Sitting there with Pam in that fabulous mansion and taking what probably amounted to her grocery money for the month pissed me off. I thought it was smart not to open my mouth. I did wonder if she was going to make this a one-time gift or if more would be coming. As long as I had something to eat or drink to occupy me while I sat there, I was safe. I felt anger building. Who did she think she was? Was this a buy out? I remembered the kind way she had acknowledged me as someone who knew Jack when I went around to her house unannounced. Why was I being such a bitch?
“It cost so much to run a household nowadays, I imagine you are petrified about doing it without any money coming in. If Jack were alive, he would know what to tell you. He would have ideas that would help you overcome this. All I can do is write a check. I haven’t worked in almost twenty five years. I know that must seem silly to you. What does this woman do with her time? You must be asking yourself. I often wonder how I stayed so busy myself. What was I doing that was so important? It’s just the way one lives one’s life. I never felt like I was wasting time. Of course, with all of these stories coming out about Jack now, I realize that I have nothing to show for my life outside of my two children. You feel the same way about your daughter, don’t you? She gave you purpose. So what do we do now?” Pam looked at me. I could feel her despair. I realized my disappointment in the way my life had turned out could have been nothing compared to what she went through. Here was someone who was completely taken by surprise after her husband died, learning of his secret life. Now I was adding extra burden to her. I was suddenly ashamed.
“I can’t take this check. I don’t deserve it.” I handed it back to her. She smiled at me, but shook her head.
“No, I want you to take it. Truthfully, I was interested in seeing what your response would be, if you would take it and ask when the next one was coming, or refuse it. I’m glad you refused it, because it will make it easier for me to help you again in the future. Gosh, I feel so good right now!” She turned to me and reached over from her chair, coming to hug me. I had sort of a creepy feeling. Was I her charity case for the day? A good deed, a slight overlooked? Or a payoff for the shitty way her husband treated me? Why couldn’t I just accept the check as a gift and get the hell out of there? I decided to go for it. I submitted to her hug and when enough time had passed, I stood up and told my first lie to her.
“I need to get back uptown. Katherine is due home soon; she had a half day today. Thanks so much for the check. I will apply for unemployment. Don’t know why I didn’t do that already.” I picked up my purse and started walking toward the door. Pam stood by the coffee tray, gathering up our cups. I wondered if she would walk me to the door. She bent over to pick up the tray and was carrying it as she followed me out of the room to the front door. I opened the door and turned to her to say good bye.
“Can you see yourself out?” I detected a note of something in her voice, but I couldn’t place it. Relief?
“Yes, and thank you again. Good bye.” She turned and walked away with the tray, toward the back of the house. I wouldn’t be gained admittance again. And she trusted me not to come back and harass her mother-in-law. I wondered why I thought so little of myself, but then I remembered that I had showed up at the beach without an invitation. Maybe I wasn’t to be trusted after all.
Chapter 17
Ashton
Our circle of friends knew all about Jack’s accident on the train. News spreads fast in our community. He was on the train, going home to his wife and he had a heart attack after having a fight with his brother. Those two were at each other’s throats for the past two years. It was a tragedy, because they’d been so close as kids, rooting for each other and protecting each other from their maniac dad.
I grew up with Jack. We played softball together in Central Park every Saturday of our lives until he left for Long Island. I knew why he did it, why he moved Pamela and the kids out there. He wanted to be free to be himself. He couldn’t do that with a wife and family over on the next block. He didn’t worry about his mother because she was a closet drunk; you could pull the wool over her eyes and she was never, ever the wiser.
We used to have the most raucous love making in the morning after his father left for the office. He and his brother Bill had bedrooms on the third floor of that hideous monstrosity of a house on Columbus Avenue. That is another story. I am a designer, and let me tell you, what was done to that place in the name of restoration was a travesty. Plywood cabinetry and faux finishes abound. Yuck. Anyway, every Friday night, a big group of us would have a pizza party at Jack’s. His father was a queer from way back, but he managed to stay out of site. He may have had hidden cameras set up for all I know. But he had too much to lose to try anything with any of his son’s friends. I was one of the few people who knew the old man beat up on the boys. It’s a fact of life among rich people that perverse crap is allowed to go on because no one would believe it.
Jack wasn’t just bisexual. Jack loved all sex, all of the time. When we were kids, Jack tried everything he was presented with. If a girl was willing, he took her on. I knew I was gay as a kid and I loved Jack as a friend, so when the time came for us to couple, it was thrilling. It was the wildest sex I had as a young person. He was crazy! Jack had a violent side too, and I may have been the one to introduce him to the S &M community. It is a safe place for people who want that lifestyle. He eventually hooked up with a bartender midtown, a woman who was into it, so he had an outlet for that aspect of his life. He didn’t have to risk public exposure by practicing in a large group. It was never my thing, thank God. I am a closet gardener, for Christ’s sake; that’s as dirty as I want to get.
Jack was sick. I don’t think anyone realized how sick until he died. People whispered while he was still alive, but the real talk began after the funeral. Fortunately, everyone loved Jack, so there would be no blackmail. No one was going to go to his wife and try to get money from her threaten her with exposure of him. I think for the most part, our circle was afraid to go to Pam even to offer comfort.
Pam had a formidable reputation in Manhattan. Everyone knew Jack and knew what he was in to, how wild and depraved he could be. But his wife, well he had her up on a pedestal. Pam may have been the only person on earth who he was in awe of. He told me once that she wasn’t capable of having a negative thought or speaking a cruel word. He would purposely bait her to try to get her to say something hateful and she couldn’t do it. She rarely let on that she was suspicious of him, never questioning what he did with himself all week.
Jack operated by a stringent calendar. He spent certain times with certain people every hour of every day. He had a few people who saw daily because there was something about them that he needed for his wellbeing. Most people bored him after a month or two, I rarely heard of anyone being in his life for longer than a few months at the most. Those few who made it past the six month mark were important to him either because they interested him, or provided something he needed that he couldn’t do himself.
If a woman demonstrated the tiniest bit of possessiveness, she was out the door. Or more correctly, he was out of their door. Years ago, I think he and Pam had just moved to the beach. He was seeing a showgirl, really a dancer and not Bada Bing, either. She was a principle in one of the big dance companies. He was nuts about her; evidently she was insatiable, which was right up his alley. One Saturday, he was sitting on the terrace with Pam, drinking morning coffee and chatting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw this young woman on his stretch of the beach. He told me he almost pissed himself. He asked Pam if she would make him an omelet, and she got up right away to cook it for him. He quickly walked down the wooden path to apprehend her; it was obvious she was searching for his house. She ran to him and before she could hug him, he took her arm and led her away from the view of the kitchen window.
He told her to go to a certain hotel there on the highway as you came into Babylon, and he would meet her as soon as he could get away from his wife. He asked her
to please not make a scene or call the house. Jack was a superb actor, and he called forth all of his talents, even able to make her think he was pleased to see her. She left, excited about the prospect of seeing him over a weekend, something they had never done before. He ate his omelet and then told Pam he was going to have a game of golf. She was happy for him, and went off to do whatever it was that Pam did. He was free to live his life and not feel obligated to spend the day with her. Weird, isn’t it? I mean, he had this gorgeous wife; have you seen Pam? She is a knock out for a woman her age, and she was beautiful in her youth.
Anyway, as early as I can remember, the adult Jack took incriminating photographs of all his sexual escapades. He kept large, full color copies of each and every woman he had slept with. If he couldn’t get them, he hired PI’s to do it. On this Saturday, he went into his office under the guise of getting his wallet, and got his stash of filthy shots of this dancer, I mean, we’re talkin’ real beaver shots, masturbatory, grotesque-amentes. The hotel was on the outskirts of town, but he was still careful not to get caught by anyone he knew. He went to her room and didn’t throttle her, as he really wanted to. He simply spread the contents of his photo file across the bed.
“Aren’t these lovely? I especially like this shot of you,” referring to a particularly graphic pose utilizing a foreign object. “I hope we understand each other. I made it clear in the beginning that what you and I had together was private. You know about my life and what I need, and I know about yours. You almost compromised mine, and I am telling you that I will do the same thing to you if you ever, ever do anything like this again. If you ever come to my house again, or call my wife, or try to see me when we don’t have a time set up, your boss will get full-sized copies of all of these shots. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” She was trembling, on the verge of tears.
“Yes. I understand. Please don’t show those pictures to anyone, I beg you!” He told me he was sorry it had come to this, because he would have loved to bang her right there in that seedy hotel. But he was over it. He didn’t want to even think about what his afternoon would be like if Pam had seen him with this woman. He gathered up the photos for effect and left without saying goodbye. He never saw her again. His dates didn’t have his cell phone number, and although if they dug deeply enough they might get his home or apartment numbers, he never was too concerned about anyone getting in touch with Pam. He was so arrogant! And when you think about it, he didn’t get caught. He lived the life of an infidel and worse for almost thirty years and she never suspected him. That we know of.
I got off the topic. I was telling you about Jack and me. We were lovers since we were in our teens. Jack would never be able to live a gay man’s life. He wanted a hetero relationship with a home and family and a woman subservient to him. That is a cruel way to put it, and I might be somewhat off base, because Jack would support whatever Pam wanted. It just happened that she didn’t want anything more than to take care of him, like a valet. Pam was Jack’s dresser. And his personal servant. Jack told me one time that Pam spent an entire week getting his winter suits ready for him to wear. She didn’t like driving into the city, so she had him ship them all home in the spring, and she took them and had repairs made. I remember Jack saying that he came home and she had his suits hanging up all over their house, with shirts and ties selected, even socks. She wanted to make sure he had the appropriate accessories to go with each suit. She boxed everything up and shipped it back to the city for him.
He said he came home unexpectedly one Wednesday, and Pam had on a pink Valentino jogging suit with ballet slippers, perfectly coiffed hair, false eyelashes, and full make-up, standing on the extension ladder with a dust mop, trying to reach the cobwebs on the vaulted ceilings in their house. She could have hired live in help if she wanted, yet she did her own cleaning. Landscaping was another passion of Pam’s. She had a trailer hitch put on the back of their utility car and when she wanted trees or mulch, Jack said she drove into town and rented a trailer to haul the stuff back to the beach. She was always perfect for him, even when he wasn’t home.
We were sitting at a bar in the Village one night having a drink before he went back up to his apartment. He told me about how she was careful of every word that came out of her mouth because he had teased her one time years ago, before they were married. She had grown used to his mother’s treatment of her, calling her silly and scattered to her face, and worse behind her back. But she broke down crying when, in frustration over stopped up plumbing, Jack had once used the term slob to describe his pristine wife because she had accidently flushed a tampon down the toilet.
He always spoke of Pam in a soft voice, prefacing the term wife with words like sweet, gentle, wonderful and beautiful. When she had their babies, Jack was mesmerized by them and by Pam. He couldn’t fathom how his petite and dainty wife could give birth to such huge babies and then a week later, be walking up to the grocery store in her pre-pregnancy capris and high heels, pushing a baby carriage.
In spite of her amazingness, Jack couldn’t stay faithful to her. That she never found any of this out until his death only served to strengthen my belief that you can live in denial and be happy. More people should adopt that philosophy.
I keep getting off the subject about Jack and I. We started out comparing genitals, like little boys will do. But when we got older, we really loved each other, making love whenever we got together. I fell deeply for him. We had to be secretive about our relationship because Mr. Smith would have killed Jack if he knew.
Jack wanted to date women. He loved women. I know it seemed like he was a misogynist, but he wasn’t. He just had to have continuous stimulation. The longest he was with anyone after me was Dale. He met Dale in college; she was one of his math professors. Dale was your proverbial old maid. She lived in the same Upper East Side apartment since she was twenty two and when Jack met her, she was in her forties. During his freshman year, Dale was his advisor. He was a math major. He said he was intrigued by so much about her. She was innocent, he said. No matter what someone did or said, Dale would be able to rationalize it. She believed in the goodness of everyone. Anything bad that was said came from a place of that person’s pain. Jack didn’t believe in it himself, but her entire aesthetic was based on love and forgiveness. She was rather unattractive I thought, but Jack liked her look. She was plain, with colorless hair and skin. But she wore makeup and her taste in clothes was exceptional.
Jack was an authority on style for as long as I could remember. He claimed it was from reading the paper, but I thought it was an innate gift. He’d critique our classmates and teachers, giving out imaginary prizes for the best outfits, or the worst dresser or the most outlandish suits. From time to time you would hear one of the members of our group say ‘Pass that one by Jack before you wear it in public.’ Jack would give it the thumbs up or thumbs down. The kids in our group were known as the snazziest dressers in the school, and it was because of Jack. He confided that he would have liked to be a designer. But his father wouldn’t hear of it. ‘No son of mine is going to be a designer!’ He hollered. So Jack got through school, and he ended up being a designer of sorts, but of city blocks and neighborhoods.
Getting back to Dale; their relationship began by having coffee together whenever they had a free moment. Jack said he didn’t think about sleeping with her initially because she didn’t appeal to him. But coffee led to hikes in the park which led to museum openings and art shows and segued into night time gallery openings, and finally, since they were sort of seeing each other and they ended up sleeping together. When Jack started to date Pam, he told Dale and she was heartbroken. But since she had over twenty years on him, and she understood that Jack wanted children; their relationship would have to remain casual. Dale waited for Jack for weeks and then he would show up unexpectedly for an afternoon get together. Even though it wasn’t ideal and she often felt like he was using her, eventually she grew used to their arrangement.
They weren�
��t able to meet in public anymore because Pam wouldn’t have stood for it, Jack said. He wanted a traditional family with her. Having a girlfriend that his wife knew about was never an option for him. It didn’t make any sense. Pam was desirable and very sexual. Jack said that in their youth, he was afraid she would hurt herself she was so wild in bed. Wild and willing. So why would he want to hurt her, shake up her security, by telling her he was going to see other women? Jack was an enigma because he was the most immoral, perverted, upper middle class, moral man I would ever meet. He had exacting standards for everything else in his life; his finances, honesty (except for where it collided with his sexual appetite,) kindness and generosity.
Money was a big thing with Jack. He was born into it, but he was driven to make his own, as well. He had ideas that he continuously put into practice. As some were more successful than others he would phase the less profitable ones out. He often said the good thing about Peter Romney as a partner was that he never questioned Jack and supported every new idea he had. When Jack was sleeping with Peter’s Argentinian sister-in-law, Peter pretended not to be aware of it. He brother was a reprobate, as well. Peter was as straight as an arrow. They were certainly odd bedfellows that Jack and Peter. Peter was the male equivalent of Pam, I think, although not as much as me. Did you ever notice his clothes? Oh my God, I think that the word dapper was made for Peter. Peter is so impeccably dressed that he made Jack, who was a walking Armani model, look seedy.
Years ago, Peter’s brother got married in a Saturday morning wedding. I was invited because I do design work for their firm all the time. I sat with Jack and Marie, and so help me God, when the groomsmen walked out of the nave up to the altar, Jack gasped. ‘Holy Christ, they are wearing mourning suits before lunch!’ He whispered to me. Peter’s was complete with cutaways. I almost fell off the pew. It was so Peter! Later, he told us he always wanted one and finally had a reason to buy it. We had no idea where the man would wear it again, but it made him happy. Peter was also an ascot wearer when the function was informal. He wore a bow tie that he tied himself every single day of the week. He had a collection of hand woven silk bow ties. I had heard he also starched and ironed his own shirts. Why? Even Pam didn’t do that.
Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Page 11