She was miserable most of her life. She had a family of well-behaved, intelligent, employed children and none of us could do a thing correctly. It was a constant contradiction; she was insistent that everyone came for dinner once a week, but then would complain about how much work it took to feed us. She especially took exception to everything I did. My brothers and sisters said it was because I was the baby. She had too many hopes for me. Everything that the others didn’t accomplish, I had better.
I finally made up my mind when I was newly out of college that I wasn’t going to strive anymore. I watched my sisters kill themselves getting master’s degrees and doctorates and then spend the next years raising their families too tired to enjoy them. I know I copped out, taking that silly secretary job, and then getting involved with a married man. But it was so easy! I didn’t have to do anything taxing to please Jack. My house didn’t have to be clean, I didn’t have to buy him gifts, or remember his birthday, or figure out something different to cook him every night. After a while, I don’t think he even noticed what I was wearing or listened to what I said. I didn’t even have to shave my legs. All I had to do was pull down my underpants and sit on him. Half the time I didn’t even face him. It was impersonal, boring. Then last year, (now I know that he was dating Sandra) each time I saw him I wondered why I was bothering. But I had gotten myself into such a rut that I guess I was afraid of what would happen if I broke it off. I would be so alone.
Yesterday, a case worker from the New Jersey Department of Health and Senior Services called me. I was exposed to HIV. They don’t tell you who the infected person is in New Jersey, but I started laughing because there is only one who could have exposed me and that is Jack Smith. Thee Jack Smith of Babylon, Long Island. The dead Jack Smith. I don’t even have the satisfaction of slapping his face. There is nothing I can do. I went in to the lab after work today and had a blood test. They have a rapid test now so I don’t have to wait for six days like they used to in the olden days, the case worker told me. The early days of HIV. It’s not as bad now, she said. I wonder why they are allowed to say that. But the damage has been done. You will never tell my parents that a person can live a normal life with AIDS. I keep thinking how my mother will react when she hears what I have to tell her this time.
Chapter 11
Maryanne
I’m past the age where I can examine my life and make any changes. I will have regrets about the way I lived for the time I have left and probably die unhappy. I should be able to retire without worrying about a roof over my head. But it’s too late. When I first laid eyes on Jack, I knew he would be trouble. Why didn’t I run in the opposite direction? Where was my self-respect? My goal was to set a good example in front of my daughter, and what did I do? I brought a disease ridden pervert into our house. All I could see was a handsome gentleman who was making me feel like I was the most precious thing in the world.
I guess I am what you call a career waitress. For the past twenty years, I have waited tables at what was Gwen’s Counter. Gwen’s went out of business about two weeks ago, a month or so after I read that Jack had died. So in one fell swoop I lost my boyfriend of almost twenty years and my livelihood. Now this latest news. It’s enough to cripple someone, to make you want to stay in bed and pull the covers up over your head.
Jack brought his mom into Gwen’s for lunch the first Wednesday I worked there. He didn’t say anything to me at that time, but I noticed him watching me out of the corner of his eye. It was a new job, but I had waited on tables in the past. Before I was married I waitressed for a short time. I didn’t work while I was married, but then when my husband Paul died, I discovered that he had lost all our money gambling in Atlantic City. I never even knew he had left the state! And all along, he was taking the bus down there every Wednesday, losing his paycheck. We were living on credit and I didn’t know it until he died. Jack came in alone for breakfast the next day and teased me about getting his order wrong.
“I wanted wheat toast with roasted peppers and this is roasted rye with black pepper. Are you new here?” My husband had just died less than a year before, so what I was new at was flirting. Jack was born to be flirted with, however. Even though his order was perfect I reached over for his plate, getting just close enough so he could smell my perfume.
“Oh I am sorry! Let me change that for you,” I said. He grabbed my arm.
“I’m just kidding!” He replied. “You didn’t answer me. Are you new here?” He was so handsome; I started to shake a little, and could feel the sweat forming in my arm pits. How attractive!
“Yes. I’m new here.” I looked over to the counter, hoping someone needed me. No luck.
“Have coffee with me,” he asked. “The boss won’t mind.”
“No, sorry, it’s against the rules.” I turned to walk away from him. There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I was ready to get caught doing something illegal.
“Wait! Meet me after work, then.” He was persistent. I continued walking away from him. But curiosity got the best of me. I turned around and walked back to the table. I looked him in the eye to see if he was kidding me again, but there was a simmer going on behind those dark eyes. Don’t answer him, the still small Voice said. I was sucked in, so I ignored it. My women’s intuition was always right on target, and for some reason, I allowed my yearning for attention get the best of me that day. To make matters worse, he was younger than me. Not by much, but just enough that it made me self-conscious. It made me feel like a charity case. And for years, that would define us as a couple; me the older widow with a special-needs child and he the knight in shining armor come to save us. I passed on the delusion that he was helping us to my daughter, Katherine. All through her teen years, she would wait for him like she was waiting for a date.
“Is Jack coming today?” She’d ask, pulling the blinds apart to look down on the street. He’d usually tell me in the morning if he was able to stop by. Every day he came into Gwen’s for breakfast, and on Wednesday, he’d come with his mother for lunch. I knew he was married, so I had to keep quiet about us in front of her. It wasn’t easy, even after all that time. I was so hungry for information about him. When I got older I knew I should be making plans for my future. Jack put money in trust for Katherine’s care after I was gone, and that was a huge worry off my mind. But what about me? My ego was so damaged for some reason that I didn’t figure into the equation. I didn’t allow myself to think about what would happen when I could no longer wait tables, or Jack retired and left the city for good, moving to Long Island with his wife. I chose to live in the moment.
That day has come. Jack is gone. I went into work as usual that Monday morning and Evelyn, the manager, handed me a cut out obituary. It was from the Sunday Times. I read the paper, but I didn’t read the obituaries. Not since Paul died. I saw his name, his full name. Seeing it in print, listing the names of his wife and children made me physically ill. I needed to throw up. Evelyn knew about me and Jack; I had waited tables there half my life practically. She saw the relationship develop, and she facilitated it, letting me sit with him in the morning if it was quiet, or leaving early with him if he came by to take me home.
I knew Jack was seeing a younger woman, another person who lived way up town. She lived near the colleges; I was closer to Washington Heights. They were just friends, he said, friends who slept together. When he started to see Sandra, he saw less of her. I didn’t know if Sandra knew about me or the other woman. I doubt it. She seemed like someone who would expect fidelity, who would demand respect. Jack and I didn’t talk about it much; when we were together, we only had eyes for each other. He didn’t see me less after he told me he thought he was in love Sandra. He still needed something that Katherine and I provided for him, some grounding or lack of strife. I am totally without pretension. Everything about my life is honest and real. Except for betraying Jack’s wife. I believe Jack de-stressed when he was with us.
With Jack, sex was just sex. He needed th
e release. He made sure I was satisfied, and that was kind of him. My husband never did know where my clitoris was. Jack would visit me rarely after Katherine was asleep and we would go to bed. But most of his visits were in the evening, right after I got off work. He enjoyed sitting around my old kitchen table, drinking coffee with Katherine and I. He did puzzles with her all the time, the most boring, childish jigsaw puzzles that I didn’t like doing. But Jack could really relate to her. We would have a laugh or two; he would stretch and yawn, and then get up like his back was killing him. Katherine got hysterical when he did it.
“You’re not that old!” She would protest. He would make a show of walking to the door hunched over, holding his lower back while we laughed at him. He’d turn and wave to her and she would come up to him for a hug.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he’d say, and then give me a kiss goodbye. That was it. Day after day for years. He watched my daughter grow up into a young woman who would never get married, never hold down a job, just barely able to dress herself. I think he loved her. Katherine had a beautiful wardrobe; I never expected any gifts from him, but for her they arrived weekly. Huge boxes from Macy’s on Thirty-Fourth Street were delivered to my shabby house. Or from the teen shop in the World Trade Center, I think it was called Dots and when she got older, designer things from the fancy shops on Fifth Avenue. Always for Katherine. Jack would call in the afternoon when she was due home.
“Was the stuff for Katherine delivered yet? What’d she say?” He was as excited as if he were the schoolgirl getting gifts. He just liked doing things like that for her. Katherine would greet him with a big slobbery kiss when he would get to the house. If I was still at work he would pick me up and we would drive up together. I never worried about Katherine coming home before I did. From the time she was little, I always had good childcare for her thanks to Jack. The woman I worked for, Evelyn used to shake her head.
“It doesn’t make any sense for that man to pay for those fancy agencies. Why doesn’t he just pay you to stay home with your kid instead of working in this dump?” I knew Jack felt people should work. His wife never did to my knowledge, but that wasn’t my business. Everyone else in his family did. He could have afforded to support us all, but we went to work every day. Katherine had the best healthcare, the most trustworthy childcare, physical and speech therapy, you name it. When we first met, I told him I had a child.
“I can’t meet you for coffee,” I said. “I have a child with brain damage.” He looked shocked. I don’t think Jack had never been exposed to anyone who wasn’t perfect. It was like he was visiting a third world country. “My sitter will only watch her for the hours I work, so I have to get right home.” I was clearing his breakfast dishes that morning so long ago.
“I’ll come to your house, then. I want to meet your child. It’s a girl, correct? You said ‘she’.” He seemed suddenly emotional. I was torn between compromising the safety of my house by allowing this man to see where I lived and shaking him up by allowing him to meet my daughter. She had a rare genetic birth defect that made her face almost appear as though it were two separate halves. Heer eyes were far apart, and she had a cleft palate that, although it had been repaired talking was coming slow for her. Other than that, she had a normal body. Her hair was flaming red, gorgeous thick and curly. I decided to let him come. It might drive him away to see someone who wasn’t born absolutely perfect. Jack surely wouldn’t allow imperfection in his life. But I was wrong. He was taken with Katherine. She was only two. He came into my house, which by his standards was probably modest to the extreme, and the sitter was holding Katherine. She broke into a huge misshapen grin when she saw Jack for the first time, reaching out for him.
“Da! Da!” she hollered. I laughed and took her from the sitter. She was struggling to get at him.
“Can I hold her?” He asked. I could see he was choked up, really having a difficult time holding it together. She had that effect on people, Katherine did. She was so innocent, so loving, that you were able to overlook her unfortunate face and see something deeper, something ethereal. I nodded my head to him and he reached out for her. If toddlers could fly, she almost did into his arms. She put her little arms around his neck and repeated her odd sounding Da Da. He turned his back to me while I paid the sitter. He patted her head and was humming something, some rock song, something from the eighties, totally inappropriate for a child, but she loved it. She would not be taken from him either. Every time I reached for her she screamed bloody murder. I fixed the three of us dinner and he didn’t mind holding her. She sat on his lap while he fed her, making a mess of his expensive suit until I thought of placing a towel around him, although this time it was too late. We would remember the next time, though. He would come again and again to see Katherine. He slowly fell in love with her. I saw Jack cry over her when she had another surgery to correct some of her oral anomalies. She was in pain and he couldn’t stand it. Rather than running, as my husband had done, Jack insisted on talking to the doctor. Katherine was never in pain again if they could help it. She always had a private room and private duty nursing care when she was hospitalized.
Then Friday would come and we wouldn’t see him for the weekend. That was difficult. I knew he was going home. I appreciated it that Jack told me that he went to his beach house on the weekends. But not being able to contact him, even in an emergency for Katherine, helped me to keep my perspective about the importance of us in his life. We were only important as long as it didn’t interfere with his real family. He never, ever mentioned his perfect children or wife; it was only after his death that I came to understand something of what his family was; wealthy, successful, beautiful, and Jack’s ego. Of course, it was a smoke screen, we know that now.
I spent last night tossing and turning, unable to come to terms with my own stupidity, my own inability to see my worth. When he first started coming around here, I should have demanded to get what we needed. He would have probably never come back. What I learned about Jack in the past weeks is that he might have been generous with things he could buy, but with his time, he only had so much because he was spread so thin. He lunched with at least four women a week, sometimes two a day. I may be the only one he had breakfast with. In the evening, he went from one woman to the next, ending up with a barmaid midtown. The only one of us who knows more of the story is Melissa. She’s giving me the dirt because I think she feels sorry for Katherine. Maybe if I know the truth, I’ll be able to keep going because I won’t blame myself for everything that has happened.
The middle of the night is not a good time to make plans. For one thing, pain is magnified, tripled and quadrupled in the darkness. Weeping may endure into the night, but joy commeth in the morning; a psalm from my childhood Bible reading. I lay in bed for hours, determined to find a way to get restitution for the years I put into the relationship. I don’t want to be acknowledged, but I do want to be taken care of as he promised. There is no way I can survive without help from either his family or his estate. I saw a lawyer about getting paid from Katherine’s trust, and that is not going to happen. It is only there for her after I die. I am worth more to her dead. It is almost like Jack did that on purpose so I will keep working. I’m almost sixty years old! I am tired of working, tired of juggling Katherine’s care with a job. It’s true that millions of people do it every day, but I can’t find a job now! I just don’t qualify for anything.
I’m going to Babylon. I just decided it. I’m going to confront Jack’s wife. She needs to know that her highly thought of husband had what is for all intents and purposes another family. A family that he visited almost daily for years; albeit only an hour at a time. Still it was no easy trip up here every single day.
Melissa called me yesterday morning and wanted to come over. She wanted to talk. I thought it would be great to have someone to talk to who knew him, who I could be honest with! It’s so hard to grieve alone. And then her real purpose was revealed to me as she sat in the same chair Jack sa
t in, the same one no one else sat in for almost twenty years. From that chair I heard the words from Melissa, ‘Jack was HIV positive. You better get tested.’ HIV. Human immunodeficiency virus. Does his wife know? I asked Melissa. She was the one who told her. Pam Smith called this tattooed freak of nature on the phone and invited her to the Most Holy of Holies, and told her she was exposed to HIV from her late husband, Jack. Those exact words had come from Pam’s mouth to Melissa’s ear.
Chapter 12
Melissa
I’ve made arrangements to go to Maryanne’s house. Maryanne was with Jack longer than anyone, almost as long as he was with Pam. Jack had two perfect kids and a perfect wife, and when he met Maryanne, he discovered that not everyone has a perfect life. Some people struggle, some people are poor, some people are born differently. I decided that Maryanne was the only one who I cared a God-damned about and only then because of her kid. Jack loved that kid. By the time I met him and started dating him, or whatever it was called that we did, she was a teenager. The other women I knew about, well I would think about warning them. Right now, I could only deal with Maryanne. She was the redhead my students and I saw Jack with on campus, the one who I would base my decision to stop seeing him romantically on. Out of respect for her and for myself, I did that. So we had that connection, too.
Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Page 8