The Affair (7 page)

So I did something I thought I’d never do: I went online. First I found a chat room for mothers; all they wanted to talk about
was getting Kool-Aid stains out of the carpet. Then I joined a group of singles, where I got an instant message from some
guy who wanted to know what color panties I was wearing. Finally I found a chat room for newly divorced women. Thinking they
might have some cautionary tales and sound advice, I lurked for a while, then introduced myself and shared my sorry story.

I can’t believe the response. One person urged me to dump Roger ASAP and move in with Eddie. Another suggested I give up on
both men and become a lesbian. (“You’ve never been loved ‘til you’ve been loved by a woman,” she insisted.) Another woman
said I’d be crazy to give up Roger’s trust fund and offered to trade places with me any day. And one ex-New Yorker told the
group that she’d given up everything—husband, house, job as a high-powered publicist—to become a waitress in Texas where she’s
now dating a cowboy and having the best sex of her life. On one hand I thought: You slut! On the other hand, I found her story
tantalizing. It was as if she’d thrown a stick of dynamite into her life, fled from the rubble, and started anew. Of course,
she didn’t mention whether she’d also left behind children.

I teach people how to communicate, yet my husband and I still haven’t sat down to discuss the mess we’ve made of our lives,
and I go on-line to reveal myself to total strangers! I’m paid to help resolve marital conflict and my own marriage is a shambles.
How many clients would I have today if they knew? Then again, nearly all my colleagues face similar contradictions. Michael
leads the anxiety disorders workshop and I know he takes Xanax for panic attacks. Nan can’t maintain a friendship longer than
six months because she’s pathologically self-centered. Avery’s a family therapist who hasn’t spoken to her mother in twelve
years. And James is one of the leading experts on marriage and infidelity and he’s been carrying on with his research assistant
for years. Perhaps that’s what makes him an expert.

’Til next time,

After Roger insisted that he wasn’t sleeping with Alyssa, I decided to leave the issue alone, thereby deferring the painful
but necessary process of deconstructing our marriage in order to rebuild it. I don’t have the energy for that. I’m also scared.
There’s too much venom under the surface—his and mine. I’ve opened these wounds before in hopes of a reconciliation, then
suffered the assault of Roger’s acrid hostility. (“What do you mean I’m not affectionate?” he’d scream. “How about you? When’s
the last time you offered to rub
my
back? And what do you expect when you wear sweatpants to bed every night?”) I’m not ready to put myself through that again.

My eleven o’clock canceled today. I thought I’d take the opportunity to meditate, but I wasn’t alone for long. I heard a soft
rap at the door.

“Do you accept walk-ins?” It was Eddie. He ducked his head boyishly. I opened the door wider to let him in, then closed it.
Locked it. “I normally see clients by appointment only,” I said, playing along, “but I’ll make an exception in this case.”
He stretched out on the leather sofa and rested his large hands across his belt buckle. His biceps bulged, even in repose.
He stared up at the ceiling as he spoke.

“See, Doc, I’ve got a problem.”

My heart thwacked wildly in my chest. I knew precisely what would come next. “There’s this woman. I can’t get her out of my
mind.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, she’s married. So am I.”

“Hmmm. Tell me more.”

“She’s amazing, Doc. She’s smart … sexy.” Eddie turned to stare at me. I had to look away. The word ricocheted in my head.

Sexy? Me? I decided to take a risk. “Tell me about your wife.”

Eddie was quiet for a long time. He looked up at the ceiling again. “Patty. You want me to tell you about Patty?”

I swallowed hard. I wanted to say, No, not really. Let’s get back to that sexy woman you can’t get out of your mind. What
was I afraid of? That he’d say he still loved her? Or that his words would turn this phantom wife into a flesh-and-blood woman.
A mother. Like me. His stories would make her sympathetic, and then inviolable.

I was wrong. By the time Eddie had led me through his marriage and its demise, I cared nothing for Patty. And for once I understood
completely how a gardener and a clinical psychologist could be locked in this lover’s knot. Damage attracts damage; pain finds
pain. We had reached almost heliotropically toward each other, knowing intuitively that we would be accepted and perhaps even
loved.

He told me so much. I want to write more about the details of his marriage but I’m already late for a haircut appointment.

’Til next time,

As Eddie lay there on the couch, I imagined myself stretched along the length of him. I imagined him gripping
me with his strong, tanned arms, then maneuvering me so I was under him, which is how I like it. I wanted to be overwhelmed
by him. He glanced at me as he spoke, and I prayed that among his talents, telepathy wasn’t one.

“I married Patty in high school. She was pregnant. I wanted to do the right thing. But we’d only been together four months.
I didn’t love her.” I felt relieved, then ashamed. If I really cared about this man, wouldn’t I want him to resolve his marital
problems? Did I really want him pining for me?

“We were both raised Catholic,” Eddie continued, “so divorce was out of the question. I don’t think I’m Catholic anymore.”
He turned to look at me. I tried not to react. “Keep going.”

“You know what they say—a woman is either a devoted mother or a devoted wife, but never both at the same time.” I’d never
heard this particular maxim but it gave me a guilty little shiver. I didn’t have to think hard to know which category I fell
into. “Well, Patty’s always been a devoted mother to our three girls. Wouldn’t even have sex when she was pregnant, convinced
that it would hurt the babies.” I quickly calculated, three pregnancies times nine months … that’s over two years without
sex. “Then Patty’s mother moved in with us last year and … well… I’m last in line. No, it’s worse than that. I’m not in line
at all.”

There was no yearning in Eddie’s voice, no hint that he wanted his wife’s affections. He talked as if he was describing something
that happened a long time ago, in another life. “Patty’s a nice girl. Helluva mother. But I can’t tell you the last time we
actually had a conversation. When I left my last job to start my business, she barely noticed. Not like I wanted a party or
anything,
but it was a big move, you know? I’ve got twenty-two employees and she couldn’t care less.”

I was confused. I hadn’t realized Eddie was in business for himself. I’d pegged him for a community college dropout. He quickly
read my face. “You’re wondering why I’m always here if I’m the boss. Right?” I nodded. He
was
telepathic! “The day we met, I was filling in for one of my guys. His wife was having a baby.” He looked away sheepishly.
“After that, I kept coming around just to be around you. I like talking to you.” Then he laughed. “You think I’d be playing
hooky if I wasn’t the boss?”

I felt such turbulence. It had been years since I’d been the object of any man’s desire. I needed Eddie’s attention the way
the willow root seeks water. I had been parched and my very survival depended on his desire. There were many things that drew
me to Eddie: his machismo (so different from the fey and cultured boys I’d dated in school), his tenderness, his smoldering
stare. But above all, I was attracted to the simple fact that he was attracted to me. And the truth is, I find that troubling.
Am I so profoundly needy that all it takes to get me going is a man who wants me? What am I willing to trade to have that
steady infusion of desire? My child? My husband? Can I possibly have both: the stability of married life
and
the passion of an affair? What price would I pay for my greed?

When he had finally finished talking about his decaying marriage, he pulled himself up and patted the couch, gesturing for
me to sit near him. It was risky. My next client was due in five minutes; she was a strongly intuitive woman whose husband
had, in fact, been unfaithful. I was sure she’d scan my face and know instantly that Eddie and I were having an affair. And
yes,
I do believe that’s what this is, even if his body hasn’t entered mine. I feel as if I’ve surrendered my soul to this man.
With a rush of adrenaline, I think of him first thing in the morning, and as I fall into the dim twilight between sleep and
wakefulness, he is my last thought. When I shop for clothes, I choose things I think will please him (the short black skirt
I found at Ann Taylor). When I dab on perfume, I imagine him inhaling the scent with his face against my neck. When I lift
weights at the club, it’s the fantasy of Eddie watching from a corner of the room that enables me to finish the set.

There, on the couch, Eddie reached for my hands and held them lightly between his own. “We’d be good together. You realize
that, don’t you?” I nodded slowly. I felt locked in his gaze. He reached over to brush the hair from my eyes. “Don’t we deserve
some happiness?” I didn’t know what to say. Frankly, I never thought I deserved to be happy. The only clear message I got
growing up was: Work hard and do whatever it takes to succeed. No one ever said: Do whatever it takes to be happy.

“My old man died when he was forty-one. I don’t think I ever saw him really happy,” Eddie said. He held my hands tighter now.
“He hated his job and hated his marriage, but every morning he went to work and every night he went to sleep in the same bed
with my mother. He had a heart attack on the Fourth of July. He’d been scrubbing the barbecue while my mother stood in the
kitchen, nagging at him like always. ‘Scrub harder, Joseph! You expect me to eat off that thing?’ I remember it like it was
yesterday. He looked at her like he was going to say something, then dropped to his knees. I
thought he was joking around. Then he flopped over and I knew he was dead. I was nine years old.”

Eddie ran the back of his hand across his eyes. Impulsively I reached up and touched a finger to his lips. He turned quickly
and kissed me full on the mouth, and in a moment had me beneath him on the sofa. His tongue was cool and tasted sweet and
he moved his hand expertly under my blouse. My body arched to meet his, he pulled me closer, roughly. Whatever moral compass
I might have possessed was quickly corrupted by the power of Eddie’s magnetic field.

Just as quickly, I heard a knock on the door, then a key turning in the lock. Then, a woman’s husky voice: “What the hell?”

Diana.

Thank God for the small foyer between my door and the rest of the office—by the time Diana came into view, Eddie had pulled
himself off me and I’d managed to sit up. I quickly ran a finger over my blouse to check the buttons but there wasn’t time
to smooth my hair.

“Oh-ho! What have we here?” Diana moved into the room with the authority of a headmistress. A corrosive smile spread across
her face. A key dangled from her hand. Eddie knelt by the window, pretending to be fussing with the ficus tree.

“You can tell lover boy he needn’t bother,” she said, gesturing toward Eddie. “I know what you’re up to and it sure ain’t
gardening.” As her eyes scanned me, I felt as if I was undergoing an MRI. I’ve never felt more exposed. I could have responded
with rage—this woman had no business breaking into my office—but I was too consumed by shame and panic to take the offensive.
I managed a feeble, “What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?”

“Now, this is rich.” Diana moved closer, her eyes fixed on me. “Your hair’s a mess, your lipstick is smeared across your face,
and you’re asking
me
what the hell
I’m
doing? You make me sick.”

“Screw you, Diana,” Eddie hissed.

“Be my guest,” she retorted, not missing a beat. “But alas, I can see you’re already taken.” She glanced at his wedding band.
“Twice taken, in fact.” Diana walked to my desk and picked up a manila folder. “For your information, this is what I came
for. Your monthly report. You know today’s the deadline.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I knocked and knocked but no one answered.
I figured you were out and let myself in. I didn’t think you’d mind. I didn’t realize I’d be … interrupting.” She looked at
Eddie, letting her eyes linger on his zipper. A tiny smile curled at the corners of her mouth. There was nothing to see. Any
evidence of Eddy’s desire had faded the moment we heard her open the door.