Wheels (54 page)

"Uh, huh," had been all that Pierre had said, which pointed up his lack
of conversation and, in fact, a general absence of interest in anything
not connected with motor racing or directly involving sex. About
racing, Pierre could, and did converse animatedly and at length. But
other subjects bored him. Confronted with current affairs, politics, the arts-which Erica tried to talk about sometimes-he
either yawned or fidgeted like a restless boy whose attention could not
be held for more than seconds at a time. Occasionally, and despite all the
satisfying sex, Erica wished their relationship could be more rounded.
Around the time that the wish was developing into a mild irritation with
Pierre, an item linking their names appeared in the Detroit News.
It was in the daily column of Society Editor Eleanor Breitmeyer, whom
many considered the best society writer in North American newspaperdom.
Almost nothing which went on in the Motor City's social echelons escaped
Miss Breitmeyer's intelligence, and her comment read: Handsome, debonair race driver Pierre Flo
d
enhale and young and beautiful Erica Trenton-wife of auto product
planner Adam-continue to relish each other's company. Last Friday,
lunching tate-a-ta
te at the Steering Wheel, neither, as usual, had as
much as a glance for anyone else. The words on the printed page were a startling jolt to Erica. Her first
flustered thought as she read them was of the thousands of people in
Greater Detroit-including friends of herself and Adam-who would also see
and talk about the column item before the day was out. Suddenly, Erica
wanted to run into a closet and hide. She realized how incredibly
careless she and Pierre had been, as if they were courting exposure, but
now it had happened she wished desperately they hadn't.
The News items appeared in late July-a week or so before the
Trentons'
dinner with Hank Kreisel and their visit to his Grosse Pointe
home.
The evening the item was published, Adam
had brought the Detroit News home, as he usually did, and the two of them
shared it, in sections, while having martinis before dinner.
While Erica had the women's section, which included Society, Adam was
leafing through the front news portion. But Adam invariably looked over
the entire paper systematically, and Erica dreaded his attention turning
to the section she was holding.
She decided it would be a mistake to remove any part of the newspaper
from the living room because, however casually she did it, Adam would
probably notice.
Instead, Erica went to the kitchen and served dinner immediately, taking
a chance that the vegetables were done. They weren't, but when Adam came
to the table he still hadn't opened any of the newspaper's back
sections.
After dinner, returning to the living room, Adam opened his briefcase
as usual and began work. When Erica had cleared the dining room, she
came in, collected Adam's coffee cup, straightened some magazines and
picked up the pieces of newpaper, putting them together to take out.
Adam had looked up. "Leave the paper. I haven't finished,"
She spent the remainder of the evening on a knife edge of suspense.
Pretending to read a book, Erica watched covertly each move which Adam
made. When at last he snapped his briefcase closed, her tension mounted
until, to Erica's unbelievable relief, he went upstairs to bed, apparently forgetting the newspaper entirely. She hid the paper then, and
burned it next day.
But burning a single copy would not, she knew, prevent someone else
showing the item to Adam or referring to it in conversation, which
amounted to the same thing. Obviously, many on
Adam's staff, and others he associated with, had read or been told about
the juicy piece of gossip, so for the next few days Erica lived in nervous
expectation that when Adam came home he would bring the subject up.
One thing she was sure of:

If Adam learned of the item in the News,
Erica would know. Adam never dodged an issue, nor was he the kind of
husband who would form a judgment without giving his wife the chance to
state her case. But nothing was said, and when a week had gone by Erica
started to relax. Afterward, she suspected what happened was that
everyone assumed Adam knew, and hence avoided the subject out of consideration or embarrassment. For whatever reason, she was grateful.
She was also grateful for an opportunity to assess her relationships
with both men: Adam and Pierre. The result-in everything except sex and
the small amount of time they spent together, Adam came out far ahead.
Unfortunately-or perhaps fortunately-for Erica, sex continued to be
important in her life, which was the reason she agreed to meet Pierre
again a few days later, though this time cautiously and across the
river in Windsor, Canada. But of all their rendezvous, this latest
proved the least successful.
The fact was: Adam had the kind of mind which Erica admired. Pierre
didn't. Despite Adam's obsessive work habits, he was never out of touch
with the sum of life around him; he had strong opinions and a social
conscience. Erica enjoyed hearing Adam talk-on subjects other than the
auto industry. In contrast, when she asked Pierre for his views on a
Detroit civic housing controversy, which had been headline news for
weeks, Pierre had never heard of it. "Figure all that stuff's none of
my business," was a stock reply. Nor had
he ever voted. "Wouldn't know how, and I'm not much interested
.”

Erica was learning: An affair, to be successful and satisfying, needed
other ingredients than merely fornication.
When she asked herself the question: Who, of all the men she knew, would
she soonest have an affair with, Erica came up with the revealing
answer-Adam.
If only Adam would function as an entire husband.
But he rarely did.
The thought about Adam stayed foremost in her mind through several more
days, carrying over to their eveni
ng at Grosse Pointe with Hank Kr
eisel.
Somehow, it seemed to Erica, the ex
-m
arine parts manufacturer managed to
bring out all that was best in Adam, and she followed the talk about
Hank Kreisel's thresher, including Adam's cogent questioning, with
fascination. It was only afterward, going home, when she remembered the
other part of Adam she had once possessed-the eager lover, explorer of
her body, now seemingly departed-that despair and anger overwhelmed her.
Her statement, later the same night, that she intended to divorce Adam
had been real. It seemed hopeless to go on. Nor, next day or during
others following, had Erica's resolve weakened.
It was true she did nothing specific to set the machinery of divorce in
motion, and did not move out of the Quarton Lake house, though she
continued sleeping in the guest bedroom. Erica simply felt that she
needed a chance, in limbo, to adjust.
Adam did not object-to anything. Obviously he believed that time could
heal their differences, though Erica did not. Meanwhile she continued
to keep house, and also agreed to meet Pierre, who
had telephoned to say he would be briefly in Detroit during an absence
from the racing circuit. "Something's wrong," Erica said. "I know it is, so why don't you tell
me
.”

Pierre appeared uncertain and embarrassed. Along with his boyishness,
he had a transparent manner which revealed his moods.
He said, in bed beside her, "It's nothing, I guess
.”

Erica propped herself on an elbow. The motel room was darkened because
they had drawn the drapes on coming in. Even so, enough light filtered
through for her to see the surroundings clearly, which were much like
those of other motels they had been in-characterless, with mass-produced
furniture and cheap hardware. She glanced at her watch. It was two in
the afternoon, and they were in the suburb of Birmingham because Pierre
had said he would not have time to drive across the river into Canada.
Outside, the day was dull and the midday forecast had predicted rain.
She turned back to study Pierre whose face she could see clearly too.
He flashed a smile, though with a touch of wariness, Erica thought. She
noticed that his shock of blond hair was mussed, undoubtedly because she
had run her hands through it during their recent love-making.
She had grown genuinely fond of Pierre. For all his lack of intellectual
depth, he had proved agreeable, and sexually was every inch a man, which
was what Erica had wanted after all. Even the occasional arrogance-the
star syndrome she had been aware of at their first meeting-seemed to fit
the masculinity.
"Don't mess about," Erica insisted. "Tell me whatever's on your mind
.”

Pierre turned away, reaching for his trousers
beside the bed and searched in their pockets for cigarettes. "Well," he
said, not looking at her directly, "I guess it's us
.”

"What about us
.”

He had a cigarette alight and blew smoke toward the ceiling. "From now on
I'll be more often at the tracks. Won't get to Detroit as much. Thought
I ought to tell you
.”

There was a silence betwe
e
n them as a coldness gripped Erica which she
struggled not to show. At length she said, "Is that all, or are you trying
to tell me something else
.”

Pierre looked uneasy. "Like what
.”

"I should think you'd be the one to know that
.”

"It's just . . . well, we've been seeing a lot of each other. For a long
time
.”

"It certainly is a long time
.”

Erica tried to keep her voice light,
knowing hostility would be a mistake. "It's every bit of two and a half
months
.”

"Gee I Is that all
.”

His surprise seemed genuine.
. Obviously, to you it seems longer
.”

Pierre managed a smile. "It isn't like that
.”

"Th
en just how is it
.”

"Hell, Erica, all it is-we won't be seeing each other for a while
.”

"For how long? A month? Six months? Even a year
.”

He answered vaguely, "Depends how things go, I guess
.”

'What things
.”

Pierre shrugged.
"And afterward," Erica persisted, "after this indefinite time, will you
call me or shall I call you
.”

She knew she was pushing too hard but had
become impatient with his indirectness. When he didn't answer, she added,
"Is the band playing, 'It's Time to Say Goodbye'? Is this the brush-off?
If it is, why not say so and have done with it
.”

Clearly, Pierre decided to grasp the opportunity pres
e
nted. "Yes," he
s
aid, I guess you could say that's the
way it is
.”

Erica took a deep breath. "Thank you for finally giving me an honest
answer. Now, at least, I know where I stand
.”

She supp
osed she could scarcely complain. She had insisted on knowing and
now had been told, even thouL-h, from the beginning of the conversation,
Erica had sensed the intention in Pierre's mind. At this moment she had
a mixture of emotions-the forem
ost, hurt pride because she had assumed
that if either of them chose to end the affair it would be herself. But
she wasn't ready to end it, and now, along with the hurt she had a sense
of loss, sadness, an awareness of loneliness to come. She was realist
enough to know that nothing would be gained by pleading or argument. One
thing Erica had learned about Pierre was that he had all the women he
needed or wanted; she knew, too, there were others whom Pierre had tired
of ahead of herself. Suddenly she felt like c,-ying at the thought of
being one more, but willed herself not to. She'd be damned if she would
feed his ego by letting him see how much she really minded.
Erica said coolly, "Under the circumstances there doesn't seem much point
in staying here
.”