Dream Lover (29 page)
S
andra didn’t want Tom to pull the cruiser around to pick her up at the door. They would walk out together. He had one arm around her shoulder and with the other, held an umbrella over them.
“Can we go to my apartment to pick up some things? I still want to go to Brooklyn, if you are okay with it.” She looked down at the ground as they walked.
“Yes, I want that,” Tom said. Sandra couldn’t bear the thought of having to be in the apartment. She made a split-second, spur-of-the-moment decision.
“Can I move in with you?” she asked, trying in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice.
He turned to look at her. “Yes, I want that,” he repeated. They laughed. That she could laugh despite the way she felt gave her reason to add one more item to her pro list for Tom Adams; he made her happy.
Steve Marks tiptoed into his bedroom with a cup of coffee for Marie. She opened her eyes as he brought it around to her side of the bed.
“Good morning, sleepy head. How about some coffee?” He sat down on the edge of the bed. Marie rolled over from her stomach to her side and looked up at him.
“How’d I make it this far in life without you? Can you tell me?” She struggled to sit up, the sheets wrapped around her body. She took the coffee from him and took a sip. “Oh, this is good. Coffee brought to me. I smell bacon cooking. A great-looking guy in bed with me. It doesn’t get better than this.” She looked at him as she drank the coffee and saw the smile.
“You did okay without me. I hope you like it better with me, though,” he said.
“Yeah, well there is a lot you don’t know. I didn’t do okay without you; I can tell you that right off the bat.” She looked around the room, at its simple, clean decorating. “Did you fix up this apartment yourself?” she asked.
“Yes, why? Too froufrou for you?”
“No, not at all. It has personality. My place, as you have seen, has none. My sister’s is ‘decorated,’ but devoid of any personality. My mother’s is even worse. When we cleaned out her house, we didn’t save one stick of furniture. There was no art, no mementos. Nelda wasn’t a saver, that’s for sure. Pam let her bring her old bedroom furniture so she’d know where she was, but the rest of it was worn-out junk that was junk when it was new.”
“Your apartment just looks like you weren’t planning on staying long. How long have you been there, anyway?” Steve asked.
“I moved into the building almost twenty years ago but I’ve been in that apartment for eight. It still feels like I’m not staying long. Oops!” Marie said, laughing. “Guess I blew that one!”
“Do you want to talk about it? About him?” Steve asked gently.
“Not really. No. In the first place, I don’t know you well enough. We’ve already made some big mistakes. For one thing, if this backfires—if we don’t make it—how are we going to deal with each other at work? I’ve been there since college so it’s not me who’s going anywhere,” Marie exclaimed. She knew she was making excuses, changing the subject. How could she tell Steve about Jack? No one would understand and she didn’t feel like being put in the position of defending him. It was bad enough that Steve knew someone had given her AIDS without revealing the family connection.
“How’d you know about him?” she asked. “I’ve never mentioned his name at work and that is the only place you know me from, correct?”
“The story in the office is that your brother-in-law bought your apartment for you. I guess I made an assumption. If I was wrong, I’m sorry,” Steve said contritely. Marie sat up in bed, wrapping the sheet tightly around her chest.
“But how’d you know about him and…he and I?” she asked. “No one knew, no one ever even suspected it, as far as I know; not even my sister and we were together right under her nose.”
Steve got up from the edge of the bed and went to his desk, opening a small, hidden drawer and taking out a pack of cigarettes.
“Want one?” he asked, knowing that he shouldn’t be enabling bad behavior. She nodded and reached out for a cigarette. The act of lighting up and trying not to faint with the first drag took another a few minutes while she processed what Steve had just said to her. He figured it out. How many others had and never said anything?
“I mean, come on, Marie, it’s not rocket science. He bought your apartment, your car, and got you this job, and you don’t seem to have dated at all. Did you really think you could work somewhere for twenty years and not have your co-workers make observations?” Steve laughed. “You’re smarter than that. You didn’t
want
anyone to find out, so you just pretended that what was happening was in secret.” He sat back down on the bed, hoping he wasn’t making her angry.
“What all of this boils down to for me, right this very second, is that I don’t want you to know all of the garbage in my life yet. It’s not fair. What’s the point of us being together now?” Marie said, distraught. “I can’t make a good impression on you because you know that I slept with my sister’s husband. You know all there is to know about me. Not only do I have AIDS, but I am an adulterer of the worst kind. I betrayed my own sister. I was hoping you could find out something good about me before I had to unveil all the seamy crap.”
To her surprise, Steve laughed.
“You are as fresh as the driven snow compared to me. No worries, okay? I am not going to unveil my skeletons yet because some of them are still waiting for
me
to discover them. I don’t want you involved, if possible. I wasn’t going to say this yet, but the truth is, I love you, Marie. I love you like a man loves a woman he wants to marry, who he’d like to be there in his bed when he wakes up each morning. It’s a little early to talk love, I know. But I am getting older by the second and have nothing to lose but you.” Steve smiled his disarming smile at her and managed to pull off looking sincere.
“Are you drunk?” Marie asked.
“Jeez! I pour my heart out to you and you accuse me of being drunk? You are a bitch,” he said, swatting her on the thigh. “Get up and get some clothes on; breakfast is ready.”
Marie snickered. They had narrowly missed what could have been maudlin and therefore regretful.
“Get out then, will you please? I’d like to get dressed without an audience. If this is the amount of privacy I will get here, I’m going back to my own apartment,” Marie said.
Steve got up off the bed and left to set the table. He held his breath until the door was closed after him, choking down a sigh of relief. He had wanted her to know how he felt, that he would risk his heart for her. He was mildly angry with himself for allowing it to happen. He wasn’t in a position to take care of anyone else, barely being able to do it for himself. Afraid he was being carried along on a wave and had no control over what was happening to him, Steve decided to just let destiny guide him. It had already proved to be better than what he had been able to achieve by himself.
Ashton
T
his week was not to be believed. If it could go wrong, it did. I am lonely, miserable, tired. Finally, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am too old to have a serious relationship, but my testosterone level is too low to have a fling. The interest just isn’t there. Am I the only man in New York who doesn’t take sexual performance-enhancing drugs? Ugh! If I’m not in the mood, I’m not in the mood, for God’s sake, and a hardon isn’t going to make it happen for me.
I miss Jack so much. The void his absence has made is impossible to fill. I don’t care how busy I am at work, or how many parties I go to or have here, I just am unable to shake off the emptiness. My mother reminded me yesterday that he has only been gone for five months. The pain is still intense. Does that ever lessen?
I’d made the decision to contact his wife, Pam. Melissa told me that Pam knew some of the players; she should know about me. Not just for the truth of it, but because I need her. I need someone who knew all about Jack, who can commiserate with me about missing that certain flare he had. I end up comparing every date I’ve had with Jack. No one ever measures up! It’s not fair that I do it, but it’s inevitable.
I wondered if she did the same thing. So I called her. Thinking that just going to her door out of the blue would be unkind, I picked up the phone. She answered on the second ring, a soft “Hello.”
“Mrs. Smith,” I said, “You probably don’t remember me, although we danced together at your wedding. I’m Ashton Hageman. Jack and I were childhood friends.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “I attended the funeral, but didn’t get to talk to you that day.” The truth was that she wouldn’t even make eye contact, let alone acknowledge me. I wonder if she knew all along. I waited, the silence uncomfortable, but if she wanted to drag it out, I could drag it out, too.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Hageman?”
Oh Lord, she was playing my game! I’m telling you, I am a male Pam.
“Nothing. I am just calling because I miss Jack and thought that maybe you and I could share some stories. That’s all. I know you know about him. There is nothing to hide anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. But I was willing to risk it to connect.” I barely got the word out before my voice broke. I don’t think she noticed. She didn’t say anything more and at the count of ten, I was going to say good-bye and hang up. Then she spoke.
“Yes, another surprise. Jack had a childhood friend whom I don’t remember. How is that possible? Were you in touch throughout his life or did you lose contact?” Her voice was neutral. I didn’t know Pam, had never spoken with her because Jack forbade it, but I do remember him saying she was as cool as a cucumber and you could never tell her mood by talking to her over the phone. He said that in person, Pam was just as unsettling; she would have her poker face on so he never knew if she was on to him or not.
“No, we didn’t lose contact. Right about now, I wish we had. Maybe it would be easier then, having lost him.” I wanted her to fish; I willed her to ask me the big question. Were we lovers?
“I doubt it. I doubt it would be easier. If Jack was in your life, you are going to suffer one way or the other,” she replied. Was there the tiniest note of bitterness? I couldn’t tell. “Oh, what the hell,” she finally said. “Do you want to meet me? Why are you calling now? Why not five months ago?”
My heart was thumping in my chest. “I wanted the dust to settle. I heard you met Sandra and I didn’t want to interfere. She didn’t know about me, but I knew about her.” I waited for her response, holding my breath. She ignored the hint.
“If you want to come here, to Babylon, you can. I am not going into the city for one of Jack’s ‘friend’s’ again. I’ll be home all day today and for the rest of the weekend.”
The ball was in my court. I seldom left the city for any reason. Jack’s funeral was the first time I’d left Manhattan in years. But to see Pam, I would brave the wilds.
“I can come this afternoon. Thank you, thank you very much.”
We said good-bye and I hung up. I called a car to come around and get me at one. It would give her a chance to recover from our chat and to decide for sure if she wanted to see me. I called her back to tell her when I’d arrive and the answering machine picked up.
I spent a half an hour primping for my audience with Pamela Smith. Jack said that she never was without makeup and proper clothing, no matter the time of day. He could pop in without warning and she would be ready to go out. I’m the same way. Very rarely, I will wear gym clothes if I feel like cleaning the house myself, but that is unusual. For this visit, I spent extra care on my hair. I wore Marc Jacobs. Would she notice? I’d heard that even her athletic suits were designer.
The ride wasn’t bad. I was surprised, as I always am when I go to Long Island, by the horrible slums you have to go through to get there. You’d think the governor would do something about it. Jack used to say that as long as there were people starving in the world, he couldn’t really enjoy eating. He said it was one of the ways he kept his weight down, which was always an issue with him. His brother was on the chubby side. I knew their dad was a stickler about their fitness and hygiene. The first thing Jack had to do when he came in from school every day was shower. I’d been at their dinner table enough times when Mr. Smith asked the boys if they had showered. I thought it was very strange. My dad never cared if I smelled, but my mother, she didn’t miss a trick. I think old lady Smith was too drunk to notice if her boys were dressed properly or went to the dentist or bathed. The dad oversaw that.
When the car pulled up to the front of Jack’s house, I couldn’t control the tears from coming. So this is where he lived. I could see him there. It was quaint, for lack of a better word. When I finally got out, Pam had opened the door and was waiting for me. The illusion of the small cottage was immediately forgotten when I saw her diminutive frame standing in the vast doorway. The “cottage” was huge.
I walked down the slate path that narrowed to the door. I wasn’t absolutely sure, but I thought I detected a slight pink around her eyes and nose. Had she been crying? I couldn’t help myself; I grabbed her and she returned the grab and we embraced and were both crying up a storm. I felt like, finally, someone else who had loved the man. She was clearly brokenhearted, however. She took me by the hand, led me through the door, reached around me to close it, and then locked it. The gesture was protective and gentle at the same time, as though she wanted me to be safe in her house.