Sally de Smet – Sally Saylor De Smet

No Better Friend

The protagonist in Ivan’s Wife, Dimitri, has a steadfast best friend named Christian. Christian is a strong, loyal friend who worries about Dimitri and often confronts him. In this excerpt, the friends have a difficult conversation. Christian’s reaction illuminates the depths of his own vulnerability. Dimitri expresses his disdain for therapy and medication, believing that he needs to avoid certain triggers in his life. Christian suggests that seeking help might benefit Dimitri, but their conversation becomes heated as Dimitri defends his position. Tensions rise between them as they confront their struggles and insecurities. The dialogue reveals underlying issues of fear for one another.

It starts with Christian asking Dimitri about his recent stay in a mental hospital:

Dimitri answers:

“No worse for wear. Anna’s been staying out of my hair, and Consuelo’s been trying to fatten me up. The doctors have called a few times, wanting me to schedule an appointment, but I don’t need to. I can already hear the lecture on the miracle of psychotropic drugs. A few days with my wife, and I’m better than new.”

Christian grew quiet, rubbing his forehead. “Dimitri, maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“What’d you mean?”

“Therapy and medicine might help you, buddy.”

“Hell, no! Yeah, I’m screwed up, but I’m not a psycho. All I need is to steer clear of my weird niece and for my father to stop treating me like a goddamn disease.”

“Calm down,” said Christian. All I meant was that a lot has happened, and maybe this is your time to finally figure out what’s causing the delusions and whatnot. You can’t blame Ivan and Anna for everything, and Elena is not a panacea.”

“Bullshit!” I snapped. “My wife is pampering me. Being with her makes me forget the last few weeks. And when did you become Sigmund Freud? You had a Norman Rockwell childhood with two parents who adored you. Find a skid mark in your life, and then we’ll talk!”

A red flush spread across his face. He put his fists on his thighs, his chest slowly moving up and down. He reminded me of the poor saps at the asylum sitting in the waiting room before shock therapy. “Hey, I’m sorry, man…I didn’t mean anything. I can be an asshole. What can I do? I love you, man, you know that.”

He wouldn’t talk. The stress had built a nasty rash on his neck; I doubted he knew because he kept scratching it, which made it worse. I’d never seen Christian like that; it made me feel like a terrible friend.

He gave me a passing glance with a slight nod, signaling he accepted my apology. I felt like crap; Christian had visited me every day at Clayborn, and the nurses said he stood outside my room for hours when I was in solitary. There was no better friend. Christian was the saint to my devil. I loved the guy.

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Challenges Ahead

Only a few chapters left, and the last ones are the hardest. I’m not sure how much falls under the difficulty of concluding a complicated mystery and how much resides in the events of my own life. I guess it doesn’t matter. Ivan’s Wife has been a wonderful, frustrating, heart-wrenching experience to write. The characters are multi-dimensional and, at times, disturbing. Still, I love the characters and want to do them justice. Although Pages in the Wind was challenging, Ivan’s Wife has been my biggest challenge.

In this chapter, Dimitri, the main character, learns why he was coaxed to Russia. The secrets are life-changing; he must reach into whatever strength he has left to handle what lies ahead.

I stepped across the austere room to the only window and pulled back the red linen drapes, coughing as dust exploded like dirty snow in my face. The narrow casement window overlooked the fountain and swung outward. Outside, the mist and wind were breathy and smelled like gardenias, so I cranked the handle to invite clean air into the misery. It wouldn’t budge. I glanced at the steel vault door and realized it would be hard to escape. It was on the third floor, and the window was stuck and had thick glazing bars. My heart quivered for a few seconds before regaining its rhythm. Without the roar of water spilling into the fountain and soothing wafts of fresh air, there was no way to let the gloom out. I felt trapped and garroted by the insanity that breeds from isolation.

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Crowded Room

Ivan’s Wife is almost in the edit stage. Hardest ending ever. But, who likes simple? Not me. I’ve enjoyed the characters and the crazy parallels. In this excerpt, Dimitri finds his private room invaded. There is an interesting parallel at the end he won’t see coming.

I carefully set down my mother’s picture and listened. It had to be my imagination, like waking up in the middle of the night thinking you’d heard a suspicious noise downstairs. But, when I turned toward the door, I noticed two shadows poised like evil specters in the hallway. It was true. My sanctuary had been invaded.

And the door had no lock.

Another knock. A little heavier this time. But, still oddly rhythmic. Not a man’s knock. One knuckle. Three taps. Hardly a demand to open the door but not tentative either.

“Uncle Dimitri?”

“Shit,” I whispered, feeling blood rush like storm troopers to my head. Prickly sensations crept through my body as every muscle readied for battle. Anna. No way could I allow her to get away with invading my private space. A place that, until now, was known only to me. The safe haven where I talked with my mother.

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Evolving Characters

One of the characters in Ivan’s Wife is a mysterious young girl who comes to live with her uncle after her father’s death. Dimitri doesn’t trust her and suspects she is working against him. When she shows a rare vulnerability, he wonders if there is more to her peculiar behavior.

I admired the palms and the way the shadowy fans stood like giant tarantulas against the night sky. The patio, where Clarissa and I often dined, had a muted glow. Consuelo must have put some wood in the fireplace; my wife always did that when she had something to celebrate. No doubt she was drinking champagne with Ivan to celebrate the funding for her upcoming movie. The veranda, with its towering trees and flaming torches, was the perfect spot for the party of two.
Of course, I was avoiding my niece. I waited for her to utter some deft comment and dart off. But she didn’t. She lingered, slumped with her hair draped in front of her face like a black veil, idly kicking the dirt. She was silent, other than an occasional exhale. With her arms wrapped around herself and her head bowed, she seemed much younger than her fifteen years.
Her eyes were watery and teardrops dangled from her nose and lips like beads on a chandelier. She buried her face in her hands.
My heart fluttered aimlessly in my chest as I stepped back, gawking at the stranger in front of me. Questions dangled in my mind like a game of hangman. Was this a trick? This was not the girl I’d known for a year. Was she laughing behind the tears? Another one of Ivan’s plots? After all, she showed up minutes after my father left. This had to be an act. Ivan bobbed and weaved like a prizefighter; I, however, felt like a fool navigating with rudders in the sand. Her abrupt personality change had to be a trick. No one could change that fast.

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Reid from Pages in the Wind

The characters of Pages in the Wind are multi dimensional, like Emily’s early love, Reid Wagner. Emily fell in love with him as a child and their relationship only grew stronger and more complex. He was bold, interesting, brave. Did he live up to her ideal?

This scene illustrates how her eight year old self viewed this unforgettable boy:

“Gee Whiz! I’ve been standing here five minutes!” He plopped down next to me with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hand, staring into space. “Let’s have some fun.”

I waited for him to come up with something, wondering for the millionth time why a ten-year-old hotshot picked me to be his best friend.

Reid redefined average. His hair was a common light brown but was stick-straight until it reached below his ears, forming curls around his neck. His eyes were dark brown, almost black. His lips were full, and his front teeth slightly crooked, in an interesting way. He walked with a slight strut showing confidence and a little conceit. He could be a block away, and I would know him by his walk.

Category: Pages in the Wind | 2 Comments