The Colegate Plan

Rose felt no guilt about her infidelity to Ben. She did not go to Confession because she did not think she had committed a sin. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. it has been twenty years since my last confession.” What a laugh that would be. it was none of the priest’s business. She had prayed often. Please, God, let Ben stop seeing other women.

God hadn’t helped.

But Rose doubted that she and Gil from the gym would get together. She wouldn’t feel right about it. He had a wife, though he said they were separated. Married men always said they were separated or getting a divorce. Poor wives.

What could she do about Ben? Ben was out all the time. He helped law clients, directed plays, and, when he was an ER doctor in the winter, he came home hours after he got off work. She knew he was with women because they called so often. She was tired of saying he wasn’t home or being asked who she was by an arrogant woman who didn’t know he was married.

Rose counted his girlfriends. There had been two legal clients, an untalented young actress, and someone at the hospital in the past year. A nurse? Another doctor? They all called and asked for Ben.

Rose bought a house. She didn’t want to move out of the house she had lived in with Ben for ten years. She loved the view of the river. It made her cry to think about it. But she had lost her self-respect. She had done everything she could to keep the marriage together. She was not a martyr: she was not Kristen Lavransdatter. She could no longer live like this.

The new house was a three-story Craftsman, known as a Colegate Craftsman after the neighborhood of Colegate. Colegate was four miles from the office, an old neighborhood near a supermarket and several coffeehouses. Rose would have to take the bus to work, but the house was lovely: it had big windows, a huge kitchen, four bedrooms, and a back yard with trees and room for a garden. And it was dirt-cheap because it needed so much work.

Rose had a plan. She would get Dorrie to help her with the work. And in return she would let Dorrie live there rent-free. Dorrie could have one of the rooms. She would never have to see Dorrie.

Rose considered the plan both shrewd and altruistic. Dorrie was too ill, too naive to live in the slum apartment house. But at the same time she could help Rose in the house. Anybody could paint the walls. Anybody could learn to do plumbing.

One morning Rose walked across the bridge. Snow covered the icy river. In the winter no one hung out. No gangs hassled her. Dorrie’s apartment house was the same mess as usual: needles on the floor, trash heaped up.

Rose knocked on the door.

What is it? Dorrie sleepily asked.

It’s Rose. Can I come in?

Dorrie opened the door.

She had dark circles under her eyes and was dressed in a pair of pajamas. On the floor beside her bed was an old copy of My Antonia. Usually Dorrie read poetry. Rose had never seen her read fiction before.

I love My Antonia.

Yes, it’s very good. I never used to like Willa Cather, but now I admire her.

So do I. Dorrie, I have some news. Good news, I think.

Dorrie looked at her.

I’ve bought a house. And I wondered if you’d like to live in one of the rooms, perhaps the third-floor, in return for doing some painting and other work.

Dorrie was solemn. I’m rather tired at the moment. I’d have to think it over.

Rose sat down. You look tired. Is something wrong?

It’s just that...I can’t have any more sleeping pills until next month. I’m a bit ill. I can’t sleep without them. So I stay home because everything is too much for me.

Does your doctor know?

There’s nothing he can do. It’s insurance.

Does milk help? Or turkey?

Nothing helps.

Rose felt so sorry. She remembered crying over Leonard Woolf’s autobiography when she read about Virginia’s illness. Virginia couldn’t bear any kind of excitement. She had to spend days in her room. Even so, she crossed four times into madness: once she heard the birds talking in Greek.

Dorrie had a similar illness. She was brilliant, but couldn’t endure excitement. Normal life was too much for her. She had done best with Ben. Her family thought Dorrie had been silly and idiotic to leave him. Perhaps only Rose understood why she had left him. When Dorrie had been Ben’s wife, she had been normal. When she acted in his play, she had been sane. Perhaps Rose should offer her Ben, but she knew that he wouldn’t take Dorrie. And Rose was still in love with Ben. She wanted to leave him, but she loved him.

Dorrie said, I know someone who might like to move in. My neighbor, who had the infection.

The heroin addict?

Yes, but she’s a T.A. She’s working on her dissertation. You'd never know she's an addict.

Well, the house is very big. I’d have to interview her. I'm not wild about drugs.

Rose made herself a cup of cocoa.

Do you have anything to eat?

Just the cocoa. It’s enough.

No, it isn’t enough. I’ll buy you some groceries.

Dorrie hesitated. Perhaps I could eat something like ice cream.

Okay. I’ll go out and get groceries. And maybe a library book. How about the complete Willa Cather?

Could you? I can’t go out. Dorrie started to cry.

Rose realized, startled, that she knew all about this. Megan couldn’t go out much either.