The Ghost (32 page)

Charlie, for God's sake ' please '

No, you please! He sat up sharply in bed, ready to fight back. You had an affair with him. You never told me how unhappy you were. You just walked right out there and hired someone else for the job without even telling me I'd been fired. You never even gave me a chance to fix it, and now you're all wrapped up in this romantic bullshit that he's heaping on you because he's oh so suave and debonair, and you're telling me that you're getting married. And just how long is that going to last? You're kidding yourself, Carole. You're thirty-nine years old. He's sixty-one. I give it a year, two at most.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, and the gracious good wishes, she said, sounding really angry. I knew you couldn't handle it. Simon thought I should call you, he said it was the proper thing to do. And I said you'd act like a complete jerk. Looks like I was right. She was being a bitch now, and she knew it, but she hated the way he sounded, hated knowing he was still so hurt. What if he never recovered and it was all her fault forever? But even thinking that didn't make her want to go back to him. All she wanted was to marry Simon.

Why didn't you just have Simon call? he asked meanly. It would have been so much simpler. None of this messy stuff, just a lot of crap about being a good sport, hail-fellow-well-met, God save the Queen, and all that ' He was crying again, she could hear it, and then there was an endless silence. He sniffed, and he sounded terrible when he spoke again. I can't believe you're getting married in June. The ink on the divorce won't even be dry yet.

I'm sorry, Charlie, she said softly. I can't help it. This is what I want. He was quiet again, thinking about her, remembering how much he had loved her, wishing she had given him a chance. But she hadn't. And it was Simon's turn now. She had thrown away everything she'd ever had with Charlie. He still couldn't believe it.

I'm sorry, baby, he said, and the gentleness of his words tore her heart out. They were far more effective than his anger, but she didn't say that to him. I guess the only thing left for me is to say good luck.

Thanks. She sat at her desk, silently crying. She wanted to tell him she still loved him, but she knew that wouldn't be fair. But in a way, she knew she always would. It was all so confusing, and so painful, but at least, by calling him, she felt she'd done the right thing. I'd better go now. It was after nine-thirty, and she had to meet Simon in half an hour at the club.

Take care, Charlie said hoarsely, and a moment later they both hung up. He was sitting up in bed and lay his head back against the headboard arid closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what she'd said. And for a crazy minute he'd thought she was calling to tell him it was over with Simon. How stupid could he have been? But now he couldn't believe the pain she had inflicted on him.

He got up and wiped his eyes and stared out the window. It was a sunny afternoon, and suddenly even Sarah's journals didn't seem as important. All he wanted was to get out of the house and scream. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he got out of bed and pulled his clothes on. He brushed his hair, and put on a heavy sweater with his jeans. He put on warm socks and boots, and a jacket, locked the house and got into his car. He didn't even know where he was going, he just knew that for a while at least, he had to get out. Maybe she was right, maybe there was something wrong with him just taking time off for a while. But things had been such a mess in New York, he hadn't felt he had any options.

He drove aimlessly toward town and saw in the rearview mirror that he looked ragged. He hadn't shaved since the day before and his eyes suddenly looked sunken in his head. It was as though she had hit him with a brick. But he knew he had to get over it at some point. He couldn't go on crying over her for the rest of his life, or could he? And if this was the way he felt now, what would it be like in June when they got married?

He drove by the historical society as he asked himself a thousand questions, and then without knowing why he did it, he stopped. Francesca was the wrong person to talk to. In her own way, she was even more wounded than he was. But he had to talk to someone. He couldn't just sit there reading the journals anymore, and somehow he didn't think that, in this instance, talking to Gladys Palmer would help him. He thought of just going to a bar and having a drink. He needed to hear noise and see people, he needed to do something to blunt the pain of what he'd just heard from Carole.

He was still sitting in the car, wondering if he should go in, when he saw her. She had just locked the door, and was halfway down the steps, and then as though she sensed someone watching her, Francesca turned and saw him. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was coincidence or intentional, and then she turned and began to walk away. And without thinking about why he did it, he got out of the car and ran after her, and all he could think of as he did was Sarah and Francois. At some point Fran+oois had had to have the courage to be there. He had come back, even after he'd frightened her, in order to give her the green beads and the bear claws. Charlie hadn't even frightened Francesca, he reminded himself. But all she'd ever done since he'd met her was run away from him. She was perennially frightened, of life, of men, of people.

Wait! he shouted as he came up two steps behind her, and she turned then, with a worried look in her eyes. What did he want from her? Why was he running after her? She had nothing to give him, she knew only too well. She had nothing to give anyone anymore, and certainly not Charlie. I'm sorry, he said, looking suddenly embarrassed, and she noticed instantly that he looked awful.

You can bring the books back tomorrow, she said, as though he would have come tearing down the block for two books he'd forgotten to return. Not likely.

Screw the books, he said bluntly. I need to talk to you ' I need to talk to someone ' He flung his arms around in despair, as though he were thrashing, and she could see suddenly that he was close to crying.

Is something wrong? Did something happen? In spite of herself, she felt sorry for him. It was easy to see that he was in a lot of pain. He sat down on the steps leading to a darkened house, and she looked down at him the way she would have at her little girl. What is it? she asked gently this time, sitting on the step next to him. Tell me what happened. She sat very close to him, and he stared into space, wishing he had the courage to take her hand while he told her.

I shouldn't bother you with this ' I just had to talk to someone. I just got a call from my ex-wife ' I know ' I'm crazy ' she's been seeing this guy for over a year, seventeen months actually. She had an affair with him, he's the senior partner of her law firm, and he's sixty-one and been married three times ' so she left me for him, ten months ago to be exact. Last fall we filed for divorce, and it's a long story but I got transferred to New York, and it didn't work out so I took a leave of absence ' and now she calls me ' she called and I thought she was going to tell me that she came to her senses. He laughed an empty little laugh and Francesca watched him. She could already guess what was coming.

Instead, she called to tell you she's getting married, she said sadly, and he looked startled.

She called you too? He grinned at her sadly, and they both laughed.

She didn't have to. I got that call too, quite a while ago, she said with a look of sorrow.

From your husband?

She nodded. His was a little more exotic. He had an affair publicized on national French TV at the Olympics. He's a sportscaster, and he got involved with a young girl, the French ski champion. They became everybody's darlings. No matter that he was married, and had a child. That was completely unimportant. Everyone fell in love with Pierre and Marie-Lise, she's the cutest little thing you've ever seen. She was eighteen, he was thirty-three. They posed for pictures, were on the cover of Paris-Match. They even gave interviews together, and he told me it wasn't important. It was good publicity for the ski team. Anything for God and country. I got a little upset about it though, when she got pregnant. They made a big fuss about that on TV too. People kept sending baby clothes they made for her, only they kept sending them to me. He kept telling me he loved me, and of course he's crazy about Monique ' and he's a good father ' so I stayed '

And cried all the time, he filled in for her.

Who told you? She looked surprised for a minute, and he smiled gently at her.

Monique. But she didn't say anything else. He didn't want to get the little girl in trouble, and Francesca smiled wisely and shrugged.

Anyway, I stayed, and she got bigger and bigger. More interviews, more cover stories, more coverage on TV, national sportscaster and gold medal Olympic ski teenager. It was perfect. More Headlines. News Flash: she's having twins. More little booties arrive at the house. Monique thought I was having a baby, try explaining that to a five-year-old kid. Anyway, Pierre kept telling me I was being neurotic and old-fashioned. According to him, I'm a constipated American and it was all very French and I refused to understand it. Trouble was, it was d+!j+ vu for me, my father is Italian, and did almost the same thing to my mother when I was six. It wasn't much fun then either, but to tell the truth, this was worse. She made it sound almost funny, but it didn't take much to figure out that it had been a nightmare. Having your husband cheat on you in front of TV cameras had to be even worse than what Carole had done to him. Even Charlie thought so. Anyway, the babies were finally born. And of course they were adorable, naturally, a boy and a girl. Jean-Pierre and Marie-Louise, two little darling replicas of them. I took it for about two weeks after diat, and then I got the hell out of Dodge. I packed up Monique, and told him to let me know if he had any more children, but in the meantime, he could find me in New York, at my mother's.Once I got there, I thought about it for a while, and my mother drove me crazy, screaming about him. It was like her own divorce revisited for her. After a while, I didn't want to hear it. I filed for divorce. The French press said I was a very poor sport. I guess they were right. The divorce was final a year ago, just before last Christmas. I got the same call you did just last Christmas Eve. They wanted to share the good news with me. They had just gotten married in Courchevel on the slopes, with the babies on their backs, and they just knew I'd want to share their joy with them. Monique tells me she's pregnant again, she wants to have another one before she starts training for the next Olympics. It's all too cute. But what I keep wondering is why he bothered with me? He could have just waited around for her, and skipped over the whole episode that included me. It never really played all that well for TV anyway. As the French press said, I was very American, and pretty boring.

She still sounded angry and bitter, and listening to what she'd said, it didn't sound like a mystery to him. She was obviously deeply hurt by the loss and the humiliation, and her father having done the same tiling when she was a kid couldn't have helped much. He wondered what that meant now for Monique. Was she now a third-generation loser, guaranteed to fail at marriage? It was hard to know how these things affected people. His parents had been happily married, so had Carole's. It had still happened to them. Did that mean everyone failed at marriage? Or just some? What did it all mean?

How long were you married? he asked her.

Six years, she said, leaning gently against him. She wasn't even aware of doing it, but it had felt good to tell him her story. Listening to his, she didn't feel quite as alone now, and neither did Charlie. What about you? she asked with interest. They suddenly had a lot in common. They'd been dumped by experts.

We were married for nine years, nearly ten. Tower of observation that I am, I thought we were blissfully happy. I never even noticed there was a problem till she was already practically living with someone else. I don't know how I missed that. She said we were too busy, traveled too much, didn't pay enough attention to each other. Sometimes I think now we should have had kids.

Why didn't you?

I don't know. I guess she's right, he confessed, it was easier admitting it to Francesca than Carole. Maybe we were too busy. It just didn't seem like something we needed to do, and now I'm sorry, especially when I meet a kid like yours. I've got nothing to show for nine years of marriage.

Francesca smiled at him, and he liked what he saw there. He was glad he had stopped her on the street. He had needed to talk to someone and maybe better her than someone else. At least she understood him, and what had happened.

Pierre said it happened to us because I was too wrapped up in Monique. I stopped working when I had her. I was modeling in Paris when we met, and when we got married, I gave up modeling, studied art and history at the Sorbonne, and got my master's. But when I had her, I just fell in love with being a mother. I wanted to be with her all the time. I wanted to take care of her myself, I thought that was what he wanted. I don't know, Charlie ' maybe you can't win sometimes. Maybe some marriages are doomed from the beginning. She thought so.

That's what I've been thinking lately. Charlie nodded in agreement. I thought we had this great marriage, and now it turns out I was crazy, and you thought you were married to the French edition of Prince Charming. How would you say that, Prince Charmant'? She nodded and grinned. And it turns out we were both crazy. Now Carole is going to be married to some old fart who collects women, and your ex-husband is married to a twelve-year-old with twins ' go figure ' how are you ever supposed to know when you've got it right? Maybe you can't know. Maybe you have to take your chances and work it out as you go along. Ill tell you one thing, next time, if there ever is one, I'm going to listen like crazy. I'm going to ask questions all the time ' how are you? ' how am I? ' how are we? ' are you happy? ' is this good? ' are you cheating on me yet? She laughed at him, but he wasn't entirely kidding, he had learned something from what had happened, but Francesca looked sad as she shook her head.