The Last Chance (11 page)

He had found the way to get to her again. He had been unerring about her from the moment they met today. He had read her sexuality and her need, and he had fulfilled them, and now he read the secret of her insecurity and had chosen not to help her, and so she felt as if he had conquered her. He’s a horrible person, Ellen thought. He’s going to hurt me, break my heart. I don’t want any part of him. She wanted to cry. He had no right to take control. The control had to be hers, because she had the most to lose, the husband, the family, while he had nothing but Margot, whom he obviously didn’t care much about anyway. He was utterly free, he could take her or leave her.

He put her coat on her, buttoned it up as if she were a child, and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “We must stop meeting like this in delicatessens,” he said in a foreign accent that she took to be Transylvanian. “People will find out.”

Despite herself, Ellen smiled. She hugged him. He felt fragile in her arms, like a young boy, but strong. Did he mean he wanted to see her again or not?

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

He did not drop the accent. “I will send you a message,” he said.

“I don’t want anybody to suffer,” Ellen said. “I have to think about this.”

“Of course.”

She went down to the street and found a cab. This afternoon had been a mistake. She would have to keep away from him. One of the people who could easily suffer the consequences would be herself.

May 1975

The winter was really over. Since New York has had no real spring for many years, people were planning for the summer. Cars were rented for forays into Connecticut and the Hamptons to look at houses to rent. Children were told how much they would enjoy camp. Teen-agers worried about the shortage of summer jobs. Apartment buildings with air conditioning sent handymen around for the annual changing of the filter. The poor had no such problems; they only hoped this year would not be as hot as last, that prices would stop rising, that no one would steal the Social Security check again this month, that the landlord might fix the broken window, the leaking ceiling, the broken toilet. The middle class worried about prices and crime too. The rich discussed these problems, but they did not worry, except those who depended on the stock market for their income. They worried a great deal.

The Lawrence Fowlers were rich enough to be able to ride out any temporary economic fluctuation. They had owned their own home in East Hampton for many years. They kept year-round servants there, to prevent robberies in winter and to be available in summer. In past springs Rachel’s main concerns had been shopping for her summer wardrobe and getting Lawrence to set the date of their annual May trip to London, Zurich, and Paris, so that she could arrange their New York social calendar accordingly. This spring was different. She had decided to go back to college in the fall.

She wrote to her high school back home for her academic records, sent for brochures from Barnard, NYU, and Columbia, and decided to apply to all three. She’d had good marks in high school, but no one in her family had thought it necessary that she consider going to college. She had already done some local modeling, she was the model type, and they had very little money, so they agreed with her that she try New York, try to be a cover girl, maybe land a rich husband. Although she was an only child, her parents were not protective. They felt her looks were a godsend; she could become rich and successful with those looks. The only stipulation her parents made when Rachel left for New York at the age of eighteen was that she stay at the Barbizon Hotel for Women. She did—for two weeks.

Then she began making her own money and moved into an apartment with three other girls. Shortly afterward she moved in with the son of a rich man. He said he would marry her. He didn’t marry her, but he taught her how to read menus in French and Italian restaurants, how to play tennis, and he paid for her abortion. After he lost interest in her she moved in with a young man who had made his own money, who said he would marry her. She was now using birth control. She got pregnant anyway, which was very strange, but the young man she was living with paid for her abortion and managed to have it done in a good hospital instead of the sleazy place she’d gone to the first time. When she got out of the hospital the next day Rachel discovered that her fiance had closed his apartment and left town for an indefinite period. She couldn’t get any of his friends to tell her where he had gone. By then she decided she had learned more in three years without college than most girls learned in a whole lifetime, and she began to devote herself wholeheartedly to the development of whatever it took to find a rich man to marry her.

Whatever it took, Rachel did everything wrong. She enchanted phonies who passed bad checks, gamblers, men with divorces that were not final, liars, and several genuinely rich young men, one of whom wanted her to spank him with her hairbrush and another who wanted to try on her clothes. When she met Lawrence Fowler she was twenty-four, had her own apartment, was recovering from her third abortion, and hated men.

He was twenty years older, which was not ancient, but she found herself thinking of him as a father image. He didn’t want anything from her. He was very nice to her, but he didn’t try to keep her or change her. He mentioned that he was getting divorced, but she didn’t pay any attention because she’d heard that one before. After she had been going with him for a year he told her he was going to marry her. She was sick and tired of hearing that one. She insisted on telling him all about her past. He was not shocked, but he was very angry at all those men who had undervalued her. He told her to forget the past. He said he just wanted her to be with him, and he would make it up to her.

It was after she was safely married to Lawrence Fowler that Rachel allowed herself to fall wholeheartedly in love with him. She stopped being afraid of things. He said he didn’t want children, since he already had one son, Kerry, and he wanted to be able to travel with Rachel, to have her all to himself, he didn’t want to start all over again with babies. She discovered she couldn’t have any more anyway, so that was fine. She decided everything that had ever happened to her had been for the best.

It was only during this past year that Rachel had discovered her happiness was not enough. It was satisfaction but not joy. She had been lying dormant. She knew you could never go back and do everything all over again, but you could make up for things you hadn’t done. She didn’t know exactly what she expected to get out of college, but she knew it would make her feel less different, less inadequate. The fact that being a thirty-five-year-old freshman would make her very different didn’t matter.

On one of her gym mornings she got up earlier than usual so she could catch Lawrence before he left for his office. He looked up from the breakfast table and his newspapers in amazement at the sleepy figure trailing into the dining room in a misbuttoned robe.

“Well, what is that?” he asked, amused.

“It’s me.” She sat down across from him.

“I’ll get you some tea.”

“No, coffee’s okay,” Rachel said. She let him pour her a cup of it. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

“I want to go to college.”

“All right. But we’re going to Europe, and then we go to East Hampton every weekend. Summer school might be too much.”

“I mean real college. I want to start in the fall.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re leaving me?”

“No, I’ll go in New York of course. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“You don’t think I’m too old?” she asked.

“Not at all. Nobody’s too old for education.”

“Will you pay for it?”

“I don’t expect
you
to,” he said with a smile.

“You really don’t mind? I’ll be busy doing homework, there’ll be things I can’t attend to around the house …”

Lawrence shrugged. “If I need a social secretary I’ll hire a social secretary. I thought you enjoyed doing those things. If you’d rather go to college, that’s fine.”

Rachel took his hand in both of hers. “You’re really good, do you know that? You didn’t even ask me what I want to be when I grow up.”

He laughed. “What do you want to major in?”

“I want to take history, government, and banking.”

“Banking!”

“I want to know what you do,” Rachel said seriously.

“Why do you want to know what I do? It’s boring.”

“You don’t think it’s boring.”

“Okay. If you want, I’ll help you. We can have talks.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Rachel said. “I’d really love that.”

“Which college are you going to?”

“The one that takes me.”

“I hope they all take you,” he said. “If you want any help in applying, ask me. I have a few friends.”

“I’ve already applied.”

He looked annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you.”

“I want to get in on my own.”

“You’re so stubborn,” he said.

“Why do you sound so angry?”

“Because I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“You think I won’t get in.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re afraid of it,” Rachel said. “You think I’m too dumb. I know it. I want to show you I’m not too dumb.”

He patted her hand. “It’ll be all right.” But he still looked disturbed. Rachel had the disquieting feeling that Lawrence was going to investigate all this, maybe pull a few strings. She didn’t want to tell him she suspected, because then he’d get angry and not help her at all. She didn’t know what she wanted. She had grown so used to having him make everything easy for her. She wanted so badly to get into college that she hoped he
would
help her—now that he’d mentioned it and made her insecure again. Oh, if she could only do one thing on her own! But even if he helped her get in, she would still have to do her own work. If she was too lazy or too stupid they would throw her out. She hated the way she felt, so easily manipulated, so easily made insecure. All Lawrence wanted was the best for her, not to have her get hurt any more. She ought to be grateful. Why, then, did she feel so disappointed that he had taken her hand and walked into her dream?

“Why do you look so sad?” he asked. He smiled and kissed her. “Be happy. You’re going to go to college.”

On a hot day Rachel went to Bloomingdale’s to buy a typewriter. She had been too poor to own one in high school, and afterward there had been no need. Now that she was going to go to college she would teach herself to type. That would be her summer project. It occurred to her that perhaps she should have gone to an office-supply place, but Bloomie’s was one of the stores where she had a charge account. She walked right into the middle of the lunch-hour crowd.

She had never seen so many people milling around. Some were there to buy, some to look, others just to get out of the heat into the air conditioning. This was her morning; it was their noon. She was aware that her daily rhythm was different from most other people’s, and so was her life-style, but being buffeted around by all this humanity made her more aware than ever. At least nobody else seemed to want to buy a typewriter today. She bought a portable, had it sent, and went down on the escalator.

It was strange about crowds: usually they didn’t bother her, but today somehow she felt touched and prodded, as if someone was personally brushing against her, the light flick of a damp hand on her hip. She didn’t like it. She turned around twice to see who it was, but there was no one she could pick out as a possible public feeler. It was probably just her mood. Still, her mood was getting worse, and she escaped into the street. The crowds there were thicker. These people were all so anonymous, each concerned with getting somewhere, but Rachel kept feeling that personal force directed against herself. She actually felt eyes on her, someone watching only her, but when she looked from side to side, there were only the self-absorbed strangers. She got into a taxi and went downtown to NYU.

The university area looked nice in the springtime. All the trees in the park were trying their best to flourish. Rachel went into one of the buildings and walked around, imagining herself a student here. It was quite empty. The students were either in classes or outside in the sun. This was certainly a big place. She could disappear here when it was filled with students, and nobody would think she was too old. She read the hall bulletin boards with amusement, trying to understand the world of these young kids, a generation removed from hers. A lot of them seemed to have their own apartments. There were handwritten cards advertising Village sublets wanted and available, furniture for sale, even kittens. Flute lessons. French books for sale. Roommate wanted. It was too bad she couldn’t live her eighteenth year all over again knowing what she did now. She would have handled everything differently, all the way through, until she met Lawrence. Of course there had to be Lawrence in this second chance. She couldn’t imagine being happy without him. But would he have wanted her if she were different? Would she have found him such a savior, or would she have been contentedly living with a group of her contemporaries, not vulnerable, not in pain, not bitter? Had he been drawn to her need and her dependence as much as to her looks?

She heard a sound and saw a door open a little and then close again, but not all the way. It seemed to be some sort of utility closet. There was no one in the hall but herself. Rachel walked to the water cooler at the end of the hall and leaned over to drink, watching the partly opened door. It moved again, just a bit. Maybe some student, stealing something. This was a college. Colleges were safe, not like the street, not like the real world. It couldn’t be someone watching her. Why would anyone want to watch her here? Still, she had that eerie feeling she’d had in the crowd in Bloomingdale’s, and she walked away from the corridor and down the stairs to the street. She felt safer in the sunlight.

She had to get herself under control. This was probably just some psychological reaction to the nervousness of starting a new life. Instead of facing it she was imagining invisible enemies. That had to be all it was. So okay, she was scared about getting into college, scared about keeping up, getting good marks, passing exams. That was natural. If she would face it, she would stop imagining bogeymen in closets and eyes in crowds. She walked to Washington Square Park, through it, and then took a cab uptown. College faded from her mind as she concentrated on what she and Lawrence were going to do that evening with the grown-ups.