What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “No Rory, there’s nothing you should know.”

  “Just checking, brat.” He laughed into the phone.

  “I’m still pissed off. It’s wrong. He should have told me.”

  “So tell him that you’re upset. Maybe he’ll lay off and feel guilty—you’re really good at guilty.”

  “Very funny!” Sam sat down again. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, act like it. Some support would be nice.”

  “Sam, I’ll always support you—you know that. And we’ll always be friends, no matter what he discovers about you.”

  “Ha-ha,” Sam said and hung up. She paced back and forth across the cubicle floor, trying to calm her mind. It was almost lunch and Johnny was going to be leaving for a meeting this afternoon. She had to talk to him. She picked up the phone and tried his secretary. Too late.

  Sam tried his car phone. She left a message with his service. Urgent. Call ASAP. She sat back at her desk, unable to move. She couldn’t eat. What if he did find out? Would that be enough to give him a reason to end things?

  ***

  “Mother, I think you’d be fine on your own,” Brianna said, her tone somewhat guarded. “I mean, Dad is hardly around anyway.”

  “And what on earth would I do alone?” Ellen stood in her kitchen and jammed the coffee pot into the machine. “Honestly, you wouldn’t want your mother to go unescorted to the opera or the theater.” She scooped coffee into the filter. “I can’t even begin to imagine it. It’s a couples world. Single women do not get invited to dinner parties; maybe the odd sympathy dinner when they partner you with some horrible match. I would lose everything. And the trips. Who would invite me to travel?”

  “I would.”

  “You? And me?” Ellen laughed. “I can see us now; backpacking up the mountains of Tibet, scrounging around the barrios of India or favelas in Brazil. Sorry dear, not my style.”

  “What about your friends?” Brianna leaned against the table and grabbed a bagel, tearing off a chunk and dipping it in the cream cheese. “Lots of women travel together.”

  “Hen packs!” Ellen handed her a knife. “A bunch of bitter old women without men who do nothing but complain about how bad men are or, worse, rejoice in their sisterhood. I couldn’t stand it.” Ellen selected a bagel from the stack.

  “You might try.”

  “Not if I can help it. I will not be alone. End of discussion.”

  “But Mother, aren’t you being a bit unreasonable?”

  “Reason has nothing to do with it,” Ellen said as she sat down. “Being reasonable is not the way to stay married. There are times when a marriage is completely unreasonable … but you work through it. You challenge it. You control it. I’ve done that many times over the last forty years.”

  “I’m sorry Mother, I don’t buy that.” Brianna set her coffee cup down. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the fridge.

  Ellen looked up at Brianna’s face and motioned for Brianna to sit beside her. “Try to think of it in regard to loving children. There are lots of parents whose children do unspeakable things … it would be very reasonable to end any contact with them. Stop the hurt and pain. End the suffering. But you don’t. Why? Parents love their children and suffer through all of the rough times.” Ellen sat back and tapped the table for emphasis. “They don’t just quit. They don’t just walk away, however reasonable that may seem.”

  “But that’s different, there is a bond there. Unconditional love—”

  “And a marriage should be different? Doesn’t anyone really love anymore?” She shook her head. “You create a bond together with God, the Almighty Father, an irrevocable bond that only God can end—until death do us part—and then when it gets tough or it hurts—what? You just walk away, throw in the towel and say I’m done?” She wiped her hands for effect. “I did love you, but I’ve stopped.” She sipped her coffee, staring at Brianna. “No, I don’t see it. I love your father as I love you and Brandon. Nothing will change that. I am committed to us forever.”

  “But he’s not committed to you.” Brianna finally sat beside her. “You need to accept that.”

  “No, I don’t!” Ellen slammed her cup down, coffee splashing on the table. “How many women my age do you know that have been happily married, that are now, in later life, single? How many are happy? How many say, ‘Wow, this is fantastic. I had no idea being alone would be so rewarding and fulfilling. I am so happy here by myself, with nowhere to go, no one to go with and no one to share my life with.’ How many?” she demanded as she wiped the spill.

  “I don’t know … a few …”

  “A few.” Ellen stood and tossed the towel into the sink. “Yes, there are always a few and what happens? They leech onto their children and grandchildren—they become parasites. Without their children at every function or every weekend, they’d be alone and lonely. Would you want that? Would you want me here, alone, pining for you or Brandon to visit or to go places with me? To take care of me?”

  “Well no, but—”

  “You see, it’s for all our benefit that your father and I stay together. I’m thinking of you.”

  The corners of Brianna’s mouth turned up into a slight smile. “Mother, bless you.”

  “You’re welcome. You see my point; now if we can just get your father to see.”

  “That, mother, is something you can tackle.” Brianna stood. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to the hotel and finish the room setup. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Can you have everything ready by nine?”

  “Of course—ten dozen of the white roses?” Ellen reached for her hand but she pulled away before Ellen could grab hold.

  “Yes, the white JFK tea roses. I will get Manuel to arrange them first thing.”

  They walked out of the kitchen, through the dining room and into the foyer. “Good luck on your little workshop, dear. What is it again—transient meditation or something?”

  “Transcendental,” Brianna replied and turned to grab the ratty-looking piece of burlap that she called her purse. Ellen stared in disbelief that they shared the same genes.

  “Yes, of course.” Ellen nodded and walked Brianna to the door. As she watched her walk away, Ellen wondered why she felt empty around her children. She stood and waved as Brianna drove off in her convertible, the annoying twang of Moroccan guitars fading into the distance.

  Ellen closed the door and turned away. She walked over to the collection of picture frames along the mantel, an assortment of shapes and sizes, filled with images of her beautiful children. She looked at all the happy faces smiling at her. Brianna and Brandon at nine and eleven playing in the sand at Mombasa. The ski trips to Aspen and Vail, to Germany.

  They wouldn’t have had all those wonderful times and memories of an idyllic childhood if she had just been reasonable. No, a bitter divorce and limited access to their father would’ve destroyed their happy childhood. No family gatherings. No time together in the summerhouse. No ski trips. She sat down with the photo of the four of them in Germany when suddenly the memory of Switzerland appeared. They had been to Switzerland.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Jonathan would never. She set the frame on the table beside her. He would never deceive you like that. He isn’t capable of it. All the same, she went in search of his old passports.

  ***

  An hour later, Sam stared up at the painted stars on her bedroom ceiling, wondering what would happen if Jonathan didn’t marry her. She tried to imagine her life with more debt and less money. And to start over, find another man with money … she didn’t have time. Her debt was closing in on her and she needed things fixed soon. She needed to get control of him.

  The phone on her nightstand rang, interrupting her morbid thoughts. Sam slowly reached over and picked it up.

  “Hi sweetie,” he said. At least he sounded happy … or drunk. “I got your message, what’s so urgent?”

  “Oh, yeah. I got an interesting call …” Sudden
ly alert, she bolted upright, her rage now restored. “Just why the hell are you investigating me?”

  “Investigating?”

  “Don’t you trust me, or what?”

  “Of course I trust you. What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play stupid. A friend said some private eye was going around asking questions about me.”

  “I never—”

  “You did—admit it. You don’t trust me. Stop lying. I don’t know what you want to find—hey, just what the hell are you looking for?”

  “But Sam, I’m not. Why would I?” Anger rose in his voice. “I’m shocked you would even suspect me of such a thing.”

  “Well then, if not you—” Sam paused for a moment, then froze. “Oh my God, it’s her!” she yelled at the receiver, shaking it. “It’s your stupid wife.”

  “No. Why in the hell would—?”

  “She’s trying to destroy me—to destroy us! That’s it! It’s your evil bitch of a wife.”

  “Now wait a minute, Sam, we don’t know—”

  “Who else?” Sam lay on her stomach, her feet hanging off the bed.

  “I don’t know, but let me find out first before you go accusing everyone.”

  “Quit defending her. It’s her! I know it now.”

  “What difference does it make? You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”

  “No, damn it. I don’t have anything to hide.” Sam’s skin smoldered under the accusation. She rolled onto her back, hammering a pillow and propping it up behind her head.

  “Then why so upset, sweetie?”

  “She’s digging into my life, causing trouble.”

  “Trouble? What trouble?”

  “I don’t want anyone putting ideas into people’s heads.” Sam sat upright, her face flushed as her heart beat faster. “If my demented relatives think they can make money selling secrets, they’ll make something up, something completely fake and stupid. You don’t know them—”

  “You’re overreacting,” Jonathan said. “Now calm down—”

  “I’m not and I won’t. If you loved me, you would stop this. You would see that she just wants to hurt me—to hurt us.” Sam stood and picked up her cigarettes and lighter from the dresser. “I thought you loved me. You can’t sit back and let her hurt me—can you?”

  “No … I understand. Yes, it is wrong,” he said. “Of course it’s wrong.”

  “So you’ll stop it?”

  “Yes, I will stop it—if, in fact, it is Ellen.” The line went silent. “Feel better?”

  “No,” she said. “Not until I’m sure they’ve stopped stirring my family up.” She lit her cigarette and inhaled a deep drag. That stupid cow! Knowing her family, it was already too late to stop anything.

  CHAPTER 10

  Later that evening, Ellen sat in the library reading, enjoying the heat and crackle of the fireplace. The library was another favorite room, with its dark mahogany paneling and floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with leather-bound classics and popular novels overwrapped in color-coordinated covers. Over the years, she had spent many an evening curled up with a good book and a roaring fire. Many evenings had also been spent with Jonathan reading near her or playing chess or cards together. She looked up at the bronze clock on the mantel. Jonathan had been in his study for a few hours now, working and making calls. His voice rose at times, but she couldn’t make out the words. After several minutes, his footsteps echoed as he walked across the marble toward the library.

  “Damn it Ellen!” His voice bellowed as he stood in the doorway. “How could you be reduced to this?”

  “What are you talking about? I—”

  “Did you hire a detective?” Jonathan stepped closer, his hands on his hips.

  Ellen felt her face turn crimson. “Of course not. Well—”

  “Did you? Never mind lying, I know all about it.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “No! Stop! I listen to you, all day—every day I listen. Not this time—I don’t care what your reason is. This is so appalling—quite frankly, I’m stunned.” He paced the room. “No, worse, I am gravely disappointed.”

  “But Jonathan—” Ellen closed her book and set it down on the side table.

  “Ellen, for once I will do the talking. If you think this action will bring us closer, clearly you’re mentally unstable. I thought you had problems. Now I know you have problems—only an unbalanced person would do this.” Jonathan shook his head. “How could you? This just shows me how much faith you have in me. This just demonstrates what I have felt all along—you need to control everything—there isn’t one, tiny, minuscule part of my life that’s mine anymore. You have to be in all of it.”

  “Darling, I don’t understand why you are this upset—” Ellen couldn’t think fast enough.

  “Damn you, I’ve had it with you.” He stepped closer, his gray eyes piercing through her.

  He continued his tirade, an onslaught of anger Ellen no longer heard. The pressure in her head intensified. She stood and lost her balance, falling on her weak hip.

  “Don’t play the victim now.” Jonathan stood motionless and watched as she grabbed the armrest of the sofa and pulled herself up. “Your tears don’t work on me anymore.”

  She reached to steady herself. She pushed past him toward the door, using the desk for balance, then walked slowly, with an unbalanced gait toward her room.

  As she climbed the stairs, she felt anger resurface, but this time she did not try to resist. This time she allowed it to expand and grow into something useful, something to replace the pain. She locked her bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, with thoughts of revenge. Images of destroying that evil tramp filled her head and heart, calming her, comforting her … eventually lulling her into a deep sleep.

  ***

  The next morning, Ellen opened her eyes to cheerful slats of light, stretching across the floor and onto the walls. The house was quiet except for the tick of the clock on her dresser and the distant hum of mowers outside. She lay on her back and pulled the sheet closer.

  As she dressed, she decided to call Dr. Morrow. Perhaps he could shed light on why this trivial matter upset Jonathan so much. The walk down the stairs and through the hallway seemed much longer with her injured hip. She stopped in the kitchen, poured a glass of juice and took the plate with her bagel and lox from the fridge.

  A voice called out as she walked toward the morning room.

  “Ellen?”

  “Good morning dear, feeling better?” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  “What in the hell are you doing, hiring a private detective?” Jonathan demanded as he stood in the entrance. “Checking on Sam,” he continued, “he’s checking out Samantha, isn’t he?”

  Ellen pushed past him, setting the glass and plate on the table. She hesitated, then turned to face him. “Yes, he is,” she said. “And oddly enough, there were pictures of you together just two weeks ago. How’s that for lying, appalling … and what else? Oh yes, very disappointing.”

  “Goddamn it, Ellen! What the devil were you thinking? You’ve got her all upset.”

  “I certainly don’t care about her being upset.”

  “Well, it’s got me upset and you should care about my being upset.”

  “I don’t see why it should upset you this much.” Ellen turned away from him and sat down, pulling her chair in.

  Jonathan moved closer, crossing his arms. “Because it upsets her, damn it!”

  “Why?” Ellen opened her napkin, smoothing across her lap. “Why does it upset her—something to hide, perhaps?”

  “Why?” Jonathan pulled Ellen’s chair out to face her directly. He leaned forward. “Why, you ask? Try invasion of privacy, for starters.”

  “Privacy?” Ellen laughed. “She’s hooked up with you, the famous JW Horvath II. Nothing is private anymore. Honestly, Jonathan, consider this a favor.”

  “A favor?” He made his hand into a fist and slammed the table.

  “Yes, a favor,�
�� Ellen said, as she calmly cut into her lox. “If there is anything dirty, you’ll know it first. You really should have done this yourself.”

  “There isn’t anything, damn it,” Jonathan yelled, his fist hitting the table again.

  “Isn’t there? Don’t be too sure.” Ellen smiled before taking a bite. She wished Morty had found something good to throw at him.

  “No. She’s assured me, there’s nothing.”

  Ellen took a small bite. “My, she seems awfully upset over nothing.”

  “It’s wrong Ellen … and quite frankly, I’m surprised at you. You know better.”

  “Do I?” She said, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Yes, you are a God-fearing woman, a respectable lady. This is a pretty low thing to do.”

  “As low as cheating on your wife?” Ellen set her silver knife and fork down and glared at him. “As low as pretending to work on fixing your marriage? As low as leading me to believe that you were trying, when all along—?”

  “Ellen, that is entirely different—”

  “No, it’s not.” Ellen’s gaze returned to her plate. “I just wanted to know who I am up against. I think I’m entitled that much.” She picked up her cutlery again.

  “You are not entitled to go messing around in someone else’s life.”

  “Oh, but she is!” Ellen threw her cutlery onto the plate with a crash. “She’s entitled to go and destroy my life, your children’s lives—destroy the happiness we have, and I—I can’t do anything?” Ellen tossed her napkin aside and pushed herself from the table. “Honestly, Jonathan, I’m surprised at you, I thought you might want to know what you are getting into.”

  “I do. I know enough.”

  “Do you? Do you really?”

  “Yes, damn it. Is there something I should?”

  “Yes, Jonathan there is. There’s a lot you should know, but you close your eyes to all of it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You will see.” Ellen stood and picked up her plate and glass. “It will all become clear and you will see.” Ellen turned and walked into the kitchen. Jonathan followed her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. The glass slipped and crashed onto the floor, scattering shards of crystal in all directions.