The Scarlet Letter Society

by Mary McCarthy

  These thoughts didn’t help with her nervousness, so she set about preparing for their meal. She asked Ben if iced tea was okay (sweet, of course, since they were below the Mason Dixon line. if only barely). He indicated that it was and she poured their drinks.

  Ben started pulling things out of the bag and held up the file folder.

  “I don’t think we can manage to eat all this food and have this meeting at the same time. I propose lunch first, then meeting,” said Ben.

  “Agreed,” said Lisa, trying to control her grin.

  They sat down to eat, Lisa finding herself with the rare hope that customers would magically manage to stay away for just a little while.

  “Thank you so much for bringing lunch by,” said Lisa, trying to break the awkward silence as the pair sort of gazed at each other. “This is definitely a treat. I usually eat a day-old scone for lunch.”

  “The loveliest baker in town should not have to eat day-old bread,” said Ben, his smile revealing a dimple on one cheek that for some reason seemed directly connected to a nerve inside her nipples.

  She blushed again and looked down at her shrimp Pad Thai. She’d been too embarrassed to admit to Ben that she hated spicy food—she had learned over time that when stuck in a Thai restaurant with friends that this was the safe, non-spicy dish.

  “It’s delicious,” said Lisa.

  “It’s my son’s favorite,” said Ben. “He won’t eat the spicy stuff.”

  Lisa looked up from her plate and was unable to mask the complete surprise from her face.

  Ben laughed. “I didn’t think I’d had a chance to mention him. Max is four. He is from a previous relationship; we never married. I get to spend time with him a few times a month. He’s fantastic.”

  “Oh! I bet he’s great,” said Lisa, mentally going through Facebook pictures and not remembering seeing a child. “To be really honest, I’m jealous. I’ve been trying for a few years to get pregnant, but with no luck.”

  “Sounds like you and your husband really want a child?” said Ben.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” said Lisa. “I think Jim wants a baby, too, but he definitely isn’t as enthusiastic as I guess I am, especially the more time that goes by.”

  “Well, you’re still really young,” said Ben. “I’m sure it will work out.”

  And he smiled at her with his brown-green-what-the-hell-color-is-that eyes, and she felt guilty for feeling that smile all the way in the middle of her. Part of her, probably an unknowing biological, basic animal instinct part, wanted nothing more than fertile sperm so she could have the baby she wanted. She imagined hurling all the food across the shop and jumping on the iron table, yanking him to a standing position and wrapping her legs around him so she could feel his desire as she licked his neck and breathed in the smell of whatever that goddamn amazing man-perfume smell was.

  She swallowed hard, and took a drink of tea.

  “Are you okay?” asked Ben.

  “Yes, sorry, just daydreaming,” she said. “And is it hot in here?”

  “It’s just you,” said Ben, smiling. “Penny for your thoughts.” He reached into a pocket and somehow produced an actual penny, which he placed on the table.

  Lisa didn’t know what to say. Well, my thoughts are that I wish you would completely ravage me right now in my shop window? Somehow that seemed inappropriate. But only because it would be a complete disaster if a customer walked in. The back room couch? Totally doable.

  She sighed.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure my thoughts are appropriate in a place of business during a business meeting,” said Lisa in a mock-serious tone of voice.

  Ben laughed. “Inappropriate thoughts can be the most fun kind,” he said. “But I absolutely do not want you to be concerned about the professionalism of this meeting. So should we get started?”

  He picked up the file folder from the windowsill.

  Lisa smiled. “Yes, of course we should, graphic design consultant. Let’s get right down to business.”

  Eva unlocked the door of her hotel room, putting down her purse and suitcase and flopping onto the soft living room sofa. As unpleasant as her firm’s pending court case was going to be, she was glad she had to travel to New York this week. As was often the case lately, work was going to be a great escape from her personal life. She couldn’t wait to get on the DC train and away from Joe. She’d completed reviewing the case during the Acela train ride so she could relax for a few hours when she arrived in the city.

  She’d managed to collect herself on that night enough not to discuss her discovery with her husband, but she’d thought of little else for the past few days. Somehow, she knew it was a game changer. The boys were in high school now, and even as immaturely as they sometimes acted, she knew they didn’t need her in the same way as the days when she was packing peanut butter and jelly and Capri Suns in lunchboxes (or the au pair was). So why was she staying in a dead marriage? What were they waiting for to separate? The boys to leave for college?

  She wanted a drink. The bar was of course already stocked with her favorite wines, and she selected a bottle of strawberry wine from the Maryland vineyard Linganore Wine Cellars, marveling at how much attention the hotel paid to detail.

  Eva’s love life was a mystery to her. Why do I need two men to make me feel fulfilled? One in each city? Really? Gah. It’s not really fair to either of them. She knew she wasn’t really committed, especially to Ron. The poor kid was born in the 80s, and the entire relationship was basically nothing more than a hot-for-teacher crush. The sex was great, there was no doubt about that. She definitely understood the cougar relationship appeal now, but she still felt empty emotionally. It wasn’t like Ron was ever going to look her in the eyes and tell her that he was madly in love with her.

  And that seemed to be what she wanted from someone. Or was it?

  I hate the idea of depending on a man for happiness, she thought, opening the wine.

  So what about Charles? They’d been seeing each other for seven months, a natural enough timeframe for two people in a relationship to start asking what the hell was happening, right? Charles had been the proverbial tough nut to crack, though. His wife’s death was still recent enough that Eva knew he didn’t seem ready to enter any type of serious relationship, which was perfect, since neither did she. But the more time that went by, the more connected she seemed to feel to him. It was almost like she was using Ron as insurance against falling in love with Charles and getting hurt. What a complete mess, she thought. But she decided she wasn’t going to let it get to her.

  She picked up her wine glass and walked out onto the terrace of her suite, to take in the summer view of Central Park. It was sticky, humid August hot like only New York City could be, but there was a slight breeze, and the cool air sucked out of the suite and refreshed her. She watched the couples ride the horse drawn carriages. Clippity-clop, clippity-clop. The horses’ hooves clopped on and on, day after day in Central Park. She watched a couple snuggle as the weary horse carried them past benches where homeless people slept at night. Living the dream, she thought sardonically.

  She felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her jeans.

  “New message from Charles” lit up as she looked at the screen.

  Charles: Join me in the Palm Court dining room for dinner at 7, madame?

  Eva: Bien sur, monsieur.

  Charles: Parfait. Comme nous.

  Eva: Merci!

  She smiled. She certainly didn’t think she was perfect, but the dinner plans sounded perfectly like what she needed. She walked back inside, pouring another glass of wine. I deserve it, she thought. I’m just going to have one more glass, to relax. She used to have carefully set up rules about not drinking when she was alone (I will not end up an alcoholic like my father), but those had been rationalized away over recent years.

  I need to sink myself into a hot bath. Even though it was hot outside, she needed heat for her aching muscles. Her trips to the gym we
re more frequent lately as she found things to fill empty moments. In the bathroom, an enormous, elegant basket filled with scented bath salts and aromatherapy oils awaited her. She lit two lavender eucalyptus candles and chose tangerine ginger Dead Sea bath salts to toss into the steaming water as it rose. She added a few drops of eucalyptus oil to the water; the oil reversed the drying effect a bath could have on her skin. There were no windows in the master suite’s bathroom, so when she closed the door and turned the lights off, the room was dark. She breathed in the glorious smell from the eucalyptus oil and felt her shoulders relax.

  Eva ran her hand across the soft Plaza robe hanging on the beautiful antique hook, setting the matching slippers on the plush area rug beside the tub.

  She tested the water with her toe. It was the perfect bath temperature—hot enough that you’d have to get in slowly; not too cool to lose its heat while you soaked. The scents of the herbs and fruits from her candles and sea salts had blended perfectly. She placed her wine glass beside the tub and slowly sunk into the steaming, therapeutic waters that awaited her.

  As she floated there, Eva’s thoughts continued to plague her. As much as she would love to push images of her life’s unfolding dramas aside and just relax and enjoy the moment, there was nothing like lying in a hot bath to clear your thoughts.

  And then Eva started to cry. The darkness, the silence, the intense smells, the heat, the wine, but especially the aloneness in light of the discovery of her husband’s affair, just all hit her at once. She cried. It was the kind of deep, gasping cry that you couldn’t stop if you wanted to. It wracked her small body and she just had to surrender to it. Tears poured from her like the water from the gold faucet; they filled the tub together. She cried for not feeling like a good mother, not being a good wife. She cried from the stress of her job. She cried because her love life was so complicated. And she cried because at the end of the day, she just wanted to be happy.

  After an hour of soaking and crying and wine, Eva managed to collect herself, splashed cold water on her face, and started getting ready for her dinner with Charles. She was starving, hadn’t eaten all day, and looked forward to whatever culinary treats he had in store for her.

  She chose a pale blue short-sleeved Ann Taylor sweater and a vintage rust orange leather miniskirt she’d bought at Maggie’s shop. She wore simple square diamond earrings and a plain silver chain with a matching diamond pendant. Her husband may have been bad at many things, but selecting jewelry on holidays and her birthday was not one of them. She sprayed three puffs of Coach Poppy perfume into the air and walked through the small cloud. Her Sephora makeup was expertly applied; she was a fan of the brand and knew which color combinations flattered her hair and eye colors. Dark copper spiked Christian Louboutin heels completed the outfit. With her small stature she was used to wearing very high heels, but that didn’t make her any less grateful for elevators and the fact that she’d be dining in the building she was already in.

  She exited the luxurious elevator at the main level of the hotel. She raised her head to marvel at the opulence of the architecture. It was no wonder the building had been chosen as a setting by F. Scott Fitzgerald for The Great Gatsby.

  She stopped in front of the Palm Court dining room, because a “Closed for Private Event” sign greeted her. She tried the door. It was locked. A waiter instantly appeared beside her.

  “Follow me, madame,” he said.

  She did.

  Taking her around to another, non-public entrance, he held the door open for her and she entered the opulent room. The waiter left and she walked further into it. Large opaque white silk screens had been placed in front of the room’s huge arched windows, creating a completely private space. In addition to the giant palm trees that were the room’s moniker, there was only a single table for two set in the middle of the room under the magnificent arched stained glass ceiling. At least a hundred peach-colored candles in every height, shape and size illuminated the room. The electric lights had been turned down to accent the candles’ glow. The table was stunning. In the center was a five-foot high-stemmed vase with a spray of lilies in every color, their smell filling the air.

  This is a room where a wedding should be taking place right now, instead of a dinner for two, she thought. She felt completely underdressed in her sweater and skirt.

  She gasped as she stood and appreciated the sights within the gorgeous room. She heard a door open and felt Charles walk into the room behind her. She turned and ran into his arms. He chuckled.

  “This is the most amazing, beautiful room I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said, and she struggled to fight back tears as she squeezed him in a thankful embrace.

  “I was so happy to do it for you, Eva,” said Charles. He straightened his arms, held her slight waist, and looked straight into her eyes with his own dark brown ones.

  “I have a four-course meal planned for you, madame,” he said. “So I hope that you are hungry.”

  “Absolutely starving, Chef,” she said, smiling up at him. Even in her three-inch platform heels, he was a few inches taller. He returned her smile, gesturing towards the elegant dining table.

  “Shall we?” he said.

  “I believe we absolutely shall,” she said.

  They sat, and as if on cue, a waiter entered with drinks. Her favorite, champagne with Chambord raspberry liqueur for her, a glass of red something-he-probably-picked-to-go-with-the-meal for him. Jazz music played softly in the background.

  “I can’t believe you did all this for me,” said Eva.

  “It was fun,” said Charles. “I’m so glad you like it. I hope you enjoy the meal I have prepared for you. I’m trying out some new culinary experiments.”

  “That sounds exciting,” said Eva, sipping from her sweet pink bubbles.

  “I think it will be,” said Charles, with a lazy smile. He sipped his wine and admired the beautiful woman who sat before him. The door opened again, and another waiter entered with two small plates.

  “Amuse-bouche,” said the waiter, placing the plates in front of them. “A gift from the chef.”

  “This whole evening is a lovely gift from the chef,” replied Eva, gazing across the table at her dark-haired lover. She knew, because he was near obsessive compulsive about his selections of food and style of dining, that this entire evening, down to the timed entries of each waiter, had been meticulously planned for days. And she was thankful for it. What an amazing escape, she thought.

  They ate the duck confit together in silence. He knew duck was one of her favorites. Plates entered and disappeared as if by magic—baked oysters with prosciutto and champagne cream, pan-seared petit filet mignon. It never occurred to Eva whether the foods were in season, and how much trouble Charles had to go through to get some of them. She was stuffed, and delightfully so.

  Another glass of Champagne and Chambord arrived without the need for her to request it.

  “And now it is almost time for dessert,” said Charles, and he stood up.

  She smiled and asked, “Are we going somewhere else for dessert?”

  “Not far,” he replied, taking her hand. She stood.

  He led her to another section that had been prepared to appear like a small sitting room. An antique French sofa, coffee table, and two plush chairs were gathered on a beautiful Persian rug. More candles lit the area, and a bowl of roses was centered on the coffee table with a grouping of candles.

  “This is beautiful,” said Eva.

  “As are you,” said Charles. He walked over and sat on the sofa. She left her heels on the rug and sunk into the cushions, tucking her feet under her. Another waiter appeared. He brought a covered silver dish, placing it on the table before them, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

  “That will be our last interruption for the evening,” said Charles. They heard the click of the door when the waiter left.

  “Is this some kind of surprise dessert?” said Eva.

  “Yes, it is a new recipe I am t
rying,” said Charles. He lifted up the silver platter’s cover to reveal a bed of Pop Rocks candy packets in every flavor, with two crystal dishes of sorbet placed amongst them. Eva laughed.

  “Pop Rocks?” she said.

  “Yes, Pop Rocks,” responded Charles. “A few weeks ago I overhead two of the waitresses talking about their favorite candies as children. One of them mentioned these things—Pop Rocks? And I had never heard of them. The other girl told me how delicious they were, and one day she brought in a packet of them. Watermelon. I tried them. And they are delicious.”

  “We all loved them as kids,” said Eva, grinning. “And watermelon has always been my favorite.”

  “I decided to try to make sorbet with them,” said Charles, “because I thought the culinary surprise of the popping combined with the intense flavor would be enjoyable in a frozen form. And so—voila! Watermelon Pop Rocks sorbet.”

  She picked up her spoon and silver bowl and dug in. As soon as the frozen, carbonated watermelon magic hit her tongue, she giggled like a little girl.

  “Oh my God, this is the most delicious thing ever.”

  “I’m so glad you think so,” said Charles. He reached over, picked up a packet of Watermelon Pop Rocks, and sprinkled some on the top of each of their bowls. “The finishing touch.”

  “Another bizarre thought about the Pop Rocks came into my mind,” said Charles. “And I would like to try that as well.” Raising a spoonful of the candy from its silver bowl, he took a mouthful of the candy, and leaned over to kiss Eva. She could feel the popping of the candy as soon as his lips touched hers. She instinctively opened her mouth. As their tongues met, the Pop Rocks sizzled and fizzed and popped audibly, and she wondered how she had existed for four decades without Pop Rocks kisses.