Dream Lover (19 page)
“What’s up?” she said. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Can you talk now?” Pam asked. “I mean are you alone at home or at work?”
“I’m home. What’s going on? You sound stressed.” Marie filled her wineglass and took it into the living room.
“I am stressed. I went into your room to put away toilet paper and found a rubber filled with semen.” Pam had to put her glass down and cover the phone because she started laughing and didn’t want Marie to think she wasn’t serious. Maybe it was a mistake to do this while she was drinking.
Marie gasped. “Oh Jesus! Pam! I’m so sorry! How gross! That was awful of us. Please, please forgive me. Jeez, I feel horrible!” Marie went on and on.
It completely defused Pam’s anger. She just laughed. “You don’t know how lucky you are that you being contrite, young lady. I have been stomping around my house cussing you out all day! I even did eight miles on the treadmill, I was so pissed off.” Pam took a drag of her cigarette.
“Are you smoking?” Marie asked. “Look, I am sorry. I have to tell you that the entire week has sucked. First of all, the woman from the health department came to my apartment and made me feel guilty because I have been sleeping with Steve for a week and never told him I have AIDS. So I told him and you can imagine that he was really angry; threatened to kill me, did about two grand worth of damage to my car, was going to tell everyone in the office. Yes, he works with me. So anyway, I made a death run to you and he found out where I was and while you were out, he and I made up and ended up in bed. So that’s the whole story. I thought you were in the city for the day. He had his test today and it’s negative, thank God. Do you forgive me?” Marie waited for Pam to answer. Suddenly, she heard snoring noises. “Pam!” But Pam was just kidding. Marie wondered what had come over her sister. Smoking? Teasing?
“How am I ever going to look that guy in the eye?” Pam said. “I mean, are you serious about him? He’s older than I am! First, I see his naked rear end up in the air and then I find that thing in the bed. I mean, give me a break will you?” They started laughing again. They said good-bye to each other, promising to be in touch later in the week to make plans for the weekend.
Pam decided that in the scheme of things, what Marie had done wasn’t so bad after all. It was just something that happened when people were stressed out, and they qualified for being stressed. She was glad she hadn’t called her sister when she first found the condom; she would have said unforgiveable things. And then who would she have? Who would be her friend? The wine must have gone right to her head, because the still small Voice said,
That’s a friend? Someone who betrays you for years and years? You better reevaluate what a friend is.
Pam ignored the Voice. If she divorced herself from Marie, the problems it would create would be never-ending.
She would have to make excuses to her mother. Marie would most likely tell Nelda the reason Pam wasn’t speaking to her and then all hell would break loose. Marie was Pam’s only friend now that she and Sandra were growing apart. It looked like maybe Andy would be history. If her relationship with him survived the AIDS disclosure, she would need to tell the truth about her marriage.
It could wait, couldn’t it?
He now knew she had AIDS; he could fill in the blanks.
She got up and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her hair again. She reeked of smoke and wine. Being presentable had been part of who she was since childhood. When she’d had her gallbladder removed six or seven years ago and refused to take out her bridgework, the head of the anesthesia department had agreed to put her to sleep. He would take responsibility for her dental work and then give it right back to her to put in before she saw her husband. Jack never saw her without at least lipstick on. Her hair was neat when she went to bed and she rarely stayed in bed after he did. She’d be up with full war paint on first thing in the morning. What good did it do? He needed that perfection around him, but it did no good at all. It was superficial.
When Brent and Lisa were born, she did the same thing, looking fabulous while she was in labor, giving him a break and not expecting him to come into the delivery room with her. Instead, she had stayed out in the waiting room with him, chatting and walking the halls until it was time to push, and then she’d kissed him and gone back into the labor room. She didn’t know that he bragged about that to the other fathers he knew, the men whose wives insisted that their husbands see them at their worst, with bad breath, shitting on the delivery table.
That family birthing room scene wasn’t for Pam. She liked her privacy. At home, she locked the door to the bathroom unless she and Jack made arrangements to bathe together. Her friends made fun of her in high school; it went back that far, because she never, ever was seen without her makeup on and every hair in place. “You’re beautiful, and you’re nice,” her friends would tell her. “No wonder you got that freakin’ hunk, Jack Smith!”
Yes, she was so lucky. She had been the dateless queen of the prom; how did that happen? She never dated. She was asked, but always made excuses, and now she realized why. She was afraid. Men were choplicking lechers. The only man who didn’t scare her to death was the perfect Jack Smith. It was as though he was made for her. He gave her plenty of space and was there when she needed him. She wanted children, and as soon as he finished his master’s degree, he made it his duty to impregnate her. They were the perfect couple. And Jack had ended up being the biggest of the lechers.
She put her head down and started sobbing. The combination of the wine and the anticipation of telling sister off had exhausted her. All of her defenses were down. She was totally exposed. But it wouldn’t last long. She put her makeup on and did her hair and prepared for an evening alone.
“Y
ou’re really a pig, you know that?” Marie said to Steve Marks as she hung up the phone after talking to Pam. They were sitting on her couch, looking at the view, and drinking wine. He wasn’t thrilled with her drinking, but didn’t want to start hounding her about it. The relief of his being HIV-negative was palpable. He would have to go back in six weeks for another test, but the caseworker had said that he probably was safe.
“What did I do now?” he asked, confused.
“You left your rubber full of spunk in my bed at my sister’s house and Miss Perfect found it. I thought she was going to explode, she was so angry.”
Steve turned bright red.
“I have seen her hear the worst news a woman can hear and nothing made her as mad as your condom did.” Marie started laughing hysterically. “Yes, I’d keep my distance if I were you.”
“Oh no, that’s horrible! I feel awful. That’s disgusting! I’ll never be able to face her now.”
“She saw your bare ass while you were fucking me; I think she’ll get over a little sperm.” Marie was already sick of talking about it. Pam could be such a prude. After what her husband had done, leaving a rubber behind in a bed shouldn’t seem like such a big deal.
“What do you want for dinner?” Steve stood and up and stretched. He had discovered during that first week together that he would be responsible for food preparation. In spite of her food issues, Marie always knew what she wanted or didn’t want.
“Not that pasta crap again. Anything else,” she replied.
He walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. His feelings were hurt. He’d made her his famous pasta carbonara.
“How about grilled cheese again? Look, if you want me to cook, do you think you could get something in here besides Spaghetti-Os and American cheese? Meet me half way, will you?” Steve decided they were going out; he couldn’t stand the thought of another grilled-cheese sandwich.
“There’s nowhere to shop here.”
He went back into the living room and held out his hand. “Come on, we are getting out of here. I hate this place; you hate it. Why the hell are we staying here? Pack a bag.”
She took his hand and let him pull her to a standing position.
“Where’s your suitcase?” he asked. He’d help her pack; the routine was slowly developing in which Marie was allowing Steve to take over; she thought,
almost as completely as Jack had.
Only Steve didn’t have Jack’s money.
And Steve didn’t really want the control. This apartment was creepy, with just the single, giant window wall that looked out onto sky only unless you looked down; and the small, airless bedroom. He thought of his second floor walkup with the quaint molding and fireplace, the cool neighborhood and convenient shopping. He might be sixty-plus years old, but he wasn’t ready to die in this dead place.
“How much should I pack?” Marie asked. “What day is it?”
“Pack as much as you can; I don’t want to have to come back here for a couple of days.” He was thinking about the weekend; what would they do? He was broke. That left out most activities in Manhattan. Because of his faux pas, they probably wouldn’t be invited to the beach anytime soon. He’d resort to finding free things to do, as a college student had to.
“I’ll bring beach stuff. I can’t remember what I left there. Should we take the rental car?” Marie seemed unable to make a decision about anything. “If I leave it here, we’ll have to come back to get it tomorrow to go to the beach. If we take it, I won’t have anywhere to park.” She sat on the bed, scratching her head.
“If we need the car, we’ll come get it, okay? You don’t have to worry about that now.” He suspected that her car, the one in the repair shop, thanks to him, was a gift from the previous boyfriend. A car theft may be welcome, if they ever got it back. They would take the car.
Marie went into the bathroom to get her toiletry bag while Steve zipped her suitcase closed and they prepared to leave. “Good-bye, apartment. See you later,” he said to the air.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Marie said. The oppression was palpable. He wondered if she would gradually feel better after being away from such a grim place.
“I need to get rid of this apartment,” Marie whined.
“When we get home, I’ll pick something up from the Grill Bar down the street. It’s getting too late to make a big deal about cooking tonight. Is that okay with you?” Another issue was her weight; she would probably be thrilled to skip dinner. But not on his watch.
What are you doing?
he thought.
An anorexic, twenty years younger than you are, with a ton of baggage.
They got to Steve’s apartment and found parking right in front; Marie could keep an eye on the damn car all night if she wanted. After they got settled, Marie with a stack of menus in her hand, Steve sorted through his mail. The credit card bills were two inches thick. He slipped them into his desk drawer. She didn’t need to know all of his garbage this soon, did she? In time, they would learn things about each other that would make them question the wisdom of their relationship, but for now, he would just leave it alone.
Alyssa
M
y mind is made up. I’m going to Babylon to confront Jack’s wife. The contract doesn’t say that for Eric’s lifetime I can’t approach anyone who knows Jack. For sure, I am reading between the lines. Sandra is next. I’ll see her later. She almost caught us together that time; would she remember that encounter? Jack certainly wouldn’t want her to know that he was screwing a college student in his office, now would he?
The thing that has pushed me to make the trip, to jeopardize the money is this: While he was fucking me he whispered to me, “You are my dream lover, do you know that? I have been waiting for you. I’ll do anything for you.” If he said that to me once, he said it fifty, one hundred times. He told me he liked little girls. Those exact words. “I like young girls. I like you little girls,” he said. He was feeling my breasts—well, where my breast should be because I am completely flat-chested—and I said something like, “I’m so flat there,” and he just moaned while he was feeling me up. “I like little girls.” Of course, in a court of law, an attorney would argue that what Jack meant was “small of stature.” That’s total bullshit. He liked young girls. He went down on me and came just by looking at me; I’m also hairless, like a child. So guess what? I decided that I am going to use that information about the famous Jack Smith. There are so many tabloids that would love a story like that.
But that’s not all. Another friend, a bartender friend in the Village, saved a paper for me, one of those obscure rags that publishes the poetry of local jerks and runs ads for sex-therapy clinics that people hold in their own apartments. There was an ad looking for people who knew Jack! I might be dumb when it comes to stuff like choosing men, but I read in between the lines, as did my bartender friend. It was an ad looking for Jack’s bed partners. I have seen enough of them to know it means: He is on the health department’s most-wanted list for spreading AIDS around town. He was a real sicko.
Well, forget everything I said. It was all hot air. I went to Babylon to confront the wife. And guess what? She was so lovely that I backed right down. I could hardly be cruel to someone who acknowledged me, who validated me. I took the damn train and it was horrible with Eric; I thought he would love it and he ended up hating every second of it. Trying to keep him in his seat was a nightmare; the other passengers were furious with me, but there was nothing I could do. He wouldn’t stay put.