The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(71)

“Both of them were in Switzerland?”

“Briefly. They always had a tight bond. At Holy Cross, there’d been times I felt the odd woman out. Sometimes it bothered me. Later, when I began living by myself during grad school, it felt liberating. When the three of us were together they could get a little…in-jokey.”

“So the three of you went clubbing…”

Sad smile. “You really want me to turn back those pages…yes, we did, and yes we stayed far longer than we should have and drank far, far more than we should have and at some point something happened on the dance floor, I can’t really say what. But I can guess.”

I waited.

She said, “Someone probably flirted too much with Connie, that was always happening, she was the gorgeous one. Tall and slim like a model, long legs, a gorgeous mop of blond hair. I suppose Medina always had to cope with her jealousy. I wasn’t aware because I never really knew that they were…in any way together. They also went after guys. Aggressively…anyway, something happened on the dance floor, the two of them began arguing, then tussling—pushing and shoving. Then Connie slapped Medina across the face. Hard. Medina tried to do the same but Connie got hold of her wrist and twisted hard. I’m watching this, appalled. Shocked to begin with about being in a place like that, plus I’ve got a test later in the morning and my head’s swimming from Zombies—that’s what we were drinking, they insisted and I, being a total wimp, went along with it.”

She flicked the edge of her shopping bag roll. “So now Connie’s hurting Medina’s wrist and Medina’s trying to scratch at Connie’s eyes and Connie’s just laughing at her and calling her terrible names and the bouncers come and throw them out. I follow behind the bouncer and he tells them to behave, he’s going to call them a taxi. And they obey. Just like that, the two of them stop fighting and stand there like little kids called to the principal’s office. I’m standing a few feet away, can’t wait to get out of there, in fact I’ve called my own taxi. Then Medina tries to kiss Connie and Connie laughs at her again—a really demeaning laugh, you know—and calls her more names and Medina reaches into her purse and then she does what looks like taking a slap at Connie’s face and chest. Like you’d swipe a credit card. Which looked odd to me. Then I saw the look on Connie’s face. She’s clutching her chest and blood’s coming out of her cheek and her chest. She was wearing a thin, gauzy top. No bra. You could see the wound spreading. Growing darker. And she falls down and Medina stands over her and she laughs. Then she starts crying and bends over Connie and tells her not to die. Meanwhile, I’ve called 911. And that’s it.”

“Were you subpoenaed to testify at Medina’s trial?”

“I feared I would be,” said Sister Emeline Beaumont. “But there was no trial, Medina made some kind of plea and went to prison for a long time.”

“How did Connie react to that?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I went to see her several times in the hospital and she was pretty much out of it. One day I showed up and she’d been discharged. I phoned her a few times but never got an answer. At that point I figured I should wait for her to call me. She didn’t. I never saw her or spoke to her again. The same goes for Medina, though she did reach out from time to time. Not personally, once in a while a sort of art thing invitation. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to rekindle anything with Medina. The way she’d stood over Connie, smiling. Even though she cried right after. I got the feeling she was crying for herself—for her own loss.”

“No genuine empathy.”

“Maybe I’m judging her uncharitably. It was a bizarre night. We were all drunk.” She shook her head. “Now you’re going to think that’s why I joined an order but it wasn’t like that. I got my MSW, worked with disadvantaged kids in Bed-Stuy—Brooklyn. Another Saint Theresa place. One of the good ones, there was absolutely nothing untoward going on.”

She said, “Delaware. Is that French? Are you Catholic or Huguenot?”

“More like a mongrel.”

“Mixes are the strongest, right? Anyway I was impressed by the work the sisters were doing and I’d found relationships with men not to be satisfying, so I applied as a novitiate, liked it, and stayed. It’s a peaceful life.”

She eyed the convent. “We get to do our work without controversy. We have a nickname. The California sisters do. Among ourselves we’re the Saint Terri Girls. Anyway, that’s the story with Connie and Medina.”

“Connie ended up in prison herself.”

“I know. Attempted murder. My parents called to tell me. They said she’d died in prison, was serving time for attempted murder. Some conflict over a woman but I don’t know the details. Do you?”

“We’re just starting out.”

“With what?”

“Looking into Medina’s past,” I said. “Some sort of romantic conflict. Same story.”

“I suppose so. My father put it down to homosexuality. He was big on stories having morals, Dad was. Very religious behaviorally, never missed Mass or confession when he was ashore. One of his sisters was a nun so you’d think he’d approve of my choice. But I was an only child and that meant no grandkids so he convinced himself there was something irregular about my sexuality.”