Dale called me last week, crying. She is having an awful time letting go since Jack died. She’s over seventy, but still looks exactly the same as she did when she was forty five and teaching us math at NYU. I met her for lunch. Jack claimed she was slightly homophobic; that is something I couldn’t figure out for years. She told him she was accused of being a lesbian because she never dated and didn’t get married, so she avoided the appearance of that lifestyle by keeping her distance. Maybe at age seventy-four she can finally relax. It’s enough that she is willing to see me now, and initiates the meetings. I like having someone like Dale to talk to about Jack. I need to warn her, of course. It hasn’t escaped my attention that I know more of the players than almost anyone. I know the long term ones. Believe it or not, I was the only man I think. I could be wrong. And I knew he loved me. But that’s neither here nor there now. So I have a huge responsibility to Dale.
I wasn’t going to talk about it. But the truth is, Jack knew he was sick. We found out together years ago. The women before that time who he stopped seeing are not safe. Everyone is at risk because he didn’t know when he contacted it or from whom. He was getting worse, using his ticker as the excuse for drinking less and trying to eat healthily. But it was too late.
Everything changed dramatically when he met Sandra. You realize I never met her nor Pam. He wanted Sandra to have a certain illusion of him. He was madly in love with her. He told me that when she used to come to the office from the Bronx before her transfer, he’d watch her move around the office and have to retreat to his private bathroom for self-abuse. Just looking at her wound him up. He told Peter to get her downtown permanently, so he made up some excuse and had her transferred. They were considering closing the Bronx office anyway; keeping it open was a favor he was doing for his crazy old man who couldn’t afford it anymore. Jack didn’t want to fire the people, so they divided the staff up among Jack and Peter and Jack’s old man. The people who were close to retirement stayed with the old man. It wouldn’t hurt as much when his company tanked.
Jack didn’t hit on Sandra. It was the first time I had ever seen him use restraint. He became her friend. She is very young; not much older than Jack’s son Brent. All through high school and college she held down a job. A New Yorker through and through, she is the only woman I know who went to Marymount and didn’t get married right out of school and leave the city. Jack admired Sandra for who she was. Pam fit an image he wanted to uphold. The other women filled a need. But Sandra, well she only had to be herself and he was crazy about her. When I asked Jack what was so special about her, besides the fact that she was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen who wasn’t an actress or a model, it took him a few moments to gather his thoughts. ‘Where do I even begin?’ he replied. ‘For one thing, look at her.’ We smiled at the memory of her face. ‘She’s smart and funny, she’s independent. She’s not in awe of me! Give it a break ladies! I’m flesh and blood, not a god.’ ‘Oh for god’s sake,’ I said to him, ‘you are so fucking full of yourself!’ We could talk like that together, him and me.
But then I had to ask the hard question. ‘Does she know about you? I mean, are you protecting her?’ Jack’s eyes glazed over. I really think that he never took full responsibility for what he did. That’s why I say he was sick. He didn’t see the danger, or he was in such complete denial that he just fucked his way through the city of women and never thought that there was anything wrong with it. He never took any medication, either, which is the most bizarre part of it. The drugs they have today will even help to keep your partner safer if you continue to practice safe sex. He wouldn’t even wear a rubber.
The thing about Jack that set him apart from your average player was his ability to make each one feel like they were special, that they were the only one. I know he had a few girlfriends who were simple receptacles for his sperm. Those poor women are the ones who I feel especially sorry for. They didn’t have any other connection to him, so when he died, they were abandoned. Women like Dale heard from me. I told several of his closest friends. Maryanne sort of slid through the cracks. I’m so sorry about that. However, I could never understand that relationship. He was with her for almost as long as he was with Pam. She wasn’t particularly attractive; she had wild red hair, I mean a bushel basket of it. And this odd little girl with a deformed face. I think Jack felt sorry for her so he risked his marriage. He slept with her just enough to gain admittance to the daughter.
During his final days, everything was coming to a head. He didn’t have the energy to hide his life from his wife and was starting to slip up. He’d spent the last year trying to make restitution for wrongs done, not by coming clean and being honest with people, but by giving money to those who were the most important to him. He wanted to make sure that they were taken care of. But during those final weeks, the stress with his brother who is a real asshole and a few of the women who he had strung along started to pile up. During this time he also started to see more of Sandra, staying in the city over the weekends to be close to her, raising suspicion even in his sister-in-law Marie’s eyes, although I think Pam was okay with whatever he did. If he had to suddenly start working or be out of town for a few days, it was okay with her.
I keep thinking about one young woman he saw the winter before last. She was a part–time researcher for another firm in town, a college student. She came into his office, he said, to drop off title work he ordered that had accidently come to the firm she worked for. He swears she hit on him right away and he went with it. Well, she got pregnant. And she was a wild woman about it. I was afraid he would kill her to shut her up. She was making a spectacle of the situation. Even went up to his mother’s place; oh my lord I forget to tell you about that house, didn’t I? Another time. Anyway, they paid her off in big cash, like a million dollars. He said he forced her to get rid of the baby, but how can you force someone? Unless you do it yourself. The stress of the possibility of this girl showing up on his door step got the best of him. I saw a huge downward spiral then. Falling in love with Sandra was in the backlash of crap Jack did before he died. He was in his lawyer’s office more last year than he had in all the years before. I know he did something to his will but he wouldn’t tell me anymore than that. Just that he made changes.
Jack gave me money before he died. I don’t need it; I am a successful designer. I do all the apartments on the Upper East Side for the big real estate firms. The warehouses I have around town, up in the Bronx and in Queens are filled with props and furniture. I can tell you right now where the littlest piece of china is, where each piece of furniture is stored. My insurance bill for the contents alone is more than most people make in a lifetime. But Jack was worried about me. I think that if he had just been honest with himself, he would have realized that I was really the one who could make him happy, who could satisfy him in the long run. I used to cry on his shoulder. ‘We can adopt children!’ I would tell him. We could have hired a surrogate. I think he wanted to make a home like the one he didn’t have. Only he was the normal father. I know he worshiped his children, too. He never spoke of them without reverence. So yes, Jack gave me money, too. I put most of it into trust for his children; the rest I am going to use to completely revamp my apartment.
Jack was larger than life. Life is so empty without him. As soon as he got married I started dating again. But in all of these years, I couldn’t make a commitment to anyone else because he still came around. We saw each other as often as he would need me. I mean, we had coffee all the time; he would go up to Columbus and have breakfast at that little dive so he could see Maryanne, then he would come across town to the East side and we would spend at least half on hour catching up. He called me every day just to say hi. ‘You need to get out more,’ he always said, but no one could compare to Jack. He ruined it for me. I’m fifty-six and alone. Of course, now I’m free. He’s gone and I fully intend on trying to allow someone else have a chance at me.
Chapter 18
Alyssa
I hardly got any sleep last night because Eric had an earache and he kept me up all night. He is such a sweet boy most of the time! It’s not his fault that his ears hurt. The only thing that soothes him is walking around with him, which is not easy. He weighs at least twenty five pounds now. I walk him up and down the hallway, which is the only place in the apartment that doesn’t have anyone living below. I know it would be annoying to having a continuous squeaking above for hours in the middle of the night.
Being a parent is so lonely. I had no idea. This little guy is such a sweetie pie, I can’t imagine not having him. But it doesn’t change the fact that caring for him is so much harder than I thought it would be. The night time when he was a fussy baby and there was no one to talk to and nothing to watch on television was the worst. That’s when I started thinking that my life would have been so different if I hadn’t slept with that monster Jack. I have a plan now, devised in the night hours when I am here alone with a toddler. I am going to find out if my contract with him is still in force with him dead. I want to confront his wife badly; oh my God I want her to know what a real mother-fucker her husband was. His mother already knows; I went to her right away, trying to get at Jack. It didn’t work, of course, but I did get money out of it. His friends think he got screwed giving me a million dollars, but I actually got more. Almost a million and a half. I am frugal to the extreme with the money, so I should never have to work again. I mean I am miserly. I only go into that office to have something to do and so I can continue getting the gossip about Sandra. My parents can provide for us, but I have to be independent so it’s nice having my own money.
Jack told everyone he made me have an abortion. Hahaha! Guess what? In the first place, my parents are Dutch Reformed. Do you think ever in a thousand years that one of their children would have an abortion? It was bad enough having to go to them for protection when he was threatening me, threatening to kill me if I told his wife! Screw you, Jack Smith! Don’t believe him for a second. He enjoyed every second he spent with me, trust me. He told someone I work with, went right to my office and said that I came on to him and he was upset about his father dying so he succumbed and that it wasn’t worth a million dollars. Yeah, right! You’d got to be kidding me! I did come on to him because he is ravishing; you know that about Jack, right? He is so handsome; the word ‘hunk’ was made to describe him. It didn’t make any difference that he was ten years older than my own father.
I was trying to remember the first time I saw him. Not the first time I spoke with him, but the first time I laid on eyes on him. I’ll never forget it. He was in his office, talking on the phone. He was pacing. I was leaning on the desk of one of his associates, waiting for her to sign a receipt for the document I was bringing them when I looked up, and there he was. Back and forth, back and forth he walked. He was talking loudly, laughing, pointing to the air, gesturing like he was conducting an orchestra. I later found out that was Jack, through and through. He was animated to the extreme. He was in such good shape for his age; early fifties, I think. By the way, I don’t have AIDS or HIV or whichever the hell it is. One of his contacts told the health department about me and they got in touch. I almost fainted. But thank God the test was negative. I don’t know if he ever used a condom. Obviously he didn’t use one at least once. I certainly didn’t touch him and couldn’t feel the difference if I had. We did it several times a week for a couple of months.
He got away with murder with me. I mean, he never took me for a meal or got a hotel. We did it right in his office. I got completely grossed out because all I could think of was how smooth he was and I probably wasn’t the first one he had screwed there. I imagined the DNA on his desk or carpet.
We almost got caught once; it was the last time we did it. A girl who looked like she was a model knocked on his door and called his name out. He pushed me off of him so quickly that I almost fell over. In seconds he zipped up and walked to the door. He touched the top of an air purifier thing he kept on his desk. I was too naïve to know the meaning of that until later. He opened the door to the girl he called Sandra, but I was in the bathroom by then, cowering. Although now I feel differently, at the time I didn’t want him to get into trouble. He must have been in some kind of relationship with Sandra because she said right off, ‘what’s going on in here?’ He didn’t get defensive at all and I thought I heard her giggle. He closed the door when their conversation ended and he rushed me out of there like the wind. Of course, when my period didn’t come and I took the test, it never occurred to me to go to Sandra. I bet they were involved. Maybe I need to confront her, rather than the wife?
My apartment is in Chelsea. I love this part of the city. When I was at Barnard, I lived with my parents on the Upper East Side. Although I need my parents to be involved with Eric, living in the same neighborhood as they do would be too confining. It took them months to forgive me for having pre-marital sex, not to mention sex with a married man. I had to tell them because like I said, I was afraid Jack would kill me. I needed someone on my side.
Here’s the whole story. When I found out I was pregnant, I went back to his office. I had tried calling and he would never accept my calls. I didn’t have his cell phone, and I didn’t even know where he lived. He wouldn’t see me at his office, and I have too much pride to make a scene where I had to occasionally do business. To say I was frantic is an understatement. I was stupid enough to think he would sweep me off my feet; divorce his wife and marry me. He didn’t care about me. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even like me. He didn’t think of me at all. So I was a childish school girl who lost her virginity to a creepy, older man, dying of AIDS. Now I have to make up some story about Eric’s dad that the kid can be proud of. I guess I’ll just leave out the truth.
Anyway, he wouldn’t see me and I figured out by going online and searching that his mother lived uptown on the Upper West Side. After work one Friday night, I took the subway uptown and had to walk ten blocks to her house. It was hotter than hell out that night, and the streets were packed with what looked like mostly locals out for the evening. Every restaurant had a line of people waiting to get in. It’s not like that on the East Side. At least not in the neighborhood I grew up in. People call ahead for reservations so you don’t have all of this human congestion. I got to Jack’s mother’s house at about eight p.m. and to say I was shocked is an understatement. My parents are well off, I should explain. My great-great-great-grandparents came to Manhattan from the Netherlands and were part of the early Dutch settlers. I grew up with a nanny who I realize now was a personal maid. Our house is a lovely single family home with about seven thousand square feet of living space. Jack’s mother’s place is twice that size. And the yard! We have a back yard on the East side, but this place sat on at least an acre of park land and had a six car carriage house in the back. It was a true New York mansion. I tried to open the front gate without making it squeak but it was impossible. It was a gigantic black wrought iron thing at least six feet or higher, so it took all my strength to push it open. I saw lights so I knew someone was home.
Jack’s over protective younger brother was visiting and he was even more fanatical about the family name than Jack was. He twisted my arm so hard I thought he would break it. He pulled me into the house when I started yelling on the porch that I was pregnant and I needed to see Jack right away. He threw me down in a chair in the biggest family room I have ever seen, and told me to shut the hell up, he would call Jack but only if I didn’t make a sound. He left the room, closing the doors behind him. I could hear the murmuring of voices out in the hallway. Jack was there within the hour. He pulled two hundred in cash out of his wallet and said there would be more but that I had to promise to have an abortion. Then he pulled out his phone and showed me pictures that I didn’t realize he had taken while we were screwing away in his office, really obscene crotch shots. He threatened to publish them on the internet and send copies to my mom and dad. I didn’t say anything about telling his wife, yet. I th
ought I would save that for when my family was behind me and I had some protection. As it turned out, I never had to threaten him because my parents got our lawyers involved right away, and part of the deal they made was that I was never, ever to get in touch with any member of his family, or his associates or anyone who was remotely involved with him, or tell any of my friends the baby’s paternity. He could do whatever he wanted because Jack was loaded. It seemed so simple for them; they may have had a lot of experience buying off his sexual conquests. I’ll never know because I can’t investigate. That’s why I need to find out if there is any death clause that would make everything null and void. I am chomping at the bit to tell someone in his family about little Eric. He looks exactly like Jack, by the way. There is no mistake who his father is. I could take him to the wife’s house and she would know by looking at him, right away.
I wonder who has those pictures.
Chapter 19
After having coffee with Maryanne at the mansion, Pam thought about trying to see Sandra before she went back to Long Island. Nelda and Bernice were settled in for the evening and didn’t seem to notice that she was there. The way things had worked out with the two of them was reason for rejoicing. Nelda’s memory seemed better since she had someone to talk to every day and Bernice was definitely on the mend. It meant that Pam was free to grieve, free to contemplate everything she was learning about Jack.
Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3 Page 12