Chapter 9 September - Arabella & Renate
SEPTEMBER: ARABELLA she had definitely heard much much worse.
“Arabella?”
She also gave Dr. Moore credit for not repeating any of the accusations Renate had so boldly placed at her feet. And more credit still for taking the focus off Renate, whose gaze shone with tears despite the brash and the bravado. The pain there sliced through the numbness in Arabella’s chest.
The light blue eyes of their trained observer watched her every breath, every fleeting expression, and she knew her time to think, to ponder, to stall was up. It was her own fault; she had brought them both here after all.
“Renate believes I have been in love with DeVor all my life.”
The ocean outside the window devoured the shore, and in the bright office, the silence was absolute.
The car stopped by the townhouse, and Arabella allowed Gary to take the bag before helping her out.
Renate’s steps echoed sharply on the empty street before disappearing behind the slammed door.
Gary’s face was blank, but his hand on Arabella’s squeezed gently.
He said nothing as he fussed beside her, and she gave him a pat on the forearm.
“It will all work out, dear boy.”
“As long as you are alright, ma’am.”
Arabella sighed. He had been with her for years, over a decade now.
He had seen her through many a trial and tribulation.
He had accompanied her to funerals, held her umbrella as she buried a few husbands, taken her to clandestine rendezvous, and was in the first pew when she married Renate.
She owed him more than a cookie cutter pleasantry.
“I will be, Gary. And so will she. Hopefully with that bag you’re holding, we both will.”
He looked down at the black duffel in his hand, and his expression turned comically horrified.
Arabella couldn’t hold back her laughter.
“You were always easy. It’s a damn string of fairy lights, you silly man. Now, let’s not have discussions and assumptions about my sex life on a sidewalk in the Upper East Side.”
He was beet red by the time they entered the house, yet Arabella’s mirth was immediately wiped from her face by the look on Renate’s.
Well, they did have work to do. Dr. Moore had given them homework, after all.
“Gary, please bring the bag to the office when you have a chance. And tell Ros to hold my calls.”
With that, she took Renate’s hand and drew her to the sitting room.
“Gary thinks Dr. Moore prescribed sex toys.”
Renate lifted an eyebrow, and her lips twitched.
“I imagine he’d be just as horrified by what she actually prescribed.”
Arabella laughed, trust her wife to cut to the chase.
“Sex and honesty.”
Renate poured them both brandy and handed her a snifter.
“I don’t remember her saying anything about sex, dear. Just honesty.”
“Well, I was improvising. You used to love my ad libs.”
Renate took a sip and settled next to her, not quite touching but not too far. Arabella chose to take it as a good sign. They’d not sat this close in months.
“I love you, Arabella.” Renate looked her in the eyes, and her words took the oxygen out of the room. “I will also divorce you in a heartbeat and you know it, love or no love. I will not be in this alone.”
Arabella stood up and walked to the window, the late evening shadows playing hide-and-seek with the last rays reflecting off the rain puddles.
“I loved you first, Rena.”
There was a tsk, and a sigh behind her, and Arabella almost smiled. Yes, she should’ve guessed that would be the reaction to her pronouncement.
A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Gary placed the bag by the entrance and left just as quietly as he had entered. Before she knew what she was doing, she was opening the black duffel and holding out a light bulb and a permanent marker.
“Paris. Forty years ago.” Arabella scratched the date on the smooth glass. Renate’s eyes were narrowed, following her every move. “You were untouchable, lovely, gorgeous, so serious, so focused on your sister’s success, and on your fashion house making it. I loved you from the first sight, Renate—”
“Bella!” The snap of irritation in her wife’s voice was surprising. “You do love your women untouchable, irresistible, focused. So was Viola, so were so many others. Must be your… What’s that idiotic man in tights afraid of?”
Arabella smiled. “Superman? That man in tights? And you mean kryptonite?”
“Do not patronize me, Bella. Your American pop culture references are immaterial when you can’t spot a Dior, or a Schiaparelli, or a Conti in the wild.”
Arabella lifted her hands placatingly. She did so love to see her wife riled up like this, but perhaps now wasn’t the time.
“I apologize.”
Instead of getting placated, Renate exploded.
“I don’t want you apologizing. I don’t want you to do anything but talk. Explain. Be honest. Stop the charm and the wisecracks and the jokes. Yes, they are all part of you, but I want the truth, unvarnished.”
Arabella set the bulb down and turned back to the quickly darkening window. Behind her, Renate’s breathing was slowing down. She took it as a good sign. She allowed silence to ring for a few more seconds, giving both of them a little time. For what, she didn’t know.
“Do you genuinely believe I am in love with Vivian, Rena?”
There was no pause or hesitation in the answer.
“No, but I do think you might be with Viola.”
Arabella turned to catch a shadow of a smile on Renate’s sad face.
“Ah.” She took a few steps towards the side table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She’d been quitting for decades now. One more wouldn’t kill her. Though this conversation might. As the scent of tobacco filled the room, she flicked the lighter closed and looked at her wife fully.
“I regret Viola.” Renate gasped, and Arabella took another drag.
“I regret what I did to her. I regret that my inability to let go, to be brave, to surrender to love almost killed her. Certainly ruined years of her life. I regret that. I regret not choosing her, Renate. Not choosing her got her assaulted. Not choosing her got her hurt. Not choosing her threw her to the wolves in the worst possible way. Her ruination is my fault, and I will never get over that, beloved.”
Renate’s second gasp was quieter, somehow sadder. Arabella felt the words burn in her chest like cigarette smoke.
“I loved you first. And I left you first. But loving her almost cost her her life, Renate. I don’t know how to get over that.”
“She’s thriving, Bella.”
“Yes, despite… In spite. Out of spite.”
Renate’s hand on her shoulder almost made her jump.
“No, dearest, she is thriving out of love. She and Jamie are in love, happy, sappy, grossly joyous in their idyllic relationship. She was ruined, and she rose up and found her heart and her home and courage. Was her ruination your fault? Or was it the fault of that man?”
Renate plucked the cigarette out of her numb fingers and took a drag herself. Then another. Arabella watched the tip burn; she felt tears sting her eyes along with the smoke.