Come Pour the Wine (41 page)

“Why stay married if you’re so miserable?”

“Because … I’ve got responsibilities, can’t walk out on my kids. I owe ’em … didn’t ask to be born … She plays good mother as long as they don’t interfere with her pleasures, but she can’t really cope with the teen-age boys … I got to be around … boys need a man … a father.” And the tears came rolling down his cheeks.

Janet was shaken, her heart went out to him. The world was one shock after another … everybody thinking everybody else was so happy, no one knowing what went on behind the doors of other people’s lives. She had always thought Sandra and Guy were so somehow suited to each other. That was the impression Sandra gave. “Guy’s the dearest, sweetest …”

A facade. What haunted her at this moment was the difference between Guy Rogers and Bill McNeil. Guy lived with a woman for the sake of his children. Bill asked, “Do you sacrifice your own life to perpetuate the happiness of someone else? Is that fair? …”
You’re damn right you do, when you have a family.

Guy Rogers put his head on Janet’s shoulder. “God, Janet, I’m so low …”

She knew what that feeling was. It had become her closest companion.

Out of pity she held his hand gently, even patted it. What he was going through was something she could identify with.

His speech slurred, his breathing labored. “You’re the loveliest thing, Janet, so damn kind, good … if only I had someone like you.” Suddenly he was taking her in his arms. “I need you, Janet … I need someone like you … let me love you, Janet … love you …”

She felt his fingers sliding down the zipper of her dress, his hand reaching inside, holding her breast, fondling the nipple.

The room began to swim as his other hand found its way between her legs, separating them. It happened so swiftly—quickly she stood, wrenched herself away from him. “You’re drunk, Guy, so I’m going to forget this, but …”

He held her close again, this time tightly. “I want you, Janet, need you. Please be kind … let me make—”

She tried pushing him away, but his hold on her was too strong. She began to panic, groped for the heavy crystal ashtray on the table and hit him on the head. Staggering, he looked dazedly at her.

Running from the room, she went to the bathroom and threw up. For a while she sat on the edge of the tub, trying to compose herself, and when the worst of her trembling had passed she left the house, got into the car and drove home. But when she found the safety of her bed she began to cry …

That was the end of parties. Pete Gerard, Richard Connors, Guy Rogers … No more. She’d had
enough …

The next day she called Kit, told her what had happened and what her decision was.

“Janet, don’t say that about not going out. He was drunk, you have to learn how to handle it.”

“Handle what? I don’t make a play for anyone. I want to be left alone. The truth is, Kit, I’m just not cut out to be the gay divorcée. That’s all right for some women but not for me. No more parties. I can’t take it and I’m not going to. In fact, I just wrote a note to Mr. Allan Blum. He can go to hell too. Who needs it?”

T
HANK GOD SHE HAD
the shop … that was all she wanted, it was enough … at least that’s what she told herself. It was her haven, actually her home. And Renée was a godsend … her sense of humor was especially therapeutic … Janet even found she was still capable of laughing, mostly at the stories Renée told about her Jewish mother.

Somehow she’d manage to get through the next months. Another four weeks and the children would be home….

At five-thirty she slipped a silk jacket over her shoulders, said goodnight to Renee and was ready to leave … when the door opened and in walked Mr. Allan Blum.

She stood as though transfixed. He’d received her letter, so what was he doing here?

The look on her face told him too clearly what she was thinking. Well, he wasn’t going to let that put him off. “How are you, Janet?”

“Fine, thank you. How did you find out about my shop?”

“I called your house and your housekeeper told me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m glad to see you, Janet. I came to ask if you’d have dinner with me.”

“I’m sorry, I have other plans—”

“Janet, you’d never win an Academy Award for acting.”

“Why should I have to act? You’re right. I have no plans, I’m going home.”

He smiled. It was a warm smile, not at all condescending. “I wish you’d reconsider. I’m only going to be here for a few hours. It’s just for dinner, Janet.”

Her high dudgeon began to subside. You’ve turned into a bitch, Janet … a real pluperfect one … He’s a nice man. And so, knowing she’d been unkind, she answered, “All right, but it will have to be an early evening.”

“I’ll settle for that. In fact, I’m taking the 10:40 plane back to Chicago tonight.”

Janet relaxed.

Somehow Allan Blum was the first man she’d felt at ease with since Bill. True, those days on the cruise had been laced with stilted moments; she had weighed each word so carefully. Allan’s openness, though, made her feel at ease … with him nothing seemed threatening. Looking across the table at him as she took a sip of her drink, she decided he really was quite handsome. Strange, they’d spent two weeks on a ship together and in her bemused state she honestly hadn’t been all that aware. But tonight she was, and not only of his looks …

“How have things been going for you, Janet?”

“Well,” she said, “some things have worked out, others not.”

“Like to talk about it?”

She felt she was speaking to an old friend as she said, “Bill’s seeing a psychiatrist.”

“That, if you’ll forgive me, sounds like a step in the right direction.”

“You’re a lawyer, Allan, I’m sure you have clients who get help for their problems … do your … well, do you know of marriages sometimes saved by outside help?”

“Sure … sometimes. But not, I’m afraid, too often. When a marriage is over, well, it tends to be over. Of course there are exceptions, I just wouldn’t bank on them. Sorry to sound like a lawyer but—”

She sighed. “Obviously that’s not the answer I’d have liked … my divorce will be final next March.” She swallowed hard. “Well, on to happier things … I had to do something with my life so I opened that crazy little shop. It really saved my sanity, and I find I love it.”

“I’m glad, Janet … and what about the things that haven’t worked?”

“Well, I discovered it’s not easy becoming a divorcée—in more ways than one.”

“You mean about men, obviously.”

“Yes.”

“I hear that complaint all the time. There’s a big difference being a divorced woman and a widow. A divorcée is fair game for every frustrated husband. But somehow a widow takes on an aura of virginity. Even now men still feel a widow is saintly, they have a certain respect—”

“I’m glad to hear that … I mean about divorced women. I was beginning to think it was just me.”

“You’d be surprised how many women deliberately go out and look to have affairs … they’ll sleep with anybody to prove they’re still desirable. Others reject men totally. Divorce, no question, is a destructive thing.”

“Do men go through that?”

“Sure, they go through the same symptoms, especially if the wife walks away.”

“Did you?”

“No … not quite. I mean I didn’t feel the urge to bed down every available lady. I went through all the usual emotions, anger, jealousy … you name it. But when it simmered down, I began to realize that it wouldn’t have been any good if Joyce had stayed. That might have been even more destructive. It’s important to have a sense of your own worth and I wasn’t going to let anyone wipe me out.”

“I was completely wiped out. I felt worthless, hated myself … in a way still do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, because, of course, you shouldn’t feel that about yourself … quite the opposite. Just give it time, Janet … How is the divorce going? Sometimes people do everything they can to annihilate each other. Any special problems?”

“No … actually Bill’s been very decent. He’s setting up trust funds for the children and … God, I just realized this must be like being back in your office, listening to a tale of woe—”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t interested.”

“Thank you, it’s been … well, very nice to be able to let down to someone … I mean, parents and friends are well-meaning but overprotective … let’s change the subject, all right?”

Allan glanced at his wristwatch. “My God, the time has gone by so quickly … I have to catch that damn plane. I hope next time we can make it a longer evening.”

She smiled. “That would be nice … and Allan, forgive me for being so rude to you earlier today … it was just that I was so surprised, shocked, actually, when I saw you—”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve had a rough go of it. Like I said before, divorce has turned more than one woman against the male species. But bitterness is so destructive … please don’t let that happen to you, Janet. Men aren’t all out of the same mold …”

“Thank God for that. It could really destroy one’s faith in the race … You might just have made me a believer again.”

“That’s about the nicest thing you’ve said to me thus far,” he said. “Look, I don’t want to sound pushy, but if you’re not busy Saturday night, I’ll be back in New York and I have tickets for the ballet. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful.”

Driving home, she marveled about how good, how
un
threatening it felt to be with Allan. With him there were no games, no innuendoes, no double-meanings. He was strong enough to be open, and Lord knew, just speaking to him had really helped her … Yes, Allan Blum was indeed a very considerable man.

Saturday night, as she dressed, Janet realized that for the first time in ages she looked forward to a night out on the town. Allan made her feel human again … he had the capacity to help restore her destroyed image, for herself … Applying the finishing touches on her make-up, she looked at herself in the mirror, and briefly recalled the first date she’d had with Bill … all those long years ago. Good God, what a baby she’d been. She shook her head, remembering how she’d debated whether to look sophisticated, or demure. Silly little Janet, trying so damned hard to make the
right
impression …

At six on the dot Allan picked her up at the shop. He told her she looked radiant, and she smiled appropriately, almost feeling as good as he said she looked.

Later, in the darkened theater watching the first act of “Giselle,” she felt Allan’s hand on hers, and although she pretended not to notice—
he
had no pretense, she was a woman and therefore entitled to be less than perfect—the feel of his strong hand greatly pleased her. It wasn’t until the end of the act that he released it. She didn’t complain.

During intermission they had champagne. Clicking her glass with his … “I hope this is the beginning of more of the same, Janet.”

“I do too, Allan.” And though the exchange was prosaic, the feeling when she spoke was distinctly not.

When the performance was over they browsed about Lincoln Center. Again, like the words they’d spoken, it was familiar, but the sharing of it with Allan was a lovely, relaxed moment …

“You feel up to Rumpelmayer’s?” he asked.

“That sounds deliciously wicked. You’re on, sir.”

As they sat among the after-theater crowd, Allan said, “You know what would make me very happy?”

“No,” she said, breaking off a piece of pound cake, acting more indifferent than she felt. Much more …

“I wish we could spend tomorrow together, here in New York …”

And once again her mind darted back to the past … a lonely Sunday afternoon that had led her to Orchard Street and Fayge … Sundays in Westchester, just as lonely now. “I think that would be very nice, Allan. In fact, I have an overnight case packed.”

“Really?”

Ignoring the inference, she went on, “When the weather’s bad I stay in the city. Driving back to Westchester can be dangerous to health and welfare. My bag’s at the shop and I could pick it up. Incidentally, where are you staying?”

“At the Plaza.”

“Okay. In that event I’m sure they’ll put me up overnight at the Pierre.”

“A deal.”

Allan—unlike Bill—enthusiastically showed her a special Oriental collection at the Metropolitan Museum. Later they took a cab to the Frick Museum, then on to the Morgan Library, and last of all they sat quietly discussing wonderfully unimportant small things in the poolroom of The Four Seasons. Finally, unbidden and unwanted, the day came to an end, and Janet drove Allan to Kennedy Airport, where she waited for his plane to be airborne, then drove back to Westchester, full of the sensation of his brief kiss good-by. She had to smile … a good-by kiss and she was reacting, in her fourth decade, like a teen-ager. Good Lord … didn’t anything
ever
change … ? Well, she wasn’t complaining. Not now …

He called every few days “just to say hello … I’m thinking about…” Each call left her with a good feeling. And more and more lately, his business brought him to New York. Each time she saw him she felt even better about him … about them … ? It wasn’t love, she instructed herself, but whatever it was, it felt awfully good….

A
T THE END OF
August, Nicole and Mark returned from Europe, and Jason was home from summer school.

Janet let Renee run the shop with the help of a girl friend. For the first time since Bill had left she fussed over dinner, making a production out of it. Tonight Kit’s family and hers would all be together.

Flushed with excitement, she sat at her table watching the people she loved so much. Allan had been right. Time
was
a friend … it was healing. Bill’s absence was no longer an acutely felt thing … the heavy weight of it had been lifted. Life, contrary to her expectations, very much did go on….

After the Weisses went home, Nicole lay at the foot of Janet’s bed, showing her all the pictures they’d taken in Europe. She poured out her love for Mark.

“How important it is when two people share an experience like you’ve had. Still, I’m a little selfish. You’ll never know what it means having you home, darling.”