My Father the God

  Chapter 8

  The Complexity of Life

  Boston - April, 1950

  Isolde and Sabrina sat on the park bench, patiently observing the two children racing about before them. Though it was sunny, it was nevertheless a cold day along the Charles River.

  “Robert is quite good with her,” Sabrina volunteered, examining as Robert lifted Elise onto a swing and began to push her skyward.

  “Yes, he’s a good boy. I’d have been surprised if he hadn’t been good with her,” Isolde surmised, “She’s a lovely little girl, you know. You and Sloan have much to be proud of.”

  At this, Sabrina winced and, peering wistfully at the two children, she responded enigmatically, “Thank you. How are you and James getting along?”

  “Oh, just fine,” Isolde hedged, “He’s very busy, you know. Now that he is the head of the department, he’s spending even longer hours at the office.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sabrina responded agreeably, “I don’t see all that much of Sloan either.”

  “Are you happy?” Isolde pried.

  “Happy? I’m not sure I even know the meaning of the word,” Sabrina responded in sudden abandon.

  “Right, none of my business, I suppose,” Isolde responded apologetically.

  “It’s not that, Isolde, I’m not trying to put you off. I just don’t know who I am, or where I’m going half the time. Frankly, I find Sloan infuriating.”

  “Why ever for?” Isolde exclaimed in surprise, “I’ve always thought he was such a great catch for you.”

  “I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it, but he still gives me the creeps,” Sabrina proffered, “Maybe it goes all the way back to the panty caper that summer in New Hampshire, but I really don’t trust him.”

  “What? You mean, you think he’s cheating on you?” Isolde exclaimed doubtfully.

  “No, it’s not that. I doubt that he has any extra energy for that, if you get my meaning,” Sabrina responded with a telling glance. “It’s just that, he’s always hypothesizing that there’s something gone wrong.”

  “Something gone wrong…like what?” Isolde queried in dismay.

  “Like a plot or something,” Sabrina murmured disconsolately.

  “A plot? What sort of plot?”

  “Oh, he claims he’s being held back from getting his Ph.D.,” Sabrina responded, her head shaking doubtfully, “It’s kind of ridiculous.”

  “Held back!” Isolde exclaimed in surprise. “How is that even possible?”

  “I’ve no idea, Isolde. You know more about the going’s on at Harvard than I ever will. But one night he remarked that James finished his graduate studies in three years, and it looks like he’s going to need five years to complete his course of study.”

  “Oh, well,” Isolde mumbled, “If it’s any consolation, I barely saw James during that entire three-year period.”

  “Really?” Sabrina replied, her jaw dropping in shock.

  “Why do you think I only have the one child?” Isolde revealed.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize…,” Sabrina murmured apprehensively.

  “Yes, well, it seems we may both be married to workaholics,” Isolde volunteered and, staring wistfully off into space, she added, “It seems those two lusty boys from that summer in New Hampshire have grown into distracted academics.”

  Remaining momentarily silent in contemplation, Sabrina eventually offered, “That being the case, why don’t we two get together regularly? Besides, Robert and Elise can play together. Just look at them, they seem to get along rather well, despite the difference in their ages.”

  “Good idea. We can commiserate together,” Isolde responded with newfound resolution, “Sort of like academic widows.”

  Boston – March, 1951

  Sloan rushed through the front door of the apartment, exclaiming cheerfully, “Sabrina! I have great news!”

  At this, Sabrina came bounding from the hallway, whispering, “Ssshhh! Elise is taking her nap! You don’t want to see how badly she’ll behave if you wake her.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he whispered in return, “Is she alright?”

  “Of course,” Sabrina replied, “We had a nice visit to the park this morning. It’s the first day warm enough for it since early November. So Isolde and I reprised our weekly outings. Anyway, she’s tired out, so her nap is a bit longer than usual today.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” he mumbled distractedly, “At least I think it is. How’s Isolde? I’ve not seen her since last summer.”

  “Oh, she’s fine, and Robert and Elise are getting along quite well together,” she whispered and, deftly changing the subject, she added, “Hopefully, you’ll get to be more of a parent to her now that you’re finishing your studies.”

  “That would be nice,” he replied wistfully.

  “So, to what do I owe this mid-day visit?” she inquired suspiciously.

  Suddenly regaining his manic attitude, he responded, “Oh, that’s what I wanted to tell you about!”

  “What?”

  “They’ve offered me a job on the faculty!” he announced proudly.

  “Wow! That’s amazing!” she exclaimed loudly and, suddenly realizing that she had violated her own command, she whispered, “Isn’t that a bit unusual?”

  Taking her in a gentle embrace, he murmured, “Yes, but I’m older.”

  Returning his embrace, she responded, “What is that supposed to mean, Sloan?”

  “Oh, nothing, the truth is, I suspect James put in a good word for me.”

  “That’s more likely, if you ask me,” she whispered in return.

  “Well, it really doesn’t matter why, the point is - now we can get a better place to live, or at least we can as soon as I get my Ph.D. in May,” he replied, bending to kiss her lightly.

  Ignoring his advance, she queried, “So, how much will you be making?”

  “I’m not quite certain, but you can bet it will be quite a bit more than I’m making now,” he said proudly.

  “Well, congratulations, Sloan,” she said dismissively and, releasing him, she added condescendingly, “You may be a pervert, and an idiot to boot, but you’re good at your work.”

  “Thanks,” he replied in confusion, in the process wondering to himself whether she had just complimented him or not.

  Boston – Early April, 1954

  Sloan’s office phone rang and, grabbing it unconsciously from the cradle, he said brusquely, “Sloan Stewart here.”

  “Sloan, it’s Isolde,” she responded.

  “Isolde!” he cried, his face lighting up in obvious pleasure, “It’s great to hear your voice. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering,” she suggested nervously, “Could you possibly meet me for lunch?”

  “Why, certainly,” he replied convivially, “It would be my pleasure. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, it’s nothing. I just need to talk.”

  “Right,” he responded empathetically, “When is good for you?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Sure. When and where?”

  “Brannigan’s Bar, if that’s okay with you,” she suggested, “Say 11:30?”

  “Perfect! See you then, Isolde.”

  “Bye, Sloan.”

  The Following Day

  Sloan crept up behind her at the bar, exclaiming pleasantly, “Hey!”

  “Oh!” she responded with an amiable grin, “You surprised me! You always were the huckster,” and rising from her seat, she accepted his genial embrace.

  Seating himself adjacent to her, he said, “Sooo, long time no see, Isolde. It’s been what – six months? I trust things are well with you?”

  “Oh, you know, Sloan,” she responded and, brushing back a strand of hair, she proffered, “It’s just life. It comes at you quite fast.”

  “Tell me about it,” he responded jovially, adding with apparent concern, “You look a bit down, Isolde. What seems to be the problem?”

  “It
’s nothing…really! I’m simply struggling a bit,” she replied disconsolately, “Perhaps I’m a bit depressed. James and I have been married for more than twelve years, you know. His work keeps him busy all the time. I suppose I’m just lonely.”

  “Ah, I see,” he replied empathetically, “How is your son?”

  “Well, that part is just fine, although Robert keeps me quite busy, if you must know. He’s a handful.”

  “Perhaps that’s good,” he suggested, “How old is he now?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Hmmm, Elise is six. She’s quite a handful as well.”

  “How is Sabrina?” she inquired, already knowing the answer to her query.

  “No idea, she’s not speaking to me much these days, as I suspect you are well aware.”

  “Yes, she told me much the same thing in the park the other day. What seems to be the problem, Sloan?”

  “Perhaps we’ve the same problem that James and you have – overwork,” he babbled rather flippantly and, his demeanor becoming somber, he suggested, “Seriously, though, I’m not certain what’s going on with Sabrina. She can be somewhat distant at times. At any rate, I’m quite sure she shall get over it.”

  “Let’s hope so,” she said doubtfully.

  His gaze turning serious, he asked, “I do have a question for you.”

  Sensing the newfound concern in his voice, she inquired, “Oh, and what might that be?”

  “It’s been nagging at me for years,” he mumbled, “Ever since that summer in New Hampshire.”

  She peered at him doubtfully, grunting, “What? What’s the problem?”

  “Well, I was contemplating, since you’re a psychologist, and a woman to boot, perhaps you can tell me why she did what she did afterwards.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She joined a cabaret,” he announced flatly.

  “What! Surely you’re not serious, Sloan!” she exclaimed in obvious shock.

  “I assure you, I am quite serious,” he responded serenely.

  “When? How long?”

  “Well, I’m not quite sure, to tell you the truth,” he replied and, pondering a moment, he suggested thoughtfully, “It seems she was a cabaret dancer for quite some time, eventually becoming a Rockette at Radio City Music Hall.”

  “Is that where you found her in New York?”

  “Yes. I found her during summer break,” he replied wistfully, “We were married shortly thereafter, as I’m sure you well know.”

  “Yes,” she said with newfound interest, “But I didn’t know any of the rest of it.”

  “Right, so back to my original question, Isolde,” he said pointedly, “Why did she become a cabaret dancer?”

  “Good question,” she replied thoughtfully. She contemplated momentarily, then abruptly snapped her fingers, announcing, “That’s it! Of course!”

  “What’s it?”

  “The shower thing in New Hampshire. I’m sure it all goes back to that night.”

  “Why?”

  “Look, Sloan,” she said disdainfully, “You really messed her up that night.”

  “I did?” he responded doubtfully.

  “Yes, quite so, dear boy,” she murmured, “Regretfully, you did. She was crying uncontrollably when she came back to the room. Actually, I think she cried half the night, and the following morning, she simply packed her bag, hugged me, and left for the station without so much as a word.”

  “Really!” he said, realization apparent on his face, “I had no idea.”

  “Surely she told you as much,” she responded hesitantly.

  “Yes, but I didn’t really believe her.”

  “Why ever not?” she queried in surprise.

  “Because she came to me on the dock later that night, that’s why!”

  “What! What are you talking about, Sloan?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I swam out to the dock, and she followed me.”

  “Really!” she exclaimed in utter disbelief, “And what happened then?”

  “Uhm…well…uhm…”

  “This is no time for shilly-shallying about, Sloan,” she remonstrated, “Remember your pledge of complete honesty.”

  “Right. How could I ever forget that, despite the fact that it was half a lifetime ago,” he responded sheepishly.”

  “Sooo…” she responded expectantly.

  “So, she made love to me, dammit,” he blurted defensively.

  “My, my…” she volunteered, “No wonder she was in such a quandary. And how was it?”

  “How was what?” he replied defensively.

  “You idiot, how was it?” she expounded, placing particular emphasis on the last word.

  “Well, now that you ask, Isolde, it was different,” he murmured sheepishly.

  “Different?” she inquired in obvious surprise, “How so, Sloan?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he mumbled, but then he added thoughtfully, as if he were reliving it, “She was, I suppose, somehow more romantic, more like she really cared. I don’t mind telling you, the thought of that night kept me going for more than three years in Burma. Had it not been for what happened on the dock that night, I doubt I’d be alive today.”

  “Really!” Isolde blurted in surprise. “You mean, it’s different now?”

  “Right,” he responded dejectedly, “Has been ever since,” and, pausing for a moment to reflect, he suggested, “You know, I think you’re right, Isolde. I must have hurt her really badly that night, because she hasn’t been the same since.”

  “Yes, you’re right about that,” she replied, “But the two of you should have gotten beyond that by now.”

  “Look, she likes to blame me for quite a lot, if you must know…” he replied, his voice trailing off disconsolately.

  She stared at him momentarily and, gathering her thoughts, she suggested, “Look, I’m no psychologist, but from what I’ve heard about dancers, they are in almost all cases beset by insecurity of one sort or another.”

  “Really? So, why are they insecure?”

  “Well, I’m sure I have no idea,” she announced officiously, “There are myriad reasons for insecurity, but I can certainly tell you this - I would be seriously insecure had you done to me what you did to her that night!”

  “What! Why?”

  “Right, first you scared the holy crap out of her. Then you did everything but rape her.”

  “But my intentions were nothing of the sort…”

  “Be that as it may, Sloan, what you perpetrated on her that night was surely quite traumatic for a naïve seventeen year old girl.”

  Eyeing her doubtfully, he queried, “Are you telling me that I made her into an insecure cabaret dancer?”

  Shaking her head, she denied, “No, I didn’t say that! But look at it this way – I doubt that she would have turned to dancing had it not been for that night.”

  “Hmmm, I see what you mean,” he responded thoughtfully, his hand on his chin. “I’m afraid I have some patching up to do with her.”

  “I would advise against that, Sloan. You’ve put your foot in it once. Best stay away from the puddle, if you get my meaning, for it could grow even deeper.”

  “Alright, Isolde,” he responded and, apparently closing the subject, he added, “Well, thanks for your help.”

  “Sure,” she responded with a polite smile, “You know, I came here in a maudlin mood, and now I somehow feel better myself.”

  “Probably you’re just enjoying getting to know that one of your friends has problems, too!” he posited in attempted good humor.

  At this, they laughed convivially and, the conversation turning to lighter subjects, they enjoyed a pleasant lunch together. When the time came to part, Isolde grabbed his arm and, pulling him down the street a short distance, she tugged him into an alleyway and whispered, “Forgive me, Sloan, but I need this badly,” and so saying, she drew him to her and kissed him passionately.


  When she pulled back, he eyed her in shock, but nonetheless managed to murmur politely, “Well, that was quite a surprise! But then, what are friends for?” and so saying, he accorded her a brilliant smile.

  For her part, she returned his smile, offering affably, “And now, I must be off! Perhaps we could get together again sometime. And I promise, I shan’t pull you into an alley!”

  “Done!” he replied and, turning to leave, he called over his shoulder, “I shall look forward to it!”

  A Month Later

  Sloan, having been deep in thought during his constitutional alongside the Charles, pulled up in surprise, saying, “Well, I declare! Fancy meeting you here, Isolde!”

  “Yes, well, I just couldn’t stay away, Sloan. I was on my way to your office, when I saw you strolling by the river. So I thought to surprise you.”

  “What’s up?” he queried.

  “Oh, nothing,” she responded evasively, “I just needed a friend. Mind if we walk a bit?”

  “Not at all,” he responded pleasantly, “Had you not happened along, I should have been forced to take my lunchtime walk alone. Now, it seems it will be much more enjoyable,” and, taking her arm, he proceeded to stroll along the riverside walkway.

  The pair meandered along for several minutes, Isolde jabbering about nothing in particular, whence they came upon a children’s swing adjacent to the walkway. “Why, what a lovely day for a swing!” she announced. “Please, Sloan, could we? Would you mind ever so much giving me a push?” and so saying, she settled into the nearest seat.

  Sharing her burst of energy, he joined in, pushing her higher on each revolution of the swing, the pair looking to all appearances like a couple of school children playing hooky.

  When they had exhausted themselves, she exclaimed, “Thanks, Sloan, I needed that! Now, I shan’t treat you as I did the last time we met, but I must be going, so please, give us a hug.”

  Reaching for her, he took her companionably within his arms and gave her a peck on the cheek, saying, “I do so adore you, Isolde. Thanks for being such a good friend.”

  For her part, she followed up with a laconic, “Bye,” and with that she waved and bounded away.

  Boston – Late June, 1954

  Sloan came forward to the restaurant table, wondering to himself what James could be about on this occasion. “James,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Ah, Sloan,” James responded, grasping his hand. “Good of you to come. We’re all so terribly busy these days. Please, have a seat. Lunch is on me.”

  “Thanks,” Sloan replied, adding, “What’s up?”

  “Probably nothing, but I thought that you should know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Shall we dine first?” James suggested politely, “Then I shall of course be entirely forthcoming.”

  “It’s not to do with work, is it?”

  “Heaven’s, no, Sloan,” James responded officiously, adding, “As your department chair, let me simply say that you are the star performer within the department.”

  “Right, thanks,” Sloan responded compliantly, the two sharing a friendly repast thereafter.

  Once their appetites had been sated, Sloan took up yet again, querying, “So, what was so important as to cause you to telephone me in haste, James?”

  Daubing the corner of his mouth, James responded solemnly, “I suppose there’s no putting it off. You see, Sloan, I’ve happened onto something quite untoward.”

  “Oh, what sort of thing?” Sloan responded quizzically.

  “Actually, I happened to be in downtown Boston the other day, and I chanced to see Sabrina going into a rather seedy looking shop on Simmons Boulevard,” James offered hesitantly, “You know the area, right?”

  “I do in fact know of the area, but little more than that,” Sloan mumbled, growing more confused by the moment, “Isn’t it some sort of slum?”

  “Yes, it is. Actually, I would go somewhat farther - it is in fact the red light district of Boston.”

  “Right,” Sloan grunted, “Whatever were you doing in that area, James?”

  Eyeing Sloan doubtfully for a moment, James murmured, “Oh, I was on my way to a meeting downtown, and the taxi driver, claiming to know a shortcut around traffic, coincidentally took a rather circuitous route through the area.”

  “Ah, I see,” Sloan responded and, his concern obviously mounting, he inquired, “So you say you saw Sabrina there?”

  “Yes, indeed I did,” he reconfirmed somberly and, apparently attempting to mitigate the gravity of it, he added somewhat inanely, “Either that, or it was her twin sister.”

  “Right,” Sloan responded grimly, “And since she doesn’t have any siblings, we must assume that it was in fact her.”

  “Precisely, so I thought to inform you,” James offered and, handing him a piece of paper, he proffered, “This is the address of the place I saw her entering.”

  “Thank you, James,” Sloan responded and, attempting to make light of it, he suggested, “I’m quite certain that it’s nothing at all. Nevertheless, one must take these things seriously. I shall forthwith undertake to investigate.”

  Boston – Three Days Later

  Sloan stepped from the taxi and, offering the driver a generous tip, he turned to take in his surroundings. As James had indicated, it was indeed a rather questionable part of town. Attempting to get a feel for the area, he meandered along the street for a couple of blocks, idly taking in the scenery.

  There seemed to be an assemblage of women, most of them standing listlessly about, each and every one of them glaring suspiciously in his direction. One of them eventually came forward and, her breasts straining to escape her miniscule blouse, she inquired enticingly, “Need some companionship, mister?”

  “No, thank you, I’m just looking about,” he grinned salaciously.

  “Well, look all you want, buddy, it’s the only free thing around here,” she responded cynically. And at this she turned on her heel, and as she did so, she accentuated the sway of her bountiful hips.

  Having seen enough, he turned, now strolling in the opposite direction. Along the way, he was intermittently assaulted by bouncers, the typical remark being something like, “Hey, buddy, want to see some action? Girls, all nude, all the time! Just step inside here.”

  Ignoring each offer, he wandered further on, eventually deciding he had quite the measure of the neighborhood. Thenceforth, extracting the piece of paper from his pocket, he read the address and, searching about for street numbers, he headed back in the direction from whence he had come.

  Realizing that he was a bit lost, he approached a streetwalker and, holding out the piece of paper toward her, he asked, “Excuse, me, might you be able to tell me where this address is?”

  Reaching forward, she took the paper for a moment and staring at it in concentration, she responded, “Yeah, a couple of blocks down that way, on your right. It’s a peep show, I think.”

  “Thanks,” he replied and, smiling in gratitude, he took off in the direction she had pointed. A few minutes later he found himself standing before a small shop. It was painted entirely black, and on the window were painted three large block letter X’s. Glancing upwards, he noticed the sign above, blinking the two words ‘Peep Show’.

  Tugging the door open, he stepped inside, finding a small window, an elderly woman perched within. “Twenty dollars, unlimited viewing,” she announced drolly.

  “Viewing of what?” he inquired suspiciously.

  “Why, whatever you want,” she responded acerbically, “all strictly legal, of course.”

  “How many girls have you within?” he asked tenaciously.

  “This time of day, usually five. Just wander down the hallway, poke your head in any room, and pick whichever one you want to watch. They’re all one way mirrors, so they can’t see you. Perfect anonymity.”

  “Works for me,” he replied and, pulling a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, he shoved
it over the counter.

  “Have a great time,” the woman said, “And stay out of trouble, because if you make a commotion, we’ll have to throw you out, hear?”

  “Got it,” he said, turning toward the task at hand.

  He wandered down the dimly lit hallway, thrust his way through a curtain and, stepping inside a small darkened room, he sat in one of the dozen or so chairs. There were two men seated within, both staring intently through a glass window, a scantily clad young woman dancing immodestly therein. He examined the setting for a few minutes and, having gaged the setting fully, he decided to move on.

  Continuing his search to no avail, he eventually came to the last room. Although the setting was identical to the other rooms, this one was packed and every seat in the room was taken. Apparently the show had not yet begun, as there was a curtain drawn across the far side of the room. He propped himself against the wall near the entrance, a feeling of foreboding churning inside him. The curtain was momentarily drawn back, a nearly naked figure in a mask dancing salaciously within the tiny chamber. Of course, given the concealment supplied by the mask, no one could have discerned the identity of the performer therein but her own husband, that being Sloan. As confirming evidence, he observed the heart-shaped birthmark, right where he knew it would be. He watched for a few gut-wrenching moments, then abruptly departed, utterly revolted by the entire scene within.

  Aware that she would have to leave early enough to pick Elise up at day care, he determined to wait outside. Eventually, she came out and, seeing him standing there in forlorn anticipation, she strolled directly toward him and announced mundanely, “Sloan. I thought you’d never come.”

  Passing directly by him, she continued down the street. Surprised to find her unrepentant, he followed, pleading, “Sabrina! What the hell is going on?”

  “What does it look like is going on?” she bellowed vehemently.

  “I’ve no idea, I’m sure. Suppose you tell me!” he pleaded.

  “I’m dancing in a peep show, that’s what’s going on, you idiot!” she spat in return.

  “I can see that, but why ever on earth for?”

  At this she stopped, turned on her heel and, strutting back to him, she exclaimed between gritted teeth, “I’m getting even with you.”

  “Getting even, for what?”

  “You know what, you bastard!” she screamed viciously.

  “I’m sure I’ve no idea. Suppose you enlighten me, Sabrina.”

  “I knew you’d say that!” she cried and, pulling up directly before him, she hauled off and slapped him forcefully, following it with, “Fuck off, you son-of-a-bitch! I want a divorce!”

  Staggering backward from the blow, he grabbed his face and exclaimed in bewilderment, “What! You can’t possibly mean that!”

  “Oh, can’t I?” she responded callously, and with that she turned and strutted away.

  “Sabrina, please stop,” he called forlornly to her, “Tell me what is going on, please!”

  At this, she turned one last time and, facing him, she announced, “I’m going to say this one time, Sloan, so listen up. Don’t you ever come near me again. I’ve had enough of your bullshit lies. You will hear from my lawyer shortly. In the meantime, I’m taking Elise to my mother’s house in Pittsburgh.”

  “Oh, God, please Sabrina, don’t do this!” he cried in dismay.

  “Too late, you pervert. It’s already done,” and, having said this, she turned and walked away.