The Book of V.: A Novel(30)

Vee doesn’t answer. It’s clear from his crooked smile he already knows the answer to his own question, clear that the smile is not flirtatious or even pitying but cruel. Vee holds the doorknob and looks at the floor. She is no longer drunk; her head hurts. She is very thirsty.

“You had to understand it was necessary,” says Hump. “You’ve always been a fun girl, Mrs. Kent. We didn’t imagine you making a fuss. Then boom. Frigid as an iceberg. Shipwreck?…”

Hump’s voice is the kind of wave that smashes you to the sand. It recedes, leaves a ringing in her ears, smashes again.

“All it was was a little bit of payback. I got a slice of your wife, you—”

“I understand,” Vee says, wanting it to stop.

“You understand. Oh. Because the senator, he wasn’t sure you did. But look, you’re a smart girl. You figured it out on your own. So what’s your problem?”

The doorknob is wet against Vee’s palm. “Where is Alex?” she asks.

“Crying his eyes out.”

Vee looks up. Hump flashes her a grin that’s gone the next second, a snake behind a rock. “Mrs. Kent. Would you like to tell me about your little ladies’ lib group?”

She stares at him.

“Your husband is not exactly a man of principle, Mrs. Kent. He’s full of information. And you know, that Fiorelli woman was not unhelpful, either. I caught her on her way out. It sounds like there was some tantalizing behavior going on at your party, too.”

“Get out,” Vee said.

“We’ve had a nice thing, you and I.”

She works not to breathe.

“This won’t be permanent,” he says.

“Where is Alex?”

“But it won’t be fun. You were such a fun girl.”

“Where is he?”

“A car will be here at six.”

There are questions she should ask. Where am I going, what is this. Instead she envisions herself disappearing. Not going anywhere, not running away—Hump wouldn’t let that happen—but simply fading. Ceasing to be.

“Hey.” Hump, on his way out, sets a finger under her chin. He makes her look at him. He has never touched her before. “Get some sleep,” he says, and flips the finger and slides it down to the hollow in her throat, then out the ridge of her collarbone. He presses the finger into her shoulder, hard, and Vee realizes, an agony falling through her, that her shoulder is bare, her dress still half-unzipped.





AND SO


It Was Recorded:





THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER


NOVEMBER 4, 1973

EXCLUSIVE: The wife of Senator Alexander Kent has been admitted to Fainwright Hospital, the renowned psychiatric institution outside Boston, Massachusetts, the ENQUIRER has learned.

According to the senator’s chief of staff, Humphrey Sumner III, the senator’s wife, Vivian, 28, a petite, attractive redhead who hails from a long line of New England statesmen, suffered “a psychotic break following a party [last Friday night] that grew quite out of hand. We’re still trying to determine whether she may have been under the influence of a narcotic. She has a delicate constitution, and the senator is comforted that she is now receiving the best care possible.”

Although Senator Kent was not available for comment, Barbara Haskell, the wife of Congressman Haskell of Illinois, told the ENQUIRER that the Kents’ party was “a terrific time, with women and men on separate floors; I’ve never seen anything like it. There was wonderful music and lots of dancing. Vivian is wonderfully pretty, a fun-loving hostess. I guess you could say it got a little wild.”

Asked what “wild” looked like at a ladies-only event, another guest, Diane Fiorelli, who traveled all the way from Rhode Island to attend the Kents’ party, reported that she was “concerned from the beginning about how things might develop, and my concerns were shown to be legitimate.”

When asked to elaborate, Mrs. Fiorelli declined. But Mr. Sumner shared context that might help fill in the gaps, saying that Mrs. Kent had recently attended meetings of a Women’s Liberation group in Washington, DC.

Susan Silver, a former classmate of Mrs. Kent’s who joined her at these meetings, encapsulated their feisty libber spirit, saying: “This group is only radical if you believe that equal rights for women is radical. It’s only radical if you think women should stay at home serving their husbands and looking pretty. It’s only radical if you fear women using their full intellectual capacity.”

According to Dr. Matthew Pickles, consultant psychiatrist at Horizon Psychiatric Hospital in Los Angeles, who has not treated Senator Kent’s wife, the anger often on display at such gatherings should not be confused with Angry Woman Syndrome, a condition he has studied for over 35 years, though he acknowledges there may be overlap. Moreover, he said, “These Consciousness Raising groups are known to be havens for ladies seeking an alternative lifestyle.”

Mrs. Kent and Miss Silver were classmates at Wellesley College, an all-girls school in Massachusetts. Both graduated magna cum laude; only Mrs. Kent is married, and both women are childless.

Apart from Senator Kent, Mrs. Kent has no surviving family. Fainwright Hospital, which has treated luminaries such as the poet Evelyn George and the musician Sid Healey, refused to comment. Asked when Mrs. Kent might return to Washington, DC, Mr. Sumner said, “I would be remiss to make any promises with regard to that.”