“You need any money?”
“No, thanks. I should be all right. I’m still getting checks. And my agent says a studio is looking to option my book, which would be some money.”
“When will you find out about that?”
“I can’t say for sure. These things take forever, apparently. They still have to work out all kinds of things, percentages, residuals, points, whatever. You know a lot of studios will option a book for a bunch of money and then never even make the movie? It’s nuts, but with any luck, it should be sometime this spring.”
“That mean you’d be going out to Hollywood?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah. For a meeting or two. I haven’t been out there for years. When I was stationed at Twentynine Palms, Maddy and I used to drive into L.A. from time to time. It’s only a couple of hours. She had some distant cousin who lived in Brentwood. A crazy old lady whose father had been a famous director back in the day. Worked with guys like Errol Flynn and Bogart. She was an old drunk but very entertaining. She was living in this big, falling-down house with a blond golf pro who was even younger than we were. There were cats and dogs everywhere, even an ancient turtle. We used to go stay with her, and she’d take us to wild parties in places like Venice and Santa Monica.”
“She still alive?”
“No, she died years ago. She was a lot of fun though.”
“Yeah, well, good luck. You’d better invite me to the opening.”
“You’ll have front-row tickets.”
But Harry was being optimistic, as usual, about his financial situation. The truth of the matter, as I later learned, was that he had spent a lot of his earnings. He had been with Maddy for so long and had always relied on her income to carry them through that he had no more financial sense than a teenager living on an allowance. What money he had been able to set aside had been placed with Maddy’s people. Like many investors, they had lost money in the recent market crash, but sales of his book had helped offset most of his other losses.
His spontaneous spending had always put the biggest dents in his net worth. The Cessna had been bought on a whim. I remember Ned, who was a banker, had told him he’d be better off investing the money, but Harry had just waved him off.
“Gotta have the plane, Ned. It was a promise I made to myself. And besides, she’s a beauty.”
The next morning Ned is already gone when Harry comes into the kitchen with his bag packed. Cissy is standing at the sink, wearing a long bathrobe and staring out the window, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Sorry to disturb you, Cissy. I’m just leaving.”
She says nothing but lifts her chin a little higher.
“Thank you for letting me stay. When I arrived I really hoped that things would turn out differently. I guess I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. I just wanted to say to you that, for what it’s worth, I still love Maddy and will do everything I can to get her back.”
Without looking at him she says, “Why do men do it? Why do they have to shit all over other people’s lives just because they want to get laid?” Then, turning toward him, “Huh? Can you answer that? You’ve done it. Why did you?”
“I, I don’t know,” Harry stammers.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Did your marriage mean so little to you that you just hopped into bed with some slut for no reason at all?”
“No. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Complicated? How complicated was it? It seems pretty goddamn black and white to me. You were married. To Maddy, of all people, for chrissakes. Wasn’t she beautiful enough? Wasn’t she kind enough? Wasn’t she a good enough mother? Wasn’t she rich enough? Tell me, what didn’t she give you that you had to go somewhere else? Tell me, I’d be really interested to know.”
“No, Maddy gave me everything.”
“So what was it? You wanted more? It wasn’t enough to be a successful writer and father with friends who loved you? With a wife who adored you? Did you think that you were too special to live by the same rules as everyone else? Or maybe you just didn’t really think about what impact your actions would have? That your selfishness would destroy everything? That’s how a child thinks, Harry. That’s not how a grown man thinks.”
He can say nothing.
“You make me sick. God, why don’t you just go already?” There are tears in her eyes.
That afternoon Harry calls me. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve moved out of Ned and Cissy’s apartment.” He tells me he’s found a room in a cheap hotel in the East Twenties. I have never heard of it. “It’s full of German families,” he says. “I’m the only guest not wearing Birkenstocks and carrying a backpack.”
“In case I need to reach you, how long do you plan to stay?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s about two hundred dollars a night, so it’s not too bad. I plan to start looking for an apartment today.”
“Remember, it needs to have a room for Johnny,” I tell him. “Otherwise a judge may not let him stay with you.”
A few days later, he calls again, this time telling me he’s found a one-bedroom in Murray Hill, near the tunnel. The next night is the hockey game. He asks me what he should do. Would it be all right if he picked Johnny up from home? I tell him I’ll check with Maddy and get back to him.
I call her number and wait for the message to play out. I know Maddy. She hates the phone and never bothers to answer it. “Maddy,” I say. “Maddy, it’s me. If you’re there please pick up.”
“Hello, Walter.” As I assumed, she had been waiting by the phone deciding if she would answer or not.
“Tomorrow night’s the hockey game. Harry wants to know if he can pick Johnny up at home. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I can take Johnny to the Garden.”
She sighs. “No, that’s all right. No need for you to be my errand boy. Tell him he can come here.”
“All right. Why don’t I take you out for dinner while they’re gone?”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
The next night I arrive at Maddy’s apartment at a quarter to seven. Harry is due at seven. “Come on in,” says Maddy, offering me her cheek. Johnny gives me that familiar disappointed look when he sees that, once again, I am not his father. He is wearing his Rangers jersey. I ruffle his hair. “Have fun tonight, okay?”
“Go make yourself a drink, Walter,” says Maddy.
“Good idea. Can I fix you anything?”
“No thanks.”
I wander off to the bar and mix up a martini.
The doorbell rings. “Daddy!”
Johnny tears to the door and jumps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy!”
Harry hugs his son tightly, lifting him off the ground, burying his face in his neck. “Johnny,” he whispers. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Daddy. You’re staying, right?”
Harry looks at Maddy and places Johnny on his feet. Bending over so his eyes are level with his son’s, he takes his hand and says, “Um, I can’t, pal. I’ve still got to finish things up in Rome. I flew in just to see you, and, ah, I’ve got to fly back right after the game.”
“Oh.”
“Johnny, go get your coat,” says Maddy, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. “You don’t want to be late for the game.”
The boy runs upstairs, calling, “I’ll be right back, Daddy.”
“You haven’t told him.”
Her face is like ice. “No. I thought it would be best coming from you.”
“From me?” He looks away and then down at his feet, holding back his emotions, knowing he has no right to protest. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do. He’ll blame me if I tell him that you won’t be living here anymore. I’m not the bad guy here, and I don’t intend to be. And frankly I’m not much in the mood to be one of those parents who fake a united front. It always seems so dishonest.”
“I see. Hello, by the way. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, Walt.”
“Harry.”
“So, do you have any idea what you want me to say?” he whispered.
“You’re the writer. I am sure you’ll be able to think up something.”
He juts out his lower lip and nods his head. “Okay.”
Johnny comes racing downstairs, jumping the last two steps and landing hard. Few things seem to give little boys greater happiness than the act of making loud noises. “Ready!”
“Okay, champ. Let’s go.”
“Bye, Mommy. Bye, Uncle Walt.”
“Bye, darling. Have fun at the game.”
The door closes behind them. Maddy turns to me and says, “You can make me that drink now, Walter.”
We are sitting in the living room with our backs to the garden. Maddy is smoking. When Johnny is in the house, she normally goes outside. “I didn’t know it would be this hard,” she says. “I didn’t know anything could be this hard.”
There are tears in her eyes. “Damn,” she says, wiping them away with the palm of her hand. “I don’t want to cry.”
“Haven’t you cried once?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Not like what I know I need.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’ve been so angry I haven’t felt like crying. But when I saw Johnny with Harry, I just felt so goddamn sad. We had this family, you know? We were happy. And now it’s all gone. It’s just not fair. How could he do it?”
I stand up and hand her my handkerchief. She blows her nose. “I don’t know, Maddy. I truly don’t. Of course, this sort of thing happens all the time. I just never thought it would ever happen to you and Harry.”
She leans her head back over the chair. “Oh, crap. I was trying to be so tough. Tough for Johnny, tough for me, and, in a way, tough for Harry.”
“Were you being too tough?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, what does one do in this sort of situation? My father was divorced three times, but none of those had been much of a marriage. I was too young to remember my mother. His second wife, you remember her, Nancy? God, she was an evil bitch. I couldn’t have been happier when she left. And his last wife, Ingrid, came and went while we were in college. I barely ever spoke to her.”
I remembered the last two wives. Both were beautiful but just as dissolute as the father. Their lives seemed to be an endless round of drinking and pill popping. The second wife was notorious for sleeping around. Maddy even had a nickname for her: “the Bike,” because everyone had a ride on her.
“There’s no road map. You’ve got to do what you feel is right for you—and for Johnny. You’re angry at Harry. What’s more, you don’t feel you can trust him anymore and don’t feel you can stay married to him.”
“I guess.”
“You do mind that he had an affair, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And that he lied about it?”
“Of course.”
“So don’t be too hard on yourself. You didn’t make this happen.”
“Well, that’s what I keep asking myself. What if it was something I did? I mean, I know we didn’t sleep together as much as we once did, but Harry never complained about it.”
“What if it was just sex he wanted? Men have been known to go through a midlife crisis. This could be his.”
“You know, I don’t think I’d mind if it was just sex. But he lied to me, Walter. And he seemed so distant at times. You remember when you visited us in Rome over Christmas? You sensed something was wrong, but I wasn’t ready to admit to it. I kept thinking it had to do with his book and being in Rome.”
“I remember.”
“What really upsets me is that he may have fallen in love with someone else.”
I say nothing. The thought to me is inconceivable.
“That’s the only excuse, isn’t it?” she goes on. “I mean, this wasn’t a one-time thing. He was going away all the time—and lying about it. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was just a one-night stand, but this was going on for months.”
“How do you know there wasn’t someone in Rome? No one knows yet who the woman was. I haven’t pried because you didn’t seem to show much interest. I can find out if you want me to.”
“No, that’s okay, Walter. I’ll do it myself when I’m ready.”
“How?”
“I’ll just ask Harry. He’s feeling so rotten I think he’d tell me anything I wanted.”
“How do we know he’s not still seeing this woman? If he had feelings for her, do you think he’d throw her over so easily?”
“The Harry I know is a romantic—and a bit of a sucker. So, yes, it’s possible he’s still seeing her. He’d even do it out of a sense of obligation. And what’s to keep him? After all, I’ve asked him for a separation. He doesn’t need to skulk around anymore.”
“I spoke to Ned the other day. He was staying there, you know.”
“Yes. Cissy and I have been in touch.”
“Then you know she kicked him out.”
“Not at my suggestion. I even asked her to let him stay on, but she couldn’t do it. I think she’s madder at him than I am.”
“Yes, well, Ned told me that Harry had been genuinely distraught. He never went out at night and barely during the day.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that he wasn’t exactly behaving like a sailor on leave. If he was in love with someone else, he’d be seeing her, wherever she is, not moping around Ned and Cissy’s.”
She put out her cigarette. “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, I’m tired of talking about it. I thought you said you were going to buy me dinner.”
I’ve had a number of romantic experiences with women over the years, but they have for the most part passed out of my life, distant as stars. This happened more when I was younger and when the girls of my age and background were on the hunt for suitable mates. Doubtless their mothers persuaded some of them that I was a desirable catch. I was almost engaged once to Agatha, Aggie, as she was known. She had lovely legs and a ready smile, and I think she liked the idea of being Mrs. Walter Gervais, at least the part that came with a large house in the Hamptons, a prominent name, the right clubs, and plenty of money.
She wasn’t greedy. She was too well-bred for that, but by that time I already had enough experience in corporate law to recognize a potentially hostile merger when I saw one. Instead of getting down on one knee as she had hoped I would, I took a trip—to visit Maddy and Harry, in fact—and when I returned, I told her that maybe we had better start seeing other people. She took it moderately well. I could tell she was disappointed, all those lovely aspirations coming to nothing, but she was hardly brokenhearted. I saw her several years afterward. She lived in Darien and had three children and was married to someone on Wall Street. Her hair was blonder, and she looked like she played a lot of golf. Clearly she had gotten what she wanted and bore me no ill will. “And you, Walt?” she asked. “How are you? Do you still have that lovely house?”