ANSIR® Profile: Kinsmen / Diligent / Sentinel
Boss: Sentinel

Gone

Anne took the cup into her hands and felt its warmth slide across her fingers. She didn't like coffee, but this time she sipped the contents gratefully. Joseph was dead. She needed the peace only coffee could bring.

"So, if you sign here-and here-we can get this process rolling. Okay?"

The lawyer smiled at her as if she didn't understand him. As if she were a three-year-old. As if she hadn't worked as a legal secretary.

"Okay," she said quietly. "But I don't like this clause, here. I'd like to modify that part."

He squirmed as only a lawyer can, by adjusting his tie. "Anne, that's our fee. We agreed on that, remember? I can't really-"

She rose to her feet. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sumner."

"Whoa, whoa...Anne, we can work something out. Don't be so hasty. I was your husband's lawyer for fifteen years. I think we can adjust something."

"Take another fifteen percent off that fee, and we'll talk."

Sumner adjusted his tie and frowned at the contract. He was sweating. "I'll have to speak with my partner on this. Can you hold on?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Sumner."

When he left, Anne felt as if she were buying a used car.

* * *

Every one of them had come to the wedding. Donna wore a black chiffon/taffeta thing with lots of puffy sleeves and flowing skirts, which upstaged Anne's simple white sleeveless dress. It's Donna's way, ignore her, Joseph whispered in her ear. He grazed her finger and kissed her lightly on the cheek. But Donna began smoking a cigarette in the church. The tobacco soaked the church, soaked the pastor; soaked Anne's dress.

Noelle was somewhere in the corner, flirting with an usher, and Tiffany's horsy laugh pinged off of the walls of the sanctuary like a speeding racquet ball. Anne heard an echo of Pauline's off-key soprano humming "Ebony and Ivory" during their exchange of vows. She glanced around the pews, but she didn't see Joseph's first wife. But Anne felt Pauline's presence infusing the church, giving it life. Her backwardly-masked hum throbbed beneath delicately polished floorboards.

Worse, still, their reception. Anne didn't believe in caterers. She could prepare enough mini-quiches and finger foods for the small setting, and the cakes were actually fun to decorate. The ex's gobbled the mushroom quiches like vultures on carrion, and left little for the regular guests. Tiffany drank too much and played "smear the cake" with little Joey. Noelle did a table dance. Donna complained because couture was tres pedestrian. Pauline didn't say a word, but Anne felt her witchcraft in every crashing plate and every angry argument.

Ignore her, Joseph had said. He should have said ignore them. Pauline held the baton, but Joseph's ex's played their parts well. He didn't stop them-they controlled him. Anne did not know how much their shadows would ultimately eclipse her marriage.

"Mrs. Dunne?"

"Just Anne, Mr. McElroy," Anne said softly. The gardener waited patiently behind her. He never disturbed her before, and she always tried treating him kindly. She closed the wedding album and faced him. "It's always been Anne, you know that."

Mr. McElroy smiled sadly and twisted the carnations in his basket. The older man's fingers were rough and crooked, the opposite of Joseph's smooth, crinkled hands.

"I know M-Anne. But you've always called me Mr. McElroy. I should at least call you Mrs. Dunne."

"I'm respecting your wisdom," she said. Her severe face softened into a smile.

"You've wanted me to call you Anne for three years, but it doesn't fit."

"No. The name fits, Mr. McElroy. I don't. This house isn't really me."

Mr. McElroy shook his head and hesitated before speaking. "Naw. This house, you, Mr. Dunne-all of it was a neat package. You were Mrs. Dunne, more than any of those other harpies. They ruined it."

Anne's laugh stunned the gardener. She plucked a carnation from his bouquet and let her fingers dance in its petals. "No more than normal. Now, did you need to see me about something, Mr. McElroy?"

The gardener cupped his gnarled hands on Anne's delicate, bony fingers. Her hands trembled.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Anne. I know you loved him. You brought out the best in each other-you changed each other for the better. Sad he's gone, that's all."

Anne nodded but didn't trust herself to look at him. "Thank you."

"Yer welcome, Mrs. Dunne."

"Anne," she said. She dabbed her face with her fingers. "Now, how about a gardening question? I think I could handle a gardening question, if you have one."

"Well, I guess you oughta know I'm doing some more weed n' feed around the property. We've got more crap in that yard, and it ain't all neighborhood dogs. Some dandelions, some rye grass--mushrooms, too."

"From the new rains, I expect."

"Yeah, I 'spect it, too. Just lettin' you know in case your allergies act up."

"Tiffany had the allergies, Mr. McElroy. Not me."

"Oh, my, ohh-I..."

"It's all right, Mr. McElroy," she said. She laughed again, but her voice was colder. "The truth is, Joseph had too many wives. Well. Never mind. Put those carnations on the table, would you? I have to sort the upstairs nightmare."

* * *

At 4pm she started arranging the closet. The room was monstrously huge, bigger than either Joseph or she needed. He had the closet built for Tiffany but, according to him, she said it was too small and never used it. It had an electric tie rack of some sort that rotated the entire length of the closet at the press of the button. He had a collection of three thousand ties, but he only wore the first three on the rack. Anne was the first of his wives to notice that he only wore those same three.

She fondled one of the magical ties. It wasn't all that attractive, just simple blue diamonds on a yellow background, a typical power-tie. But it glowed against Anne's dark brown skin like a dandelion in summer. Its silkiness alarmed her-had it always been that soft? Why hadn't she noticed before? Her knees grew weak. Her body no longer supported her legs. She had things to do but she felt too tired, too dull.

My soul, my heart, my mind...

Did it make sense to marry Joseph Dunne? Did it make sense? Did it?

People catered to his moods. They feared him. He had four wives before Anne, and he went through several of the junior secretaries before meeting her. She had been the black secretary, the exotic one with the heart of tempered bitch steel. She thought Joseph liked her because she didn't pull punches and didn't let him get away with anything. Joseph made a point to come by her desk every Friday to flirt with her, although she was really Mr. McPherson's executive secretary. The company grapevine said Joseph terrorized his own secretaries, but he never stopped flirting with Anne. She assumed she was the fulfillment of his midlife crisis.

Before him, life had been random patterns of numbers that afforded little time for fun or frolic. She worked. She dropped out of college to work. Her mother worked, her grandmother worked, and if she ever stopped life long enough to have kids, they would work, too. You don't have time for kids or family when you work, her voice said. If you have kids, you will neglect them. If you have a husband, you will neglect him. If you have any hobbies, you will neglect them as well. You cannot serve two masters.

But somewhere, in some hidden place, her heart began to beat. She didn't know when it began and she wasn't sure why she let it happen. But the wasteland became red, the color of wine and roses. The smell became cologne and perfume, intermixed with sweet dulcet whispers from the night. She tasted a mixture of cotton candy and velvet and suddenly Harlequin wasn't enough. Dunne knew he'd captured her the first time she stopped frowning and started smiling, and now he pulled no punches.

"Go out with me," he whispered over her desk.

"No."

He grinned and left her alone. But for two months he asked the question each time he saw her, and each time she gave the same answer-until January 15th.

"Go out with me."

She didn't know what she was thinking, but a smile slipped from her lips.

"Is that a yes? Tell me that's a yes."

She shrugged and he beamed. "Saturday, 8pm?"

She nodded.

"Cool! Catch ya then."

What 46-year-old man said "catch ya then?" The phrase should've been a clue, but Anne was clueless in areas of love.

But they dated. After five months Joseph proposed and Anne accepted, although no one expected it to last. Not more than a few months, surely. He would tire of her as much as she of him, and he would put her on his lawyer's alimony list.

But they lasted three years.

There was a funny part to all of this. Funny. Ha-ha.

Anne scraped her body from the floor and forced it to sit Indian style because she remembered Goodwill was coming at the end of the week. If she finished sorting the clothes tonight, she would have time to rearrange the kitchen and to inform the staff of their new duties. She grabbed a sweater off the floor and surrounded herself with giant refrigerator boxes. She felt like one of Custer's men. She felt like a Roman criminal in the middle of the Arena. She found the evil analogies comforting.

But the more she held the sweater the more her mind froze. It puzzled her because its purpose was so very foreign. Purpose? Was there a purpose? Did you ever have a purpose? Isn't it expendable? Aren't you expendable? Anne bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, which temporarily silenced her unconscious taunts.

Anne kneaded the rough sweater in her fingers like a cat. The sweater felt warm in her hands and she caressed it under the dim closet bulbs. It was made from sheep's wool and came from their honeymoon in Australia and she'd forgotten how soft it felt to hold and nuzzle it close. Joseph wore it whenever he wanted to have sex because he knew she loved it so much. Caressing it didn't make her feel any less lonely. Should've stayed a cold bitch, her mind teased.

* * *

"Today? No. That's not a good time."

"Then when is a good time?"

"Friday. No-Saturday. Definitely Saturday."

The voice on the phone paused. "You know Joey has a soccer game Saturday. We can't possibly do Saturday."

"Pauline, I'm not playing multiple choice, here. You, Donna, Tiffany, and Noelle opted to give me 'the details'." Anne crooked her fingers in the air while the phone bit into her shoulder. "Remember 'the details?' Clean up. Sorting clothes. Funeral arrangements. Calling relatives. Flowers."

Pauline's voice slipped an octave; Anne remembered that voice from the first time Pauline called the house and caught Anne instead of Joseph.

"Don't get snippy with me, 'girlfriend.' It's not like I wasn't into my husband's affairs. Oh, I forgot. Weren't you one of his little affairs? Or were you on his rebound?"

Bring it on, chick, Anne thought. But the idea was fleeting at best. She couldn't follow through on such a threat. "Then come Sunday, Pauline. After church. You can come spread some more of your Sunday sermon cheer."

Anne hung up the phone before Pauline reacted, but she suspected the woman was already slamming the phone home. She felt raw and taut. Her teeth ached from clenching them. And she felt lonely. Very lonely.

She felt part of her slipping away. The machine Joseph exchanged for blood and soul was returning, and she didn't know how to fix it. She lifted her left arm slowly and stared at it. The dark brown looked dark gray. The bones creaked like rusted joints. Her fingers crunched and grabbed like robot fingers. The left half of her body felt stiff, the side Joseph clutched when his heart burst in his chest. Well, well, well. How Now Brown cyborg? Be we ice queen or queen of hearts? Anne could not answer.

* * *

"Like, y'know-maybe I could come over next week sometime?"

"Monday's good for me, Noelle."

"Ooh, Monday...Monday. Nah, I've got a manicurist appointment. Could we change it to Tuesday?"

"The funeral's on Tuesday, Noelle."

"Riiiiight, right...Sorry. Gaw, I'd lose my head if it weren't attached."

"Tell you what," Anne said. She began smiling. "Why don't you come over Sunday afternoon, say one-ish?"

"Cool! I'll be up by then. Thanks, Annie."

"No problem."

"Honey, Sunday's peachy! I'll be there with bell's on."

"As long as it doesn't run too late, dah-ling. It's my baccarat night, you know."

* * *

They had made love, and Joseph was smoking a cigar in bed. Not an illegal one-Anne cured him of those-but a good American one, in any case. She liked the smell in the room. It reminded her of autumn.

"Did you love any of your ex-wives?"

Joseph laughed. "What brought that on?"

Anne rolled over onto her back. "I don't know. Concern, maybe."

"You don't seem the jealous type."

"I'm not."

"Could've fooled me." He snuffed the cigar in the tray by their lamp. His back was broad, muscular, and tight. He decided three years ago that he'd be a buff fifty-year-old or he'd die in the attempt. "Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know."

He leaned on one elbow and scratched Anne's cheek with a lightly manicured thumb. He didn't care that she had a curler stuck in her hair, or that the lovemaking transferred most of her zit cream onto the pillow. Those things didn't seem to matter. He smiled at her.

"It took me a long time to find what I wanted and needed," he finally said. Anne nuzzled the crook of his arm and they made love again.

* * *

"Dammit!"

"Joseph-"

"Sorry, Anne. It's just-Pauline. Dammit!"

"What now?"

"Something about Joey's teeth. She said I didn't pay enough for his last dental appointment. Or something. That's on top of Donna wanting me to pay for her gambling debts while we were married, and on top of the money I financed for Tiffany's stupid acting career."

"On top of Noelle's new nose?"

Joseph grit his teeth and threw the notice across the room. "Don't remind me. I'm not in the mood to be reminded."

"Then don't be." Anne kissed him lightly. The angry creases in his forehead faded. "We'll take care of it."

"Yeah. But you shouldn't have to take it. I'll speak to Pauline tomorrow--maybe get her off my back. Something, anyway."

She took a breath. He went to kiss her but he grimaced and clutched his arm and her body collided with red tissue and velvet muscle and she called 911 and the police came and the reporters came and the neighbors came and the ex's came and the world ended.

* * *

"She has such ugly taste. I cahn't believe what she's done with this fab-u-lous house."

"Don't blame her, Donna. You know those people. You can take the girl out of the ghetto-"

"Pauline, that's just plain mean!" Tiffany was giggling, though. "Even if it is true."

"I'm taking this. Joe said I could have it before we split, and I'm getting it back. She's not supposed to have everything, anyway."

"Put it back, Noelle."

"Why? She can't-"

They stopped when Anne entered the front room. She placed mini-quiches and red wine on the cocktail table, in the center of the coldest room in the house. The wood paneling, frozen carpet, marble fireplace, and ebon bookcases once entertained her, but most of the time she and Joseph sat here if they wanted to read books to each other before a fire. They discovered lots of new things about each other here, lots of good things.

None of the ex's appeared ashamed of their comments. None smiled at Anne or welcomed her in her own house. She watched each of them snatch the treats. She rubbed her arms and stared out of the bare bay windows, and nodded to Mr. McElroy picking through the last of the weeds. Earlier that day she helped him gather some of the old dandelions, grass, and mushrooms. She wanted to create a fall display with the last fronds, before they died.

"Well," Pauline began. Her cheeks bulged with food. "Of course you know why we're here."

"Enlighten me."

"Oh, come off it, Anne. Some of these things are ours, and we want them back. I practically built this house with my own two fingers. I want some of the equity."

Anne sighed and sat on the couch. She smoothed her skirt. "I've already spoken with our lawyer, Mr. Sumner. He assures me that as his wife I-"

"Sumner's an idiot," Noelle spat. The ex's nodded. Anne watched their blond heads bob in unison, and she stifled her laugh. All of them were Barbie: Barbie's mother; Barbie's little sister; Barbie's big sister; Barbie's best friend. Blond. Leggy. Thin. Self-absorbed. Plastic-surgery perfect. No wonder they hated her. She didn't fit their pale mold.

"We all known Mr. Sumner, and he knows us," Donna said. Her spider fingers curled delicately around a quiche. "We made sure that we'd be well taken care of, alimony-wise. You'll have enough to live off of, dear, but I hardly doubt you'll be able to afford this house. Too many taxes, you know. You'd be better off selling it."

"So Pauline can live in it, with little Joey."

"And Joey's new daddy," Tiffany said, licking her fingers.

"Congratulations, Pauline."

Pauline sneered at Anne. "Well. Thank you. But you see, dear, we're all entitled. We have history, you see. You were simply bimbo number five. In China, you wouldn't even make the cut."

"Make it easier on yourself, Anne," Noelle said. She smiled and sat next to Anne, and grabbed her shoulders in a bear hug. "You know you can't afford all this, anyway. Everything'll be tied up in court-you'll have to sell it. If you sign some of the stuff over to us, we'll take care of you. We'll make sure you'll live in a nice house, somewhere close."

"But not too close, right? I don't really fit your country-club world, do I?"

Pauline cleared her throat. "Now, Anne, honey, we didn't mean that. It's just that-"

Anne stood. She felt strong, cold, metallic, hard. "Take what you want."

They all froze, like deer in headlights. They blinked in unison.

"I mean it. Take what you want. Draw up the papers and I'll sign them. You win. I'm leaving."

"Dear," Pauline purred, "you're sure about this?"

"Very sure. I have my memories, and I won't see any of you again. It's not too much to trade, is it? Take. What. You. Want."

They smiled in unison. Anne showed them to the door-their minds couldn't comprehend her gesture; they were speechless. Their grins split their faces as they ran to their cars one by one. They grabbed their cell phones like children grabbing for Halloween candy.

Paging Mr. Sumner, Anne thought, call for Mr. Sumner. Mr. Sumner, please pick up line oneƒline twoƒline threeƒline four.

A small smile crooked Anne's lips as the ex's drove from the property. She would miss Mr. McElroy, though. Very wise man. She would take the fall for him, but she didn't mind. It could be an accident. If not, it wouldn't matter. She felt good, now.

"Mushrooms're some of the most poisonous things on the planet. Lotta people don't know that. These we got on the property, well, it takes a while for people to feel the poison--ïleast twelve hours or more. But see, them thing're in your system all that time, doin' major damage. Most people die if they don't get the poison out soon enough."

Mr. McElroy waved at Anne from the window. They smiled at one another, and Anne put away the dishes.

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