by Saks, Tessa
As she opened the door, she felt a growing eagerness. Her future was about to improve. Now if only Jonathan would prove it to her by committing, she could relax and start planning their future—a money-filled, status-filled, worry-free future.
***
Ellen sat in the waiting room of her expensive marriage counselor, waiting for Jonathan to arrive. Their plan was to meet for lunch first and then go to their first counseling session, but instead, he called to say he couldn’t make the lunch and would meet her here, at Dr. Morris’s office. Typical, she thought, as she flipped through the magazine on her lap with speed and indifference, he’s always on time for work and everything else he does, but never for me.
Her mind raced through the events of the past week. Her wonderful second honeymoon had ended in heartache. Everything she had planned on had failed, and miserably.
At least he is willing to come to counseling, she assured herself. This will straighten him out. A good dose of reality from Dr. Morris and he’ll come around. He is, after all, paid a small fortune to fix these men. It had worked for Charlene. And Jonathan was much easier to deal with than Jim, Charlene’s obnoxious husband. Jonathan had always been malleable and soft, easily controlled. She would insist that this doctor do everything he could to straighten Jonathan out and to cure him. Like an intensive-care surgeon in an emergency, Ellen needed his expertise to keep her marriage alive and pull it back on track.
***
Sam looked up from her plate. “What do you mean, counseling?”
“It’s just for a few months,” Jonathan said, touching her arm.
“A few months! What am I supposed to do?” Sam pulled back, avoiding his touch.
“Be patient.”
“Patient? I’ve been patient. You told me you wanted this, you needed to be with me, every day—remember?” Sam sat back and stared at the crowd of noisy lunchtime diners. She always loved this restaurant, with its trendiness and faux glamour, but today it looked tacky and cheap, all shine and glitter. Everyone around her looked phony. Big hair. Big jewelry. Big show.
“Now baby, come on, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? What’s reasonable? You tell me you want to leave your wife, then you take a honeymoon together. I don’t hear from you for over a week, and now you tell me you are going to counseling?” Samantha stirred her margarita aggressively, pink ice slopping onto the white tablecloth. “Doesn’t sound like you’re trying to end it … more like you’re trying to fix it.”
“That’s what I need her think, I need to do this—”
“To be nice?”
“To be fair.”
Sam cut her chicken with clumsy aggression. “There is nothing fair about divorce. You leave, she loses …” She took a bite. “Where’s the fairness?”
“She needs to feel like I’m at least making the effort, and giving her the opportunity to try and fix it.”
“She’s had forty years of trying!” Sam dropped her cutlery onto her plate.
Jonathan reached for her hand. “Sam—”
“She has. She’s done nothing for you for forty years and now that you find happiness somewhere else … with someone you love … now she wants to try? Come on!” Sam pushed her plate forward and looked away. Her head felt like a valve under pressure. This was really her fault, that wicked woman, not his. She turned to face him. “That’s not fair … for you,” she said trying to soften her tone but it came out as sarcasm instead.
“Well, fair or not, she does deserve a chance,” Jonathan said, reaching for his glass.
“A chance? My God, you actually think it can be fixed, don’t you?” Sam folded her arms across her chest and looked away.
“No!” Jonathan slammed his glass down. “No, Sam I don’t. I just need it to appear that way for her sake. My kids, they won’t speak to me, you know—”
“They’ve been poisoned by her, Johnny. One day they’ll see—”
“No. They want to believe their father has some compassion, that I’m not a heartless bastard.” He reached for her hand. “Come on, it’s just a few more months.”
“Sure, and what if …” Sam’s voice trailed.
“What if what? Are you worried?” He leaned forward. “Baby, there is nothing to be worried about. The more I am with her, the more I realize how special you are, how lucky I am.” Jonathan reached his hand across to touch Sam’s cheek. She abruptly leaned back, causing his hand to brush the air.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Then prove it. Leave her now!”
“I can’t. It’s impossible.”
“Impossible? She really has a hold on you, doesn’t she?” She took a sip of her drink.
“Actually, she does …”
Sam choked on her drink. “You admit it then.” Sam fought the sting of tears forming. “Oh God you do …”
“Now, come here.” Jonathan slid closer and held her, stroking her hair. The booth seemed claustrophobic. Sam usually felt safe in his arms, but right now, she felt vulnerable. Raw. A dark cloud moved over her.
“Darling, I want you no matter what,” he said softly, then tried his reassuring smile. “I am more concerned that you will not want me.”
“That’s impossible,” she said looking at his stupid grin. I need you much more than you realize, you fool. A hell of a lot more, in fact. “You know how much I love you,” she said in her baby voice as she rubbed his leg, working her way closer.
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to make sure of. You wouldn’t want me if I were penniless, would you?”
Sam dropped her hand. What the hell is he talking about? She sat back and studied his face. Of course she wouldn’t want him if he were broke, why else was she with him? She could be with Rory if she wanted a man who was broke. Idiot.
“But you’re not penniless, right?” Sam asked, praying to hear ‘yes.’
“Of course not, but if I don’t do this properly, I could end up with less than I have now.”
“But you … you’re—”
“Yes. I’m Jonathan Horvath II, but I got my start with Ellen’s uncle’s money.”
A chill ran down her back. “But I thought—but your dad, the big company, all that family history stuff …” Sam felt her stomach churn with nausea.
“No. Dad lost everything except the good name. In fact, I owe everything to Ellen’s Uncle. Back in ’46, I had just returned from the war, poor and unsophisticated.”
“So what does it mean?”
“It means, my dear, that for now I need to do as Ellen wishes—including not seeing you for a while. I also need her to agree to a divorce and this counseling will give me more time—”
Sam stroked his thigh again, pressing closer to him. Then, in her most innocent voice, “But I thought divorces were fifty-fifty.”
“Not always. That’s why I need to be a good boy for now. I need to do some … well, manipulating, moving some files.” He rubbed his chin, showing discomfort. “Just some loose ends to tie up, that’s all. I need a little more time, sweetie … time to take care of things, for us.” His hand swept a strand of her hair off her shoulder. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about this.”
Sam sat back in disgust, the nausea increasing. All of her plans, her dreams, destroyed by this selfish woman.
“It’s okay. I have a good plan and it will all work out.” He reached over and patted her hand. “There is no need to worry. I just won’t be able to see you for a while. You can wait for me, can’t you?” he said, letting go of her hand and touching her cheek. “For us?”
Sam looked away from him, concealing her escalating rage. This was not going to be easy. Ellen could ruin everything. She watched as a waiter ignited a pan of shrimp beside them, the flames reaching high above and heat searing her skin. She felt the sting of tears and wished Ellen was dead.
***
The paneled door opened and a doctor in a well-tailored suit appeared, his hand searching through a file. “Mr. and Mrs. Horvath,” the doctor called out.
> Ellen smiled and stood. She smoothed her hair and walked toward him, conscious of his gaze. He was tall and good-looking, although a bit too young, considering his level of expertise.
“Dr. Morris, hello. I’m Mrs. Horvath,” Ellen said, while extending her hand.
Dr. Morris shook it firmly, placing his hand reassuringly over hers. “Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, displaying a mouth with perfect white teeth. “Will Mr. Horvath be attending?”
“Oh yes,” Ellen said, with overstated enthusiasm. “He will be here, unfortunately he has been detained, but he will be here—of course, he wants to be here.” Ellen wondered who she was trying to convince more, Dr. Morris or herself.
He nodded and led her down a hall and into the office. His office was extremely stark and modern, a mixture of metal and glass. No color anywhere, except the art on the white walls, if you could call the hideous paintings art. The room had a sterile feel, more like a research clinic than a place to heal relationships. Certainly nothing like the elegant wood-paneled office of Dr. Sutton, the psychologist she had tried to get Brianna to see. The one she had hoped could cure her of her confusion.
“Please, take a seat,” Dr. Morris said, gesturing toward the white patent leather couch.
Ellen sat and tried to find a graceful position as she adjusted her skirt. The couch was low and deep and she couldn’t keep her skirt from riding up, revealing her upper thighs. Dr. Morris sat across from her in a hideous, plastic molded chair. Retro sixties junk. “Lovely office, Dr. Morris,” Ellen said, forcing a nervous smile. “Quite … charming.”
“Water?” Dr. Morris poured a glass for her. “Since Mr. Horvath isn’t here yet, shall we start with you? I’d like to discuss your goals for these counseling sessions.”
“Of course, I want to save my marriage. Why else would I be here?”
“Yes, yes. Let’s discuss you. Are you happy?”
“Of course.” Her heart raced. “I mean, not about the problem in my marriage, naturally.”
“Please tell me about that.”
After listening to a long description of Ellen’s childhood, her marriage and her children, Dr. Morris smiled, his face soft with sympathy. “What do you want to change in your marriage?”
“I want him to want to stay.” Ellen gave him a wry smile. “That’s where you come in.”
“Don’t you have needs that aren’t being met?” he asked, ignoring her cue.
“Oh no, I’m very happy. Completely happy, except for that.”
“What about anger? Do you have any feelings of anger?”
Ellen stared at the ceiling. There was a long silence. “Yes,” she sighed. “There are times when I get upset at him. I get angry when he talks of leaving. I can’t help it. It’s natural, I guess.”
“Natural? Elaborate on natural.” He continued taking notes.
“Natural to be angry, well, I mean, given the circumstances.”
“Angry about what?” Dr. Morris pressed further, his head looking down as he wrote.
“About him leaving me, of course!” Ellen blurted. Was he stupid? “What women wouldn’t be angry about her husband walking out on her? Abandoning her. Of course I’m angry!” Ellen slammed the water glass onto the table. “It’s her. The little minx, I hate her. She’s fooled him, tricked him into thinking things.” She could feel her voice getting loud and shrill. She closed her eyes. A calm took over as she took a deep breath. Ellen smiled at Dr. Morris and said in a serene voice, “The problem isn’t with me, don’t you see? I’m not the problem. He’s the problem.” She smoothed her hair and continued. “He needs to see things clearly.”
“See what, exactly?” Dr. Morris asked.
“See what he has. See what he’d be giving up. What he’d lose.” Ellen smiled again. “I need you to help me by telling him this. Dr. Morris, you can make him see.”
“I can’t tell him what to do,” Dr. Morris said in a bristled tone. “You know that.”
“Yes, but you could influence him,” Ellen said in her best persuasive voice. “Isn’t it your job to show him how he’s confused, how he’s not thinking clearly—what a mistake he’s making.” This is, after all, what we are paying an inordinate sum of money for.
Dr. Morris set his pad and pen down on the mirrored table between them. He leaned toward Ellen. “Mrs. Horvath, you’re a very strong woman. You must be aware that for this marriage to work, it needs to be mutual. No one should be coerced. This should be a natural, loving state—perhaps with pain, perhaps with anger, perhaps with forgiveness—but never forced.”
Ellen looked away. “He’s being a child. He’s completely and utterly selfish. He can’t see right from wrong.” Ellen crossed her arms. “I swear that if I didn’t tell him what to do on a regular basis, he wouldn’t have any idea what to do.” Ellen sat in silence and stared straight at Dr. Morris. “You see, you have no idea how much he needs me.”
Dr. Morris picked up his pad and pen again. “What do you do for him?”
“Everything!” Ellen shrieked. “I do everything. I plan everything. I find things, I buy things, tell him what to wear. Why, he’d be completely lost without me.”
“What about love, does he have love?”
“Love? Of course he has love,” Ellen blurted aloud, her voice unexpectedly harsh. She struggled to restrain her tone. “No one could love him as much as I do. I’ve given him the best years of my life, all the years.” Her voice grew shrill. “I’ve sacrificed for him. I’ve forgiven him, countless times. I lost track of it all, there have been so many times.”
“For what?” Dr. Morris interrupted.
“Sorry?” Ellen asked, smoothing her hair again to regain composure.
“You said you forgave him—for what? Please elaborate.”
“The affairs. Countless affairs.”
“So this isn’t the first?”
“Good heavens. No.” Ellen looked away. “I’ve become used to it. The other girls, well, they were just that. Girls. Stupid girls to have sex with. He’s never loved any of them. He has a pathetic physical need, a deviant sort of need that they fulfill. He has … well, problems in that area. It’s just sex—that’s all it ever is. Everything is all, well …” Ellen pulled hard on the tie of her blouse, “all good between us.”
“Did these affairs hurt you?” Dr. Morris asked in a hushed tone.
Ellen stopped fidgeting and looked away. She stared out the window, toward the overcast sky. After a long pause she sighed. “At first … yes, at first I was very hurt. I cried a lot. I wanted to know everything. What she looked like, what she had that I didn’t have. What they did …” Ellen shook her head. “I drove myself crazy. But he stayed. He always stayed.”
“And you forgave him?”
“Yes. I came to realize it was fine. They were willing to do things I had no interest in doing. I simply put it out of my mind.” Ellen folded her arms across her chest. “He is my husband and he doesn’t love any of them. It is just sex. I’m Mrs. Jonathan Horvath. Those trampy little girls, that’s not real love. It’s a temporary lustful craving, nothing more.”
“And now … what is it now?”
“Just sex. I told you already. He thinks he loves her. He doesn’t. With enough time, he will get bored, just like always, and poof—she’ll be over, forgotten like yesterday’s news.” Ellen smiled triumphantly. “And it will be as it always was. I’ve seen this countless times before—”
The buzzer. “Dr. Morris,” a voice squelched from the desk. “Mr. Horvath is here.”
“Tell him to wait,” he called out to the phone, then looked at Ellen. “Shall we continue?”
“I honestly see no need.” She stood and smoothed her skirt, picking up her purse. “You can see I’m not the problem. Please … please fix my husband. Fix my marriage.” Ellen glanced at Dr. Morris. Anxiety suddenly overcame her. “Tell him. Show him what’s important. Make him see what he’s doing.” Ellen grabbed his arm. “I need you to help. I need my marriage to go on.” H
er heart was pounding in her head. “I can’t let him leave. I just can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” he asked.
“What a stupid question!” Ellen dropped his arm, pulled back and closed her eyes. What she couldn’t admit was her deep fear of failure. Jonathan leaving her would confirm to everyone her colossal failure in both her marriage and her rise in society. She brushed her trembling hand over her bangs. “I’m sorry,” she said in a calmer voice. “I mean, of course everyone wants their marriage to work. I must be his wife. It’s funny really, these young girls will do anything to get a man like my husband, and I’m wrong for trying to keep him. Why is that? Why am I so wrong?”
Dr. Morrow was about to speak.
“Why should I just accept this and walk away? Why shouldn’t I fight for what I believe in? Wouldn’t you fight for what is most important to you? Well, of course, you would. If someone was stealing your children, you wouldn’t just lie down and hand them over to some sniveling, money-grabbing little tramp. I won’t either. She’s not getting anything of mine. Not in this lifetime.”
CHAPTER 6
Ellen’s car crept up to the storefront sheltered by a faded awning, the address, 1204 Rare Coins, barely visible beneath a permanent layer of dirt. Clever, she thought, using a coin shop in a remote area as a cover so women in her situation wouldn’t be seen entering a private investigator’s office. The trip finding this place was difficult since she was not used to driving—she couldn’t remember the last time she actually drove herself anywhere.
She stepped onto the crack-filled sidewalk, noticing the barred windows and graffiti, evident in spite of the lack of light. The groups of men smoking in front of the doorways were grubby and seemed to acknowledge she did not belong here. She pressed her purse close and hurried into the office, ignoring her impulse to drive away and forget the whole idea. After all, this was Patty’s doing, her big master plan—getting a bunch of dirt on Samantha. Ellen did have to admit she was morbidly curious. And anything that she could use to destroy that little twit was okay by Ellen.