“It’s okay,” he said, rising to his feet and moving off a few steps. “You don’t have to tell me. I can imagine the sort of tales she told about me. Eva was very good at blaming other people whenever something went wrong.”
I felt angry. I didn’t want to hear critical things about my friend. At the same time, reason reminded me that there are always at least two sides to a story. So I said nothing to Ben. I just listened, as I’d listened when Eva had first told me her side of things.
“Every time I called her I felt as if I were bothering her. She mocked my profession and my friends at the college. After the first month I stopped inviting her to spend time with them. She never introduced me to any of her friends. Finally, it dawned on me that maybe she had no friends. By the end she’d only let me see her once a week. It was ridiculous. And insulting. So, I ended it.”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “You told me.”
There were realities I would have to get used to—like the fact that Ben had wanted to be with Eva, that he’d had sex with her, made love to her . . .
“I’m sure I could have done certain things differently,” Ben said suddenly. He was leaning against the dining table, talking to the far wall. “The failure of a relationship is rarely the fault of one partner entirely.”
“Yes,” I murmured.
Ben sighed and came back to the couch. “But in the end,” he said, “I just didn’t want to try any longer. I wanted to meet someone who would know how to be a partner, not an adversary.”
We sat silently for what seemed like a long time. Finally, I said, “I guess I painted a picture of Eva that’s not entirely accurate. But she’s my friend. It’s not in my nature to talk critically about my friends.”
“One of the things I admire about you, Sophie,” Ben said gently, “is your loyalty to your friends. And I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m criticizing Eva. I guess I’m just trying to help you to see the truth.”
Ben’s version of the truth, or Eva’s?
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “We can’t keep our relationship a secret from Eva. But it’s going to be terribly hard to tell her.”
“Neither of us has done anything wrong, Sophie. Eva won’t like it but she’ll come around.”
I wondered. And the look on Ben’s face betrayed that he, too, wasn’t so sure that Eva would be able or willing to accept the news of our romance.
“I think,” I said, “that I need to be alone tonight. I need to sort things out.”
Ben began to protest. Instead, he picked up his bag and walked to the door. “Call me later if you want to talk,” he said. “Please?”
I nodded. And Ben left.
79
Relentless questioning under harsh lighting in a room with poor air circulation and the distinct smell of cat urine is almost guaranteed to produce results.
—Let’s Not Beat About the Bush: Getting to the Truth Even if It Kills You
SOPHIE
“Jake, I have something to tell you.”
We were in the kitchen. Jake had come by for his laundry.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” he asked.
I took a deep breath. “Jake, Ben used to date Eva. They were together for about eight months. It was a few years ago but Eva still thinks about him. She told me he was the only one she ever considered marrying. And then he broke her heart.”
Jake turned away and reached for a glass from the dish drainer.
“Jake,” I said. “Did you hear me?”
He turned back. I noticed he looked a little pale. I hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. When Jake caught a cold he was sick for weeks.
“She never told me about—I mean, you never mentioned some big love of her life.”
“Well,” I said, “Eva’s love life is really none of your business. It’s really none of mine, either. Only, of course, now it is . . . Oh, I wish she had never told me about Ben!”
Jake put down the glass he’d been holding. “When you met Ben did you know he’d gone out with Eva?”
“No!” I explained how Ben had seen Eva and me at the restaurant. “Eva never told me his name and even if she had, I never would have suspected that my Ben had been her boyfriend. Ben and Eva are so different. I just can’t see them together!”
“Yeah. I can’t see it, either.”
“What?” I asked.
Jake cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
“Oh, Jake, I’m so confused.”
“What’s there to be confused about? She’s not involved with him anymore, right?”
“Right.”
“And you trust Ben, right?”
“Of course I trust him,” I said automatically, but I wasn’t entirely sure that I did. Was Eva right after all? Had Ben left her for another woman? Had he really broken her heart? Or had Eva broken her own heart?
“So, what’s the problem?” Jake asked. I noted that his color had returned.
“The problem,” I told him, “is that I feel guilty for being in love with Eva’s ex-boyfriend.”
Jake laughed. “Mom, that’s ridiculous. You’ve done nothing wrong. How can you possibly feel guilty?”
“Because I do. And I also feel guilty about keeping this from Eva. I hate secrets. I hate them. They always mean trouble.”
I thought of the secrets Brad had kept from me over the years. And again I wondered: If I had known about his affairs at the time, would that knowledge have helped our flagging relationship or ended it more quickly?
“So,” Jake was saying, “tell her. She’ll understand.”
“I’m not so sure she will, Jake. You didn’t hear her talk about how hurt she was when she and Ben broke up.”
“Mom, Eva is”—He stopped, folded his arms—“I mean, she seems like a pretty tough cookie. Maybe things will be a bit awkward for a while but everything will even out, I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe,” I murmured.
“Besides, maybe Eva has someone new in her life, someone who’s made her forget about Ben.”
I shook my head. “No, no, Eva has no one. She’d tell me if she was seeing anyone special, I know she would.”
“Maybe she wants to keep him to herself for a while,” Jake suggested. “You know, like you did with Ben.”
I looked closely at my son. “Jake, do you know something I don’t?”
“Of course not,” he protested. “How would I know anything about Eva’s personal life?”
I sighed. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. But you won’t tell Eva about Ben, will you?”
“Why would I tell her?” Jake sounded annoyed. “Anyway, I mean, I don’t even know where she lives. It’s not like I talk to her or anything.”
I shook my head. “No, of course not, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess I meant if you bump into her on the street sometime.”
Jake came to my side and put his arm around me for a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise,” he said. “This thing will be our little secret for now.”
“Secrets! They always seem to go hand in hand with lies!”
“Sometimes keeping a secret is a good thing, Mom,” Jake reasoned. “You know that. Like when revealing something will hurt someone unnecessarily.”
“Unfortunately,” I pointed out, “in this case I have no choice. Eva has to be told about Ben and me. And I just know she’ll be furious!”
Jake sighed and moved off toward the fruit bowl. I was glad to see that he was eating healthily.
“Jake,” I asked suddenly, “do you have secrets from me?”
Jake coughed on a bite of banana. “Of course,” he said when he’d recovered. “Everybody has little secrets, you know.”
“Promise me you’ll never keep anything really big from me? Promise you’ll let me help you if you’re in trouble or if I can advise you or be happy with you?”
“Mom, how can I—”
“Please, Jake, promise?”
Jake sighed and tossed the banana skin into
the sink. Just like his father. I’m not sure Brad ever knew the location of the garbage can. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I promise to let you know the important stuff.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Jake. And thanks for listening.” And then something else occurred to me. “Jake?” I asked. “You do like Ben, right? I mean, you think he’s a good person?”
“Yeah, I like him. But Mom, you’re going to have to trust your instincts on this one. You know him better than I do.”
“Yes,” I said, “I suppose so.” But I wondered if Eva knew him even better than I did.
“Mom, look, I have to go. I’ve got a seminar at five.”
“When will you eat dinner?” I asked as Jake grabbed his bag and headed for the front door.
Jake turned, kissed my cheek, and said, “Right after, I promise. Stop worrying. Stress will kill you.”
And then he was gone. I felt bad for having dragged him into the whole mess. I’d always tried to keep my troubles from Jake but ever since the divorce I’d come to look upon him as a bit of a friend as well as my child. It was unfair of me, I know, especially when Jake had so much on his own plate with school and baseball and his friends. Of what importance could a romantic triangle—consisting of his mother, his mother’s friend, and that friend’s ex-boyfriend—be to a twenty-one-year-old?
I’d call Jake and apologize. Better yet, maybe I’d give his apartment that surprise cleaning. Or bake him some brownies. A young man shouldn’t be worried about cholesterol!
80
Dear Answer Lady:
I just know my wife is cheating on me. Don’t ask me why, just trust me, the signs are there. Just like they were two years ago when I accused her of having an affair with her boss. Of course, she denied it and when I confronted her boss things got a little out of hand and he called the cops and fired my wife. Anyway, to this day whenever I bring it up she denies ever doing anything wrong but I know better. And now it’s happening again—and it’s with her new boss! Problem is, she can’t afford to lose another job because I’m out of work for some bogus “violation” of worksite conduct—so this time I’m thinking of hatching a plan to catch her in the act. You know a lot about this cheating stuff. Any ideas?
Dear Psychotically Jealous Husband:
You’re right, I do know a lot about this cheating stuff. And here’s my advice to you. Are you paying attention? Drop it. Your wife wasn’t cheating on you two years ago and she’s not cheating on you now. Keep up the suspicious attitude, however, and she will be cheating on you, I guarantee it. And another thing. Are you listening? You have way too much time on your hands. Use your temporary unemployment to take an anger management class or get yourself on some medication. NOW !
JOHN
“This is not good,” I said. “This is not good at all.”
Suddenly, my appetite was gone. Thankfully, we hadn’t yet ordered lunch.
Sophie’s face fell even further. “I know. I feel just miserable about it. And it’s put a strain on Ben and me, too.”
“Sorry. I suppose I should try to be helpful.”
“There’s really nothing you can do. Except maybe give me some advice on how to tell Eva that I’m involved with the man she says was the love of her life.”
The man she says was the love of her life. Something about Eva’s claim had always struck me as . . . false. Maybe not entirely but it sounded too Romantic for Eva, even, in fact, for Eve, whose ideas about love had been, from what I could recall, less airy than earthy and solid.
“Yes, well, I’ll try to think of something useful,” I said lamely.
“I’ve asked Ben to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” I said. As long as Eva doesn’t happen to wander by, everything should be fine.
Ben showed up a few minutes after that. He greeted Sophie with a kiss on her cheek and a squeeze of her hand. She looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. Ben sat and Sophie introduced us. His firm handshake belied the overall delicacy of his appearance.
Ben spoke with precision; his voice was pleasing. His movements were graceful, almost elegant. He was deferential though not subservient. In short, it was ludicrous to imagine Eva with this man. It was like trying to imagine the Dahli Lama dating Carmen Electra, or Beverly Sills hanging out with Pete Doherty. All right, the contrast between Ben and Eva wasn’t quite that extreme but you get my point.
Eva, I was certain, needed a man more obviously dynamic, someone more like—me. She needed a man who could help her become the person she once wanted to be. She needed a man more like—me.
I’m not entirely unreflective. I wondered uneasily if I was again indulging in savior fantasies, imagining myself as the white knight coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress—even though the damsel wouldn’t admit she was in distress. Then again, maybe that was part of my fantasy: convincing the reluctant damsel that she needed my help.
“Tell Eva as soon as possible,” I said, interrupting Ben as he was saying something sotto voce to Sophie.
Ben nodded. “I agree. I think we need to tell her right away.”
“And,” Sophie said glumly, “I should be the one to do it.”
81
In today’s conscienceless society, where stubborn opinion masquerades as truth and “news” is more a creation of Photoshop than a balanced report of actual events, it is increasingly difficult for a decent person to maintain his or her ethical bearing. Recent studies show a marked increase in cases of extreme apathy and debilitating depression in people formerly devoted to conscientious social behavior and personal responsibility.
—Being a Person of Your Word in a Society Dedicated to Fraud
EVA
I tasted the wine. It was something Sophie had introduced me to, a delicious Cabernet Sauvignon. John, I thought, will really like this.
John. When I’d postponed my “date” with Jake earlier that day, I didn’t tell him that I was having dinner with John. By now, Jake knew better than to press me about my life outside his small apartment.
Not that it mattered. I was going to end it with Jake as soon as the right moment presented itself. The unpleasantness of keeping the affair from Sophie was wearing me down. I wanted it to be done.
And there was something else. Those feelings for John were occupying more and more of my time. Not that I had any illusions of a relationship with him. I was still convinced that my feelings were temporary, a passing, aberrant thing. A whim. A fancy.
Still, it was time to walk away from Jake. He was young. Although his ego might get bruised, his heart would soon recover. And, I reasoned, he, too, might be ready to move on. He couldn’t be happy with the narrowness of our situation. Youth is never content to be regulated.
I spotted John walking to our table and smiled.
“You look good,” I said, when he joined me. “That’s a gorgeous suit.”
“You’re not going to berate me for being late?”
I looked at my watch. “You are late. I didn’t even notice.”
“That excited to see me?” John grinned.
“No,” I said. “My mind was just wandering. Anyway, you’re not going to thank me for complimenting your suit?”
“Of course. Thank you. And I am sorry I was late. I don’t know why I took the T. I should have just walked.”
“Stuff happens. You’re here now.”
“You’re in a mellow mood. Not that I’m complaining.”
I shrugged. “I guess. Here, you have to taste this wine. Sophie recommended it.”
John lifted my glass to his lips, then hesitated. “You’re not afraid of my cooties?”
“I had my shot. Go ahead.”
John took a sip. “That’s great. Do you want to get a bottle?”
“Sure. It’s a little pricey, though.”
“But we lawyers make oodles of money.”
“Oodles?”
“I’m quoting you.”
I frowned. “I said oodles?”
&nbs
p; “You did.”
“Huh. Well, anyway, if you can afford that suit you can afford the wine.”
John raised an eyebrow at me. “I can afford it? We’re not splitting the bill?”
“I’m not in that mellow a mood,” I said slyly.
John sighed, the long-put-upon man. “Well, all right. I’ll live on Ramen noodles for the rest of the week.”
“Just order the wine, you self-pitying wretch. And get us some menus while you’re at it. I’m starved.”
82
Dear Answer Lady:
My buddy is getting married and asked me to be the best man. I said yes; he and I have been friends since first grade. Problem is, I think I’m in love with his fiancée. I think about her all the time. It’s driving me crazy. I want to say something to her but I’m pretty sure she barely knows I exist. Or maybe I should say something to my buddy. What do you think?
Dear Loser:
I think you should keep your big mouth shut and find yourself a woman who does know you exist. And start working on your best man speech now. Go!
JOHN
Eva liked my suit.
Eva was involved with another man.
I spent a good part of our dinner together trying to temper any hopes I might have regarding my relationship with Eva. It was exhausting, hope having a lot of energy.
I reminded myself repeatedly that Eva had given me no indication she was interested in me in a romantic way. True, she wasn’t as disinterested or abrasive as she was when we first reunited, and she had apologized about her bad behavior the night of the show, and we had shared a good evening after that. And tonight—well, tonight was going nicely enough, though Eva seemed a bit distracted. Come to think of it, I’m sure I did, too.
Still, as I’ve mentioned earlier, I make mistakes but I’m not a fool. At least for the moment, at least until Eva learned Sophie’s secret, at least until—sometime in the future—I would keep my feelings to myself.
The Friends We Keep Page 25