Back In the Game (12 page)

Chapter 26

“I
've been into S & M for about ten years now. It's really changed my life. I'm so much more open to my emotions now, really in touch with my feelings.”

“I see,” I said, but I didn't see at all.

Dr. Neal Smith is smart, fit, and forty. He's a respected research scientist with a small private practice. When he stopped by my office earlier that week and asked if I'd like to have dinner with him, I was pleasantly surprised. I had no idea Neal was interested in me.

In spite of having told my friends there was no point in my dating, I agreed to have dinner with Neal. Maybe, I thought, something nice will happen for us. Not marriage, not love, not even sex, just something pleasant. At the very least, it would get me out of the house for a few hours. All I seemed to do at home was mope.

We met at Bistro Noir. We shared a bottle of Merlot. The duck was wonderful. Our conversation was easy and wide ranging.

Things were going well until he suggested we go back to his place. And until he told me about his fondness for bondage.

“I visit a dominatrix once a week,” he was saying now. “It's far better than therapy. I feel utterly refreshed when I come out of the Mistress's lair.”

“Oh.” Was Neal putting me on? Was this all some sort of sick joke? I took a long drink of water. It didn't help.

“I've got all the equipment we'll need: nipple clamps, restraints, whips, so you—”

I put up my hand. Joke or no joke, things had gone too far. “First of all,” I said, “I hardly know you. I don't go home with men after a bowl of pasta and an espresso.” If that wasn't strictly true, it was certainly true for that night.

Neal had the good grace to say, “Fair enough. Maybe after a few more dates we can—”

“And second . . .” I leaned a bit closer to him and spoke in a softer voice. “I'm sorry, but I'm not into anything kinky or alternative, especially not with someone I don't know. Or trust.”

Neal sat back and grimaced. “Yikes,” he said. “Okay. It's just that, well, I know you've been around some and I thought you might be open to sexual exploration.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean, I've been around some?”

“Well, you're divorced and I heard you had an affair and—”

Really, was everyone out to give me a heart attack?

“And you know nothing about my life at all,” I hissed. “How dare you make assumptions about me!”

Neal sat back as if afraid my hissing would turn to slapping. “Whoa, Jess, look, I'm really sorry. My bad. Can we just forget this whole night ever happened?”

“Gladly.” I tossed my napkin on the table and reached for my purse.

“And, well, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anyone at the university about my preferences. You never know who's going to freak out on you.”

Like me, Jess Marlowe, gal about town.

“Your secret,” I said acidly, “is safe with me.”

Later that night I lay in bed, not sleeping, staring into the dark, thinking.

Why, I wondered, did people feel they had the right to humiliate me? Or was I the one doing the humiliating, giving people the power to make me feel like dirt?

And it had all started, this strange phase of my life, when I destroyed my marriage.

What had I done by cheating on Matt, by setting us up for a fall? I'd never considered all the possible consequences, all the ramifications. How could I have? Who has that vivid and wide ranging an imagination?

Here I was judging Laura for what I considered a rash decision to throw away her marriage, but hadn't I done much the same?

At least Laura had left Duncan for a real, solid reason. Laura wanted something concrete that Duncan wouldn't or couldn't give her; now, she was in search of that something herself.

What had I wanted, specifically, that Matt wouldn't or couldn't give me? What was I in search of, what was my goal, what the hell was I doing with my life?

I turned out the light. I thought about the papers I needed to finish grading before noon and about the meeting I had to attend and about a colleague's book I had promised to review.

Work.

The only constant in my life, I realized, was work, and it would continue to be. No more romantic entanglements, I prayed to whoever would listen, at least for the rest of the decade.

Especially not with men who carried their own nipple clamps.

Chapter 27

“W
e'll have a bottle of champagne, the Veuve Cliequot.” The waiter moved off noiselessly and Trina flashed me a dazzling smile. “After all, darling Nell, we are celebrating.”

Trina Donohue—she'd kept her maiden name—was somewhere in her midforties and already on husband number four. Rumor had it she was having an affair with a tax attorney in New York and getting ready to divorce the “old coot,” as her current husband, Miles Collins, was popularly known. Miles wasn't a particularly nice man; still, I wasn't sure he deserved a punishing divorce.

And if Trina's history was any indication, the divorce would indeed be punishing.

Trina had called me earlier that week and suggested we meet for lunch. I was surprised and not entirely happy that she'd called. Trina and I had nothing in common besides a uterus. Assuming Trina still had one.

The waiter returned with the champagne and poured us each a glass. Trina raised hers in a toast.

“Darling,” she said, “welcome to the club.”

I raised my glass as well. “What club?” I knew the answer, of course, but I wanted to hear Trina say it.

Trina touched her glass to mine. “The divorcée club, darling! In spite of what people think, we're not at all dreary and bitter. We're a devil-may-care group, darling. We're seizing the day!”

I didn't feel like seizing a piece of bread from the plate in front of me, let alone an entire day.

“I don't want to be part of this club,” I said.

Trina smiled brightly. “But you are, darling Nell, you are. You might as well make the best of it. You might as well learn to enjoy your new position. And by the way, darling Nell, frowning does great damage to the firmness of your skin.”

“You're married,” I said, ignoring her beauty advice. “You're not part of this—club—anymore.”

“Once a member, always a member,” Trina said, rolling a ring around her finger with her thumb. There were enough diamonds on the ring to satisfy a hundred greedy brides. “Besides, darling Nell, I won't be married much longer.”

“Does Miles know what's coming?” I asked.

“Darling, he doesn't have a clue. He's senile, you know. Has been for the last year.”

“Is it Alzheimer's?”

Trina laughed. There were virtually no lines around her eyes. Her face had been plumped. Her hair shone; her teeth gleamed. “Oh, no, nothing official. He's just become even more of an idiot than he was when I married him.”

“Why would you marry an idiot?” I blurted.

“Darling Nell, sometimes idiots are very, very rich.”

Well, of course. What other answer could there be?

“Family money?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. The estate has very good management. I made sure to investigate thoroughly before I signed on for the job.”

“The job?” I asked.

Trina looked at me slyly. “Darling Nell, you were married for over twenty years. You can't tell me that marriage isn't a job.”

I thought for a moment. Finally, I said, “Marriage is hard work sometimes, most times. But it's more of a vocation than a job. It's something you want to do. A job is something you have to do.”

“And my job,” Trina said, “is to marry wealthy men and relieve them of the money they don't really need.”

I might have thought Trina was joking if I hadn't known her marital history. It was ample proof she was speaking her version of the plain truth.

“I've never met a woman with such a cavalier attitude toward men and marriage,” I said.

Trina nodded, as if I'd given her a great compliment. “I've perfected my art.”

Now her job had become an art form?

“So,” I asked, “you don't believe in love at all?”

“Of course not, darling.” Trina looked almost shocked that I'd bothered to ask such a ridiculous question. “Love is fine for some people, people who have no ambition, for example, but not for me.”

“I married for love,” I said.

“And look where it got you.”

Single and forty-two. Doubting my sexual appeal. Feeling victimized. Maybe romantic love didn't necessarily make for a good marriage. But then, what did?

“My parents had a happy marriage,” I said. At least, I thought they had. But what did I really know about what went on behind their closed doors?

Trina cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of champagne. I noted again her couture, her Hermes bag, her diamonds. I thought of the clothes and bags I'd bought with money Richard had earned. I pictured my own small but expensive collection of jewelry. Was it possible Trina and I had more in common than I'd first thought?

“I don't know if I like you very much,” I blurted.

Trina smiled. “I'll admit I'm an acquired taste.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“Really, Nell, it's quite all right.”

“On the other hand,” I said, “I find myself compelled to sit here and listen to what you have to say.”

“I often inspire conflicting feelings of attraction and repulsion.”

Like a boa constrictor, magnificent and deadly.

“You say you don't believe in love. But have you ever experienced it?” I asked. “Have you ever loved a man? Has a man ever really loved you? I wonder if you'd recognize love if it was offered.”

Trina put down her glass. “Darling Nell,” she said. “When I was sixteen I fell in love with a charming, fascinating man. He was married, of course. I believed every word that came from his smiling lips. And every single word turned out to be false, of course. It was then I decided that if love caused such unpleasant feelings, I wanted no part of it.”

Trina picked up her glass and drained the last of the champagne.

“One adolescent heartbreak and you gave up on love?” I asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Nevertheless,” Trina said, “it's the truth. Now, let's be decadent. Let's order dessert.”

Maybe it was the champagne at noon, maybe it was the fabulously rich tart, but by the end of lunch with Trina Donohue, I felt as if a new woman was about to emerge from the old Nell Keats. And I wondered who that woman would be.

I thought about Trina all the way home.

She drove me crazy. She fascinated me. I couldn't wait to see her again.

Chapter 28

“W
ould you like more water?”

I looked up at the waiter. He was about twenty and annoyed.

Well, I wasn't going to order a drink before my date got there! He was supposed to pay for drinks and dinner; I wasn't taking any chances on getting stuck with a bill.

As it turns out, I made a smart decision.

“No, thank you,” I said stiffly. “My date has been unavoidably delayed. I believe I will wait for him outside.”

The waiter smirked and slipped off.

One hour.

I squinted at my watch to be sure. Yes, no mistaking a sixty-minute revolution of a watch hand. Match #2 wasn't late. He had stood me up.

As soon as I got back to my apartment, I placed a call to Happy Couples. My hand shook with anger.

A recorded voice blared in my ear. The number was no longer in service. There was no forwarding number. I contacted the Better Business Bureau. A bored-sounding woman informed me that they had already received fifty-two complaints about Happy Couples and that they were investigating the whereabouts of its owners.

“Isn't there something you can do? Like, now?” I cried.

“Like what? Refund your money. Sorry, but that's not our responsibility.”

I hung up the phone.

Five hundred dollars down the drain and for what? For a big fat dose of humiliation.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. I don't really understand that expression. I mean, why is there straw on the camel's back? But I know when to use it, and that night I realized that I'd had enough of single life. I'd had enough of the misery that is dating.

Nell would smirk and be all smug about it when she found out. She would say, I told you so, but I didn't care; I could handle my sister's nastiness.

I called Duncan.

 

Okay, so I abandoned my pride. What choice did I have?

It was clear, painfully clear that I'd made a huge mistake in filing for a divorce before giving Duncan and myself some time to think things through.

But it wasn't too late to fix everything. The divorce wasn't final.

It just couldn't be too late.

I suggested we meet at a Dunkin' Donuts by Downtown Crossing. It was Duncan's favorite fast-food place. He was crazy about their bagels. I thought that if our meeting went well, I'd buy him a dozen bagels to take home. Maybe he'd invite me over to share them.

I got to the store a few minutes before ten, bought a cup of coffee, poured in lots of milk, and sat at a corner table, facing the door. I was a bundle of nerves, just a mess, but I refused to let Duncan see that I was desperate. I guess I hadn't abandoned my pride entirely.

At ten on the nose the glass door opened and in walked Duncan. He looked relaxed, like he always looked. He looked unconcerned.

I stood and gave a little wave, though he'd already seen me. I wondered if he would kiss me hello. I wondered if he would give me a hug. I'd never expected a handshake. It was really awkward, me leaning in for an embrace and Duncan thrusting his hand toward me as if to ward off my more intimate touch.

I took his hand but I couldn't look him in the eye.

“I'll be right back,” he said.

I sat down while Duncan strode to the counter. A few minutes later he came back with a coffee and a muffin.

“I thought you liked the bagels,” I blurted.

Duncan shrugged. “I'm kind of over them. Now I'm into the muffins.”

“Oh,” I said. It didn't feel like a good sign, Duncan's changing his mind about something he used to like so much.

“So,” Duncan asked, “why did you want to see me? My lawyer says everything's going fine, the divorce is in process, no bumps in the road.”

“You called your lawyer about meeting me?” I asked in surprise.

“Sure. You and me, we're on opposites sides of the fence here, Laura. We're not just two people, we're a legal issue now. I needed my lawyer to know I was seeing you.”

“But you just said everything was going smoothly,” I said. “Isn't it? Have you changed your mind about something?”

Yes, Laura, I have changed my mind. I don't want the divorce, I want you back and I want a family.

Yes, Laura, I have changed my mind. I want to play hardball. I want your doll collection in return for the crap you made of my life.

Duncan shook his head. “If I'd changed my mind about anything, my lawyer would have contacted your lawyer already.”

“Oh,” I said. “Of course.” I unfolded the paper napkin. I refolded it. “So, how are you? You look great.”

Duncan grinned. “I am great. I mean, considering I'm in the middle of a divorce that took me totally by surprise. I met someone, Laura. She's fabulous.”

You know that old expression, “you could have knocked me over with a feather”? That's what I felt like, totally shocked, like if someone blew on me, I would crumble into dust.

Not once had it occurred to me that Duncan might be dating. I don't know why.

“Oh,” I said. “That's—wonderful.”

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? I mean, only a few months ago I felt like my life was over. I was really screwed up, you know? And then I met Anne. It was like—magic. Love at first sight and all that. It was the first time that ever happened to me, you know, just—bam!”

The first time? I wondered what Duncan had felt when he'd first met me. Maybe he'd told me once. If so, I'd forgotten. Not love at first sight, though. That was for Anne.

“So,” I said, trying but failing to sound okay, “you think it's a good thing I asked for a divorce?”

Duncan took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Maybe. In the end. Who knows? Sometimes life has to really suck before it gets radically better than it ever was.”

All I knew at that moment was that my life felt radically worse than it ever had.

Duncan took a big bite of his muffin and chewed enthusiastically. I used to find Duncan's enjoyment of food sweet. What, I wondered, did Anne think of his eating habits?

Duncan wiped the crumbs from his lips. “So,” he said, “don't you want to know anything about her?”

No. Of course not. I don't feel even a shred of morbid curiosity.

“Okay,” I said.

“Well, she's a bit younger, twenty-six to be exact. And she's divorced; who isn't these days, right? And she's got a three-year-old girl named Edie. God, Edie is adorable. I swear she's the cutest little girl I've ever seen. She totally takes after her mom.”

“That's nice.”

Why, I wondered, is he doing this to me?

“Anne's ex is an idiot,” Duncan went on. “He sends a check every month but wants nothing to do with either of them. Anne's got full custody and the father even waived visitation rights, which is fine by me. I don't want Edie spending time with that jerk.”

Since when had Duncan become so paternal?

“So,” I asked, unnecessarily, “things are serious between you two?”

“Oh, yeah,” Duncan said with enthusiasm. “Like I said, I've never felt this way before. Things are just different with Anne. I can't explain how or why. They just are.”

Different. Different means better; everyone knows that.

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah.” Duncan leaned forward and fixed me with his eyes. I'm not sure I'd ever seen him look so serious. “Laura,” he said, “when you left me because I didn't want kids, well, it really got me thinking about the whole thing. Now, with Anne, I feel really ready, really excited about being a dad. We hope to have a baby of our own before long. Right after we get married. I don't know, maybe I just needed some time to process my own feelings, you know?”

My entire body began to buzz. I thought I might faint. “So,” I finally said, “if I had waited a few more months before serving you divorce papers, maybe you would have changed your mind? Is that what you're saying?”

Duncan seemed to ponder. Since when had he become a great thinker?

“No,” he finally said, “not really. Something tells me I probably wouldn't ever have wanted kids with you.”

I pushed my coffee cup toward the middle of the table. The thought of food or drink was nauseating.

“I'm sorry,” Duncan said, “I don't mean to be harsh. Look, maybe it's just hindsight talking; maybe it's just my way of getting over the pain you put me through. Jesus, Laura, you turned my life upside down, both of our lives. You had no faith in us as a couple. You threw away someone who loved you for someone who didn't even exist.”

Someone who loved me. Past tense.

Different means better.

Duncan laughed. “Anyway, look at me, I've been doing all the talking. So, what did you want to see me about?”

I wanted to ask you to take me back.

“Oh, it's . . .” I smiled shakily and waved my hand. “Nothing, just . . . nothing.”

Duncan had known me too long to believe I was telling the truth.

“Hey, Laura, are you okay? I hope I didn't sound cruel or anything—”

“No, no, it's fine. I'm fine. Really.”

Duncan looked at me again, closely, but asked no more questions. “Okay, then,” he said, and his voice was somehow softer. “I should go. Anne and Edie are meeting me just outside. I promised I'd take them to the aquarium.”

I nodded. No more words. Duncan stood and hesitated for a moment. I kept my eyes on the Formica table. And then he left.

I didn't want to look. I shouldn't have looked. But I did, and what I saw made me so sad I thought I would die right there in Dunkin' Donuts.

Duncan stepped out into the late morning sun. He put his arm around a small, plumpish woman and squeezed. She beamed up at him. The toddler she held in her arms reached for Duncan and he took the little girl. He kissed the little girl on the nose.

And then I watched my life walk away.

 

“You look like hell.”

I don't remember how I got to Nell's apartment. I don't even remember her opening the door. But she did, and when I didn't say anything in response, she took my arm and led me inside.

“Sit,” she said, and I did sit on the big comfortable couch.

Nell went away for a minute and came back with a glass of water. I shook my head. Nell put the water aside, crouched on the floor, and placed her hands on my knees.

“What happened?” she asked. “Laura, talk to me.”

I wanted to say something, I did, but I couldn't because suddenly I was sobbing these big, painful sobs. Nell sat next to me then and held me against her while I cried and cried all over her nice blouse. I'm sure I ruined it but she didn't say anything about it afterward.

“It will be all right,” Nell said in that soothing voice I remembered her using when the children were little. “Everything will be all right.”

I shook my head and managed to croak, “No, it won't!” before another bout of sobbing overtook me.

Finally, finally, the crying stopped, suddenly, like all the tears were just drained from my body. Nell went away again and brought me a box of tissues, most of which I used blowing my nose and mopping my face. She handed me two ibuprofen tablets and the abandoned glass of water and I choked the tablets down.

“You're going to have a whopper of a headache,” she said. “When you were a little girl, you always got headaches when you cried this way.”

I attempted a smile, but I bet it was a pretty lame one.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Nell asked again.

I looked at my sister and took a shaky breath. Somehow the words got out. “I saw Duncan,” I said.

Nell's expression remained neutral. “And it didn't go well.”

“It was horrible. I wanted to . . . I wanted to ask him if he, you know, if he wanted to get back together.”

I had to stop there and sob some more. Nell waited patiently; at least she didn't rush me. When the sobs went away again, I told her the rest, how I had never gotten to ask Duncan about getting back together because first he told me all about how happy he was with that woman and how he was going to get married and have babies with her.

When I was done, Nell looked almost sick. “Oh, Laura,” she said, “I'm so sorry. And here I was, urging you to talk to him . . .”

“Don't feel bad,” I said. “If I'd taken your advice weeks ago, I might have had a chance with Duncan. I guess . . . I guess I just waited too long.”

Nell and I sat quietly for a while, side by side on the couch. Finally, Nell sighed. “Laura,” she said, “I have a meeting at three but I'll cancel and stay here with you if you want.”

I shook my head. “That's okay. Go. But can I just stay here for a while? Can I lie down here and not move? I don't think I can move just yet.”

“Of course.” Nell got up slowly and helped me to lie down. She brought a blanket from the linen closet and tucked it around me, nice and tight.

“Try to sleep,” she whispered. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

I did sleep.

And I dreamed that the truck that killed my parents was crashing into me.