Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “Couldn’t you guess?” Dave teased. “Look at my jaw!” Pam started laughing, unable to hide her recognition that he had a slight deep overbite and did sort of look like a bulldog through the jaw! He smiled at her in a way that accentuated his prominent jaw and she just laughed and laughed.

  “On a scale of one to ten, I definitely rate this lunch a ten,” he told her.

  “Well, the food rates a twelve! Thank you so much. I really can’t remember when I had more fun at lunch in my own house.” Pam said. She picked up her coffee cup, watching him. He was looking around the den, out the window and finally, at her.

  “Can I see you again?” Dave asked. He didn’t see any point in beating around the bush. She either wanted to see him or she didn’t. Her husband was gone now for almost five months. She looked him right in the eyes.

  “Yes,” and she smiled at him.

  *

  When she was alone, the afternoon stretched out ahead of her. The contraband in the pantry needed to be dealt with. But what to do with it? It was horrible, a chronicle of madness, some of it surely documented right in this very house. She didn’t want to see images of her sister being fucked by her own husband. Was there any reason on earth to save the photos? She just didn’t know. She certainly wasn’t going to look through them; he had to have taken hundreds of pictures. Just burn them.

  Locking the front door, she turned around and saw the fire pit through the glass sliders which lead to the veranda. The motorized canvas roof had been pulled over so it was at least dry there. She put a jacket on and went out to fire up the pit. Once it was going, she went back into the kitchen and unlocked the pantry door. She turned her eyes away from the photos, suddenly frightened of them, of the knowledge they would force. They needed to be burned as fast as possible. She felt urgent enough about it now, and hoped that someone like Jeff Babcock wouldn’t wander over. The weather would work in her favor. She carried one bundle at a time and turned them over, image side down. Tearing them in half to facilitate their destruction, she burned each one until it was gone, fine ash that would blow away in the wind. Finally the task was completed.

  Going out to the garage to go through his tools took a few more minutes, but she wanted to make sure there was nothing else there that might mortify her children if they happened across it. It seemed that any locked vessel was a potential problem. She brought the lone desk drawer with her, as well. It would be tossed in the rubbish on the next trash day. She thought of the apartment in Manhattan. Why hadn’t he stashed his photos there? Why keep them in the house? She remembered her shock the first time she went into the apartment after Jack’s death. The total lack of him there. Or, why not store the photos in his desk at work? She thought maybe he wanted her to see them. Wanted her to get the full brunt of it. Seeing them ensured that she would get over his death swiftly, not hesitate to move on. They were worse than the AIDS diagnosis. She truly didn’t know him at all.

  She looked around the garage and decided there was nothing else she could do out there. Anything more of her late husband’s belongings needed to be dealt with soon. She had allowed his clothing to sit in the closet because she thought Brent or Lisa might want something of their father’s. She’d wait a few more weeks until Thanksgiving, but that was the deadline. After that, his stuff was outta there.

  Dave’s visit was a fine diversion for her that day. She was looking forward to seeing him again. She’d keep their relationship low key so no discussion of health related issues would have to be shared right away. If he started reaching for her hand, or kissing her, she’d tell him then. Or maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe she should tell him right away, explain why the treatment of her by Marion and Jean was so upsetting. Then he could decide if he really wanted to see her again. That settled it. She would tell him the next time they were together, if he really called her.

  What a hell of a start to the weekend it had been so far. She thought of Sandra. A pang of sadness passed over her for the little baby, the little sibling of her own children. She hoped Sandra wasn’t alone, that her friend, Tom was with her. As tragic as the loss of the baby was, it would make life between the two of them a little easier. It just didn’t make any sense why it happened, but she felt certain Sandra would get through it.

  She went in to pour herself yet another cup of coffee; it had to have been the sixth that day. She took a pastry Dave brought and the coffee and went back to the den to gaze out the window. When she was finished, she’d putter for a while and then go to the gym. It would continue to be her way of life. Peaceful, simple, empty.

  Chapter 38

  Sandra didn’t want Tom to pull the cruiser around to pick her up at the door. They would walk out together. He had one arm around her shoulder and the other held an umbrella to protect them from the rain.

  “Can we go to my apartment to pick up some things? I still want to go to Brooklyn, if you are okay with it.” She looked down at the ground as they walked.

  “Yes, I want that,” Tom said. Sandra couldn’t bear the thought of having to be in the apartment. She made a split second, spur of the moment decision.

  “Can I move in with you?” She asked, trying in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice. He turned to look at her.

  “Yes, I want that,” he repeated. They laughed. That she could laugh after the way she was feeling gave her reason to add one more item to her pro list for Tom Adams; he made her happy.

  *

  Steve Marks tip toed into his bedroom with a cup of coffee for Marie if she was awake. She opened her eyes as he brought it around to her side of the bed.

  “Good morning, sleepy head. How about some coffee?” He sat down at the edge of the bed next to her. Marie rolled over from her stomach to her side and looked up at him.

  “How’d I make it this far in life without you? Can you tell me?” She struggled to sit up, the sheets wrapped around her body. She took the coffee from him and took a sip. “Oh, this is good. Coffee brought to me; I smell bacon cooking, a great looking guy in bed with me. It doesn’t get better than this.” She looked at him as she drank the coffee and saw the smile.

  “You did okay without me. I hope you like it better with me, though,” he said.

  “Yeah, well there is a lot you don’t know. I didn’t do okay without you; I can tell you that right off the bat.” She looked around the room, at its simple, clean decorating. “Did you fix up this apartment yourself?” She asked.

  “Yes, why?” He answered. “Too foo foo for you?”

  “No, not at all. It has personality. My place, as you have seen, has none. My sister’s is decorated, but devoid of any personality. My mother’s is even worse. When we cleaned out her house, we didn’t save one stick of furniture. There was no art, no mementos. Nelda wasn’t a saver, that’s for sure. Pam let her bring her old bedroom furniture so she’d know where she was, but the rest of it was worn out junk that was junk when it was new.”

  “Your apartment just looks like you weren’t planning on staying long. How long have you been there, anyway?” Steve asked.

  “I moved into the building almost twenty years ago, but have been in that apartment for eight. It still feels like I’m not staying long. Oops!” Marie said, laughing. “Guess I blew that one!”

  “Do you want to talk about it? About him?” Steve asked gently.

  “Not really. No. In the first place, I don’t know you well enough. We’ve already made some big mistakes. For one thing, if this backfires; if we don’t make it, how are we going to deal with each other at work? I’ve been there since college so it’s not me who’s going anywhere,” Marie exclaimed. She knew she was making excuses, changing the subject. How could she tell Steve about Jack? No one would understand and she didn’t feel like being put in a position to defend him. It was bad enough that Steve knew someone had given her AIDS without exposing her family.

  “How’d you know about him?” She asked. “I’ve never mentioned his name at work and that is the only place you know m
e from, correct?”

  “The story in the office is that your brother-in-law bought your apartment for you. I guess I made an assumption. If I was wrong, I’m sorry,” Steve said contritely. Marie sat up in bed, wrapping the sheet tightly around her chest.

  “But how’d you know about him and me?” She asked. “No one knew, no one ever even suspected it as far as I know, not even my sister and we were together right under her nose.” Steve got up from the edge of the bed and went to his desk, opening a small, drawer and taking out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Want one?” He asked, knowing that he shouldn’t be enabling bad behavior. She nodded her head yes and reached out for a cigarette. The act of lighting up and trying not to fall over faint with the first drag took another a few minutes while she processed what Steve had just said to her. He figured it out. How many others had and never said anything? “I mean, come on, Marie, it’s not rocket science. He bought your apartment, your car, got you this job, you don’t seem to have dated at all. Did you really think you could work somewhere for twenty years and not have your co-workers make observations?” Steve laughed. “You’re smarter than that. You didn’t want anyone to find out, so you just pretended that what was happening was in secret.” He sat back down on the bed, hoping he wasn’t making her angry.

  “What all of this boils down to for me, right this very second, is that I don’t want you to know all of the garbage in my life yet. It’s not fair. What’s the point of us being together now?” Marie said, distraught. “I can’t make a good impression on you because you know that I slept with my sister’s husband. You know all there is to know about me. Not only do I have AIDS, but I am an adulterer of the worst kind. I betrayed my own sister. I was hoping you could find out something good about me before I had to unveil all the seamy crap.” To her surprise, Steve laughed.

  “You are as fresh as the driven snow compared to me. No worries, okay? I am not going to unveil my skeletons yet because some of them are still waiting for me to discover. I don’t want you involved, if possible. I wasn’t going to say this yet, but the truth is, I love you, Marie. I love you like a man loves a woman who he wants to marry, who he’d like to be there in his bed when he wakes up each morning. It’s a little early to talk love, I know. But I am getting older by the second and have nothing to lose but you.” Steve smiled his disarming smile at her, and managed to pull off looking sincere.

  “Are you drunk?” Marie said?

  “Jeez! I pour my heart out to you and you accuse me of being drunk? You are a bitch,” he said, swatting her on the thigh. “Get up and get some clothes on; breakfast is ready.” Marie snickered. They had narrowly missed what could have been maudlin and therefore regretful in her opinion.

  “Get out then, will you please? I’d like to get dressed without an audience. If this is the amount of privacy I will get here, I’m going back to my own apartment,” Marie said. Steve got up off the bed and left to get the table set. He’d held his breath until the door was closed after him, choking down a sign of relief. He had wanted her to know how he felt, that he would risk his heart for her. He was mildly angry with himself for allowing it to happen. He wasn’t in a position to take care of anyone else, barely being able to do it for himself. Afraid he was being carried along on a wave and had no control over what was happening to him, Steve decided to just let destiny guide him. It had already proved to be better than what he had been able to achieve by himself.

  Chapter 39

  Ashton

  This week was not to be believed. If it could go wrong, it did. I am lonely, miserable, tired. Finally, I’ve come to the conclusion I am too old to have a serious relationship, but my testosterone level is too low to have a fling. The interest just isn’t there. Am I the only man in New York who doesn’t take sexual performance enhancing drugs? Ugh! If I’m not in the mood, I’m not in the mood for God’s sake, and a hard-on isn’t going to make it happen for me.

  I miss Jack so much. The void his absence has made is impossible to fill. I don’t care how busy I am at work, or how many parties I go to or have here, I just am unable to shake off the emptiness. My mother reminded me yesterday that he has only been gone for five months. The pain is still intense. Does that ever lessen?

  I’d made the decision to contact his wife, Pam. Melissa told me that Pam knew some of the players; she should know about me. Not just for the truth of it, but because I needed her. I needed someone who knew all about Jack, who could commiserate with me about missing that certain flare he had. I end up comparing every date I’ve had with Jack. No one will ever measure up! It’s not fair that I do it, but it’s inevitable. I wondered if she did the same thing. So I called her. Thinking that just going to her door out of the blue would be unkind, I picked up the phone. She answered on the second ring, a soft hello.

  “Mrs. Smith,” I said. “I’m Ashton Hageman. Jack and I were childhood friends.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “I was in your wedding; one of the groomsmen. I attended the funeral, but didn’t get to talk to you that day.” The truth was she wouldn’t even make eye contact, let alone acknowledge me. I wonder if she knew all along. I waited, the silence uncomfortable, but if she wanted to drag it out, I could drag it out, too.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Hageman?” Oh Lord, she was playing my game! I’m telling you, I am a male Pam.

  “Nothing. I am just calling because I miss Jack and thought that maybe you and I could share some stories. That’s all. I know you know about him. There is nothing to hide anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. But I was willing to risk it to connect.” I barely got the word out before my voice broke. I don’t think she noticed. She didn’t say anything more and at the count of ten I was going to say goodbye and hang up when she spoke.

  “Yes, another surprise. Jack had a close childhood friend whom I don’t remember meeting. How is that possible? Were you in touch after the wedding or did you lose contact?” She asked. Her voice was neutral. I didn’t know Pam well because Jack forbade it, but I do remember him saying she was as cool as a cucumber and you could never tell her mood by talking to her over the phone. He said that in person with Pam was just as unsettling; she would have her poker face on so he never knew if she was on to him or not.

  “No, we didn’t lose contact. Right about now I wish we had. Maybe it would be easier then, having lost him.” I wanted her to fish, was willing her to ask me the big question. Were we lovers?

  “I doubt it. I doubt it would be easier. If Jack was in your life, you are going to suffer one way or the other,” she replied. Was there the tiniest note of bitterness? I couldn’t tell. “Oh, what the hell,” she finally said. “Do you want to see me? Why are you calling now? Why not five months ago?” My heart was thumping in my chest.

  “I wanted the dust to settle. I heard you met Sandra and I didn’t want to interfere. She didn’t know about me, but I knew about her.” I waited for her response, holding my breath. She ignored the hint.

  “If you want to come here, to Babylon, you can. I am not going into the city for one of Jack’s friend’s again. I’ll be home all day today and for the rest of the weekend.” The ball was in my court. I never left the city for any reason. Jack’s funeral was the first time I left Manhattan in years. But to see Pam, I would brave the wilds.

  “I can come this afternoon. Thank you, thank you very much.” We said goodbye and I hung up. I called a car to come around and get me at one. It would give her a chance to recover from our chat and to decide for sure if she wanted to see me. I called her back to give her the time and the answering machine picked up.

  I spent a half an hour primping for my audience with Pamela Smith. Jack said that she was never without makeup and proper clothing, no matter the time of day. He could pop in without warning and she would be ready to go out. I’m the same way. Very rarely, I will wear gym clothes if I feel like cleaning the house myself, but that is unusual. For this visit, I spent extra care on my hair. I wore Marc Jacobs. Would she notice?
I heard even her athletic suits were designer.

  The ride wasn’t bad. I was surprised at the horrible slums you have to go through to get there. You’d think Cuomo would do something about it. Jack used to say that as long as there were people starving in the world, he couldn’t really enjoy eating. He said it was one of the ways he kept his weight down, which was always an issue with him. His brother bordered on the chubby side. I knew their dad was a stickler about their fitness and hygiene. The first thing Jack had to do when he came in from school every day was shower. I’d been at their dinner table enough times where Mr. Smith asked the boys if they had showered. I thought it was very strange. My dad never cared if I smelled, but my mother didn’t miss a trick. I think old lady Smith was too drunk to notice if her boys were dressed properly or went to the dentist or bathed. It was the dad who oversaw that.

  When the car pulled up to the front of Jack’s house, I couldn’t control the tears from coming. So this is where he lived. I could see him there. It was quaint, for lack of a better word. When I finally got out, Pam had opened the door and was waiting for me. The allusion of the small cottage was immediately forgotten when I saw her diminutive frame standing in the vast doorway. The cottage was huge. I walked down the slate path that narrowed to the door. I wasn’t absolutely sure, but I thought I detected a slight pink around her eyes and nose. Had she been crying? I couldn’t help myself; I grabbed her and she returned the grab and we embraced and were both crying up a storm. I felt like, finally, someone else who had loved the man. She was clearly brokenhearted, however. She took me by the hand and led me through the door and reached around me to close it and then locked it. The gesture was protective and gentle at the same time, like she wanted me to be safe in her house.