The House on Olive Street

  “For myself, I’m thinking of doing a biography. Not because she was famous. Quite the opposite. Because she was both typical and extraordinary. It wouldn’t be a biography of Gabby Marshall, per se, but rather a study of an American writer. A woman writer.”

  “Eleanor, that’s brilliant,” Beth said.

  “Not a popular piece, Beth. A scholarly study. A retrospective. It could be quite dull. I don’t envision any earth-shattering or scandalous revelations.”

  “It couldn’t be dull,” she said. “It would be wonderful. So apt. She was so special. Her accomplishments were highly individual. In a lot of ways she was the average—not so many awards, selling in the midlist range, teaching or speaking to make ends meet, just another woman writer, facing all the same challenges as any woman in the arts, supporting her family in the arts. But her acquaintances ranged from Chiam Potok to…to…me! I don’t think it’s understood how extraordinary is the life of any American woman writer.”

  Eleanor stared at Beth for a long moment, mute, remembering that Beth had given an album of works to Gabby as a birthday gift a couple of years before. Included were the covers of old, out-of-print books and some of their reviews. The research into Gabby’s literary life had been thorough and intense in order for her to have done that. “Exactly so,” Elly finally said. “I need reminding sometimes. I almost forgot you took your postgraduate studies in library science.”

  Beth’s gaze instantly dropped. Her shyness was such a burden.

  “Of course, I haven’t decided yet,” Elly continued.

  “Then you would want a lot of Gabby’s papers, while you decide,” Beth said, her gaze lifting immediately. As long as she was not the subject, she could participate fully.

  “Yes,” Elly replied, clearing her throat. “Don gave me this letter. Gabby was more organized than she lets on. Don knew exactly where she kept her insurance papers, bank account information and regular monthly bills, the file on her house and her car, her will—for the kids, you know. Right off, that rattled David, that Don should do what he considers to be his job. This letter was with the will. I read it and explained it to Don and the kids. They were in the midst of a power struggle over who should play executor. Sarah and David thought it should be David, Don thought he should do the work and pass the worldly goods on to the kids. It was the first time in my memory Don didn’t have someone in mind to do it for him.

  “In any case, he showed excellent judgment in offering the whole ordeal to David, who in his turn, showed excellent judgment in giving it back to Don.” Eleanor shook her head. “David might want the control, but he’s doing his residency and shouldn’t take it on. And Don may be an ass, but he’s fair. He loved her to the end.”

  “He had a funny way of showing it,” Barbara said. “Gabby told me he was having affairs when they were practically newlyweds.”

  “Don’s always been self-important. His relationship with his kids is a testimony to that. The minute either of them makes a decision he can’t personally endorse, he begins to harangue them and issue ultimatums. Gabby was the only person who knew how to deal with him. She always let him think everything he did for them was his idea, even though she’d planted it. It was some Southern thing.

  “In any case, I told them about her request and took a very brief look at her office. Three file cabinets, boxes in the garage that are labeled books, manuscripts, letters, et cetera, sixteen bookshelves… It had never seemed that many when I was there. Did it to you? Sixteen sets of shelves. Everywhere. She had a bookshelf in the bathroom, for God’s sake. Writers,” she said, shaking her head again. “All compulsive.

  “I think Don and the kids are genuinely relieved that they don’t have to deal with Gabby’s office, her papers. And I’m more than willing. But I can’t do it now, I told them. I have to finish the semester. It’s not going to be a weekend job. That’s just as well. They’re too upset to deal with all the other things Gabby left behind. Just going through her dishes, clothes, furniture and odds and ends is something Sarah isn’t ready to face. And as I said, David needs to concentrate on work. I suggested a compromise and they leapt at it. I suggested they have someone get the perishable food out, give the place a thorough cleaning and close it up, as is. Don can hire a gardener to keep the yard manageable for later, when it’s either sold or one of the kids takes it. The kids aren’t desperate for money at the moment because Gabby had a life insurance policy. They’ll each get a tidy little check. In a couple of months, it will be easier for Sarah and David to go through their mother’s things. And after the semester, say, in June, I can begin on her office. If the house is left intact, water, phone and electric on, furniture in place, I’m thinking of moving in there as my summer sabbatical. To sift through the paper.”

  “Moving in?” Sable asked, shocked.

  Eleanor shrugged. “I can’t think of a more efficient way to do it. Despite Gabby’s admission that this is a large task, my reason is more practical. Gabby would understand if I simply made piles and ran a fast glance through her accumulation, but I’m interested in what she has pigeonholed away. Some of her earlier work, I feel, was overlooked. She did some very courageous and vital writing in those years as a journalist abroad. She was one of the first to take on some of those subjects. As a woman, she was a pioneer. Besides, if I move in temporarily, I’ll be there to lend moral support to David and Sarah when they go through their mother’s things. And I’ll be in residence if any of you has time to stop by and help.”

  “Won’t it be hard for you?” Barbara Ann asked. “Living in Gabby’s house, going through her things?”

  Eleanor briefly closed her eyes. She’d lost her mother when she was twelve, her father when she was nineteen. She had a brief, catastrophic marriage in her twenties. She had one older sister with whom she was close, but they lived on opposite coasts and within opposite lives, Margaret being married for forty years, the mother of three and a grandmother. Elly had admitted to her alcoholism when she was forty-two after it had nearly ruined her career and left her academic reputation in tatters. She’d redeemed herself and been sober now sixteen years. It was not as easy a task as she let people think. But nothing, nothing, had been as difficult as losing Gabby. Eleanor’s life had been hard at best. None of these women could possibly know the loneliness of being a dowdy, overly serious, spinster academic. And now, it would be lonelier still.

  “You have no idea,” she answered breathlessly. Then, stronger, “But, as I said, it’s practical. If I’m going to do the job, I’m going to do it right.”

  “I’ll be better able to help in June,” Beth said. “I have a book due the fifteenth of May. And if you’re living there…”

  “I have one due in May and one due in September,” Barbara said.

  “Don’t worry, Barbara Ann,” Elly consoled. “This isn’t an obligation. You also have the largest family to contend with. Gabby wouldn’t have expected you to neglect your family or your work.”

  “Would you be offended if I didn’t make a full commitment? If I promise to help what little I can? I’ve got to finish that September book…and if I have revisions…”

  Sable reached across the deep, white sofa and put a hand over Barbara’s. “Your work and your family come first, Barbara. You have more on your plate than any one of us. Don’t add guilt to it. We already find it hard to believe you can do all you do.”

  It wasn’t unusual for Sable to offer warmth and understanding. One of her rare gifts was that she could do that even with someone who, just a few minutes earlier, had been chewing her ass and accusing her of arrogance. But Barbara didn’t take any special note of Sable’s gesture. In fact, she wanted to snap back a question. Are you going to do that damned conference or aren’t you? She wisely did not open that subject again. Instead, she nodded.

  Eleanor looked at Sable and the eyes of Beth and Barbara followed. “Of course I’ll be there,” Sable said. “I’m not planning any kind of retrospective, but I care about Gabby’s work as much
as any of you. Maybe I can get something that’s out of print looked at again. There could be a few bucks added to her estate for the kids.”

  “Good,” Elly said. “I’m glad you’re all going to have input. Gabby had more faith in me than I have in myself. I’ll look at my class schedule, talk to the kids and give you an exact date for when I’m going to open the house.” She sighed. “Maybe in a couple of months, this won’t seem so emotional.”

  “Aren’t we going to see each other?” Beth asked, moving to the edge of her chair with a panicked rise to her voice. She was answered by indecisive, mute stares. Her eyes began to water. “Oh God, don’t tell me we’re not going to see each other!”

  Elly took off her glasses and began cleaning them with a napkin. “Beth, I don’t feel like critiquing manuscripts. And I’m not very social to begin with.” Her voice sounded tired. Worn. She was feeling her age; her spirit was injured.

  “I don’t care! We don’t have to read to each other! Can we have lunch? Dinner? Meet for coffee or something?”

  “Oh, Beth, of course,” Sable said quickly, recognizing the fear in the young woman’s voice—another thing she should have foreseen, but in her own grief had not thought of. Elly had the college; Barbara Ann had that brood and many friends—she spent hours on the phone chatting away, long distance—Sable’s life appeared hectic and full, despite the fact that it was filled with many acquaintances and business associates, and no friends. But Beth needed them. She had only her husband, and he was often out of town. Her family was in Kansas, and she was so painfully shy. Sable had guessed that Beth’s life with her pilot husband was lacking. Troubled. “We can get together. At least I can, I know that. What would you like to do? Lunch? Dinner one night?”

  Beth visibly relaxed. Now that she’d made her panicked plea, she was unable to go the next step, take control and arrange their meeting. Everyone waited. “Anything,” she said quietly. And everyone knew that someone else would have to decide.

  Barbara was tired. She sighed.

  Elly was unmotivated. She didn’t want to think anymore.

  “Okay,” Sable said, “I’ve got that conference in New York next month…it’s actually three weeks from now. Let’s meet for dinner two weeks from Tuesday. Maybe you can give me some pointers on my speech.” Barbara’s mouth dropped open and she stared at Sable. “Yes, Barbara Ann, I’ll go. You and Elly are both going, so I’ll go. And I’ll be charming. And you can call that friend of yours at her hotel tonight and tell her that you spoke to me and I said I wasn’t expecting anything to come up. Only an emergency would keep me away.”

  “Thank God,” Barbara said, hand to her breast. She had been the one, after all, to deliver Sable. She would stand humiliated if Sable suddenly reneged.

  “Let’s meet in Fair Oaks anyway, hmm? It’s halfway between me and the rest of you. Beth, pick a place. Let’s have a nice dinner. Let us know where.”

  “I’ll have to check Jack’s schedule. You know he likes me to be home when he’s home. He’s gone so much….”

  Sable wanted to ask what would happen if she simply made her own plans, without checking with Jack. Instead, she said, “Any evening that week is okay with me, if you need to change it.”

  After a short discussion of possibilities, Sable was called into the kitchen to sign off on the caterers. Barbara Ann and Beth were heading out the kitchen door. Elly lingered, waiting for Sable to conclude her business. When she finally closed the door on the caterers and turned to Elly, the older woman seemed to sag as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “I’m worried about you,” Sable said. “This has really taken its toll.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Those were beautiful words you said for her. Will you do that for me someday?”

  Elly seemed to deflate. She let out a whoosh of air and her face took on more lines. “I hope to God that never becomes necessary! I don’t plan to outlast you, too!”

  “Well, in the event you do, promise me there will be no biography.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Why would I? You’re writing your own life. Listen, I have something for you. I didn’t say anything because there were no individual letters for Beth or Barbara Ann.” Wearily, she pushed herself off the counter and headed back for the living room. Eleanor did not walk so much as clomp. Once there, she simply reached to the floor to retrieve her heavy purse from where she’d left it. She flung the strap over her shoulder before digging around in it. She presented an envelope.

  “Did you read it?” Sable asked.

  “No. It was sealed. In with her vital papers, like mine. I asked Don to let me give it to you personally. You know, because they didn’t get one.”

  “Do you want to wait a minute? So I can show it to you?”

  “How do you know you’ll want to? It might say something like, ‘Be sure to trick Elly into taking her Geritol every day.’ No, not now. I’m exhausted by Gabby’s last wishes. Funny, she never asked much in life. I’ve got to get going. It’s a long drive.”

  “You can stay the night if you’d like.”

  Elly, who was never demonstrative, patted Sable’s cheek. “Thank you, dear. But no. I want my own bed.”

  “Elly, I had some trouble here today.” The older woman’s eyes widened briefly. She hadn’t any idea. “I had my security guy here, serving drinks. I had no idea what to expect. Most of these people were complete strangers to me. And I don’t usually open my house to so many. I found a reporter in my office. He snuck in on the pretense of attending Gabby’s memorial, and went into my closed office. He had a tiny little camera. He was taking pictures of the inside of my house.”

  “Oh God,” Elly said in sympathy. “The rigors of fame.”

  “I guess that’s what made me testy, made me behave as though I was threatening not to attend Barbara Ann’s stupid conference. I couldn’t believe it.”

  Elly shook her head. “Sable, I’m not surprised. I’m sorry, but not surprised. You’ve insulated yourself so well that, while you’re safe from one kind of crackpot, you draw the attention of those god-awful starmongers. You’ve let yourself become too damn mysterious. And unattainable. By not pandering to them at all, you’re a challenge. They’re looking for a story.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “This is not my area of expertise. Ask your publicist? Sic your lawyers on him? I just don’t know.” Eleanor’s eyes were droopy; she licked her dry lips. Sable felt panicked by what appeared to be Elly’s deterioration. Eleanor was failing, looking sixty-eight instead of fifty-eight, and Sable needed her. “I’ve got to go home,” Elly said. “Call me if you think there’s any way I can help.”

  “Call me,” Sable said, “if there’s any way I can help you.”

  “Sadly, I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do for me. Like Gabby used to say, ‘When I’m tired, sad and heartbroken, I take a rest and then I come back into myself and maybe write about it.’”

  “She said that about him, didn’t she, Elly? John Shelby. When she quit traveling the world, it wasn’t because she was done with that kind of writing. It was because she knew she’d never have the man she loved, wasn’t it?”

  “It was all of it. She told him that she’d had enough, that she needed to be home with her children and couldn’t stomach any more heartbreaking stories, that she couldn’t maintain her low profile so that his wife wouldn’t catch on. She had delivered him an ultimatum—to make good on his promises, or end the affair. That was the note on which they left it. You can imagine her pain. Which she bore alone, he having been married with children.”

  “You were there. She wasn’t alone.”

  “I was very little help, I’m afraid. Who would listen to an old spinster’s advice on the pain of lost love? I only hope I can persevere as well as Gabby did.”

  “You haven’t been tempted…to…you know—”

  “Drink? Oh Sable, you p
ure soul. I’m tempted all the time. Ninety percent of the time drinking worked tolerably well for me. It was that goddamned ten percent that got me into trouble. But don’t worry. I won’t drink. I don’t think they distilled enough gin last year to numb the loneliness Gabby’s left me with. And you? How are you dealing with this?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I never feel anything but fear. It’s the only emotion I can actually identify. I’m afraid without her.” Sable shrugged. “I was afraid before. And now I’m afraid of one more thing.”

  Eleanor gave a wan smile. “I know. And I don’t imagine we’re the only two. I’ll call you within the week to find out about our dinner plans.”

  Sable stood in the kitchen for a long time after Elly left, looking at the precious script of Gabby’s hand on the envelope. There was a light tapping at the kitchen door and Jeff Petross let himself in. “Everyone’s gone and we checked the grounds. How you doin’?”

  “Tired. But okay.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that little wimp we threw outta here. I mean, you don’t have to worry that he’ll come back. I can stay over….”

  “No, no. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  He shrugged. “I’m free. If you’d feel better. I know sometimes you feel unsafe. You don’t have to have a reason. It’s hell being all edgy. Better you should sleep.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll just lock up.”

  “You have my cell number if you change your mind. Want me to check around inside?”