Chapter Thirty
T
rident was making a move.
I got a call asking me to come into their offices for a meeting.
I carefully chose my most high-powered, media-babe skirt suit and took with me the sleek, black Levenger briefcase I reserved for truly important meetings.
Jack Nugent was there. Doug was there, of course, carefully avoiding eye contact. A woman named Rita Berrios, VP of sales was there, too, looking less than enthusiastic about the meeting. I’d met her briefly before, a forty-year-old who’d had her first child just the year before and who seemed to radiate resentment at having to be in a corporate setting rather than at home with her child.
Or so I imagined.
Jack began the meeting. “I’m sure you know why we asked you here today, Erin.”
A trick question if there ever was one! If I said yes, I’d sound like a cocky bastard. If I said no, I’d come across as disingenuous.
I smiled a quick smile and kept my mouth shut.
Jack went on.
Trident was making me an offer. They were making me an offer in Doug’s office, in the very room in which he and I had sex. They were making me a spectacular offer.
It was very exciting. I felt powerful and in possession of a powerful secret and powerfully full of myself.
The offer was incredible. It exceeded anything I’d imagined. It seemed excessive and for a moment I wondered if Doug hadn’t used his influence to get me more than I was worth. But a brief investigation of the salaries and overall financial packages of Trident’s top people confirmed that my offer was right in line with the company’s policies.
When the meeting was over, Doug left the room quickly. Jack walked me to the elevators.
“I can’t tell you how excited I am about this offer,” I told him. “It’s given me a lot to think about.”
“The job will be there, Erin. Don’t rush your decision.”
“Don’t you think I can do the job?” I asked, only half jokingly.
“I know you can do it,” Jack said promptly. “There’s no question in my mind as to your skills and competency.”
“Then ... ?”
“I’d like you to think about whether you really want to do the job.”
Now there was an interesting question. What had made Jack ask it?
Not for the first time I wondered if Jack knew about my relationship with Doug and if so, how much he knew. Was he worried about our behavior while working in the same office? He had to know I was a consummate professional and that I would never allow my private life to ...
I fought down a blush of shame. I liked and respected Jack Nugent. And he was well known as an honest businessman and a sincere family man. If he did know about me and Doug, his opinion of me must have fallen hugely.
Jack and the ring of the elevator interrupted my thoughts.
“Will you promise me you’ll think hard about accepting the position at Trident? Make sure in your heart it’s the right thing for you. Erin, your reputation with nonprofits is spectacular. So if joining with Trident isn’t the right thing—well, I won’t deny I’ll be disappointed. Our team could benefit from your experience and energy. But I’ll also respect your decision.”
I nodded and stepped into the empty elevator car.
“Okay, Jack,” I said, “it’s a deal. I’ll think about it.”
That evening I met JoAnne to discuss Trident’s offer. Among other things.
“Other things” took precedence.
“You know,” I blurted, “I feel like being with Doug is, I don’t know, somehow it’s preparing me for marriage. I mean, I’m getting a sense of something ...”
The look on JoAnne’s face told me that I should have kept my mouth shut.
“How is dating—and I use the word loosely—a married man preparation for marriage?”
“Not preparation, exactly,” I said. Too late to stop. “But . . . I can’t really explain it, but somehow it’s given me a—a glimpse, I guess—I can’t say this right. I guess it’s shown me how good marriage can be and reinforced my desire for a marriage of my own.”
To Doug, I added silently.
JoAnne sipped her martini. “Well, that makes no sense at all, but whatever. It’s your head, not mine.”
“Yeah, it is. And I’m stuck with it.”
“Oh, honey, we’re all stuck with ourselves.”
“I suppose a therapist would say we can all change, become someone new.”
JoAnne cleared her throat. Suddenly, she looked sheepish.
“What?” I said. “Oh, I get it. You’re seeing a therapist. Finally!”
“Jesus Christ, Erin, it’s not like I’m insane!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just meant that I’m glad you’re dealing with the pain and all.”
JoAnne shrugged. “It’s okay so far. We’ll see. I’m not making any promises. If it doesn’t work out ...”
“I get it, I get it,” I said.
“Anyway,” JoAnne said loftily, “I still say that telling people they can totally change is a lie perpetuated to keep the therapy profession flush. Change is possible but only within limits. The limits of character and personality and every little tiny thing that makes an individual who she is. For example, I will never decide to give up urban life and become a Sherpa. Maggie, on the other hand ...”
I laughed. “I think she’d look cute in that mountaineering gear.”
“Exactly. So, back to the important subject: What are you going to do about the Trident offer?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just—don’t know.”
“I didn’t know you were feeling antsy at EastWind.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I love my work.”
“So, what’s the lure? And if you say Dirk Spiral, I’ll smack you.”
I shrugged. “Money, I guess. Change. The opportunity to learn something new.”
“Blah, blah. That’s all fine if you’re bored where you are. But you’re not.”
“No. I’m not. I like my clients, even the pain-in-the butt ones. I mean, individual people can be annoying, don’t get me started on Roy Blount from the Coalition for Informed Media, but how can I say I don’t respect the work of the Conservation Law Foundation or the Symphony or, I don’t know, any of my clients?”
“You can’t. And you shouldn’t. So, have you talked to Dirk Spiral about your dilemma?”
“A bit. I suppose we’ll talk more, now that Trident actually made the offer.”
JoAnne patted my arm. “Well, honey just don’t lose your own opinion in the process, okay? I know how you are with this guy.”
“How am I?” I said, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Honey, if Dirk Spiral asked you to jump off a bridge, you’d do it. I see it in your eyes.”
“His name,” I said, hurt, “is Doug Spears.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Erin—celebrated my birthday with a two-day party! didn’t get your card and present—did I give you my new address? will be here for another week. Love, Mother
Another girls’ night out, though I really wasn’t in the mood to talk, having forgotten—consciously?—to send a birthday card or gift to my mother and now suffering big pangs of guilt.
But judging by JoAnne’s conversational opener, I was going to have to get into the mood.
“So,” she asked me, “have you and Doug taken pictures of yourselves in the nude?”
Abby’s mouth fell. “You mean, naked pictures?”
“The pictures aren’t naked, Abby,” JoAnne said calmly, “the subjects are naked. Don’t look so shocked. Everybody does it.”
“No, they don’t,” I said, kind of shocked. “I don’t. Haven’t. Yet. Doug hasn’t suggested it.”
“Of course he hasn’t,” Maggie snapped. “Why would he want to have a hand in producing blackmail material?”
“I would never blackmail him! That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Well, I know you wouldn’t, but does he? How much trust can there really be in an illicit relationship? The possibility always exists for you to rat him out to his wife. The possibility always exists for him to dump you cold and ‘go back’ to his wife. Like he ever had the balls to be honest with her and actually leave in the first place.”
A moment of brutal silence followed Maggie’s outburst.
I had to say something, didn’t I?
“God, I need a drink.”
Maggie’s smile was wobbly. “You have one. But I’ll buy you another.”
Peace was offered and received.
“How are things going with Doug, really?” JoAnne said after some rambling talk about job stress and health insurance.
“Well,” I said, “I do have a little problem. Doug’s birthday is next Sunday.”
“And the problem is ... ?”
“The problem is I can’t be with him on his birthday because it’s on the weekend. Weekend is family time. It’s sacrosanct. That means, no Erin. I can’t even call him. And I won’t be able to talk to him unless he can sneak a call to me. Which is unlikely, given the fact that his wife is throwing a big family party for him Saturday night, even though he’s told her time and again that he hates big family parties. Any parties, really.”
“How selfish of her,” Maggie murmured.
Abby shrugged. “Why can’t you and Doug celebrate on Friday? Like, at lunch or after work. Go have drinks somewhere.”
“We’re going to do that, but it’s not the same as being with someone on his actual birthday. I feel—deprived.”
“When you date a married man, you take what you can get,” JoAnne said. “You’ve no right to complain, Erin. You knew what you were getting into.”
“Did I? Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”
“What are you getting Doug for his birthday, anyway?” Abby asked.
“That’s another problem,” I said. “I can’t give him a normal gift—like a tie or a book or tickets to some event—because then he’d have to explain to his wife where it came from.”
“Can’t he just say he bought it for himself?”
“Maybe some men could but Doug never buys anything for himself. His wife would know something was up. And if he says the book or whatever was a gift from, say, Jack, at the office, then he runs the risk of his wife mentioning it to Jack ...”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave ...” Maggie.
“You could, you know, give him something—personal.”
“Abby,” JoAnne asked, “by ‘personal’ do you mean to say, ‘a sexual favor’ ?”
“Well, yes. I do think about sex, you know.”
I knew. I wished I didn’t.
JoAnne snorted. “Huh. What’s so special about a sexual favor? Their entire relationship is all about sex.”
“That’s not true!” I protested. But there was something to what JoAnne had said. What did Doug and I do with our time together? Kiss. Grope. Have sex. There wasn’t much else we could do together so sex had taken on a whole lot of meanings it wouldn’t necessarily have if we could be in an open—real—relationship.
“It’s just not fair,” I blurted. “How did I get into a position of constant secondary—tertiary, whatever—importance? When someone loves you you’re supposed to be number one. I’ve plopped myself right down in the number three spot, after wife and kids.”
“Doug put you there and keeps you there as much as you did and do,” Maggie said. “Keep that in mind.”
“No,” I protested. “No, he’s never promised anything and he’s never lied to me ...”
“Whoa!” JoAnne put her hand over her heart. “How can you possibly know he’s never lied to you when he’s lying to his wife! The woman he’s supposed to cherish in sickness and in health, till death do they part.”
“It’s ... it’s not like that with Doug. He doesn’t like cheating—having to cheat. He’d love to leave Carol ...”
“Oh, please,” JoAnne cried. “Let me guess: She doesn’t understand him.”
“Why is it that we don’t hold men to the same moral and ethical and behavioral standards as we hold other women?” Maggie said. “Does a penis give a man the right to be a shithead?”
Abby nodded wisely. “Lots of men think so.”
“But women shouldn’t.”
“You could always leave him, Erin,” Abby said gently.
Abby was right. I could. Boots were made for walking. I could wash that man right out of my hair. I will survive and he’s not welcome anymore, and all that.
But the odd truth was that I didn’t want to leave Doug. Ever. So what if things weren’t perfect? Were they ever perfect, with any relationship? As my grandfather used to say, I’d made my bed and now I was lying in it.
At least it’s a hell of your own choosing, Reason added.
“Anyone want another drink?” I asked.
In the end I bought Doug a CD for his birthday, after scoping his office more closely and discovering he had an old but working CD player behind his desk. Once Doug had mentioned that he enjoyed madrigals so I bought a collection of seventeenth century Italian madrigals, attached a goopy note—which I knew he would tear to pieces and throw away before we left the restaurant, secrecy and vigilance being all—and apologized for not being able to treat him to something finer.
Doug was distracted and checked his watch three times in the one hour we had to spend together Friday evening.
It annoyed me.
“Hot date later?” I quipped and then wanted to kill myself.
“Sorry,” he said but it didn’t sound sincere. “I’ve got a parent-teacher meeting tonight.”
“Why can’t Carol go?” I said. The annoyance was rapidly becoming anger.
“She’s sick,” Doug said shortly.
“Again?” I said.
Doug swallowed the last of his drink and stood. “I’ve got to run.”
I felt like crap.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I—I just hoped we could spend more time together for your birthday.”
Doug smiled. Suddenly, he looked very, very tired.
“That’s okay. I know it’s hard for you,” he said. “It’s hard for me, too.”
Doug gave my hand a quick squeeze, gathered his briefcase, and left.
“Happy Birthday,” I called out feebly.
He didn’t turn back. Maybe he hadn’t heard.
Gloomily, I ordered another drink and proceeded to torture myself. What had he meant by saying “it” was hard for him, too, I wondered. Did that bode ill for me, for us? Was I a terrible drain on Doug, was our relationship too much for him? Or was it Carol and the trappings of married life that were dragging him down? Panic took hold and I drank the next drink too quickly.
It was a long and lonely night.