Death in a Funhouse Mirror by Kate Flora Read Free Book Online

the hardwood floor, and stood up. "Shall we retire, Thea, and leave the men to their cigars?" I got up and followed her into the kitchen.
    Eve was leaning against the counter, trying to stifle her sobs with a dirty dishtowel. "I'm sorry, Thea. I know I'm being a bitch but I can't seem to stop myself. They must think I'm awful!"
    "Don't worry about them," I said. "They're used to people acting strange when they're upset. It goes with the territory. Being upset with the nosy strangers in your house I can understand, but what's this business between you and Cliff? I should think you'd be comforting each other."
    "I wish," she said, "but he doesn't need me. He has Rowan."
    "That's the third time he's come up. Who is this Rowan?"
    She screwed up her face like she'd just tasted something bitter and nasty. "Rowan is Dr. Rowan Ansel, one of the up-and-coming residents my father is supervising. Though it's a toss-up which one is supervising the other. Cliff is supervising Rowan in the clinical setting, and Rowan is teaching Cliff the joys of manly love."
    "You don't mean..." I began, feeling foolish for asking, and embarrassed about what I understood.
    "Don't be naive, Thea. Cliff was experiencing a midlife crisis of sorts," she said. "Feeling very sad and depressed because his life was so settled and boring. He was so established, so married. He'd never climb mountains, or run the marathon, or drive across the country in a convertible sports car. Never be more than just one of the leading lights in the Boston psychiatric community. Not asked to be head of the society. You know, the whole midlife thing. He'd come as close to the pinnacle as he ever would and someone else was standing on top. He managed to maintain his public facade, but around us—me and Helene—he was irascible, depressed and sour. Then bang, along came Rowan, and led him down the primrose path. You probably saw him this afternoon. He was here—the effeminate blond in the purple sweater?"
    "Helene knew about Rowan?"
    "Of course. Cliff wasn't secretive about it. You know how they were, discussing everything to death. He was very open about the importance of exploring what he called the bisexual side of his nature. He was getting into all that male-bonding stuff. Went to a weekend retreat where they sat around in a sweat lodge and chanted, and beat on drums and danced, and worked themselves into a frenzy and then shared all their most intimate secrets. Such a lot of garbage. Women can do that over lunch."
    "How did she react?"
    "She didn't like it, but she thought he needed to get it out of his system. Pretty generous of her. They would never let me get anything out of my system, but then, neither of them was the product of the other, as I was their product. They were just a couple. She prided herself on her tolerance. But she didn't like it. Even though women's issues were very important to her, and she spent endless hours with her women friends thrashing out their precious theories, she was a rock-bottom heterosexual. She tried to be understanding, but deep down, she thought his male-bonding stuff was ridiculous and the bisexual stuff disgusting."
    She shook her head. "Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in Arizona. I came back here thinking I was ready to be honest and open and truthful with them. At first I thought we were making some progress. But they'd changed. They were less accessible than ever. They were both too busy with their personal agendas to bother with me. Helene holding endless meetings with her colleagues, debating whether they should split away from Bartlett Hill and open their own clinic, staffed by women and treating only women, and in the next room, Cliff and his men's group, clutching their copies of Iron John."
    "Iron John?"
    "The bible of the men's movement."
    "Well, at least they were concerned with issues, Eve. They could have been freebasing cocaine and listening to rap music."
    "I'd almost have preferred that," she said. "They'd