I hate that pet name.

Okay, I promise never to call you that again. I’m at least glad to know that when I called you honey, you knew I was trying to look like an authentic husband and not demeaning you. But before we go on, Claire, I need you to know why this marriage is important to me. First of all, if we had chosen not to marry, I would have been fired. My job is important to me; I like it. I’m happy at the school and I want to keep this job until we’re ready to move to California. I think with both of us working, we’ll be able to get there in two years instead of three. I didn’t need a teaching credential to teach at St. Raymond’s, but if I have to change to a public school, I will have to return to college to get one. Many parochial schools hire you without a credential.

I understand why you want to keep your job, Neal, but what I don’t understand is why Father Duggan was so insistent about the marriage. You must have told him we live together. Did he ask you if we were a couple? And did you tell him no, that we were only housemates?

No, he assumed some of it and then came to the conclusion we were having sex and living in sin.

Well, did you tell him his assumptions were wrong and that we’re just friends that share a house?

No, Claire, frankly I was embarrassed. I didn’t think he’d believe me, anyway. He doesn’t know about my sexuality and I’d rather it stay that way. He started counseling me when I was still in high school. My mom and I were members of St. Raymond Church. Father Duggan is the priest who came to the house to give my mother communion and to pray with her when she became too ill to leave the house. After her death, I often went to the rectory to have talks with him. When I felt like dropping out of college, he encouraged me to finish my degree. And the September after I graduated, he gave me the teaching job at the school. He told me to keep busy until my mom’s absence was no longer such a huge void and he always had time for me when I was lonely and depressed.

Haven’t you ever had the urge to tell him you’re conflicted about your sexuality, Neal? To me, that’s something you needed counseling for, especially if you had no one else to talk to. I began to see that he was becoming agitated and thought it best to let him get it all out before I commented again.

Claire, after that one miserable attempt I made to have a relationship with a man, I crawled back into my closet and decided I’d stay there. I was still ‘untouched,’ so to speak, so I thought I could still have some sort of partnership with a woman. Maybe not love, but a kind of closeness. Perhaps, we’d even get married.

Oh, shit, Neal! Am I that guinea pig?

No…that’s never crossed my mind with you. You, I can love without reservation, but I don’t know if I can ever feel that way about another woman. Does that make sense?

No, it doesn’t make sense to me. You can’t be saying you’re in love with me, but if you are saying that, when did you start to have these feelings?

You want the truth or a lie?

The truth, damnit! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I think ever since high school, but I was so insecure about my family situation and hurt by the loathing my father felt for me, I couldn’t think straight. I was confused. Since then, I’ve learned there are others like me and they’re called bisexual. So it’s possible I do have real feelings of love for you, especially after the time we spent together in New Orleans, coming back to New York by train with you, and now living with you the past few months. I was jealous when you told me if Edgar hadn’t had so many problems, you might have given him a shot.

I was speechless. How could this be happening to me…again? It was time to stop blaming forces outside myself for the exploding bombs that continue to blow my life apart. I must be committing horrible selfish acts and harboring evil thoughts, and because God is displeased with me, he continues to send me situations I find difficult to cope with. It had been a long time since I’d thought about God punishing me. After all that had happened to me, it was a miracle I still had my faith.

Talk to me, Claire. All of a sudden, you look sad and bewildered. Please tell me what you’re thinking. Please!

Neal, at this moment, the insulting, old-world garbage that came out of Father Duggan’s mouth is no longer relevant. I can easily dismiss what he said. Your words, however, have frightened me. I need you to tell me what you plan to do about your feelings and our marriage. It was difficult for me to keep my voice from trembling. The paper began to make a rustling sound in my shaking hands. This was no time to fall apart, I told myself. I’d been through worse. No, no, no…on second thought, I hadn’t. This was by far the worst.

Claire, I don’t plan to do anything about my feelings; let whatever is going to happen, happen. I can see how you’ve been affected by what I’ve already said. That’s the last thing I wanted to have happen. I’ve told you what I feel; now you’re in the driver’s seat. You can wreck everything and leave or you can let life, Mother Nature, or whatever you choose to call it, work itself out.

Oh God, Neal, I’m one tired woman. I don’t know what to feel. I just wish you had been more honest with me.

At least I wasn’t dishonest. I just didn’t tell you I felt more than friendship. Maybe I didn’t really know then. Besides, it never came up, did it?

No, we never discussed a ‘you and me’ that I recall.

Not recently, but we did a long time ago.

All I could do was close my eyes, shake my head, and then mutter to myself, This guy has an answer for everything.

Neal laughed. I heard that. He laughed again and I laughed with him.

Do you remember a conversation we had one Sunday afternoon while we were rehearsing our lines for a play? It was just before my mom and I left New Orleans.

C’mon, Neal, that was ages ago. I don’t remember; tell me.

I told you if I ever liked a girl, it would be you. I wasn’t kidding. I was just too young to know what I was feeling. I didn’t know who I was or where life was going to take me. Plus, my mother was thinking about leaving my father and vanishing with me—which is exactly what she did.

Really, Neal, so now that you finally know who you are you’re going to settle for a heterosexual marriage with me. Why? Is it the easy way out of your conflict? I don’t owe you a chunk of any size out of my life to repay you for getting me out of New Orleans. I don’t want to be your trial and error experiment and then have you tell me in a year or so that you’re sorry, you’ve met someone and the marriage isn’t working for you…you want a divorce.

I won’t do that, Claire. I remember the promise I made to you the night I told you about Father Duggan’s ultimatum. I told you I’ll never do anything to hurt you or make you sorry you agreed to marry me. I meant that with all of my heart.

That’s what you say now. I’m not inclined to believe you’ll honor…

Neal interrupted me. Why did you agree to marry me, Claire? You said no at first. Why did you change your mind? Do you like your life with this easy-going queer guy? Do you think you can do whatever you want, go wherever you please and with whomever you choose and not have to be committed to me or the marriage? Do you think your ship has pulled into a safe harbor and it’s going to be like living with a girlfriend? I watched you come unglued when Father Duggan expressed his expectations. You know what I predict…you’ll never tell Bella what kind of marriage we have. You’ll keep it to yourself and suffer in silence. You’re such a martyr!

You’ve resorted to insults, so I’m finished with this for now, I said. We’re not getting anywhere. It seems you don’t trust me any more than I trust you. Let’s just read the paper, okay? I do agree with you, though, maybe we’ll have to let whatever is going to happen—happen.

3

Finding Someone to Talk to

When the phone rang at six-thirty on Monday morning, I knew it could only be a wrong number or bad news. Neal was downstairs and he answered.

When we returned from New Orleans and began to sort out our living arrangement, he said he was going to convert a small TV room downstairs that had been his office into his bedroom because he thought I’d be more comfortable having the upstairs to myself. Why, I thought, would I need the whole upstairs to be comfortable? I insisted he use one of the other two bedrooms either as his bedroom or his office. He chose to make his office upstairs because the room was bigger and he wouldn’t have to spread out his papers all over the dining room.

Claire, that was Bella. Are you dressed? I need to come up.

Come up, I’ll be decent by the time you get up here. Suddenly my heart started to race. Had something happened to Bella? Maybe it was Miguel. I had to sit down on the bed. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t button my blouse.

I knew you’d be a wreck by the time I got up here. Stand up, Claire, Neal yelled as he walked into my room. Nothing is wrong with Bella or Miguel. Let me button your blouse.

I started to be stubborn and refuse his help, but my hands weren’t working at that moment. Okay, I said, but first tell me what’s wrong.

Bella’s mother had a massive heart attack and died last night. Bella’s going home to New Jersey for the funeral and to spend some time with her family. If you or any of the girls at work need to get in touch with her, she said to call Miguel. He’s usually home between two in the morning and two in the afternoon. She’ll check-in with him every day.

How long will she be there?

She didn’t know exactly, but she thought maybe ten days to two weeks. She said it would depend on how many days the floor manager would allow her to take. Why do you ask?

I was just wondering about what will happen at work. The volume of complaints is increasing because we’re approaching the holidays and people are shopping more. I don’t know how we’ll handle it all without her. Of course that wasn’t the only reason I’d asked. I couldn’t tell him I needed to know for purely selfish reasons—I was counting on Bella to help me sort out what was happening with Neal and me.

Was Bella close to her mother and her family? She was really devastated on the phone. She was crying so hard, I had to ask her to repeat everything.

No, she hasn’t spoken to her family in seven years, except for her sister. Her mother put her out when she refused to stop seeing Miguel.

What did her mother have against Miguel?

He’s Puerto Rican; Bella’s Italian. Her mother called Miguel a ‘grease monkey’ because of his job. He repairs sewing machines. She said she’d never accept ‘his kind’ in her family and she ruled the roost. No one fought for Bella against her mother. Bella’s sister finally contacted her a few months ago. Sounds like the Creole crap we grew up with, doesn’t it?

Yes, it sounds like something our grandmothers would say. Does Bella have brothers?

Three of them. They’re worse than her mother. They told Miguel if he didn’t stay away from their sister, they’d make him sorry he didn’t listen. I assume they were going to beat him up.

How old was Bella when that happened?

Eighteen, she had just finished her first year of college. So…without a job, no place to live and no family to rely on…she married Miguel in a hurry.

It was at that moment that I realized how much I knew about Bella and how little she knew about me. Why was that? Did she talk more than me or was I less forthcoming about my life? Would I prove Neal right and never tell Bella that our marriage was provisional?

Hey, look at the time! Finish up and I’ll make you some toast and coffee to eat in the car. I have time to take you to the subway. That way you can still make your regular train.

Okay, I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Thanks, Neal. Sometimes I wonder what I’d do without you. But you’re wrong about thinking I married you because you’re a safe harbor. We both have trust issues, and despite how close we’ve become recently, the issues are still there.

I don’t mind being wrong, Claire. I agree we both suffer from a lack of trust, but we can work on that together, okay? I’m glad to hear you’d be lost without me. There’s hope for me, yet. Neal took a few long strides with his six-foot-one-inch frame and