The Wife of Reilly (35 page)

Sophie knelt down beside the toilet where I was sitting. “Prudence, you’ve been doing that for three weeks now, and I’ll bet you’re going to do it for another few. We’re not telling you to end your depression prematurely. Maybe it’s something you need to go through for a little while. We just miss you, so can you do us a favor and take a break from it just for today? Jen, will you put the Oscar Madison duds on Prudence’s bed so she can slip right back into them tonight? And Chad, this stuff will wash out of her hair, right?” She opened my medicine cabinet and placed the makeup remover on the sink. “There, you’re all set. Depression awaits you when you return. Do we have a deal?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be such great company today. Why don’t you just go without me?” I pleaded.

“One day in the sunshine is not going to kill you, Prudence. We’ve already packed your lunch and we’re not taking no for an answer,” Sophie said.

Chapter 35

As we ate our mozzarella and pesto sandwiches that day, I asked the gang if they would start to think I was crazy if I told them I thought I was still in love with Reilly.

“That assumes we think you’re sane now,” Chad said.

We sat on a red and white tablecloth set on the grass a few yards away from a guitarist who was probably a student at NYU. He wore a scruffy goatee, flannel shirt and no shoes as he strummed songs from Fleetwood Mac. The summer-like weather prompted the fountains to burst with water, and dogs and children quickly jumped in to splash around.

“Wait, are you serious?” Jennifer asked with gravity. “You think you’re in love with Reilly? Reilly, your husband, Reilly? Reilly, the husband you cheated on, then tried to find a new wife for, Reilly?”

I nodded. “The one and only.”

Sophie asked when I had this revelation. “I didn’t even know you’d seen him since the night at the gallery.”

I told her about our dinner a few weeks ago after I got back from L.A. “I was starting to think we could be friends after the divorce was final. Hell, I even introduced him to a woman at the restaurant. Do you guys remember the blond woman with the wide face from cooking class? Anyway, it didn’t hit me till a few days later, but Reilly is a good man. A really good man.”

They silently shot each other worried looks. Finally, Jennifer asked why I thought Reilly being a quality person was so appealing. She reminded me that he’s always been a decent guy.

“Maybe Prudence finally feels like she deserves the love of a good man,” Sophie piped in as she tried to keep the wind from blowing her hair into the apple juice she was sipping.

Jennifer disagreed. “Not buyin’ it. You’re into Reilly because you saw some other chick interested in him.” I decided not to tell Jennifer that she had pesto caught between her teeth.

Remembering that the next week was Father’s annual Easter egg hunt, I invited them all to come. “Father’s on this big getting-to-know-me kick and wants to meet you all. Adrian and Daniel can come too.”

That night Matt called to thank me for the flat-screen television I sent for his second birthday gift. He told me he was considering mounting it on his ceiling like the couple in the commercial, but that he would hold off on doing so until he arrived in New York. “So we’re like ten weeks out, baby? Then we ride off into the sunset for the happily ever after,” he laughed.

Some indie filmmaker. Maybe he could fit a car chase in there somewhere.

“Hey, that reminds me, I still need to get your invitation list,” I said. “Can you e-mail it first thing in the morning? The invitations need to go out by mid-May, and it takes a while for the calligrapher to address all those envelopes.”

“No problem,” Matt agreed. “Thanks again for the screen. Now
that
was a birthday gift.”

For the next week I slipped back into my funk as Sophie promised I could. Thankfully, I have a job where I’m not expected to engage my clients with witty repartee. As long as I was polite, I could be as glum as I wanted. In fact, I think many of my clients felt I was working harder for them during my blue period. They seemed to believe like they were really getting their money’s worth out of me when I greeted them looking like an exhumed body.

When I grew tired of crying at the plight of a spider crawling across my kitchen floor with no escape in sight, I turned on the television, only to be driven to tears by sentimental commercials for maple syrup. Finally, on Thursday evening Reilly called me.

“Hi.” I perked up hearing his voice.

“Prudence,” he returned. “How have you been?”

“Just great, Reilly. How ’bout you?”

“Fine. Look, I need to swing by the apartment to have you sign some papers. Are you free Saturday afternoon?”

I suggested he come by around noon so we could have lunch and go over the divorce settlement papers. I was already planning what to wear and rehearsing the clever off-the-cuff remarks I’d make. “You know, Sunday is Father’s big Easter egg hunt, if you’d like to join us.”

“Prudence, we’re getting a divorce,” he said flatly. “We’re not doing lunch and I’m certainly not going to attend any more of your family obligations. I’ll be there at noon and out by quarter-after assuming we’re still in agreement about the division of assets.”

“I can put together a little something for us to nibble on here, if you’d like,” I suggested with a toned-down, we’ve-all-gotta-eat manner.

“We had eleven years to have lunch together, Prudence,” Reilly said. “As for Easter Sunday, I’ll be spending the day with Sarah and her parents in the Hamptons.”

If I lived above the second floor, I would have leapt out the window right then. But with my luck, instead of plummeting to my death, I’d lie on the sidewalk with a spinal cord injury while every Keith Haring wannabe in SoHo outlined my body with chalk.

“Sarah,” I said as if I couldn’t be happier. “Lovely Sarah from the restaurant?”

“Yes, we’ve been seeing each other for the last five weeks pretty much every day now,” Reilly told me. “How’s that surfer boy from California you left me for?”

Surfer boy?

“You mean Matt?” I asked. “He doesn’t surf.”

“Oh, well, you’ll excuse me for not keeping closer tabs on his hobbies. Other than stealing my wife, that is.”

“Um, well, he’s fine. He’s wrapping up a film about —”

“Prudence,” Reilly interrupted, “I don’t really care.”

On Friday morning Matt sent his list of wedding guests, then called to tell me he asked Rick to be his best man. “Look, I know you guys aren’t crazy about each other, but I finally convinced Rick to do the job, so I’d appreciate it if you’d back off on him so he doesn’t bail last minute.”

Ah yes, the pampered bride am I
.

“Wait until you see the outfit Kyara bought for the wedding,” Matt laughed. “You’re going to flip out.”

Undoubtedly
.

Matt had been given the task of making reservations at cozy boarding houses and comfortable hotels in Europe for our honeymoon. We had decided to tour Ireland, England and, of course, Italy. That was the plan. On Friday night Matt called to tell me we would be spending our first six weeks as husband and wife in the Czech Republic.

“I’ve already been to those other countries,” Matt explained. “Let’s go somewhere a little different. They’ve got a ton of castles and stuff for you to see in Eastern Europe.”

Surely I have done something to offend the goddess of honeymoons
.

“Matt, I have waited all of my life to see Italy, and I’m not going to put it off any longer,” I told him. “I’m sorry that we’ll have to go places you’ve already been to, but a lot has changed in fifteen years. You’ve changed. You’ll have a different perspective on it this time around. Okay?”

“Prudence, you don’t know the kind of deal I got on these tickets,” Matt explained.

“Maybe not, but it’s very clear what kind of deal I’m getting here. Cancel the fucking Iron Curtain tour and book Italy, Ireland and England like we talked about,” I demanded.

“Let’s talk about this when you’re feeling calmer,” Matt suggested. “You’ll see the whole thing clearer then.”

“I see plenty clear, Matt,” I shouted. “Listen to what I’m telling you. I’m not going to the Czech Republic for my honeymoon. We can go next year to see all the goddamn castles, but for our honeymoon we agreed on Europe. Normal Europe!”

* * *

The next day when Reilly showed up at the loft, I had only one item on my agenda — win him back. He arrived right on time wearing khaki shorts and a white button-down polo shirt. Reilly was now combing his hair to the side, which I assumed was Sarah’s influence. He told me he was flying to England on business the following week and that our divorce would be final by the first week in June. What had become of my life? Quickie affair, quickie divorce. Who the hell named me Prudence anyway?

Reilly looked around the apartment and asked if there was anything he’d left behind.

Only me
.

“Do you mind if I hang onto your sweats?” I asked. “They’re very comfy, and they remind me of you.”

Reilly looked puzzled, then reminded himself to wear a blank expression. “Sure, I’ve got others. You know, you can get a pair for yourself at Herman’s for twenty-four dollars.” We sat at the kitchen table and I poured us both a glass of iced tea.

“Thanks, Reilly. I was bumming around in them last weekend, and it reminded me of how we used to laze around in our first apartment together in Philly. Remember that?” I asked.

Reilly smiled recalling our early days. “Do I remember? You used to send me out in the blizzard for all the papers. I nearly caught pneumonia our first winter together.”

“Oh, but I took care of you,” I teased. “Don’t you remember what a great nurse I was?”

The reference was a good one to pull from my arsenal because in those early days, I was like a nurse from a porno flick. Zero medical knowledge, but a firm belief that lots of sex would cure anything. I used to approach Reilly’s sick bed like a vixen in my white lace panties, garter belt, push-up bra, heels and nurse’s hat I made from computer printer paper. “You know the old saying. Starve a cold, feed a fever and fuck pneumonia,” I told him. Often he would tell me he felt a bug coming on, hoping Nurse Prudence would tend to his illness.

The more jaded, soon-to-be-divorced Reilly actually laughed. “Yes, I remember. Those were fun times.”

“It wasn’t all fun and games though, Reilly,” I continued my campaign. “We were a great team together. Like when your aunt Beatrice and your father had that blowout over your grandfather’s estate. Remember how we mediated between them and got them all squared away? They could have been enemies for life, but we were really pretty skillful negotiators, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, that was crazy how they went at each other,” Reilly remembered.

“You were great that day, Reilly,” I said. “You were great every day, really. It was me who was too screwed up to see that.”

He was silent, but I could see him softening under the heat lamp of nostalgia. “Stay for lunch, Reilly? We’ll have a little wine and sign the papers like civilized people. Stay. We’re not enemies, Reilly. We’ve had a wonderful time together, and now we’re moving on to a new phase of life. We don’t have to burn the bridge between us, do we? I still love you as a friend,” I reached out and touched his hand. “Stay. We’ll have fun,” I urged.

Chapter 36

The next morning, Reilly sat up in our bed as if he’d just awakened from a nightmare. When he looked at me, it was clear that his bad dream was our reality. “Oh God, Prudence. What the hell did we do?” he moaned. “What was I thinking? What the hell was I thinking?”

Easy, buddy. I wasn’t expecting pillow talk and flowers our first time back in the sack together, but this is a bit much
.

He rushed to put his clothing on so fast, he could have used six arms. Reilly tried to put his belt and both socks on at the same time, which landed him on the floor of our bedroom. The phone rang.

“Oh, um, hi honey,” I said to Matt, who was calling to wish me a happy Easter. “Happy Easter to you too.”

Reilly stood up shirtless, pointed to the phone and mouthed, “
Is that him?
” As soon as I confirmed by nodding, Reilly started scribbling on a sheet of paper, then held it up for me to read. “
Payback’s a bitch, Surfer Boy!!!!!
”

Charming
.

“Listen, honey, let me call you later. I’m late for my father’s Easter egg hunt,” I said to Matt.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!!!” Reilly said. “I was supposed to stay at Sarah’s last night so we could take the train to her folks’ weekend place today. Shit. Where am I going to tell her I was last night?”

I offered an alibi. “Tell her you were with me. Tell her I needed a shoulder to cry on, so you stayed here on the couch. She’ll never suspect that we made love.”

“Made love?! We didn’t make love, we made a mess of my life. Damn you, Prudence. Every time I’ve got things worked out for myself, you come along and screw it up.” Collecting his things, he lamented that he ever met me. “I should have gone to goddamn Yale,” he said, attempting to iron his shirt with his bare hand. “Sarah saw me in this outfit yesterday. What the hell am I going to tell her? I am so screwed, Prudence!” He slammed the door behind him after shouting that he never wanted to see me again.

This was not exactly how I’d imagined our big reconciliation going. I thought Reilly and I would wake up in each other’s arms, then spend the next few hours lingering in bed, promising each other how different our marriage would be this time around. He would tear the divorce papers up, and run to get pastries while I was in the shower. While Reilly was out, I’d call the calligrapher and tell her to drop my wedding invitations in the trash instead of the mailbox. Later, Reilly and I would go to Father’s Easter egg hunt and surprise the gang with the resurrection of our marriage.

* * *

I was silent for most of the drive to Father’s house with Sophie, Chad, Daniel, Jennifer and Adrian. Until we reached the George Washington Bridge, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. What would I tell them? “Oh yeah, by the way, I cheated on the fiancé with the soon-to-be-ex-husband who woke up this morning in absolute horror that he was in my bed, then left skid marks at the door after he shouted that all future interactions would be handled through our lawyers.” I said nothing and acted as if I stayed home doing something normal, like making lace doilies as keepsakes for my wedding guests.