The Scarlet Letter Society

by Mary McCarthy

  “Thank you,” said Lisa, under her breath, and without looking up.

  “For what?” asked Jim.

  “Thank you for coming here and doing this with me,” said Lisa.

  “You shouldn’t have to thank me, Lisa,” said Jim. “We both want a baby. I feel bad that we haven’t been able to conceive one on our own, and we should do whatever we can to make a family happen. It’s what we both want. You don’t need to thank me.”

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “Why, honey?” asked Jim.

  “It’s why I haven’t been asking you to come here sooner,” said Lisa. “I’m just scared of what we’re going to discover. What if something is wrong, and for some reason we can’t have a baby. It would be devastating to find that out.”

  All those journal entries, she thought. I’ve written and written this scene out so many times and I just don’t know how it’s going to end. I want it to end with a baby in my arms. Jim took her hand.

  “Knowing something for fact is going to be better than wondering and worrying,” he said. “We need to find out where we’re so we can figure out where we’re going. I’m glad we’re here. It’s a first step in the journey that will hopefully end with our little family.”

  “I never knew you felt that way about it,” said Lisa. “We’ve just never really talked about it that much.”

  “Well one of things I realized,” said Jim, “Is that we weren’t talking enough. I’m not going to let that happen anymore.”

  “Thank you for that, too,” said Lisa, and she smiled at her husband.

  “Stop thanking me for things you don’t need to be thanking me for,” said Jim,. “I loved you enough to sell all those shoes on ebay, didn’t I? The new nursery is going to be so nice. One way or another, we will have our family. Ok?”

  “Ok,” said Lisa, smiling.

  They had talked about adoption and it was an option they were both willing to consider if they couldn’t conceive naturally. Egg donor, in vitro, surrogate mother, adoption, whatever it took was fine with both of them.

  The nurse walked in. “Mr. and Mrs. Swain?”

  And they walked back to meet the doctor at the fertility clinic.

  Lisa had set up a table for three in the bakery and made chocolate croissants from scratch. It was nice to be able to prepare something for her friends. The coffee (nothing fancy here; they’d have to settle for cream and sugar) was brewing and the smell of the baking chocolate and pastry filled the air.

  Maggie and Eva walked down the street together. Though Maggie wore a vintage faux fur coat and Eva wore a modern black one with clean lines, they were bundled in practically matching hats and gloves and scarves; Lisa knew the knit shop a few blocks over where the items had been made; she was a fan as well.

  They opened the door, bringing in a whoosh of cold winter air. As she hugged the other two women she could feel the cold rise off their skin and clothing. Good mornings were wished all around. Lisa’s bakery had a small fireplace; it was gas and not as quaint as a wood burning fireplace, but it did the trick, and the women gathered around it, waiting to take off coats until the worst of the chill was off their bodies.

  “So what’s going on with Stanley and Zarina?” asked Lisa.

  “Kate called me,” said Maggie. “Apparently after being inspired by the glorious gay wedding on New Year’s Eve, the two of them went to Vegas and eloped.”

  “Oh my God!” said Lisa.

  “They’re adorable,” said Eva. “I’m so happy for them. Let’s surprise them with a little shower when they get back.”

  “Definitely,” said Lisa. “I have to ask: did Zarina ever find out about you and her mom?”

  “Nah, we decided it could just be too much emotionally for her, so neither of us said anything,” said Maggie.

  “So you gave up our dead sluts book club, huh?” Eva asked Maggie.

  “I never meant for the whole thing to turn into such a depressing monthly chore, for shit’s sake,” said Maggie. “I just can’t believe how far our society hasn’t come in dealing with women having affairs.”

  The women took off coats, fixed their coffees and took seats by the fire.

  “When a man is cheating on a woman, he has a mistresses,” said Eva. “When a woman is cheating on a man, she has a…a what? A mister? There isn’t even a word for it.”

  “I read an article online at a women’s health website that referred to it as ‘affair partner,’” said Lisa, and the other women laughed as Lisa pulled out her perpetually present and well-worn journal.

  “Well this month I did actually find a modern book about affairs, because I was trying to learn about myself and why I have been unfaithful over the years,” said Maggie, taking out her copy of the book and turning to a dog-eared page. “It’s not a novel and no women off themselves. Imagine that. It’s called When Good People Have Affairs, and the author Mira Kirshenbaum writes,

  ‘When a man cheats, he’s living up to the image of untrustworthy horndog; when a woman cheats, she’s betraying the idea that women are intrinsically faithful. Clearly, neither stereotype is true.’”

  Lisa read the notes from the women’s health article.

  “79 percent of women said having an affair with a taken man was never acceptable, a surprising 46 percent admitted to having done it--and more than half said they felt no regrets. When asked whether she’d rather be a mistress or a deceived wife, more than 62 percent opted for the former, saying the forbidden fling wasn’t part of a scheme to snag a husband and that they had no desire to marry the guy.”

  “Well look at you two,” said Eva. “I was watching sappy movies and drinking wine and collecting sea glass, but I’m glad my fellow Scarlet Letter Society members have all been doing research!”

  “You know, now that you’re divorced, you’re not technically cheating on anyone unless you count cheating on Ron and Charles with each other,” observed Maggie.

  “And news flash: Ron and I are over. Fun while it lasted, time for both of us to move on. No hard feelings. He got a job at another firm. So wait, are you trying to throw me out of the Scarlet Letter Society, Margaret?” said Eva, smiling.

  “Of course not,” said Maggie. “Once you’ve been branded, you’ve been branded. There are two types of women: those who have cheated, and those who haven’t. And once you have become a wearer of the proverbial scarlet letter, there’s no going back to the other side, even if you never cheat again.”

  “What about you?” asked Eva. “I can barely seem to keep up with your life and ‘who’s zooming who’ as Aretha so charmingly called it.”

  “It’s actually become surprisingly simplified,. I’m too old for this shit. Ted is leaving to go be a rock star,” said Maggie. “So I guess we won’t be seeing each other again since he’ll be in Nashville.”

  “Wow,” said Lisa. “That is big news. What about Kate?”

  “I like Kate,” said Maggie, and they all laughed. “But I’m not sure about a serious ongoing relationship. I was bi-curious, obviously, though I can’t say I even knew I was, but I don’t really know what that road holds for me if anything in the future. Of course as we all know I remain open-minded about it. You never know.”

  “So wait a minute,” Eva said. “If you aren’t a fake lesbian anymore, Ted is taking off, and your divorce to #2 is finally final, then who the hell are you cheating on, Maggie? Maybe we should throw you out of the Scarlet Letter Society, too, ya big hypocrite.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” said Maggie. “I’m just tired, that’s all. My love life has been quite a damn rollercoaster and I sort of feel like the ride’s been great, but I want to get off.”

  “Oh you’ve gotten off all right,” said Eva, laughing.

  “What about Dave?” Lisa asked Maggie.

  “Dave,” said Maggie. Her eyes seemed far away for a moment. “The only guy I’ve never stopped fucking.”

  “The only guy you’ve never stopped loving, too?” asked Lisa.

  “
Yeah, that too,” said Maggie. “Though for some reason it wasn’t easy for me to admit it. When I was back in the house over Christmas and the four of us were together at the breakfast table, I felt like I was home. I hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time.”

  “You know what the bitch in the sparkly red shoes says,” said Eva. “There’s no place like home.”

  “That’s so true,” said Lisa, smiling. “And I’m happy to say I’m no longer an owner of any sparkly red shoes.”

  “And, what about you, Junior SLS member?” asked Maggie. “If technically Eva and I are entering the ‘Wild Oats Already Sown’ stage of our lives, it would leave you as the only active member of the club.”

  “Yeah, I should get you two a couple of Clappers and some Geritol for sure,” said Lisa,. Then she thought for a minute. “Being the sole wearer of the scarlet letter sounds like a lonely place to be.”

  “For women who cheat on their husbands, it is a lonely place,” said Maggie. “If you don’t know anyone else who has cheated, it’s not like you can go to some Facebook fan page and find a bunch of other cheating women to hang around and discuss your feelings with.”

  “I have a confession to make,” said Lisa. “You two aren’t the only ones who feel like you don’t belong in this club. I never did. I never slept with Ben. I only kissed him, and that was only recently. I lied to you, and I am really, really sorry.”

  Maggie and Eva looked at each other as though to do a quick assessment of how to handle this odd and shocking news.

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh: lying seemed so out of character for Lisa. “Secret club breach! Alert the society police!” she said, chuckling.

  “Why?” said Eva.

  “When I met the two of you, I wanted so badly to cheat on Jim with Ben,” said Lisa. “I thought maybe I could learn from you how you did it. But then, I couldn’t do it. I just decided not to go down that road, because I knew there was no turning back. If I had a membership card in my purse, I would hand it back.”

  “Nah,” said Maggie. “I think we can accept you as an honorary member, especially when we’re not even going to technically be members ourselves anymore.”

  “Things have changed for me. Jim and I went to fertility treatment,” said Lisa. “And he started seeing a therapist about his foot fetish so he could stop driving me nuts with the shoe shit. He sold the shoes and painted the shoe room with hopes it will eventually be a nursery. I have been much happier at home. I don’t feel like I just want to leave anymore, I feel like I want to stay. I want a baby. I want a family. Those are the things that are important to me.”

  “Hang on a second,” said Eva, smiling. “The three of us are the worst red A-club ever. Our Hussy of the Month club cards- expired? Invalidated? This is madness.”

  “Well, who needs a club?” said Maggie. “We know we’re all bonded by our common choices, our histories, our …”

  “Our sex drives?” asked Eva, smirking.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” said Maggie.

  “Our passion in life,” said Lisa.

  “Yes,” said Maggie. “That’s more it. We’re the kind of women who need the strongest kind of men. Men who can be there without making us feel like we need them there. Who allow the independence they know we want and are secure enough to not feel threatened when we stray.”

  “It’s not about them,” said Eva. “When we cheat. I never blamed Joe. When people cheat on each other, it could be said it’s ‘both their faults’ because it means they weren’t happy in the first place, but it’s always a choice.”

  “It’s a choice,” said Lisa.

  “You make the choice to cheat because you’re coming from a place of unhappiness,” said Maggie. “It’s not to hurt the other person, even a person you love. It’s because you’re trying to find yourself, as selfish as that may sound. But you can’t walk around lost.”

  “It’s true,” said Eva. “Somehow you were not getting what you needed, so you can go out looking for it all you want, but you have to eventually find it within yourself, not with some guy.”

  “Do you miss them?” asked Lisa to Maggie and Eva. “Ted? Ron? Do you miss them when they aren’t in your life anymore?”

  “You have to be thankful for the time you had with them,” said Maggie. “No reason for regrets, because it’s part of who you are now. It’s all about finding happiness when you figure out what that means for you, and holding on to memories, but what’s that saying, about letting some things fall apart so that better things come together.”

  “Oh no,” said Eva. “I feel like you’re about to go Dr. Seuss on us. She’s right, though. I don’t think there is any reason to beat ourselves up about it. Guilt is something we’re taught, and something we have to unlearn. Go ahead Maggie, something about being happy or sad it’s over or something?’

  “Don’t cry because it’s over,” said Maggie, making air quotes in the air. “Smile because it happened.”

  “Says the good doctor,” said Lisa, jotting the quote down in her faithful journal.

  February 2013

  “Now the miles stretch out behind me,

  Loves that I have lost;

  Broken hearts lie victims of the game.

  Then good luck, it finally struck

  Like lightning from the blue:

  Every highway leading me back to you.”

  - The Search is Over, Survivor

  The So-Called Scarlet Letter Society

  Can Meet Wherever

  And Whenever

  They Damn Well Please

  We can talk about future ‘meetings,’ though they will really be get-togethers, and no longer called meetings. Casual coffees, gatherings of friends. No more invitations, no more books (sorry, Eva!) unless they’re random ones we genuinely find, love and share. Our passports into regions where most women dare not tread have been stamped, and now we’re home.

  from: Ben bnidale@starfishdesign.com

  to: Lisa lswain@blackbirdspie.com

  date: Monday, January 28, 2012, 8:41 AM

  subject: excuses

  Our kiss both took me off guard and was at the same time one of the most incredible things ever to happen to me. We’re not professionally involved anymore, so I can tell you I’ve been attracted to you since we met. My only fear is not having an excuse to see you again, short of simply wanting to repeat the magic of that kiss.

  Ben

  * * *

  Lisa sat at her bakery counter. She breathed in the smell of the raspberry tart cooking in the oven. The fire warmed the shop for customers who stopped by on busy ways about their days. She smiled at the email from Ben; that old excitement of seeing his name in her inbox was still there, though different now.

  She stared at her screen. Here was her choice, in a simple email before her. Thanks to modern technology, she didn’t have to endure awkward, drawn-out in-person scenes of rejections or goodbyes or temptations; she could simply hit reply.

  from: Lisa lswain@blackbirdspie.com

  to: Ben bnidale@starfishdesign.com

  date: Monday, January 28, 2012, 9:07 AM

  subject: moments

  I agree there was magic in the kiss, but I am afraid I can’t let it happen again. My devotion to my husband and my commitment to making my marriage work despite its challenges won’t allow it, and I know you understand. But I want you to know that I appreciate how beautiful you made me feel in the time I knew you. Thank you for that. Wishing you all the best, Lisa

  * * *

  Lisa closed her laptop a tiny bit too forcefully, as if the action was closing the door on a part of her life that she wasn’t 100% sure she wanted closed. As if the decisive snapping sound would convince her she was making the right choice. She had actually considered, for a significant part of the last year, sleeping with Ben. She knew it wasn’t fair to him, but one of the reasons she’d considered it was the hope that she might get pregnant.

  To this day, there had been no evidence that Jim was the cause of
her infertility. Her own doctor had not found anything wrong with her, but neither had a doctor found something out of place with him. They were waiting for the most recent test results. But somehow Lisa had thought if she’d slept with Ben, she’d get pregnant and have some kind of secret love child; a secret she’d keep for a lifetime from Jim. She now realized that this childish fantasy could have created a lifetime of heartache and shame for not only her but potentially everyone around her.

  Maybe now, with her heart set and her mind clear, her body would allow her, finally, to conceive and carry the child that would make her a mother. In a family that included a husband who loved her. Not a perfect husband, but one who loved her the best he could.

  And she vowed to herself to try to do the best she could to love him back.

  Eva sorted sea glass at the cottage on Matthew’s Island. The collecting of the glass, finding a perfectly smooth piece in an unusual color, was the most enjoyable part of sea glass hunting, but the sorting was somehow therapeutic as well. She normally placed her day’s finds of colored glass into a huge vintage metal washtub, but sorting it by color into big glass jars had a calming effect on her. Green goes in the green jar, blue goes in the blue jar. Her mind could wander as she did the mindless task. The whole act of sea glass hunting was soothingly ritualistic. Check the low tide chart. Go to the beach. Pick up the pieces of glass, place them into a bag. Return to the cottage, rinse off the glass. Place the glass out on the deck to dry. Put it in the large container. And then, when you had time, you sorted it.

  White and green and brown were the most common colors. She only picked them up now off the beach if they were special in some way, a fragment of a written word, a perfectly tumbled piece, a complete bottle top. It was the rare colors she wanted: the cobalt blue, the Coca Cola bottle turquoise, the deep jade, the softer cornflower blue. And the rarest: the purple, the yellow, the pink, the red. The red was the holy grail. Well, technically the orange was the holy grail, but she had rarely known orange to be found on the island. She had only a few pieces of red after years of collecting, along with a collection of other unusual finds: a cat-eye marble, perfectly tumbled. A gorgeous aqua bottle stopper. A tiny porcelain doll’s head. A few colored beads.