Dilemma, we use the word lightly. 'Shall I eat this second slice of pie or not?' 'Should I let him fuck me bare back, or insist on a condom?' So many every-day choices to make.
Candles spread a soft yellow light over china plates and crystal glasses. The long table was only set at its head and foot, like in old movies. Between the two sparkling clusters stretched an expanse of polished oak.
Juliana sat in the chair at the foot of the table. Its leather seat pressed cold through the thin fabric of the evening gown she'd been made to wear. The dress left quite a bit of skin exposed, causing goose bumps to rise on her bare arms.
She'd never seen a dress like this before, let alone worn one. When she found it in her appointed room, she was sure it must be a negligée - one of those wispy nothings she'd seen in magazines. They were meant to wear in the privacy of a bedroom for sure, not in public. But here she was, feeling its cream colored softness caress her naked skin. There had only been a small thong laid out with the gown, and a pair of heeled sandals. Her own clothes had been removed.
Sitting in that flimsy dress, Juliana was very conscious of her body while her mind returned to a multitude of events. She tried to avoid thinking of the shocking proposal Dr. Charrier made at that huge black table in his office. It had been so shockingly different from what she expected that he'd had to repeat it. Even then its true meaning hardly registered.
"Mrs. Austin," he'd said, rising from his chair, "I am a very successful man, professionally. People flock to me, expecting miracles - and getting them. But I am also very lonely."
He walked around the table to stand before her. The bulk of his body intimidated her.
"I've worked hard all my life, and still do," he said, toning his voice down to a more intimate level. "I need women like every healthy man; women that help me relieve the immense stress my profession involves. But I have no time to date, and no patience to court them."
Juliana remembered how she'd looked up. His facial details were diffused by the backlight; they were as unfocussed as her thoughts.
"Mrs. Austin," the man said, "I shall do the operation on your husband for free if you agree to live with me until he has recovered."
The silence had been deafening. Thoughts rolled and roiled through her mind, one as shapeless as the other. All rationality seemed frozen by the blatant insanity of his proposal.
"But," she said. "I am married. How could I ever..?"
He went down, squatting in front of her. His big hands closed over hers. They felt soft, spreading a sense of repulsion though her body. His smile sickened her.
"I know," he said. "You are newly married, and very much so. But that is exactly the reason why I can ask you this."
He paused; then he rose again, his shoes creaking as he did. He walked away from her and turned again.
"Let me be blunt," he said. "You love your husband deeply. He is dying; his fate is in my hands." He raised them; they looked pale and pink in front of his dark suit. Studying them as he flexed his fingers, he smiled.
"But of course, Mrs. Austin, you are a free woman and you have choices," he said. "You could decide against surgery. But then you'll have to live with a time bomb of your own creation, and your husband will be aware of that too. He'll know that every day could be his last, because you decided not to help him. You could wake up one morning beside a cold corpse. Can you live with that?" He watched her, waiting for an answer. It didn't come. He knew his words sent terror into her mind.
"I thought so," he said, smiling. "Then again, you could trust the fumbling hands of the regular hospital staff. I'm sure your insurance would cover their cost - at least part of it. But you might also have to lay some money aside for his burial."
Juliana hated the man. It was the same strangling, powerless hatred she'd felt all her life for the people holding her fate in their hands and twisting it whatever way they liked - her father, her brothers, the priests, even the joyless aunts with their cheap cologne and peppermint breath.
So she thought she'd fled. She thought she was free - that choosing Alec set her free...
Her eyes went up along his black-clad body until she found his cruel smile - and his unsmiling eyes.
"You could ask for a second opinion, of course," he went on. "Or a third." He spread his hands, palms up. "But then I won't help you. This," he said "is a one time offer. It is your one opportunity to save your beloved husband for a price you can pay."
'
A price you can pay
,' she recalled, sitting at the festive, yet desolate dinner table, staring at the empty chair on the other side. Her fingers caressed the folded napkin. Her painted nails were like drops of blood. She'd never really had them colored like this before. It made her hands seem alien.
The woman who did them was small and Asian. She had also styled her hair into a short bob, and plucked her eyebrows. She made up her eyes with liner and mascara, painting her lips and blushing her cheeks. Looking into the mirror, she'd seen someone else - someone as alien as her fingernails.
Juliana remembered how utterly destroyed she'd felt, back at the doctor's office. She'd asked the man for time. He'd closed his eyes and nodded.
"Take all the time you need," he said. "But remember it's not your time; it's your husband's time."
She'd left the villa and took a bus back to the small flat they shared. She had to work that evening, but she decided to call in sick. It would cost her tips, but she had to go and see Alec at the hospital.
Arriving there nothing had changed - he looked just as small and pale and narrow in his white and lonely bed.
She went to the nurses' station and asked for the young doctor - Fleming was his name, she remembered. He was there and joined her in the quietly beeping room.
"I hear that Dr. Charrier is willing to do the operation," he said. "Great news!" Juliana watched him standing at the foot of the bed.
"Yes," she said.
"You don't seem relieved?" Juliana sighed.
"We can't ever pay him," she said, picking up her husband's hand and caressing it. Her thoughts went back to the small chapel. She'd held this hand just like she did now, sliding a gold ring on his finger, right where she saw it gleam now.
"But," the young doctor said. "He told me he'd do it for free." Juliana looked up and smiled.
"Free," she said.
That night she couldn't sleep, just like the night before. Exhaustion melted her body until it felt as if it were smeared all over the bed. She knew she was just fighting off a decision she'd already taken - right from the start, really.
The next morning she packed a small suitcase. It was the same cheap thing she'd carried when she fled the farm. Using her last money she took a cab to the villa. She wore her best outfit - it had been her wedding gown before she modified it into a cocktail dress. She'd hesitated; do you wear your wedding dress to see a man not your husband? It had taken her half an hour to decide. Then she brushed her hair into spun gold, and even used extra make up to set off the wide innocence of her violet eyes. She hoped it would appeal to his better feelings. Now, sitting at the long, empty table she knew it had been a naïve illusion.
She looked up when she heard sounds at the entrance of the dining hall. The same faceless butler that had shown her to her room and later on took her to this dining table entered. Dr. Charrier followed him in. He wore a tuxedo; it gave his bulky body some elegance.
Seeing his smile she preferred his usual scowl - it would look less menacing. She rose from her chair, not knowing why. The doctor nodded and approached her. From close up she saw he must have shaved meticulously; his hair shone with oil. Standing in a cloud of spicy aftershave he looked her over, still smiling. It made her feel naked. Then he took her hand and brushed its back with his lips. A shudder ran down her spine. After he returned her hand she fought the impulse to rub it clean. Her lips searched desperately for a smile.
"Good evening, Mrs. Austin," he said. "How nice of you to dine with me tonight." She didn't know what to say; she knew she blushed. Her eyes stayed down. He chuckled before walking to his place. She got seated again, finding her napkin to squeeze. There was a loud plop at the other side of the table.
Charrier's voice boomed: "Dom Perignon! How attentive, John." She saw the butler pour a few drops into his glass. He made a production of tasting it.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Madame will appreciate it; nothing but the very best for her.
The butler came over to fill her glass first. Juliana had never tasted champagne before, if that was what it was. The foaming bubbles looked festive. The butler walked over to the doctor and poured him a glass too. He rose, raising his drink.
"A votre santé," he said. She supposed it was a toast and rose as well, glass in hand. It shook slightly.
"And of course most of all a toast to your poor husband's health," he went on.
She saw how the bubbles had subsided, but taking a sip, she felt the sparkles on her lips and tongue. The drink's subtle sweetness was lovely. After taking a second sip, more of a gulp, she raised her glass to mirror his gesture. He sat down, taking his napkin and spreading it on his lap. Looking at her through a forest of glasses and candles, he said:
"Please don't worry. We'll have a wonderful time, chérie, trust me. Do you like bisque homard?"
