73 - Silent Night

“No, Jon,” Dorothea repeated patiently.  “Call Petey’s phone.  If she wants to talk to you, she’ll answer, otherwise she won’t.  I’m not her secretary or yours, and you can tell Richie the same thing.  No…  She’ll be fine at the house tonight.”

Despite herself, Petey smiled.  Dorothea was just so… matter of fact.  She didn’t seem to let anything ruffle her. 

When Jon and Richie left her in the bar with Dorothea and Matt, she’d kind of panicked and started reciting again.  She felt bad about it, particularly considering Daniel’s earlier offensive remarks, but she couldn’t help herself.  It was either recite or have a screaming, hysterical meltdown.  Reciting was definitely the lesser of the evils. 

Upon hearing the murmurs, Dorothea had taken one look into her face and declared that Petey was coming home with her for the night.  She sent Matt to tell Tony they would meet him at the car, and asked him to send their coats along before ushering her toward the door.

Petey had tried to protest, but Dorothea held up a silencing hand.  “Stop.  You clearly don’t need to be alone tonight, and I’m not sending you home with Jon or Richie.  God only knows what they’re ‘talking’ about, but you look like you’ve had enough for one night.  You’ll come home with me, borrow pajamas and sleep in one of the guest rooms.  I won’t take no for an answer.”

Her quiet, efficient commandeering of the situation had been remarkably calming for Petey, who nodded and followed her from the club to Tony’s SUV without offering another protest.  Jon’s phone calls had started shortly after that, along with Richie’s. 

With those horrible pictures still freshly emblazoned on her mind, she let the calls go to voicemail and softly recited Shakespeare’s “King Lear” while prodding at her injured lip.  The dim lighting in the club and the cover of darkness had masked the swelling and delayed the inevitable questions that she hadn't come up with an answer for.

Receiving no response from Petey, Jon had then reverted to calling Dorothea who calmly shut him down by refusing to play secretary.  Matt must have told him that they’d left together.

“Are you warm enough back there, Petey?”  Tony’s voice rose to be heard above the soft rock station playing on the radio.  They were an hour into the nearly two hour drive and she was still huddled into her cloak.  Tony and Dorothea were talking intermittently to one another in the front seat, but they didn’t pressure her to participate in the conversation.

“I’m fine.  Thank you.”

That was the last thing she uttered until they arrived at the house on Navesink River Road.  Tony escorted them both into the front foyer, and Petey turned away as he sweetly kissed Dorothea good night.  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Babes,” he murmured when he lifted his face.

“You know if you’ll just point me to the guest room, I’ll leave you two alone,” Petey offered, still keeping her gaze averted.  “I know this is still fairly new for you, and I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time together.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony assured her, winking at Dorothea.  “We have plenty of time.  Good night, ladies.”   

The door closed behind him and Dorothea regarded Petey’s profile speculatively for a moment before understanding dawned on her face.  “It was you, wasn’t it?  You were supposed to be there that day.  You’re the reason Jon didn’t bust a blood vessel or scream a string of obscenities at me and Tony.”

Petey ducked her head, feeling the color infuse her cheeks.  “I just tried to make him see things logically,” she said and found herself wrapped in a warm embrace.

“Honey, what you did was equivalent to Moses parting the Red Sea.  It was nothing short of a miracle,” she half-joked, releasing Petey.  “You made things so much easier for everyone involved, and I owe you a huge debt of thanks.”

“A place to spend the night is sufficient.”  She offered a glimpse of dimples, still keeping her minor injury obscured.  “Thanks.”

“In that case, come upstairs with me, and we’ll see about finding something more comfortable than that dress.” 

Petey noted that Dorothea’s own dress had been simple black jersey with silver jewelry.  Classic.  This is the woman Jon was used to escorting – tasteful and elegant.  Those were two things that didn’t come close to describing Petey.

Don’t be bitter just because you didn't choose that path.  She’s been amazingly nice.  She would probably even give you some insight if you asked for it.

“Dorothea?”  Petey asked as their heels made a random cacophony as they climbed the wide, marble staircase.  “Could I ask you a personal question?”

She looked back over her shoulder curiously.  “Sure.”

It was actually more than a little personal and totally none of Petey’s business, but there was no one else to ask, and no better opportunity.  “Was Jon ever mean to you?” she solemnly inquired as the two of them topped the staircase at the mouth of the dimly lit upstairs hall.

Dorothea paused, tilting her head at Petey in confusion, as though the question didn’t quite make sense.  “Mean?  No, not unless you consider inattentiveness mean.”  Her arms crossed over her waist in a gesture of uneasiness.  “Why?  Has he been mean to you?”

“No, of course not,” Petey quickly denied – okay, lied – while pretending to look at the family photographs lined up with military precision along the creamy walls.  “I’ve only been over there the couple of times.  He’s barely spoken to me.  He just seems… harsh.”

A frown of displeasure marred Dorothea’s normally placid face, but she didn’t speak right away, and instead gestured for Petey to follow her.  Two doors down, they stepped into the domain of Dorothea’s master suite, where she flipped the switch that would softly illuminate the room.  She closed them inside and slowly pivoted on the heel of her strappy black shoe.  “You can cut the crap, Petey,” she declared, not unkindly.  “I know you and Jon are involved, so don’t feel like you have to hide it.” 

Glancing awkwardly around the room, Petey found it a sea of soothing, soft green.  The walls were the lightest possible shade and the furniture and bedding were all in varying, darker shades.  It was warm and put together, much like the woman who resided within.

“This feels strange,” she remarked quietly.  “Talking to you about him.”

Dorothea smiled.  “I can only imagine.  Why don’t we sit down for a minute?”  Bypassing the small seating area in the corner, she stepped out of her shoes, folded a leg beneath her and perched on the end of the king-sized bed.  Petey obligingly followed suit, but left her booted feet firmly on the carpet when she chose to sit on Dorothea’s left side, still keeping the swollen lip from her line of vision.

“Would it help to know that I like you?  And that I think you’re probably good for him?”

Petey’s eyes snapped to the other woman’s face, finding nothing but sincerity shining in the warm cocoa eyes.  Those eyes glanced to Petey’s mouth and a shadow crossed through them.  Before she could comment, Petey spontaneously decided that there was no greater authority on Jon.  Why not take advantage of it?

“I guess that does help,” she acquiesced, clasping her hands together in her lap.  “Jon has said some… hurtful things to me.  I try to keep it all in perspective, because it usually happens when he’s frustrated with me, but…  Well, I guess I just wondered if that’s part of how he is.  In general.”

Her long curtain of sable hair swayed with Dorothea’s denial.  “No.  He’s been known to get his point across very loudly, but he doesn’t resort to personal attacks.”  She frowned.  “Or he never has before.  If you don’t mind sharing, what kind of things are we talking about?”

Now feeling ridiculously out of line, Petey was sorry she’d spoken.  She was making more of the situation than there was, and this wasn’t going to do anything but raise more questions.  “It doesn’t matter.”

A comforting hand came to rest upon her shoulder.  “I’d really like to know.”

Petey felt like her sigh worked its way up from the soles of her feet.  There was likely no one else she would reveal this tiny part of her diligently guarded personal life to.  Dorothea just made her feel completely accepted.  


“He called me a whore, implied that I was a slut, and told me he wished he’d never met me.  All at different times,” she clarified, in an attempt to dull the impact.  It sounded more hateful than she'd realized it would.

“Oh, honey…” After a fleeting look of anger swept across Dorothea’s face, Petey could see the wheels turning.  “That’s not a Jon I know.  I can only speculate, but is it possible that you hurt his feelings?  He does like to keep a level playing field.  Although…”  Her head shook with bewilderment.  “I’ve never really seen anybody who could hurt his feelings.  He likes to think of himself as above that kind of thing.”

“It truly doesn’t matter,” she assured her hostess with a rueful smile.  “I'm not trying to solve any of life's great mysteries.  Just chalk the question up to idle curiosity.”

Clearly unsure about how to proceed, and even though she didn't want to let the subject go, Dorothea resigned herself to choosing a different topic.  “Now can I ask you a personal question?”

It only seemed fair that the exchange be reciprocal.  It wasn’t like Petey could decline in good conscience after her own intrusive question. 

“Okay.”

“Why were you huddled outside the club talking to yourself tonight?  What happened to upset you?”

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…

“Jon and I had argued – again.”  She huffed softly.  “It’s what we do.”

“The argument was enough to send you out into the cold without your coat?” Dorothea was not a gullible woman.

“No.  It sent me into the ladies’ room.  I was actually on my way back to find Jon, when…”

God, do I dare tell her?   That thought was immediately chased by, No, you can’t tell her about kinky pictures of you and her ex-husband that your ex-fiance is blackmailing you with.  That’s crossing the line.

“… I got a bit nauseous from the heat in the building.  I stepped outside to get some air.”

“Petey...” Dorothea gently turned her face so that the swollen lip was illuminated in the lamplight.  “Nausea and fresh air don’t bust you in the mouth.”

Between 84 Park and here, Petey had locked the episode away in an isolated compartment of her mind.  She would bring it out later, when she had the time to think about it logically and determine the most effective way to handle the situation.  But she couldn’t do that yet.  She couldn’t relive it now, and bring the uncertainty and confusion to the surface again.

Her lips began moving in self-defense.    

“Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow...”

Warm hands curled around her clammy ones and squeezed.  “Okay.  You don’t have to tell me, but if I can help, all you have to do is ask.”