Pam of Babylon (4 page)

Then she had Marie call their mother. She just couldn’t do it. Although Jack wasn’t Nelda’s favorite person; she didn’t wish harm on him. Pam couldn’t say one more time tonight, “You need to brace yourself, Jack is dead.” Or worse, “Your father is dead.” She was sure the shock of his mistress, the girlfriend, would come although she hoped it would be sooner rather than later because magically, she needed her. She needed someone else who knew him intimately.

In Pam’s peculiar way, she was happy with the knowledge that it wasn’t so much that he was tired of her and that was why he no longer asked for lovemaking; he was simply spent from doing it with Sandra. That somehow, oddly made it easier to swallow, the idea that he had someone else, someone who he might have liked better than her. But she would deal with it later.
I must be in shock
. People in shock were expected to make wrong decisions. She didn’t want to make any mistakes.

The rest of the ride home passed in silence. Every once in a while, Pam would remember and start crying again in choking sobs, already lonely for him. Marie was crying too; took her sister’s hand to comfort her.

When they got to the house, Pam suddenly felt empty, said she would like a cup of tea and something sweet, like cookies or toast and jam. She put the teapot on and went to their room to change into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. She washed her face, the makeup streaked and blotchy, and felt better for it. Maybe she would go without for a while. Give her skin a break. But she knew she wouldn’t. Putting on her makeup and doing her hair was so much a part of who she was that it would be like going without a bra or her bridgework. Not possible.

Marie was waiting for her, having poured the tea. They took their cups out to the veranda. The salt air was soft and moist, enveloping them with its gentle caress. Pam felt like she needed a shawl, maybe her grief magnifying the cool air. Marie went into the study and got it off the desk chair, trying not to look at Jack’s desk.

Putting it around her sister’s shoulders, she said, “I love you, Sis,” and hugged Pam. They could see the grasses swaying in the breeze. The moonlight was yellow, its beams falling on the water almost still as a lake. The echoes of the little waves reached them, sounding sad and melancholy. Pam wondered out loud if she would be able to stay in their house.

“You love it here,” Marie said. “Why would you leave it?”

“I don’t know if I can afford to stay here now,” Pam said, not ready to share her real feelings with Marie. “We will have to see what happens. We’ll have to see what kind of financial shape we are in.” Pam didn’t want to think of that already; it was ridiculous. Jack wasn’t even to the funeral home yet. He was still in the morgue. She thought of his body, not on the metal table or still in the hospital bed, as she had last seen him, but of the weekend before, in loose shorts and a sparkling white T-shirt, lying on a bench at the gym doing chest presses. She thought at the time how proud she was that he was her husband, wondering if anyone knew that information.
Had he greeted me when he came in?
thought Pam. It was her gym first, after all. He had finished with the weights and then got on the treadmill. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He started slowly, walking, adjusting the earpiece on his iPod, and then, after a brief warm-up, started running. She hadn’t seen him run for ages. He used to be fast. He stayed on the treadmill for half an hour. She estimated he ran three miles. And later, questioning him, she found she was right. He was still fast.

That afternoon, both home from the gym and showered, he in his study going through some papers and she gathering up items for a rummage sale her book club was having, passed each other in the hall, brushing arms. He paused, looking down at her. She smiled up at him. She could smell the deodorant he used, a strong, herbal scent, and it went from her olfactory nerve to her crotch. It was the weirdest sensation; she could almost feel the pathway. She reached out for his arm and ran her hand down the length of it, feeling the soft, spongy hair; he reached for her hand when it came to stop on his wrist. They stood there, holding hands, smiling at each other.

“So, wife, what do you say?” She was willing him to say something sexy to her, to proposition her, but he seemed unable or unwilling to do it. But what the heck, she was only punishing herself if she didn’t engage him.

“I say we should hop into bed right now. You game?” She smiled again, looking up into his eyes, sticking her tongue out so the tip of it ran around the corners of her mouth.

He let her lead the way to their bed. It was the lovemaking of two people who had been together all of their lives. It was slow, it was tender but at the end of it, it was explosive. He always remarked afterward, “Wow, for a couple of old people we can really hang one on.” She laughed. “You are such a romantic,” she would reply, and he would laugh. So if she was satisfied physically, and she always was, there was something lacking in the emotional end of it. They weren’t connecting any longer. There was no “I love you”. He didn’t comment about her appearance as he used to, no “God, you look good.” Now she understood why. He had betrayed her. She would try to find out later what had really happened, the depth of his feeling for this young, beautiful woman. Was it a new, superficial romance? She didn’t think so. But she wouldn’t waste one second thinking about it. She had no facts to back up her doubts.

They sat in silence, the two sisters, one thinking about what she had seen that morning and wondering when the time would be right to tell the story or if she could get away with never revealing what she knew—that Jack had loved this young woman. You could see that from clear across Broadway.

Finally, Pam spoke. Rather than speaking of the pain that had transpired that evening, she talked about how Marie had impacted their lives. There were two other sisters in their family, born between Marie and Pam, yet it was the two of them who would bond completely, as close as could be. Pam spoke of how she wouldn’t have survived her early marriage without the support of Marie, only ten years old at the time. She cried, inconsolable when Pam left home. She was promised that each weekend, every holiday, she could visit her big sister and new brother-in-law. And they kept that promise, either Jack or Pam taking a cab to pick her up or after the kids were born, Marie old enough to come alone.

Pam remembered the excitement of having her baby sister coming to visit on a Friday night. They would walk to Big Nick’s or Broadway Pizza and then get ice cream afterwards. Saturdays would be spent doing crafts, either painting some piece of furniture Pam had found at a secondhand shop or knitting something for one of the babies due to arrive soon. They would walk in the park or find something free to do, a gallery opening or a concert. Saturday night was always movie night. Pam would fix dinner and they would watch whatever Marie wanted. Jack would take her to the video store, and they would spend at least an hour choosing a movie for the night and one for the next morning.

On Sunday mornings, they fixed a big homemade breakfast. Pam made wonderful pancakes. They divided the Sunday paper between them and spent hours reading, eating, and talking. They would walk around the city, sometimes staying out until dinner if the weather was nice or coming home for hot chocolate and an afternoon nap if it wasn’t.

The years flew by, and Marie never left. The kids grew, and she became part of their lives as well, there for the triumphs and the childhood dramas, the maiden aunt who could be depended on for companionship, advice, or a bedtime story. If the times had been different, Marie would have been a nun, Pam thought. She was devoted to the task of whatever was put before her, never asking herself if this was all life was supposed to be—living through someone else’s dream.

Jack was Marie’s male figure, the person she sought if she had a bad day at work or needed advice about investments, buying a new car, going on a fishing expedition, and so much more. He took her to her senior prom, went to shows with her, and taught her how to ski and change a tire. After their father died, he became a father figure to her as well.

She in turn, stood in for Pam doing those things she couldn’t bear to do; sitting in a theater to watch plays, attending any sporting event, going fishing or hunting, Marie loved that sort of thing. She stood in for Jack, too, going to antique shows, festivals, the farmers’ market, all things that bored him to tears. She was a real companion.

Marie wept when Pam thanked her for her devotion over the years. She secretly wondered if her marriage would have lasted if not for Marie. She acted as a buffer between Pam and Jack. There was always someone willing to do something, allowing the other partner to do his or her own thing. In that regard, no one had to make too many compromises. They chatted about their life together until the sun peeked up over the horizon. Gathering up their shawls and blankets, cups and plates, the sisters went into the house to try to get some sleep. The day stretched before them, with sadness and tears, reliving the night over and over again for family and friends. Pam would shut off her phone, and Marie would field calls. She would get someone to pick up the children from the nearby airports, Brent from Newark and Lisa from JFK. Indispensable Marie. In the meantime, they would go to their rooms and get a few hours of rest. It was too early to get anything done anyway.

Pam got into her bed with the same gratefulness she did each night. The cool, clean sheets and their wonderful mattress were heavenly. Physical comfort overpowered the sadness in her heart. She lay on her back, looking up at the light coming in over the top of the closed drapes.

He was gone. She would never see him again, never hear his voice, never wait for his car to pull in the garage, never smell him, touch him, or feel him. How would this become real to her? There would have to be a point in time that it would hit her, smack her in the face. Right now, she didn’t feel too much besides her bed. They would never resolve their problems. He had gotten away with his infidelity. Sometime that day, after funeral arrangements were made, she would find the strength to call Sandra Benson and ask her to come to the funeral. They would have to decide how to handle her appearance there, surely someone knew of her existence in their circle of acquaintances. The only thing she would ask is that the children be spared this information about their father. They would take it personally, if she knew them as she thought she did.

She finally fell asleep around six. Marie tiptoed around the house when she got up. Lisa called to say she would be in at three that afternoon, followed by a call from Brent that he’d be there at four. Marie was relieved that Pam would have time to herself until the kids came home. She wasn’t sure what their response to Jack’s death was going to be.
Would there be thrashing about, screaming? Or would they be adults, offering to help out in some way to lighten their mother’s burden for the day?
She would know soon enough.

The sister’s mother, Nelda Fabian was planning on being there by eleven. She would take over the logistics of the guests. She was a whiz at party planning. Thank God for the bed-and-breakfast down the beach; Jack’s family could stay there. Nelda was going to make the calls as well. She had started last night. There were at least a thirty people who needed to be personally called.

The Sunday
New York Times
had written a small article about his death on the second page: “CEO Mugged on LI Train, Suffers Fatal Heart Attack.” They used an old, but sufficient picture of him from the days before his graying hair. People who knew him would be okay with that. It was an attractive picture, him smiling at an opening of some play downtown, the sort of activity he loved. Marie was worried about the headline.
Did he get mugged first?
She thought the hospital people had said he was mugged after he went down. Added to her list was to make a call to the police precinct. They needed the truth. As soon as the paper was read, she was sure the phone would start ringing. She quickly turned down all the phone bells, thinking it would help her sister to not have that incessant noise.

Marie thought of Jack’s mother. She picked up the phone to call Bill just as she heard the front door opening. It was Bill; his wife, Anne; and Bernice, Jack’s mother. She had aged overnight. Marie explained that Pam had been up all night and that she was determined to let her sleep as long as she could. The funeral home had not called yet, so no plans for the burial had been made.

They moved to the kitchen, pulling out the chairs to sit around the table. Thankfully, Anne took over the role of hostess so Marie could repeat the details of the tragedy to Jack’s brother and mother, who were both in shock and in need of some information to make sense of what had happened. They talked in low tones, trying to keep it quiet for Pam.
Poor Pam, what would she do, how was she going to get through this?

6

A
n hour before, at just half past ten, Pam awoke. Her feelings had returned, and she was angry. She knew that was an important step in the grieving process, but she was pissed! She muttered obscenities during her shower and while blow-drying her hair. She stomped around her bedroom, slamming her closet door, throwing shoes across the room.
How dare he do this to me? To not even have the decency to let me fight with him over the girl? To go and die and leave it in my hands to resolve?
By half past eleven, she was exhausted, spent. The anger had dissipated. She put her makeup on, taking particular care with her eyes—everything waterproof, not too much mascara, and light on the powder—to reduce the appearance of those crow’s feet, which were deeply etched that morning from lack of sleep and too many tears.

The numbness had returned. She would be the gracious Pam, allowing those closest to her to express their sorrow and she would be strong for them. It would all be fake. Her life partner was dead at only fifty-five years old. She was still young. It wasn’t fair.
Oh God
, she thought,
don’t let too many people say that to me today
. None of that “God’s will” horseshit; I beg your pardon. No “You have to be strong for your kids.” She prayed that she could keep her mouth shut and not fake swooning to give the masses something to talk about.
Pam fainted she was so upset
; she could almost hear her Cousin Nancy saying.