The Reluctant Trophy Wife

by Judith Petres Balogh

  She could see that. She was aware of people’s appetite for news about prominent people, and also knew about the glee they exhibited when a celebrated person tumbled from his elevated position. She never fully understood this duality: on the one hand, the mindless, preposterous, juvenile and unfounded adoration of celebrities, on the other hand the evil and destructive joy when one of the adored luminaries erred.

  “What about Adrienne?”

  “Her problem is in the hands of competent surgeons at this time. Later she’ll have to face her husband and convince him of her innocence. Or not. You did your duty to friendship splendidly by insisting that she went to the cottage to do you a favor. How she will explain the presence of Steven Mulligan to her husband, of that I have no idea. I would guess that her husband does not even… did not even …know the man. It is not your problem.”

  “What is my problem?”

  He refilled their glasses again then leaned back in his chair. Closing his eyes he recited slowly and gently, as if talking to a sick child.

  “The problem is not yours, but ours. If we are not careful this tragic occurrence could wipe out my chances for advancement. You do realize my dear, don’t you, how this incident could be misconstrued by the popular press, and what conclusions the public would make of it. The problem with any scandal, or gossip, or calumny is that no matter how innocent you are, and no matter how thoroughly you cleanse yourself afterwards, there is always enough dirt left on you to give reason for people to whisper, ‘Who can tell? Perhaps there is something to the story…One can never be sure…Perhaps the Cambrays did rent out the cottage for immoral purposes…’ and so on, going as far as the diseased human imagination lets them go.”

  “But we, I mean Adrienne and I, have done nothing wrong!”

  “Please note, I am not accusing either of you of any wrongdoing. What you did was not evil, only stupendously irresponsible, if you’ll forgive the strong expression. The situation is further aggravated by the obvious fact that I had no clue about Adrienne’s excursion to the cottage. The policemen did not miss this point, I am sure. Do not for a moment think that these men are stupid. Far from it. Few things escape their attention. However, they might eventually slide over it. We are, after all, very busy people, leading parallel lives, and at times, we might act without telling each other about some plans. The storm came suddenly, the decision was made quickly, and perhaps it is understandable that I was left uninformed about your decision of asking your friend to investigate. But it is a timely warning that we must be very careful .I suppose you never considered the possible consequences.”

  “You, of course, would have.”

  “Of course.”

  “And then considering all angles, you would have decided to do nothing.”

  “Possibly, but at least I would have avoided getting so close to the dangerous edge.” Clyde could never be moved out of his calm and rational self.

  “Do you know what really places you, me, or anyone at the dangerous edge? The simple act of being born, of being placed on this earth! None of us asked for it, discounting the Tibetans who believe in reincarnation, bardo and the rest, and who supposedly begged for a chance to live again in order to do it right the second time around. The inevitable danger started when we were born into a body so fragile that we can only live within a very limited range of temperatures and so helpless that we could not survive without nurturing. In order to make it during the first years of our life, we depend on constant care. For dangerously long years we cannot obtain food, water, security and warmth on our own, and when we finally develop far enough to stand on our own, that is the time when real dangers and calamities start to visit us. That is what is meant by living at the dangerous edge. Every moment of our life is spent on the dangerous edge. Doing nothing is not the answer. That too can be extremely dangerous.”

  Lena was now feeling the effect of the alcohol, which combined with the shock of the tragedy put her into an agitated emotional state. The combination of exhaustion and excitement made her impatient, argumentative, and harsh enough to say things she normally would not have uttered. She had no patience left and was not in the mood to listen to a lengthy overture.

  “What do you suggest as a solution?” she asked defiantly to put an end to the discussion. She wanted her bed and the luxury of sinking into a dreamless sleep. “Because just as I have no plans, no ideas, I am sure you already worked out yours.” She could not keep the irritation from her voice.

  “My dear Lena, when you talk like this, I feel as if you reduced me to a scheming half-person, an unfeeling machine. I am neither, but please understand that my future depends on how we handle the situation just now.”

  “Fine, I am listening, but make it short. I have some grieving to do.”

  “Grieving! Grieving for a couple who…”

  “Please Clyde, don’t! That is not the issue now. In all due respect, we have not gathered here to discuss their morality, or the lack of it.”

  “As you wish. What I intended to say was that in order to save the situation and salvage the future, it would be best if you would become invisible for a while, just for the time until the media finds another, more interesting topic.”

  “Excuse me?” She was now fully alert. “Clyde, did I understand you right? Are you planning to lock me in a tower or to send me into exile? Perhaps commit me into an institution?”

  “Don’t dramatize, darling. You know that I love you, and that I am only thinking of our future. Considering every possible eventuality, I found the best solution.”

  “Which of the options have you chosen for me?”

  “None of the harsh ones you listed. Instead I thought you could travel somewhere, take a little vacation. You could be in need of solitude to write the book you have been talking about. It makes excellent sense and your absence could take as much or as little time as circumstances require. We can work out the details later. The important thing is to go somewhere where you will not be seen, or questioned. You could come back later, after the furor will have died down, at a time, when nobody would care a cat’s whiskers anymore about what happened in the cottage some months ago.”

  “You are sending me away!”

  “Lena dear, you are inclined to use very severe definitions today, but if this is the way you wish to interpret, so be it. Yes, you should go away for a while. It is better if you are not around to keep the media excited. You should stay invisible until I am sure I am not wiped off the list.”

  “But don’t you think it would be very suspicious if I disappeared? Wouldn’t the media take it as an admission of guilt?”

  “My dear, then you don’t know the popular media. They are not after facts, but after scandal and excitement, because those are the things that sell the paper. The paradigm goes like this: Lena present in her full beauty is exciting. To approach Lena for details is exciting and probably could be twisted into a scandal. Lena absent is not exciting. Absent Lena sinks into oblivion; therefore, for the personal advantage of the Cambrays it is prudent to hide Lena safely away from the paparazzi and their ilk.”

  This was preposterous. She needed time to think about it. She was sure that his plan was all wrong, but also guessed that it would be impossible to talk him out of it, because obviously he considered the absurd plan faultless and logical. She was sure he was over-reacting and his fears were mere phantoms, which according to their very nature are unreal, merely twisted images of a frightened mind, and after the first panic they would disappear. It is most ridiculous to flee from phantoms. He was waiting for a response but she was not able to consent, or to refuse. At such crucial times it is best to take refuge in generalities.

  “If I’d agree to disappear for a while you believe that your career could be saved?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And after many years when as a high ranking politician you retire, what title would you give to this chapter of our life in your autobiography? Perhaps ‘Exit from Paradise’ would be catchy a
nd it has a familiar resonance. Please remember though that in the original story both parties were exiled.”

  “Yes, I am aware of it, and also of the fact that they both have partaken of the forbidden fruit. This is why both Adam and Eve had to leave. Take note please, that in our situation I did not even see the fruit, let alone taste it.”

  “There you are, Clyde! You are actually accusing me of taking the fruit, or doing a wrong I did not really commit.”

  “No dearest, I am not. I am just trying to be sensible. It is the simple fact that as far as the boulevard magazines are concerned, I am not very interesting, and they would not think of featuring me prominently and consistently; it would not be cost effective. On the other hand, you are the photogenic and gorgeous half of our marriage, and no reporter worth his paper or footage would miss out on spreading your angelic face on every gossipy newspaper or television screen. Also, as we both know, I have work to do and cannot go on an extended vacation. That would truly be the death sentence for my career. Finally, I can handle these men, but you have no experience in parrying and would eventually cave in.” He put down his glass, walked over to her and offered his hands to pull her up from the chair. “Darling Helena, you have gone through a severe shock and are exhausted. I suggest we close the topic, sleep on it and discuss the details tomorrow after you have calmed down. We do not need to make a decision this instant. Anyhow, your departure time is dependent on whether they want to question you again, and if so, when. Now be good and go to bed.”

  “My lord has spoken. Come morning I’ll be calm enough to subject myself meekly to your decrees.”

  “Sarcasm is not becoming you, Lena. It makes you fall out of your lovely, devoted self. I like you sweet and mellow. I do wish for you to take yourself to bed and have a long rest. You badly need it.”

  “I am now an impediment to your career and so you are shipping me off somewhere, is that it?” Her voice was suddenly tired. She was not really talking to him, merely reflecting on the enormity of his proposal. “And aprés moi le déluge”.

  Please, Helena, spare me that overused Gallic bon mot and the attendant Weltschmerz. You are overwrought, so let us stop talking now.”

  “By all means, let us.” If he sensed the cutting edge in her voice, he gave no indication of having heard it. He kissed the top of her head and then lifted her hand and kissed it in the perfect fin de siècle fashion. Such breeding this man has!

  Lena let him pull her from the chair. He put his arms around her and led her to the bedroom. It was all very sweet and gentle, but she fully understood that his decision was already made, and that she had no control over it or over her life. Not now in the present, and she will not have any in the distant future. For the first time she also saw clearly that her marriage lost its meaning.

  SIX

  The development of the case was far less dramatic than was predicted. To the disappointment of the media the trial, in spite of Adrienne’s grave injuries, promised to be unspectacular. It would lack all the unexpected twists, mysteries and complications, which a good crime tale ought to have. At times, life can be a superbly boring author lacking the fantasy of those, who write bestseller crime stories. The suspect was arrested soon after the crime, just as it was expected. During the prejudicial enquiry he was quite communicative. He obviously enjoyed the attention he received and freely provided all the details. When asked about his drug abuse, he admitted it and when asked what he took he answered with a merry grin, ‘anything that could be swallowed, injected, smoked or sniffed’. There was a time when he was choosier in the selection of the stuff, he said, but times are hard, prices are up, and anything is welcome in any form. Obviously he was not a connoisseur when it came to drugs, nor was he contrite, and this irritated the interrogators.

  Clyde was showing unexpected empathy toward the youngster, and told Lena, “What do you expect from the poor sucker! In his case taking drugs must have been an early choice, probably driven by curiosity. By now his brain is decayed. After the drugs did the damage to his system, major crimes, including murder, were inevitable. Hollow as he is, how could he feel regret or guilt? What a waste!”

  Lena was shocked when she saw his picture in the morning paper. She expected the sullen face of a criminal, but he was an attractive youngster and much younger than she expected. His eyes were beautiful dark pools that mirrored a child’s inquisitive and innocent look, although he also had something feral about him. At least that is what she read into his features. He was a wild and beautiful animal that had no more idea about rules and moral values than a baboon playing in the forest has. He could not repress a merry little smile, as if he found the world a wonderful place and all the excitement about him a capital joke. Yet, he was already a damaged soul, a drug addict, a burglar and in the end a murderer. Without being overly emotional she felt like weeping at witnessing so much waste. Who failed to notice the fatal direction this kid was taking? Who fell short of guiding him or pulling him back from the edge of the abyss? When did he slip out of the safe boundaries? Where were his parents, teachers and friends? Where was the village when he went under? Or did he inherit fatally damaged genes so that he was already beyond control, therapy and beyond whatever else scientists can offer to cure mankind’s diseases? Whence came all the evil?

  Each morning the newspaper came and each morning she turned from it in distaste, but despite her aversion picked it up again and read whatever was written about the case. At this preliminary stage there was not very much reported, but enough to upset her.

  “Are you still convinced that I have to disappear from the stage?” she asked pretending disinterest. She poured a second cup of coffee for him and waited patiently until he would emerge from the morning paper.

  “What? I beg your pardon, what was it you just said, my dear?” he asked surfacing into the reality of life at his breakfast table. She buttered a roll for him and with a graceful movement of her hand pointed to the jars of honey and marmalade, and repeated her question.

  “If the jam is apricot, than it will do fine,” he answered and she put a spoonful of it on his roll, still upholding the majestic indifference. Direct confrontation would not do, she knew that from experience. She repeated her question and hid her annoyance.

  “Yes, more than ever. You really must leave. We have to avoid at all costs your involvement in a scandal. If it were up to me, you would already be gone. However, we must wait to see if the authorities would want to talk to you again.”

  “No newsmen approached me so far. What makes you think that I would ever be the target of curiosity?”

  “I was able to exert my control this far, but don’t count on eternal anonymity and protection. The time will come as sure as tomorrow when the newspapermen will feel a need for some spicing up in order to bolster the sales figures of the papers. You simply cannot stay here and be their target.” He gave her one of his benevolent smiles and with it closed the topic with the pretense that they were of the same mind. Satisfied that he was successful in solving the day’s first problem, he once again submerged into the quagmire of daily politics as presented by his paper.

  Absentmindedly she refilled her cup, even though in truth she did not want any more coffee. She never left the table before he did; drinking another cup of coffee was just an occupation that filled the minutes while he was present in body only. Her thoughts turned inevitably to Adrienne. She was still in the Intensive Care Unit and she still could not receive visitors except her husband, and even he could only stay for a very short time. Lena called the hospital twice a day, identifying herself as the “sister” of the patient. She made the first call as soon as she awoke in the morning, and then called again in the late afternoon. The polite and impersonal voice always said the same thing: she is resting well and there is no change in her condition. So what does that mean? Is she in pain? Is she lonely? For heaven’s sake, how can one rest well after surgery when half a dozen tubes are connected to the body? Does she know what happened? Does sh
e understand? After such calls Lena usually sat for a while staring at the phone she just replaced into its cradle and wiped away a tear. The repetition of nonnews was frustrating, but she convinced herself that no change is better than change for the worse.

  Clyde finally folded his paper in the neat way he had and rose; this was an established sign for the maid and for his wife. The maid materialized and started to stack her tray with the dishes and the wife rose with barely concealed relief to accompany him to the front door, where briefcase, coat and hat were laid out for him and his chauffeur was waiting outside to take him to his office.

  After the ceremony of the farewell kiss she walked to the window to see him off. Spring definitely arrived and was busily doing its yearly magic. Thin green veils of buds wanting to turn into leaves and flowers enveloped the trees. The sky was a deep blue and someone passing on the street whistled an irresistible melody. The very earth seemed to stretch sensuously after the long sleep and rejoiced with abandon, because winter was finally over. Everything was as it should be, except it was not. She considered ways she could fill out the time until the next call to the hospital.

  She was usually quite busy on the days when she did not do volunteer work, but since that horrible day when crime became more than just the evening news, she was listless and could not find the energy to do her tasks. It took a great amount of will power to accomplish even such tasks that used to fill her with satisfaction. Finally she sat down at her desk and attempted to answer some of the correspondence that accumulated. She was undeniably of the new generation and used every new technology available; however, she always accomplished her personal correspondence handwritten and on the finest embossed stationary. Working busily, she absolved about a handful of notes, and was shocked to see that just about an hour and a half passed. Time never trudged this slowly and the day seemed endless.