Diary of a Heretic

Diary of a Heretic

 

Diary of a Heretic is now a novel on Kindle. (Click here.)  To avoid confusion, I’ve dropped the name from my banner. Over the years, I’ve rewritten and polished Malcolm's diary many times on this blog, showing how he becomes a reluctant cult leader. If you’ve read some of the episodes or even all of them, you might still enjoy reading the novel.

If you’ve never read any of it, I’m keeping the diary entries from Part One, Justifying My Existance, here as a blog catagory. 

Underground Nest, my first foray into e-publishing, continues to sell and is available for Kindle, here, Nook, here, and Kobo, here.

Freddie the Fop

 

 

Chloe sympathized with Walter. “It means he’s loyal, Amanda. You should be grateful.”

She was calling from Wheaton where her current beau had grown up. Yesterday Alan and his brother Jon drank scotch and watched TV in the basement all afternoon. Jon’s wife, Simone, had removed her pointy brown shoe and thrust it at Chloe. “You must drink champagne from it. Tradition.”

(click here for the first episode; here for the previous.) 

Chloe refused and wished she could leave.  

“Visit me,” Amanda said. “I’m alone.”

“Come to Escapada Romántica this year. Ikan never stops asking about you.”

“Hold on.” She heard the click of another call. 

Danielle was saying, “Amanda, my dear. Thank you and your charming children for Thanksgiving.”

“My children were obnoxious.”

“Were they? I’m drinking Bloody Marys before flying to LA, where I’m determined to have a fling before Tokyo.”

“What about Walter?”

“He left last night in the worst temper known to man. We had agreed this weekend was it, but Walter was so irritable, he insulted the hotel management. So my dear, can you do me a favor? I left a pink pearl earring in the bathroom. If you ask the manager in person, he’ll find it for you.”

 “I’ll ask. But if it’s lost, it’s lost.”

“It’s not lost. You have power, Amanda. Use your beauty.”

Careful not to sigh, she asked, “If they do find your earring, then what?”

“Send it to Walter. He’ll be annoyed. But he had nothing when we met.”

In the dark-paneled lobby of the Hemingway Hotel, Freddie Berger hurried toward her and pressed his strong, well-manicured hands around hers, his dark curls falling onto his forehead. She pulled back, but his eyes assured her: the act was for fun.

“One pink pearl earring, coming right up.” He tapped a keyboard, winked, and disappeared.

Amanda was staring at the lobby’s sculpture when Freddie tapped her shoulder. She turned and he dropped the earring into her hand. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

Grinning at his success, he insisted upon buying Amanda a drink.

“At two-thirty?”

“To make up for the anxiety you suffered.” When she shook her head, she hadn’t suffered, he said, “A glass of wine, not a cocktail,” and ushered her into the hotel’s candlelit restaurant. In a gleeful whisper, he wondered if they should break into his private cache of Chateau Haut Brion 2010. 

Amanda confessed she knew nothing about wine.

“Then you must taste this,” he said.

A waiter brought them two goblets, a bottle wrapped in tissue, and a corkscrew. Freddie opened it without flourish and they both smiled at his restraint.

He sampled it, nodded, and Amanda sipped a bit. “Delicious.”

He pulled his chair close. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It practically floats over the palate,” he said. “The sweetness and marvelous integration.”

She sipped again. “Delicious.”

Did she taste the hints of current and blackberry, the scent of charcoal beneath spring flowers?

Did he?

“I try, but it’s too well integrated.” He polished off two glasses before she had finished one, and said, “We must drink the whole the bottle, Amanda. Nobody corks wine this good. Although, left alone in cool darkness, it will improve for a hundred years.” Laying his immaculate shirt cuffs on their little, gleaming table, he said,“I read that. Always studying, that’s me.”

“Studying will pay off,” Amanda said. “I read that. So, do you treat everyone retrieving lost stuff to your vintage Haut?”

“Haut?” He tilted back, then sat straight, and said, “No one remotely like you has ever inquired about a pearl earring.”

She regretted she couldn’t stay and he asked her to dinner next Friday.

Possibly, she said, if she could arrange a babysitter.

“Are you married? Not that it’s any of my business.”

She laughed. “I’m divorced.”

Holding up his glass, admiring the wine’s bright color, he said, “Nice as this is? Divorce is nicer.”

“That’s a line I haven’t heard before.”

He waved his pampered hand. “You’re young.”

No, she was twenty-five.

He was twenty-nine and said she’d be amazed at what would happen during the next four years.

She’d be amazed if she were amazed.

Fifteen minutes later, at home, she telephoned Walter, who was in Sing Sing, teaching his accounting course—Olivia hadn’t invented that.

“Masego?” she heard him ask. “Can you take over for a while?”

A door closed. Walter’s footsteps echoed, probably in a corridor.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Amanda said. “Can you call me back?”

“Masego was set to teach when I thought we’d be together this weekend.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t listen to my voicemails, did you?”

“Walter, you have no idea how much you hurt me.”

“You think I wasn’t hurt? I was heartbroken, Amanda.”

She told him to expect Danielle’s earring. “UPS.”   

“That oily manager found it for you, didn’t he?”

Amanda didn’t want to argue. “Until Lake George, we never argued,” she said.

“Until Lake George, Amanda, I never argued with anyone, because I didn’t care.”

All right, she said. Freddie had invited her to dinner.

“If I could, I’d forbid it.”

“If I were your daughter.”

“I’ve said I was wrong about that. But if we were married, Amanda, you’d have no need for that silly fop.”

“I don’t need him.”

He assured her he was doing everything possible to move his business to Oak Park. But it would take time. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, because it turned out to be futile. But you need to know how much I want to be with you. Until this morning, I was planning a vacation for us while the girls are in Bermuda at Christmas. Just you and me in St. Lucia. Or wherever you wanted. But then Olivia phoned, threatening the worst if I don’t spend Christmas with her. Lucas needs a break.”

“From what?”

“He loves her, but she’s exhausting.” Walter’s voice seemed to break apart. “Promise me, you will not marry that idiot.”

“It’s dinner, Walter.”

“Promise me a chance, Amanda. Promise me I can visit you right after Christmas.”

Yes, of course. She promised him the rest of her life. She promised she wasn’t angry any more.

And yet, next Friday, she let Freddie take her to bed. Naturally, she used birth control. And made certain he used birth control. But something happened. By New Year’s Eve, she’d quit drinking—aware of a particular tenderness she’d experienced only twice before.

(to be continued)

Festivities

When Amanda was little, her mother delighted in raising her hopes and dashing them with a swift tug of the rug. On her eighth birthday, her mother had wondered if a blue, three-speed bicycle was just waiting in the garage. Should they look?

“I guess.” Amanda knew this game. And sure enough, her birthday present was a blue enameled bicycle-charm for the charm bracelet Cheryl promised to buy her someday. “Isn’t it cute?”

(click here for the first episode; here for the previous.) 

It was very cute. She took it to school and left it on a windowsill.

Now she was hanging up on Walter. But he yelled, “Damn it, Amanda! Let me explain.”

“Not necessary.”

 “I’m angry, too! But her TV show was cancelled; her movies fell through. Her two thousand closest friends are all insanely busy. Friday morning she leaves for Tokyo, to launch her beauty products. But she has a full day layover in Chicago.”

“So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

He phoned again immediately. Amanda let it go to voicemail. He left two more messages and sent an email. She deleted them all. During his 150 consecutive phone calls since Lake George, Walter had never mentioned Danielle. Amanda had practically forgotten her.

That night, every time, she closed her eyes, one blackbird killed another in mid-air.  

“Walter’s bringing a guest,” she told the girls at breakfast. “Please don’t say anything about Lake George. Or you’ll embarrass me.”

Evie and Vanessa looked at each other. “You look sad, Mommy.”

Amanda smiled what felt like the saddest smile her face had ever made.

Upon entering the house, Danielle screamed, threw her arms in the air, and kissed them each hello as if they’d miraculously been found alive! Walter hung back. Amanda hung up their coats, feeling them watch and hearing them murmur.

“Why aren’t you dressed up?” Danielle asked.

“We’re casual,” Amanda said.

“Today’s an occasion, though.” Danielle wore: a silver and white brocade dress that looked two sizes too small; very high heels; her blonde hair in a twist, smelling of hair spray. She insisted the girls show her their closets. They looked at Amanda, who shrugged, so they led Danielle upstairs.

Walter was poring over a book about Chicago architecture that David had given her. From across the small room, she asked if he’d like something to drink. He set aside the book and stood up. In one fluid motion, he gave her a bottle of Maker’s Mark, wrapped in seasonal gift-paper, and bent down for a long white box he had set on the floor.  

“What’s this?” Amanda cradled the unfamiliar box and let Walter bring the bourbon into the kitchen. Removing the lid, she inhaled audibly and bit her lips: a dozen long-stemmed bright pink-almost-orange roses.

Struggling to sound neutral, she said, “From both of you.”

Hurt, Walter scanned her face. “I ordered them last week, Amanda, because whenever I see these roses, I see you.”

She handed him bourbon with ice and he reached for her. But she stepped away, proposing a toast. Their glasses clinked and she said, “To whatever happens,” drinking the liquor in one long, eye watering swallow.  

“Amanda.” He stepped closer, so handsome and so remorseful she had to close her eyes.

“I need a week, Walter.”

He spoke in a quiet rush. “What if I get us a suite at The Carleton?  Friday and Saturday?”

Mere hours after you’ve slept with her—Amanda didn’t say this; the fact hung between them. Walter stepped away quickly and sank into the couch. Squinting at a harsh but undetectable light, his face dark, Walter sighed, said her name again, and then, “God knows what’s happening to the girls.”

They were whining inside velvet dresses Caroline had bought them for the “Nutcracker Suite” next month. Evie ran to her mother as Danielle approached with a hairbrush.

“Her scalp is extra sensitive, Danielle.”

“Amanda,” she took her fingers. “The girls say none of you ever moisturizes.”

“What? Oh.” She held up a finger. “Our sunscreen’s a moisturizer.”

After dinner, Danielle would give them each a secret from her beauty line, which included products for all ages, even babies. Looking at Amanda, she oohed at her energetic beauty and asked to select her party clothes. “It’s one of my talents.”

“No thank you, Danielle. I’m shy that way. But thank you so much for the roses and bourbon.”

“Bourbon? I love it.” She tottered downstairs in her stilettos.  

The girls followed Amanda into her bedroom where she closed the door. “I don’t have ‘party clothes’.”

Evie pointed to a short, flared skirt Chloe had talked her into buying. Multi-colored polka dots on shiny black. Festive but silly. Not with her legs, it wasn’t, Chloe had said. Amanda wore black tights and a sleeveless black top with the flirty, little skirt. “Perfect for figure skating.”

Yanking out two hair-bows, Vanessa asked, “Is she our pretend grandma?”

“No more pretend relatives,” Amanda said. 

Danielle cooed at Amanda’s outfit—such stellar style.  “I cannot believe, however, you have no jewelry. Forget hinting and start telling the men in your life.”

Seated at the main table, she was folding the napkins into semblances of turkeys. The girls didn’t want to learn the technique and Amanda needed to fix the gravy. “A shame. Martha Stewart herself taught me.”

During the meal, Danielle raved about The Hemingway Hotel. “My favorite book is A Movable Feast. My favorite line in that book is: Hunger is good for the soul.’”

“Discipline,” Walter said. “The quote is: ‘Hunger is good discipline.’”

“Poo to you who always knows everything, Walter.”

Table cleared, Evie whooped for pie.

Danielle said, “Use your inside voice.”

Amanda almost spoke up. But Evie was on it. “‘Inside voices’ are for toddlers. Besides, you’re way louder.”

“Evie, hush, and you can have all the pie you want.”

“Amanda, my dear! Tell me you do not condone overeating.”

Skinny Evie eyed Danielle rudely. “At least I’m not busting out of my dress.”

“Go to your room,” Amanda said.

Vanessa, who was not skinny, tossed her turkey napkin on the table. “I’m outta here.”

Excusing himself, Walter walked out the front door without a coat.

“Danielle, will you excuse me, too?” Amanda asked. But instead of marching to the girls’ rooms, she changed her mind and stepped outside. Walter was smoking a cigarette on the front steps. Amanda sat beside him.

“Smoking? We already know you’re bad, Walter, a convict.”

“Danielle doesn’t know. I was Nick’s tax wiz, and hers were a mess.”

Amanda draped her bare arm around him. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know about me.”

His moved to embrace her but she indicated, no, and he shifted in sadness. “Danielle knows nothing. And God knows, I can only stand so much fun.”

(here next) 

What Comes Around

Walter called from Detroit; his flight to L.A. cancelled.

“You sound exhausted.”

“I’m frustrated. Once I’m in Melbourne, I’ll be fine. Is that giggling? Evie and Vanessa?”

“They’re allowed outside until eight. Can your expensive phone hear what they’re doing?” Amanda held her staticky cell to the window screen.

(click here for the first episode; here for the previous.) 

“A rhyming game?”

“Jump rope songs,” Amanda said. “Updated from the relatively innocent ones I knew.”

“What are theirs?”

Amanda didn’t know the whole smutty thing, just, “…meetings in the office…meetings in the halls…the boss would like to see you…So you can suck his…”

Walter started to speak and paused. “…Mary had a little lamb…She tied it to a pylon…10,000 volts went up its ass…And turned its wool to nylon—that was my sister’s favorite.”

“Walter, why didn’t you tell me have a sister?”

“She was five years older,” he said, “And protected me. But when she started high school, she got lost…in a dungeon. That’s what she told me, early on. Our parents would punish her for being unruly. Then the police called. Our parents put her in an institution somewhere. Emily came into my room and said good-bye. And after that, she didn’t live long.”

“Oh—no.” Amanda folded in half on the blue daybed.

“Olivia doesn’t know about her. Sterling does.”

“Is Sterling in Melbourne?”

“No.” She couldn’t leave her horses, her husband, or their boat. “And, she attributes Olivia’s troubles to staying in Maine with her grandmother. So Olivia has shut Sterling out. Patient privacy.”

Amanda said, “If you think it won’t aggravate her, tell her I’m thinking of her.”

“How could I have let Olivia talk to you when she was like that?”

“You know, honestly? It was a valid if nasty version of the way I played, ‘Look Walter! Look at me!’ O has every right to feel jealous.”

“Olivia, not ‘O.’ Dr. Keane told Lucas—self-respect.”

“I’m not sure why, Walter, but I’m frightened for you.”

“Frightened for me? Amanda, I’m a hardened convict.”

Walter phoned the next night. “I feel so low. Probably jet lag. But—may I call every evening it’s possible?”

Yes—anytime! Amanda missed him so much she kept stopping short—why wasn’t he there? And yet in all her life, she’d only spent several months with him long ago and recently, several days.

Evie and Vanessa had left for Sun Valley with Mike and his parents. Usually, Amanda scheduled little trips and fun things to do while they were away. But she wasn’t up to going solo right now. Chloe was preoccupied at work—and had a new boyfriend. Caroline, who normally wouldn’t contact Amanda during their vacation anyway, had definitely tiptoed away from her ever since Lake George. Evie and Vanessa no doubt described their mother’s behavior with their “other grandfather” in detail.

But Walter woke early in Melbourne to call Amanda during Oak Park’s evenings. They talked for an hour or more, their conversation casual but intimate. When Walter hung up—to participate in psych sessions with Olivia, Amanda turned the music up, stretched, flexed, and then ran long and hard under the suburban stars.

After ten days, when Olivia was stable, and eager to resume her life with Lucas, Walter phoned from New York. If Amanda were amenable, he wanted to move his home office to Oak Park. But because his business was complex, the transition would take a year. After that, though, they’d be together. “We can take it slowly,” Walter said, “unless you’re willing to marry me without a test drive.”

“What?” She laughed. To grasp his real meaning, she had to retrace his first sentences. Which held her in disbelief. Walter wanted to move there—to be with her? Amanda circled the room and then—she practically drowned in hope.

Measuring her speechlessness, Walter said again that he must restructure things. And, he would need to travel regularly. But Amanda would love Europe in the spring.

That last thing? Threatened her. They were asking for too much.

Walter didn’t noticed her hesitation this time. He was too busy explaining how Nick Zee’s friends and friends of those friends had voted him onto Bessemer Trust’s board of directors. And now wanted to bring him into the due diligence group studying HSBC, the bank that had fired him years ago. So that all day he could wait for Amanda to skip home from seventh grade.

On Evie’s birthday, he phoned earlier than usual, catching Amanda in a sad, discouraged mood.

He said, “Today is probably more important to you than anyone else, including Evie.”

“Walter, how did you know that?” Evie’s birth and Vanessa’s were her life’s summits.

He wanted to give her a present. A savings account he’d started when he first planned for Amanda to become his second daughter. Her account was the same as Olivia’s, except Olivia always emptied hers the day the funds cleared.

She said, “Thank you, Walter,” but watched two big ugly black birds outside her kitchen window. They snapped and cawed, wings beating, feathers flying, until one bird dropped straight down onto Amanda’s pebbled backyard. She didn’t pretend the birds signified anything. But she hated Walter’s convoluted businesses, because he owed them to Nick Zee, the court-appointed lawyer who had defended him brilliantly and was now New York’s flamboyant attorney general.

“You may not need money now,” Walter said. “But things change, Amanda, and it belongs to you.”

She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. A new dread was infiltrating her bloodstream, anticipating his next mention of Slick Nick.

Irritated and thoughtless, she said, “Walter, how exactly did you get so rich so fast? Did you rake it in before you were sprung?” Her hand clapped over her mouth. He heard this long distance, knowing the lovely blush rising from her neck. “Shit, I’m sorry. What a bitch I am.”

He continued calling and after each time, she missed him more. He waited until the girls were asleep. Their conversations had grown less casual, more intimate. So intimate that Amanda thought about Walter along with whatever else needed her attention.

For Thanksgiving, he asked if she were interested in a romantic tryst. He’d book a suite at The Hemingway hotel. After the feast, Mike could pick up Evie and Vanessa, giving Walter and Amanda from Thursday evening until Sunday morning.

Except then he stopped calling.

Monday before the holiday, she left an anxious voicemail. He emailed almost immediately, swearing—Thursday through Sunday.

Odd. Walter never swore. He said yes or no.

The night before Thanksgiving, he called very late. He needed a favor and begged her to have faith. “I promise you, Amanda—it’s not what it looks like.”

“What does it look like, Walter?”

Sounding quite miserable, he said: Danielle was accompanying him. “I need to see you. Please, don’t send me away, Amanda. Go along with this, one time, and everything will work out.

“Of course, it will.”

“Please, don’t be like that.”

“I said, yes, Walter. You and your celebrity, live-in lover—yes, of course.”

(next here)