Paula Bomer - Inside Madeleine

“Is Mom coming, too?” Mary asked, surprising herself with the bitterness in her voice.

“She doesn’t want to,” he said flatly. “But I’m desperate to see you, Mary. It’s been too long!”

A flash of memory from Christmas passed through Mary’s head. Her mother’s back to her, angrily doing the dishes. Her father, wringing his hands, asking, “What record should I put on, Mary? What would you like to hear?”

“You’ll have to stay at a hotel,” Mary said. “We don’t have a lot of room here.”

“Okay. That’s not a problem.” He sounded hurt. Mary’s heart flooded with shame. She was hurting the only person who’d ever been good to her. But the truth was, their apartment was too small and Larissa smoked so much weed now that there was no way her father could stay.

“Great, Dad. Call me when you get here.”

The day before her father arrived, Mary was working her only night shift. It had been a relatively quiet night, except for Carol, who roamed through the common rooms, the hallways, and kitchen, and then did it all over again. And again. Muttering to herself, her hands balled up in fists. She had clearly cycled out of her depression. Something else was going on now.

It had been weeks since Mary had spent a special hour with Carol. She never missed her weekly coffee with Bill. She liked Bill. But she’d been avoiding Carol. Mary walked into the common room where Carol was at that moment.

“Carol,” Mary said, but Carol ignored her and tried to walk past, muttering angrily. “Carol, wait.” Mary followed her and grabbed her shoulder.

Carol turned around quickly and Mary drew her breath. Carol was breathing heavily, her face contorted with rage, her lips pulled back, revealing filthy teeth. For a moment, Mary was afraid.

“Carol, would you like to talk with me? In your room? I’m the only one here tonight, but I thought we could spend some time together here, at the house.”

“ Oo kaay ,” Carol said, with a nasty, fake enthusiasm. “Okay, miss pretty. Whatever you say, miss pretty.”

“Come, let’s go to your room. You seem angry. Let’s talk.”

“But of course, miss pretty. You’re the boss ,” she hissed. “Aren’t you?” But she began walking to her room.

Mary followed up the stairs. Carol shared a room with a very old woman who basically lived in front of the television. When Mary first started working at Cleveland Circle House, she read lots of the files on the clients. Barbara, Carol’s roommate, had first been institutionalized in 1957, at the age of fourteen, for “promiscuity.” She wasn’t in the room when Carol and Mary got there. Carol walked up to her dresser and grabbed a tube of cream.

“I want to be pretty like you,” said Carol, her voice falsely sweet. “Will you help me? Put this on me. Help me put this on,” she said, and gave Mary the tube of cream. It was a retinol cream, for her acne. Mary had helped her apply it before, during one of their special hours. It was something Carol liked to do.

“You should wash your face first.”

“ You should wash your face first ,” Carol mocked. Then, darkly, “ Bitch . You’re a bitch .”

“You shouldn’t call me that, Carol. I just think it works better if you put it on a clean face.”

“What’s so dirty about me? Huh? You think I’m dirty? Cause I fucked your precious Bill today? I did, you know. I fuck everyone here. You think you’re so pretty . Don’t you? Don’t you? This is what they like,” she said, grabbing her enormous breasts. “They like this, you see? You see?”

“Carol, I’d like to give you an extra Valium. I’ll be right back. Wash your face. We’ll put the cream on. And … brush your teeth. I’ll be right back.”

Mary ran down to the office. There was a beeper number for Ahmed, to be used only in emergencies. There was also a beeper number for Brigid. She called it first. She then grabbed two Valiums and brought them upstairs.

Carol was laying back on her bed. Her hands were up her shirt and she was massaging herself and moaning obscenely.

“Here, Carol. I want you to take these.”

“No.”

“Stop doing that. It’s inappropriate.”

“ Fuck you . You think just cause I’m crazy I don’t like to fuck ? What do you know. Bitch . You’ve never been fucked , that’s your problem.”

“Take these,” Mary said, standing there with her hand held out.

Carol took the pills and put them in her mouth. Then she opened her mouth wide, showing the two white pills on her tongue.

“Swallow them, Carol.”

Carol stood then, groaning, sticking her tongue out defiantly, the pills still there, and she began massaging her breasts again.

“I said, swallow them.” Mary grabbed Carol’s jaw and tried to shut it. For such a big woman, behaving in such an intimidating fashion, she felt like Jell-O in Mary’s hands and fell backward on the bed as Mary mashed her jaw together. Carol began laughing, muffled by Mary’s hands, but laughing all the same. Then Mary stood back and slapped her, hard, across the face.

Carol sat up. “ Oooh , you’re not supposed to do that.”

“Fuck you . You’re a cow. A disgusting cow.”

“ Oooh , miss pretty said a bad word. You’re not supposed to talk to me that way. Tsk tsk . I always knew you were bad .” Then she began to laugh again.

Blood poured into Mary’s face, the same blood that made her blush easily, the same blood that betrayed her nervous nature, that showed her easy shame, and she pulled back her arm and punched Carol’s soft, greasy face, as hard as she could. A glistening circle of red appeared on Carol’s mouth and began dripping down her chin. She cowered on the bed, looking momentarily frightened. Then she smiled.

“That was wrong . You did the wrong thing, missy.”

The phone rang. Horrified, Mary ran down the stairs. It was Brigid.

“I think Carol is really manic,” Mary said.

“Can you get her to take some extra Valium?”

“I’m trying, but she’s not being very cooperative.”

“Well, keep trying.”

“I need help.” There was a silence. “I’m afraid.”

“She won’t hurt you. She may seem menacing, but she’s never hurt anybody.”

“I think she should be hospitalized.”

“Maybe I should come.”

“Maybe I should call the hospital?”

“You could do that. Call an ambulance. I feel like I should be there for such a decision, but … do whatever you think is right.”

The ambulance came in five minutes. Maybe , Mary thought, no one will find out I hit her . Or believe her. A crazy woman’s word against hers. The two paramedics escorted her out as Mary stood on the porch. It was dark and unusually cool for August, although it wouldn’t be August much longer.

“What happened to her mouth?” asked one of the paramedics. He was holding Carol’s arm, standing right in front of Mary.

“I don’t know,” Mary said, her right hand shoved deep in her jean pocket. “She’s been out of control for hours. That’s why I called you guys.”

They walked toward the ambulance. Mary stood on the porch, watching them.

“ You shouldn’t have done that, Mareee! ” Carol screamed at her, and then she disappeared in the back of the van.

The next morning, Mary met her father for lunch at an Italian restaurant on Newbury Street. There were red and white checkers on the tablecloth, and opera music played on a radio. They sat outside, but it was bit chilly. He leaned over the table, so close to her, his glasses slightly fogged from breathing too hard. His face looked creepy: he was getting old. Why had she never noticed this before?