Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (26 page)

Judas, she thought in the bathroom. My own daughter a Judas. Treated as if she were a bath-mat. The worm turneth, it was said. Seething, she filled the basin and stuck her face in it. And Clover Martinson was setting out on an evening walk, with her Anton. Or maybe this was a night they wouldn’t be together. Anyway, Clover was her own woman, no buttinskys, she would stay young far longer than the rest of them, never any wearying nights of holding steam kettles over a child’s croupy cough, no sitting for endless hours in a hospital waiting for an appendectomy to be over. No thousands of little agonies …

When she finally went out to the living room Carl had clammed up. He had that look on his face, as if he had been beaten senseless by some insane assailant. He didn’t turn her way. The evening closed in, two people in a room, with the faint sound of Nancy’s chatter drifting in from her bedroom, phone calls. Bruce, the quiet one, had Mahler on his stereo.

Italy, where they would be going in so short a time. She’d make a Faustian pact, the way Clover said she would for what she wanted, if she were going to Italy with Jack Allerton. Rome, with Jack. Florence and Verona, with Jack. Bologna, Naples …

She felt as if little drops of blood were trying to ooze through her skin. If she could only not love Carl, if she could only not feel that he was meshed into her, so much a part of herself that they were like a four-armed, four-legged creature. After all, seventeen years. Seventeen years were almost half her life. He held out a hand after a while, from one Buddha chair to the other, and they laced fingers together. Nothing more was said, but when they went to their beds it was with the customary affability. After all, what else?

“Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Carl, sleep well.”

The house was quiet and so, in this part of town, was the city. Only an occasional footfall, from some rash idiot walking the streets at this time of night, sounded from time to time. Christine wondered if Jack was lying wakeful too, and then dozed off not much later, with the moon, in its first quarter, raying in from out of doors.

“So you’ll be away for almost a month,” Jack said slowly.

“No, no! Two and a half weeks, that’s all.”

“Between your getting ready and then getting squared away again when you come back it will be a good month, let’s face it.”

“Believe me Jack, I’d give anything if I didn’t have to go.”

“Then don’t go.”

“Jack — ”

They were at his kitchen table, after shopping in Yorkville, a coffee cup in front of each and nibbling on ham sandwiches, Schaller & Weber ham and Peppridge Farm bread. It was the first week in September, Christine had put it off as long as possible. Now something would have to be said, she had been thinking worriedly. She had started to frame the words days ago, was unable to, but getting up this morning decided it was simply not fair to wait any longer.

It hadn’t been easy to come out with it. Jack hadn’t given her any openings. After all, he must know that they took a yearly vacation, how could he imagine otherwise? “It will give you some time to forge way ahead on your book,” she pointed out. “Uninterrupted by — ”

“Thank you very much for handing out small favors.”

“Jack — ”

He drummed on the table. She waited nervously. He looked
very
grim. Silent and grim. And that rat tat tat — she wanted to tear his fingers away from the table top. “Jack, please,” she implored. “Say something.”

He looked steadily at her, long and steadily, but he stopped drumming. “All right,” he said at last. “All right, Chris. I made promises, which I’ve kept, and to the letter. No mishmash about your life, your life when you’re not with me. Not once have I showed you, by word or deed, how damned tough it’s been to keep my mouth shut, accept things on your terms, be a pleasant fellow. Do you agree?”

“Yes, I do agree. You’ve — ”

“Now it’s got to be different. Probation time’s over. I won’t settle for second best, Chris. Sorry, but I have to put it that way. Love in the afternoon — ”

“Oh no,” she cried vehemently. “It’s never been that, you know iti Never! Let me tell you there have been a few temptations over the years, for that kind of thing — ”

She leaned toward him. “Jack, it’s been tough for me too. Falling in love … being in love … and the dishonesty — my God, I’ve tried to show you, in every conceivable way, what you mean to me, that it’s not balling, a bed thing, not just a bed thing.”

“You’re in love with me? You love me? Is that what you’re saying? It certainly sounds like it.”

“Yes. Yes! And yes again, for God’s sake.”

He tilted back his chair. “Then there’s no problem,” he said calmly. “I love you. You love me. I want us to be married.”

She stared at him. She almost said, after absorbing what she had just heard,
how can I marry you when I’m already married
? She felt, for a befuddled moment, like a slow child, trying to understand what the grownups were talking about.

She must really be slightly retarded not to have guessed he wanted that. If he were her own age, instead of a decade younger, she would have thought of it. Another time-honored inculcation: the man must always be older, or at least the same age.
Younger is better
, Clover had said.

“Well,” she was finally able to answer, “this seems to be a clear case of jacta alea est. The die is cast. Just let me ask you. If I weren’t going away for those two and a half weeks, would you have presented me with this new development?”

He seemed to ponder it. Then he nodded, in a judicious way, said yes of course, sooner or later. “What did you think?” he demanded. “It’s been over three months. It’s not balling for me either, a bed thing, just a bed thing. And
you
know
that
. As you yourself once pointed out, I’m a free agent, there are plenty of obliging women in town, if that was what I wanted it would be easy as falling off a log. However, it was not what I wanted or would want. I’d jerk off before I’d go the singles bars route. Chris, don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m after. You know damned well I want to build, I want my woman, mine, part of me, continuity …

“I’d better go home,” she said shakily. “Apparently I’m being asked to do some heavy thinking. So I’d better go home and think.”

“Home,” he echoed, his face going dark. “That’s what I meant. There’s here and there’s there.
There
is home. This is a hideaway, a place for lovers.”

“That’s unfair. That’s unfair and cruel. You know what I meant.”

“All too well,” he said, getting up.

She still sat there. He was clearing the table, stacking the dishes in the sink. She watched him moving about purposefully, stiff as a ramrod, his face set. Why had she told him about the vacation? She could have told him one of her parents was sick: she could have said, Fm needed there, my parents aren’t young anymore.

She felt like a lump of soggy dough. Her throat was tight. She couldn’t even seem to stir herself. All the dishes were in the sink now and he was leaning against the refrigerator.

She looked up at him. “Jack, I’m so much older,” she heard herself saying. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Uh uh,” he said, tightening his mouth. “Don’t put it on me, Chris. It’s fair to keep me dangling, you seem to think, to come and go at your own convenience. It’s fair to give so much and at the same time so little. Withhold yourself in the most important ways. Christ, I’ve never seen you brushing your teeth, or in a nightgown. I’ve never turned over in bed at night or in the early morning and found you beside me, felt your warmth. Don’t give me that age shit, it’s just a copout. I want my wife and I want you for my wife, I’ve finished with being your stud.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” she whispered, going white. “No matter what your gripes are you shouldn’t have said that.”

He came over to her right away. Put his arms around her. “No I shouldn’t have said that,” he told her, his face against her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling.”

His fingers on her face. “You’re crying.”

“Of course I’m crying,” she said choked. “What did you think I’d do, burst out laughing?”

He pulled the other chair over, sat down alongside her. “Chris. Darling. Okay, I lashed out when you used those words. ‘Fair to me, it wouldn’t be fair to me.’ When we both know it’s you it wouldn’t be fair to. You think I’m deaf, dumb and blind? Anyone can see you’ve got it all right now, not a worry in the world. Why should you give that up? And for what? This apartment, after what you have now, both of us scurrying around looking for a wardrobe for your clothes — two of them, most likely — and, hell, fitting yourself
in
, not enough room to breathe in.”

He gestured. “And then do what all day? A little tidying up, making the bed, and then watching me work? Hell, that’s some offer. You think I don’t know what it must sound like to you, me saying let’s get married and then — ”

He stopped her when she started to reply. “No, wait, just let me finish,” he said. “Well, of course I know it’s no offer at all. But I know now, Chris, that it can’t be any two years to get this book done. The best and most valuable thing a writer can have going for him is incentive, we’re all of us motivated at bottom by the carrot on the stick. I know where I’m going with it now, I have most of the key scenes written, they’re good, it’s pulling together. Once it’s finished I think it will be a winner. I can’t promise it will be on the best seller list for fifty-two weeks, but I’m willing to bet it will do a lot for me, I’m sure it will make it in a more than modest way. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be saying any of these things. And it will be off the agenda, I can work things out by that time.”

“Jack, none of this has any bearing on — ”

“Oh, yes,” he said instantly. “
All
of this has a bearing on
all
of it. Remember too, I can draw on my trust fund if it should ever become necessary. All
that
takes is a conference with the lawyer. Chris, I was wondering too if you’d like to be a reader for one of the pub firms or a film company. It doesn’t pay much but it’s interesting work and you’re well qualified. I have a feeling it would set well with you. We could put a desk in the other corner, and — ”

He searched her face eagerly. She felt exhausted with the outpouring of words, the whole thing was just so unexpected, so swift and sudden. He was so touching, so intense, so young. Tears started up again, she couldn’t seem to stop
crying
. “Come,” he said gently. “Lie with me. Let’s hold each other. Quiet and together, just holding each other. Chris, I love you so much. Or cry then if you want to. Let’s just lie together for the rest of the afternoon. Okay? You must know what you mean to me. How could I let you go? How could I ever let you go? Didn’t you know I couldn’t let you go?”

“You should let me go,” she said bleakly. “There oughtn’t to be anyone like me in your life. You should be spending your time with either a tart or a malleable young girl who’d be waiting in bed for you at night. And who’d fix you a decent supper after a day’s work. And take your wash to a laundromat. What the hell do you want with someone like me?”

“It isn’t someone like you, it happens to be you. Why do you question that? That girl I was married to — I hurt her bad. It wasn’t her fault she’ll want her Mommy until the day she dies. Ten years old emotionally, a Radcliffe education and the mind, notwithstanding, of a summer squash. She stopped maturing when she started menstruating, she never got over that, it meant she had to grow up. She didn’t want a man, she wanted her mother, I could have been kinder, though. Which I was not.”

He held both her hands. “Then there was you, Christine. From that first day I knew. And here you are asking me why. And of course I know why. It’s because you’re programmed. You’re programmed to the life you know. God — ”

He rubbed his forehead. “I can
understand
that. You looked at me in that puzzled way when I said I was trying to drag you down. You must remember that, it was the day we became lovers. I’m very conscious of it, that I’d be taking you away from safety, security, the things you’ve earned. I’m conscious of the fact that there are two kids in your scheme of things.
I
can’t provide for them. I’m offering you nothing but my life, and what’s that? Here I am, nobody at all, throwing down my cloak for you to walk on, big deal, big fat deal. There’s no way I can prove I’ll reach the apex, make it into a document, signed and sealed. I know I will because nothing else is acceptable to me. I’ll do it, and be able to give you everything you have now. But I can’t do it by the end of next week. So essentially I’m asking you to relinquish everything you have and start in all over again.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Yeah, and knowing all that, I’ll go on asking you. Hoping for it. I just couldn’t go on any longer without making some kind of statement. A statement, and that’s it for now. I won’t torture you. You know how I feel, so now it has to be up to you. All right, I’ve said it, you know how it is with me, but you won’t come back from your two and a half weeks to find me out of the picture. Not a chance. Somehow or other I’m just not going to let you go.”

He didn’t try to make love to her. They must have slept, because the next thing she knew the day was darkening outside. She got up and dressed. Just before she left he said, “We’ve had it out, Chris, and I’ll be true to my word. I’ve said all there is to say. From now on it’s your decision, I’ve made mine. I’d like to see you tomorrow, as a matter of fact may I insist on it, please? I want to be with you tomorrow, laughing again and loving. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Don’t shut me out because I’ve asked something that’s difficult. And no more discussions. You’ll tell me when your mind’s made up. I never set any time limits, you’ll notice.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here tomorrow, then.”

“And it will be just as usual.”

“I promise.”

How could it be just as usual? she wondered, walking home. And yet she must have known there would be a cutoff point. As a matter of fact for her as well. It was like being sawed in half, as in some magic show, and she marveled now that she had ever thought this kind of attachment was easy, a joyous adventure, the only culpabilities mechanical ones, lies and excuses and a few half-truths thrown in.

And yet it was accomplished. They had almost two weeks before Christine’s departure date, spent almost every one of those days together. Jack was no different from his habitual self, it was almost as if not a word had been spoken. She was tremulous with gratitude. He seemed to be the older and more responsible of them, and here she was shortly going off to Italy with Carl, underlining her status as another man’s wife in still another way.

Not that he knew she would be going to Italy, his beloved Italy. He had refrained from asking, as he scrupulously refrained from any mention of her life outside his orbit. He was possibly more possessive, though, as if by making his “statement” he had asserted certain rights and was therefore to be considered more than a part-time adjunct in her life. He had adopted a way of discussing what he was buying in stores, things for his own use, own fridge or pantry, asking if she was sure it would do, as though he wanted to make clear to the person behind the counter that it was for both of them, that they were a legitimatized “couple.”

Otherwise it was the same carefree kind of thing, meeting somewhere or her going to his apartment first, then leaving for a walk or whatever, later returning to his apartment to go to bed.

It was a swiftly-passing two weeks, during which Christine had the disorienting feeling more than once that Jack was going off to fight a war, that he might never come back, that he would fall on the battlefield, never to rise again, and so this last time together must be doubly precious because it might be all they would ever have. She seemed to remember every single thing he said, as if she must have mental tape recordings of it all. You could love two men and possibly three or four at the same time, but you only loved one of them in this particular kind of aching way, that was for sure.

The only thing she could hang onto was that when she arrived back at Kennedy Airport she would call him from there. It was rehearsed in her mind. She would say to Carl, “Why don’t you see to the luggage, I’ll just phone the kids, see how everything is.”