Illusions of Love (31 page)

As it turned out the premonition was well founded. Jenny’s wedding night was more horrible than her worst nightmares. Either from too much to drink or fear that he would not please Jenny, Cyrus was initially impotent. Jenny tried to tell him that it did not matter, that they had all their lives ahead of them, but Cyrus became increasingly violent. She tried to get out of bed, but he forced her down, and pinned her to the bed. Bending back her wrists with his powerful hands, he took her with such force that Jenny, eyes pressed shut, prayed silently for it to end quickly.

At breakfast the next day he was calm, polite, and he acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

The pattern for their marriage was set. By day Cyrus remained the Southern gentleman generous, charming and considerate-but by night he was a changed man. He would drink heavily, and when he didn’t pass out, he would search for a victim for his frustrations usually in the bedroom. Linda Mae was also subjected to his rages; it seemed Cyrus was not nearly as patient with his poor, retarded daughter as he had at first seemed. One morning, examining the purple bruises that streaked her own thighs, Jenny couldn’t help but wonder if the mark on Linda Mae’s face that Jenny had seen on her first visit had resulted from the girl’s clumsiness or her father’s fury. A chill passed through Jenny and she began to feel afraid.

Although she no longer believed things would get better, she continued to play the part of the successful banker’s wife. She gave up her own job since it would not be fitting for her to remain a teller, and devoted herself to refurbishing the beautiful old house. But try as she might to keep up her side of the marriage, she found it increasingly impossible to protect Linda Mae or herself from Cyrus’s violent temper.

After a month or more of nightly hell. Jenny began to despair. Several times, when Cyrus was at work, she packed her bags, only to unpack them again before he returned from the office. How could she desert Linda Mae? And besides, where could she go? For Cyrus was careful not to let her have more than a few dollars at a time for spending money.

So instead of trying to run away. Jenny gave up on herself. Her hair often went uncombed for days, she stopped wearing makeup.

Just when she thought she could stand no more, Cyrus was the one who collapsed. He was brought home in an ambulance one morning, having suffered a massive coronary at the bank. For three days he lay in then-big four-poster, surrounded by EKGs, oxygen tanks, and a battery of attending physicians. On the fourth day the medics removed the elaborate life-support system; Cyrus died without ever regaining consciousness.

All of Biloxi turned out for the funeral. Jenny sat stone-faced in the front pew, occasionally patting Linda Mae’s hand. Cyrus daughter seemed to be the one person who was genuinely grieved by his passing.

Jenny was present because she had to be; the others were there for the spectacle of a funeral as grand as the wedding had been some months before.

A week after Cyrus was buried, his attorney visited Jenny to read the will. Cyrus’s death had made her a very rich woman, but there was one catch: if Jenny were to inherit Cyrus’s millions, she had to agree to two things. The first was she must continue to look after Linda Mae.

Second, she had to keep the girl at home in Biloxi. If she

failed to agree to either stipulation, she wouldn’t inherit a dime.

The choice was hers.

Jenny weighed her options carefully. Her dream had been to escape Biloxi and all its terrible memories. If she had guts, she knew, she’d chuck it all: the money, the mansion, her role as the rich man’s widow, even Linda Mae. She would make a new start for herself somewhere else. She had done it before. But the events of the past few years had instilled a new timidity in Jenny McCoy. She was cowed by fears and anxieties that were unknown to the Jenny who had struck out on her own to go North to Hunter College. Given the prospect of another experience like the months in Chicago, Jenny knew what her choice would be even as she walked the grim-faced attorney to the door, saying, “I’ll have to let you know my decision in another day or two. I need some time to think.”

She called his office to accept the terms of the will the very next day.

Jenny tried to make the best of the new life Fate had brought her. She was good to Linda Mae and began to take better care of herself, but she couldn’t shake the gloomy listlessness that enveloped her in this tiny Southern town. Days mounted up to weeks, weeks to months, and Jenny began to slip into a depression as severe as the one she’d suffered under the worst of Cyrus’s tyranny. She began to regret having mortgaged her soul for security. And that was what she’d done.

She again began to think seriously of leaving. The estate would hire a nurse for Linda Mae. But in the end, she couldn’t give up the money.

So for the next twelve years she lived as Cyrus no doubt intended: a demure widow, devoted mother to Linda Mae, chair woman of various community charities. Jenny was not happy, but she wasn’t unhappy either. She simply ceased to feel and just went through the motions of each passing day. Then Linda Mae took ill.

At first it was just a fever. The doctors were not concerned. But when it persisted for more than a day or two, she was moved to the

hospital. Even round-the-clock care and the best specialists were not enough. Linda Mae died one April morning the day the crocuses bloomed. It was the week before Jenny’s birthday.

At her funeral. Jenny and a few servants were the lone mourners. As the polished mahogany coffin was lowered into the ground. Jenny wept, the first emotion she’d let herself feel in years. Although Linda Mae had kept her in Biloxi all these years. Jenny no longer resented her.

In the end they had both been victims.

At last. Jenny was free. According to Cyrus’s will, if his daughter died Jenny could live anywhere she chose. But suddenly, faced with this longed-for freedom, Jenny was no longer sure what she wanted to do. Once she might have tried to reestablish her career. But at forty, with more money than she could possibly spend, she lacked the motivation to go back and start at the bottom. Too much time had passed. Her youth was gone and the long years in Biloxi had drained her vitality.

She began to travel, diverting herself with long trips to Europe, the Middle East, and the Orient. It was as if she were trying to outrun a past that persisted in following her. But the past had a way of catching up with her, often when she least expected it. With the New York of her youth miles and years away, she’d find herself reminiscing about her brief affair with Martin and yearning for the innocent girl she had been. These days if she found a companion she never let her get close. The walls she erected when she fled New York had become impenetrable.

Now as she stood on the balcony in San Francisco she was amazed that she had allowed the chance meeting with

Martin to move her so deeply. Their meeting made her realize how much she still loved him, and she bitterly resented the effect he’d had on her life even now.

She was brought out of her reverie by the telephone. Without answering, she knew who it was. Let it ring, she almost screamed. Then quickly she picked it up. “Yes … ” Jenny, this is Martin. I have to see you. “

“Why?”

“Because I can’t let you leave this way.”

“Where are you?”

“Downstairs in the lobby.”

She hesitated, glancing around the tidy room.

“All right, come up.”

Martin took the elevator to the tenth floor, where Jenny was waiting for him. When she opened the door, he hesitated, then said, “I had to see you.”

“Why, Martin? When you went back to San Francisco you shut me out of your life. I remember your letters and our phone calls. I felt as if I were always being put on hold.”

“I was wrong, Jenny, but I’ve grown up. I have a great deal to say to you now.”

Jenny lowered her eyes, then looked straight at him, terrified of her own feelings. He still could get to her, after all these years.

Struggling to appear calm, she said, “I’m going to have a drink. How about you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, why not?” she said cheerfully.

“You’re among friends. If I recall, you take scotch and soda.”

Martin nodded.

“Do you know what I think? I think you’re still hoping for something that will never work. It didn’t before, when my only competition was your mother. Now you have a wife and children. Well, my friend, I’ve grown up too. I’ve learned to avoid situations where I can get hurt.”

Putting down his glass, he took her in his arms.

“Please listen to me,” he begged.

She wrenched herself away.

“No. I listened to you once and it nearly cost me my life. Martin I want you to go. Now.”

“But I love you. You’re the only woman I ever felt this way about.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not about to let you destroy me again. I’ve played the Phoenix once, and I don’t think I can do it again. You’ve got to let me go.”

“I can’t, Jenny. We have to talk.”

“Do you think talking will help? I want you to leave, Martin, before we both get in so deep I won’t let you go.”

“What makes you think I’ll want to?”

“History repeats itself. I may be a slow learner, but that’s one thing I’ve come to know.”

“I love you, Jenny, that’s all I know.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me any more.”

Then tell me. “

“That would take a long time. The last twenty-five years have been hard on me, Martin. I let myself become a victim. I won’t let it happen again.”

“My God, Jenny, can’t you understand that I was victimized too? Life made the choice for me I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know and I’ve lived with all kinds of guilt. But, darling, you’ve got to give me the chance to make it up to you.”

“How? I’m not going to play the back street mistress, waiting for the phone to ring. I can’t live that way. I want to be seen with the person I love, not have to steal away for a few hours or an occasional weekend. Martin, I will not get involved with you as long as you have a wife.”

Martin took her in his arms again. This time she didn’t twist away.

“When I left you today, I spent a long time thinking about my life.

And I came to the conclusion that I can’t have it both ways. I’ve had a good life with Sylvia. She deserved better than me. But I could never love her as she should have been loved. The memory of you always came

between us. I know that now. This afternoon, when I realized that to have you would mean asking her for a divorce, it was tough. And I would be less than honest if I didn’t tell you that I rejected the thought at first. Divorcing someone you’ve lived with for a very long time is a brutal thing. But the fact remains that I love you, Jenny.

And I can’t give you up. Not this time. “

Releasing herself from his embrace, she went to the bar and poured herself another drink.

“This is indeed a night of revelations, Martin. I’m touched by your wish to marry me. But divorces can take a long time. And I’m not quite sure that I want to subject myself to another period of uncertainty.

You see, Martin, I’ve changed, too. Life does a great many things to destroy patience. And besides, in spite of what you say, I think you love your wife more than you realize. I really think I must go away as I planned. “

“Darling, how can you say that now? I beg you to give me a little time. I promise I’ll speak to Sylvia about a divorce.”

“Speaking and doing are two different things. Twenty-five years ago you spoke to your parents. Will it be any different today if you speak to your wife?”

“I know Sylvia. She’s an extraordinary woman, with enormous understanding.”

“Oh, my God, Martin you are naive. Women are never understanding when their husbands want to leave them.”

“I know Sylvia. You must trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone any more, Martin.”

Martin winced.

“I guess I’m responsible for that. Jenny I’m so sorry, but don’t go away. Please stay.”

Sadly she walked over to the window and gazed out at the clear December night. In the distance was the silhouette of the Bay Bridge.

Wherever she looked Christmas lights twinkled. If only she could believe Martin, she would be the happiest woman in the world. But trust was a word she’d erased from her vocabulary years ago. She had never wanted anything as much as she wanted Martin at this minute. She

thought briefly of his wife, but realized there was no reason to worry about her. Sylvia had her family, the children, and she had been Martin’s wife during the long years when Jenny had been alone. Sylvia wasn’t her responsibility. And this meeting with Martin had been an accident. God would not have planned this just as a cruel joke. Jenny made up her mind: if Martin wanted her she would wait. Only this time she would stand firm and fight for him. She deserved some happiness in her life. And now she wanted Martin at any cost.

She started as Martin touched her arm. It reminded her of the time he had left when his father died. Yet in spite of all they had said to each other, she still feared her vulnerability, and the past hurts nudged her just a little. Go slow, Jenny. Be sure. Jenny.

“Let me get you a drink, Martin.”

He looked at her and smiled.

“Only if you tell me you’re not leaving.”

She looked at him, making up her mind.

“I’ll just go away for the holidays. It wouldn’t be fair for you to leave Sylvia alone this week.

Afterwards you can speak to her. “

Holding her close to him, he whispered, “Oh, darling Jenny, I do love you so.”

Then, turning off the lamp, he kissed her passionately. He wanted more than anything in the world to feel her body yield to him as she had in the past. He wanted to touch her, excite her, rouse the passion that he had never forgotten. He pressed his lips against the sweet swell of her breasts and when she sighed with pleasure as he lifted her in his arms he forgot everything except his need for her. When he entered her he felt as if he had never known such exquisite joy. He held her tighter, feeling his excitement mount until together their passion was spent and she lay beneath him, her body damp with perspiration, her eyes glazed with satisfaction.