Bronwyn craned her neck around to see. At first, she made no sound at all. She gaped over her shoulder to see the red and swollen skin. At that moment, she entered into another world. She tried to speak, but no words came. Madness? As if reality had dissolved before her eyes, she became captive in a foreign place no words could describe. But Archie and Peter were there.
She did not see the room or Michel, yet she could hear his voice at a distance. She no longer saw herself, but she felt his hand on her shoulder. She heard the crack of the gun. She saw Archie sprawled on the floor with blood spurting everywhere. When she looked down at her hands, she saw that she had no fingers.
The last Bronwyn heard was a female voice shrieking somewhere at an hysterical pitch. The same words, over and over, rebounded on the tiled walls of the massage room: “I only inquired! I didn’t pay a cent!”
Shuddering from deep within, she cried out to her unseen accusers, Archibald Brinks and Mr. Prince, “I have no fingers! Must I pay such a terrible price?”
As if in another world, she dropped the sheet and took her robe from the hook on the wall. Michel hastened to cover her. Unseeing, she calmly walked from the room. The club faded from her vision to be replaced by a new world. In a dream of madness Bronwyn followed endless yellow hallways leading nowhere. She saw blood-spattered rooms and heard fantastical creatures making unearthly sounds. She dared not enter any one of them, for there she would find her accusers.
She tried to escape by running. Down the hall and past the change room she went, unaware of Michel and three other attendants. A woman dressing at the lockers backed away from her.
“Please! I will do anything!” But she had nothing with which to bargain. She wept in the knowledge that Archie would always be with her.
The second sitting for lunch had already begun in the crowded dining room. Allison, Meredith, and Sonia were among the first to be seated.
Over white wine and Perrier water, Meredith smoothed her snowy white napkin and asked brightly, “Has anyone seen Bronwyn lately?”
No one had.
“I hear she’s having trouble with Peter,” she continued, glancing significantly at her luncheon companions.
Sonia laughed. “Nothing new there, sweetie. Peter’s had a love interest for years now. A gentleman antique dealer—isn’t that perfect? And isn’t she afraid she’ll catch something nasty?”
Meredith was not to be outdone in telling tales. “Nothing to worry about there!” she laughed knowingly. “They haven’t slept together in years.” Leaning forward confidentially, she continued, “But I’ll tell you the latest gossip. Last week in Holt’s, our dear friend had a little trouble with the credit department. Apparently, Peter had been on a spending spree for the antique man. Poor Bronwyn was left high and dry.”
Allison was disgusted by Meredith’s gossip, but, being new to the club, she feared speaking up. Bronwyn had warned her about Meredith’s stories. She sat back from the other two and let her eyes wander about the dining room. Then she gasped. Squinting in the brilliant winter light flooding the room, she saw a tall, slim figure, clad only in a white, terry cloth robe, wavering at the top of the stairs. The maitre d’ rushed forward, but the figure, eluding his grasp, floated beyond him as if disconnected from its surroundings.
Allison clutched Meredith’s hand. “My God! Look. It’s Bronwyn!”
Bronwyn, her expression vacant, drifted blindly past the first set of tables. When she raised her arms, her robe threatened to drape open. The maitre d’ rushed after her, accompanied by a string of waiters. No one knew what to do. Every woman in the dining room was silent
Every so often, Bronwyn stopped and drew back as if in fear. In her mind, she was avoiding the endless rooms of moaning creatures that threatened to escape and surround her. She raised her arms and clawed at the air.
The pale light accentuated the frailty of her bony hands. “Look,” she began in a quiet, singsong voice, “I have paid the highest price.” She held up her hands and cried out, “See, I have no fingers at all!” She shook her head. “No. Not a one.” She became lost in a study of her hands and rings.
“Once upon a time, you see, I had my own life to live. But I sold it too cheaply.” She laughed softly to herself. “Women often do. They make a bargain with a man. Expecting to be loved and cared for, they find themselves lost in a hollow shell of a life. They always hope that money will fill the void.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “But it never does, and for me, it is too late.”
The women diners became quietly attentive. Bronwyn smiled at no one in particular. “Don’t pay this terrible price. Or your fingers will be hacked off, one … by … one.”
Unseeing, she threaded her way past tables and on toward the windows. “You must believe me,” she said earnestly, stopping at one table. She reached out and took the hands of one of the oldest club members, Mrs. Monserrat, who tried to draw Bronwyn into a chair beside her.
“Dear, please!” the old woman urged. “Do not do this. You are ill, child.”
Bronwyn smiled dreamily at her. “I authorized no one, you understand,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I never paid a cent.” She moved on to the next table. “See? My fingers, all ten of them, are cut off and bloody.” She held up her hands and asked, “Is that not a terrible price for one woman to pay?”
At the next table, Bronwyn began to claw at her arm until it was red and raw. “A woman must be able to stand on her own, beholden to no one. That is the mistake I made.”
The women looked down at their hands in embarrassment. Yet each one was mesmerized by her words. “Truth in madness,” said one to the other.
Stopping at the windows, Bronwyn shrieked, “But if I am set free, dear God, I will gladly pay the price!” She began to scratch her right leg just above her knee.
All the women were transfixed. Allison was the one who broke rank. Swiftly, she caught up with Bronwyn. Gently, she took her arm and led her toward her table. “Bronwyn? It’s Allison. Can you hear me?” she asked.
Bronwyn resisted. Seeing nothing, she began to sway gently to and fro. “I only inquired, you see.” She began to twist her arm from Allison. “I authorized nothing. And yet I have paid the very highest price.” Again she held up her hands and examined her fingers. “All gone,” she sighed.
“Bronwyn, please,” Allison whispered. “Come sit with me and Meredith.” Over Bronwyn’s shoulder, she could see the paramedics advancing down the steps. Three men surrounded them. Bronwyn thought her accusers had escaped from the rooms where they did their unspeakable acts. Shrieking, she tore herself away. Throwing up her hands, her robe flew open. She tried to run. Allison rushed to cover her.
“Let me be! Dear God, please let me be,” Bronwyn moaned, sinking to the floor. The dining room was silent as Bronwyn was shifted onto a stretcher and taken from the club.
Outside, Allison, Meredith, and Sonia watched dumbly as the ambulance drew away. Not until the paramedics pulled onto Bayview Avenue, did they turn on the siren.
Meredith eyes gleamed as she exclaimed, “My God! What a performance!”
Allison turned on her. “Meredith, don’t say anything! Not one thing! Poor Bronwyn!”
