Matt
All the stars were aligned for my weekend with Lucy in New York. I had the tickets Sandor had given me for
Annie
, a late dinner reservation at Sardi’s, a room booked for two nights at the Plaza, which cost me nearly a week’s salary. Lucy had a thing about the Plaza where her grandmother used to take her for tea, so I tried not to be concerned about the money. My mother’s insurance policies had left me sitting pretty. Time for me to quit worrying about every nickel and spend a little on the woman I loved.
On the way home from work, I stopped in the lingerie department at Jordan Marsh and bought Lucy a short silk negligee, off-white with embroidered blue flowers. I pictured Lucy coming out of the hotel bathroom in the negligee with her hair falling across her shoulders. Tomorrow we’d take a ride through Central Park in one of those horse-drawn carriages. Go to the Museum of Modern Art, which Lucy was always raving about.
When I got to my apartment, Kreider was sitting on the couch drinking a beer and holding the telephone to his ear. He made a conciliatory grunt into the phone, then looked at me and mouthed,
Women
. I went to my room and put my gun in the safe. I took a shower and dressed and packed my suitcase. Double-checked my wallet to make sure I had the theater tickets. Kreider was still on the phone as I headed out the door.
Traffic was heavy on the way to Cambridge. I never liked being late, but Lucy wouldn’t mind. She considered punctuality a minor character flaw. I climbed the rickety porch steps and rang the bell, waiting for her to buzz me in. She’d been saying she was going to give me my own key but still hadn’t gotten around to it. I assumed that was a line she wasn’t ready to cross, but I didn’t want to make an issue out of it. I rang the doorbell again. Mrs. Stansbury from the first floor appeared in the hallway and opened the front door.
“Hello, Mrs. Stansbury.”
“She isn’t up there.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw her go out.” Her words were terse. “She left about a half-hour ago.”
I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes late. Maybe Lucy’s doorbell was on the fritz. I said, “You mind if I go up and check?”
Mrs. Stansbury stepped aside. “Suit yourself.”
I went up the stairs two at a time. There was an envelope thumbtacked to the door with MATT written on it. I tore open the envelope.
Dear Matt,
I’m SO SORRY, but my mom’s gone off the deep end AGAIN. She’s really outdone herself this time, and I had to rush home and help my dad. I called your house, but the line was busy. I’ll try to catch up with you tonight or tomorrow morning and give you all the gory details. Sorry to spoil the weekend. I was REALLY looking forward to it.
xoxo,
Lucy
I leaned against the wall and read the note again. Lucy had left bowls of cat food and water for Rory in one corner of the landing. I folded the note and put it in my pocket. She had told me stories about her mother—the affairs and car accidents, drunken scenes at the country club. This was obviously something serious, but I was hurt and confused. Why not wait another half-hour for me? We were driving through Connecticut anyway. I could understand why Lucy might think the circumstances were too touchy and embarrassing to bring me into the mix since I hadn’t met her parents yet. For all I knew, she hadn’t even told them about me. But we could have talked along the way. I could have stayed in a motel in case she needed me.
Still, if she and her father got things under control, maybe I could still drive down tomorrow and take her to
Annie
. Not the weekend I’d planned, but it might give her a break from the drama. The only thing for me to do now was to go home and wait for her call.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Stansbury was standing in her doorway.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “She left me a note. Have a nice weekend.”
As I started down the porch steps, she opened the front door and said, “Did the note mention who she left with?”
I was on the sidewalk before the words registered. I stopped and turned around.
“Ma’am?”
“Lucy. Did she tell you she went off with her old beau?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“She took off with her ex. I forget his name. Skinny blond guy.”
“Griffin?”
“That’s him. Something about him always rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Did she…?” My words trailed off, my worst fears confirmed. It wasn’t that I had guessed that Lucy had run off with Griffin. But from the moment I first read that note, I had a feeling it was her way of leaving me. I had been deluding myself for months, trying to make myself believe she could love me. Maybe not as much as I loved her, but enough—something more than
xoxo
. I stood there trying to come to grips with the situation. I knew I had lost her. But how can you lose something you never really had?
Mrs. Stansbury said, “You seem like such a nice young man. Fine-looking police officer. I’ll bet there are a million girls dying to go out with you. Don’t waste your time on that tramp.” She put her knuckles to her lips. “I’m
sorry
. That was a horrible thing to say. What you do is your own business.”
I ran my fingers through my hair.
She said, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
***
I sat in Mrs. Stansbury’s living room while she made coffee in the kitchen. The room looked like something out of a magazine, stylish and modern and virtually unlived in. There was a black leather sofa and a white shag rug. Copies of
Gourmet
were fanned out neatly on the chrome-and-glass coffee table. A red enamel gas heater sat on the hearth in front of the bricked-over fireplace.
Mrs. Stansbury brought a tray with bright blue mugs and a matching sugar bowl and creamer. She handed me a mug. I put cream in my coffee and three spoons of sugar.
“Have you lived here long?” I said.
“Nineteen years. My husband Johnny and I moved in when he came home from the army.” She stirred her coffee and held up the mug. “Cheers.”
“Guess you’ve seen a lot of other tenants come and go.”
“Not as many as you might think.” She sat down in an armless rocking chair that appeared to be made from a single piece of red lacquered plywood. “We had the same three couples here for years. The Sizemores and their daughter on the second floor, Professor Wertz and his wife on the third. We were all so friendly back then. Now everyone keeps to themselves.”
“Are those your sons?” I pointed at the photograph of two dark-haired boys on the mantel.
“My nephews. My brother’s boys. Unfortunately, my husband and I couldn’t have children. That’s me and Johnny on our honeymoon in the other picture. Salisbury Beach.”
In the photograph she looked lovely in a sleeveless summer dress. The man was wearing white pants and a flowered shirt. He had one arm around her waist, a cigarette in his hand, and a white Borsalino cocked over his eye.
“Weren’t we dashing? Well,
he
was anyway. Could have had any girl he wanted.” She bit one corner of her lip. “Which is exactly how it turned out. Now Johnny lives elsewhere. He has
friends
as he calls them. Pretty, young friends. I’ll say this for the man though, he still pays the rent. I run into him on the street sometimes and he gives me a big hug. He used to beg me for a divorce, but I’m Catholic, so I never would. Now I’m the best excuse he’s got. It wouldn’t surprise me if he showed up on the doorstep tomorrow, asking to move back in.”
“Would you let him?”
“Of course, he’s my
husband
. I might make him sleep in the other bedroom for a few nights though.” She grinned. “I hope I haven’t shocked you, being so frank. Young people think they
invented
love, which I suppose they did. Trouble is, it’s like smoking. Once you get started, it’s hard to stop.”
I sipped my coffee. “Has he been coming around much lately?”
“Johnny? No, he never…Oh, you mean Griffin? Here I am blabbering on and on, and you, poor thing, you’re dying by the minute. No, to answer your question. As far as I know, he showed up this afternoon for the first time in ages. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. Tell the truth, I don’t think Lucy knew he was coming. I could hear her yelling at him all the way down here.”
“Do you think…? Maybe she didn’t want to go with him.”
She shrugged, willing to let me believe whatever I wanted. “You and Lucy seemed so happy together. I think that’s what made me angry, the thought of her going back with that creep again. I probably shouldn’t’ve said anything and let the two of you work out things for yourself. I never paid one bit of attention when people warned me about Johnny. Resented it, actually.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m glad you told me. It’s always better to know the truth, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think I’d be a lot happier today if I’d’ve just kept the blinders on. A lot of women do.” She stopped to consider the possibility. “More coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Maybe you need something a little stronger?”
“No, I think I better be on my way.” I stood up. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Stansbury.”
“Please, call me Ida. You know, I don’t even know your name.”
“Matt. Matt Drobyshev.”
“Well, Officer Matt Drobyshev, it’s a pleasure to finally have a chance to talk with you. I wish we could’ve had our little chat under different circumstances, but…Say, would you like to stay for dinner? I’ve got some nice lamb chops in the fridge. I’m a great cook, but I rarely get a chance to entertain.”
It didn’t occur to me until that moment that she was making a pass at me. Her eyes left no doubt. Maybe this was what she had in mind all along. I met her gaze frankly. I didn’t want to diminish her by playing dumb. She had a voluptuous figure and a bold, inquisitive mouth. For a moment I let myself indulge in the fantasy, her full, creamy breasts spilling out of the negligee I’d bought for Lucy. Why not stay? Perhaps it was the perfect twist in this soap opera, each of us finding a way to debase ourselves.
“Thank you, Ida, but I need to go.”
She walked me to the door. In the hallway she kissed me on the cheek.
“For luck,” she said.
Lucy
Griffin and I drove north in my car with the radio playing; he was driving, neither of us talking. He insisted he wouldn’t leave the apartment till Matt came. I grew frantic, not wanting a confrontation, and said I’d spend the night with him if we could go somewhere else. We were on 95 just south of Portsmouth where we’d gotten our tattoos when I suddenly felt hungry. Griffin pulled off the highway and stopped at a diner. We sat in a narrow booth with green vinyl seats and a jukebox mounted on the wall. Griffin put a quarter in and punched some buttons, but there wasn’t any sound.
The waitress said, “Sorry, it’s broken.”
Griffin shrugged and gave her a grin. “Maybe you could sing something for me instead.”
“Not till I get off work, hon.” She was about fifty and plain as a spoon.
I ordered comfort food: meatloaf with mashed potatoes and string beans, applesauce and warm dinner rolls on the side. Griffin began telling me about his travels, including a hilarious story about a commune in New Mexico where a bunch of hippie holdouts who thought nothing of dropping acid or smoking peyote referred to refined sugar as “white death.” When I asked him if he had ever made it to Hollywood, he said he’d managed to get a few interviews with agents but quickly realized the place was mostly smoke and mirrors. I ate heartily as he talked. When the waitress asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered peach pie with vanilla ice cream, and she gave me a smile as if she knew my secret. Jill had gained sixty-eight pounds during her pregnancy; maybe I could match her and end up just as happy. I took a cigarette when Griffin offered, my first in over a week. I was determined to stop smoking, to quit drinking too, but this wasn’t the time to try to hold the line. The nicotine gave me a buzz.
Back on the highway, we lost the radio station we’d been listening to. I scanned the dial, but all I could find were talk shows and country music. I finally got a station out of New Brunswick that played big band music, Count Basie and Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughn singing “How High the Moon.” Griffin and I hadn’t talked about where we were going. I just got in the car and told him to drive, a million thoughts spinning around in my head.
What are you supposed to do when you come home, having just learned that you are officially pregnant, and find your ex-boyfriend in your apartment? Then the ex, whom you haven’t seen in eight months, tells you he wants to make a life with you, which is probably complete bullshit but exactly what you’ve been hoping to hear him say since the day he left. And, of course, he gets jealous when he realizes you have a new boyfriend, who (minor detail) happens to be the father of the child you are carrying—something neither he nor the ex knows anything about. So you say you’re in love with the new guy, though you’re not at all certain, but you want to hurt your ex for abandoning you, only he turns the tables and tells you all you have to do is say the word and he’ll be gone. Which may or may not be a bluff, but you don’t want to risk losing him again, so you leave a note for the new boyfriend, who may be the sweetest man on earth, hoping he’ll be stupid enough to believe your lies. But all you’ve bought is a day’s reprieve at best, because tomorrow you’re going to have to make some hard decisions, which, let’s face it, has never been your strong suit.
We passed the York exit in Maine. I hadn’t asked, but I figured maybe Griffin planned to stop at a motel outside of Biddeford near a flea market where we’d gone a few times. That’s where I’d found the silver hair combs with the intricate latticework I wore the night I met Matt, the same ones I was wearing now. When Matt admired them, I said they’d belonged to my grandmother, the lie coming as easily as my next sip of wine. In my family, lying was as basic as condiments—mustard on your hot dog, tartar sauce on your fish sticks. Actually, I hadn’t lied much to Matt, not unless you counted the lies of omission, like not telling him about the abortion or the story behind my tattoo. Anything that brought Griffin into the picture was basically verboten. I didn’t want to reveal how much Griffin had meant to me, which, I suppose, was another way of lying, not just to Matt but to myself.
I tried to remember exactly what I’d said in the note I’d left on the door, wondering what Matt’s reaction might have been when he read it. He wasn’t a fool. Chances are he’d seen through my ruse and had already begun to hate me. But I hadn’t given up hope that I could get away with it. If I called him tomorrow and gave him some wild story about Amanda, maybe he’d fall for it, his gullibility and concern only proving how much he loved me. Or maybe he’d be a little suspicious, wondering why I hadn’t waited for him, why I wouldn’t let him help me in my time of trouble the way I’d helped him through his mother’s funeral. If he began to question me, I’d have to admit, Yes, I was conflicted. Yes, I was running. But only for one night, only for enough time to try to come to grips with my beautiful, scary secret.
Our
secret
. His baby and mine.
It started to rain. The radio station faded and Griffin found another, drumming his hand on the steering wheel to an Allman Brothers song. I began to feel sick to my stomach. I was still thinking about that note. Was it worse to keep the lie going or to tell Matt the truth? Sometimes the truth can be much crueler than a lie.
The song on the radio ended. Griffin said, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Nothing special.”
“Must be Matt, then.”
“Don’t be a dickhead.” I hated that he was right.
He laughed and squeezed my thigh. “Oooh, I
love
it when you talk dirty.”
“Pull over!”
“Jesus Christ, Luce, can’t you—”
“Please, Griffin. Pull over quick! I’m gonna throw up.”
We were in the passing lane. Griffin cut in front of a tractor-trailer and skidded onto the shoulder of the road, wheels fishtailing on the wet macadam, gravel pelting the underside of the car. The first eruption came as I flung myself out the door. Then I fell to my hands and knees, Griffin squatting beside me, holding my hair back from my face as I heaved, and heaved again.
***
At the motel I took a long, hot shower and came out of the bathroom in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, my hair in a ponytail. Griffin was sitting on the bed watching TV with his shirt off, smoking a joint. He had a new tattoo on his left bicep, four black Chinese characters still blistered with scabs.
He said, “Feeling any better?”
“Much. Must have been something I ate.”
“I got you a can of ginger ale from the machine.”
“Thank you. What’re you watching?”
“Nothing. You can turn it off.”
I switched off the television and sat next to him on the bed. He handed me the ginger ale, then put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.
“You want a hit?” He offered me the joint.
I took one toke, then another, happy to get high without Matt’s silent chiding. Just this once wouldn’t hurt the baby. I made a silent vow to throw away my stash of weed when I got back to the apartment.
I touched Griffin’s arm. “What does your new tattoo say?”
“It’s just some Chinese characters I like.”
“Come on, tell me.”
“Promise you won’t laugh,” he said. I nodded and crossed my heart. “It says
I
love
Lucy
.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, Griffin, you never quit, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you.”
I leaned against him. Then we were kissing, his hand under my sweatshirt, my nipples tender and swollen.
He said, “This is why I came back, baby.” He lifted the sweatshirt and took one of my breasts in his mouth. He unsnapped my jeans and slipped his hand inside my panties. “This is all that matters.” His fingers were familiar. Accurate. “This is what we do best.”
I shuddered with pleasure then pushed him away. “No, Griffin. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
“I’m not giving you up, baby. Not without a fight.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No complications, Lucy. Just give me one more chance.”
“Griffin, I’m pregnant.”
“Well.” He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “We know that can be fixed.”
I nodded, a rueful twist to my mouth, then dug my fingernails into the new tattoo and raked them down his arm.
“Motherfucker!”
He raised a fist to hit me but let it fall. “You crazy bitch!”
I sobbed and covered my face with my hands. “Take me home. I want to go home.”
He tried to hold me, but I got up from the bed.
“Lucy, I’m sorry. I—”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Christ! What a stupid fucking thing to say.” Blood ran down his arm. “I’m sorry. I know how bad you felt the last time.”
“No you don’t. You have no fucking clue what I went through. You’ve never asked me one single thing about it. Not then, not today.” I could feel my voice getting stronger. “You don’t want me, Griffin; you want to
win
. You just want to prove to yourself that I still want to fuck you.” I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. “Okay, fine, prove it. Make this the
coup
de
grace
. The fuck to end all fucks.”
“Please, baby, stop. I’m sorry.”
“No, I mean it.” I stepped out of my jeans, naked except for my panties. “Come on, let’s make this the fuck we’ll never forget. You want to do it here or go somewhere else? You want to get kinky? Find a roadhouse and screw me on the pool table in front of thirty other people? Great, let’s go. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Lucy, I—” The look in his eyes went beyond contrition, almost as if he were afraid of me.
“Then what? What’ll we do for an encore, Griffin? We have great sex, but so what. What’s the point? Carla’s right. This isn’t love, it’s an addiction.”
“Not for me.” He stood up and put his hands on my shoulders. “I know
exactly
where I belong.”
“For God’s sake, Griffin, try being honest for once. We’re not in love. What you and I have is like gambling. Like we’re in a casino running from one slot machine to the next, pulling those handles, hoping we’ll hit the jackpot. And the thing is we
do
. We win big! Lights flashing, bells clanging, silver dollars spilling onto the floor. But it’s never enough. We’re never satisfied.”
“Isn’t that what we want, baby? That hunger? The way we keep pushing each other, always looking for ways to make it new. That’s what keeps us fresh, Luce. I can’t find that with anyone else, and neither can you.”
It became a battle of wills. I couldn’t wear him down or hold on to my anger. I sat next to him on the bed and dabbed his bloody arm with the sheet. He began to kiss me and run his fingers through my damp hair. I told myself he wasn’t a bad man, only weak, and so was I. It was useless to resist. I needed to do this and get it over with so I could walk away and never look back.
I guess it was all those months apart that made our lovemaking seem so good. Maybe we were some inseparable cosmic pairing like earth and moon, or Eros and Psyche. Except I was pregnant with another man’s child. When it was over, I hid my nakedness with the sheet and hugged my knees to my chest.
Griffin lit a cigarette. “Come on, don’t get all moody on me.”
“Moody? This is real life, Griffin. I’m going to have a
baby
.” His face went slack, the conquest over and reality settling in. “You have to let me go,” I said. “I don’t know if things will work out with Matt. It could be a complete disaster, or maybe we’ll live happily ever after. I don’t know, but I have to
try
.” I touched his cheek. “Think about it, Griffin. You’re not going to settle down with me and someone else’s kid. You couldn’t even do it when it was your own. Please. Let me go. Stop reeling me back in.”
He took a drag on his cigarette. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“You want to go back now?” he said.
I nodded, afraid I might change my mind.
We got dressed and headed back down 95. One of my silver hair combs was missing. I couldn’t find it after I took my shower at the motel; it wasn’t in the car either. It probably had fallen from my hair when I was puking on the side of the road. I took the other comb from the pocket of my jeans and ran my fingertip over the lacy whorls.