The First Time

by Joy Fielding

  “What was she doing here in the first place?” Jake asked, speaking about Cynthia as if she weren’t in the room.

  “I was told your wife was looking for me.” Cynthia’s voice was suddenly as cool as the compress. “I dropped by as a courtesy.”

  “A courtesy?”

  There was no mistaking the anger in Jake’s voice. What was the matter with him? Mattie wondered. It wasn’t like him to be so reactive. Although he’d always been impatient with people he didn’t like. She thought of the incident in the Great Impasta, his outrage when his partners jumped to the wrong conclusions about her behavior. But what did he have against Cynthia Broome? Why would he be angry at her? Surely he didn’t hold her responsible for Mattie’s attack. “Jake, what’s going on? Are you all right?” Mattie asked.

  Jake ran a shaking hand through his dark hair, took a long deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I guess the morning kind of got to me. I trudge all the way over to the damn gallery in this goddamn rain, and then it’s closed, and I can’t get a cab for over half an hour, and I finally get back, and I find—”

  “Your wife covered with bruises and a stranger in your bathroom,” Cynthia said, completing the sentence for him.

  “Thank you for helping my wife,” Jake said.

  Cynthia nodded. “It was my pleasure. I’m glad I could be of help. Anyway,” she continued in almost the same breath, holding the compress out toward Jake, “time for you to take over. This room really isn’t big enough for three people.” She pushed herself off the bed, retrieving her jacket and dropping the compress into Jake’s hand as she walked past him. “Watch out for the chocolates,” she advised.

  “Maybe we could all have lunch together later,” Mattie said as Cynthia opened the door.

  Cynthia checked her watch. “Actually, I’m booked on some mystery tour of the city this afternoon. The mystery is whether we’ll be able to see anything in all this rain.”

  “How about tomorrow?” Mattie pressed, although she wasn’t sure why. Clearly the woman was as eager to leave as Jake was eager to see her go. Sometimes there was just a natural negative chemistry between two people, Mattie was forced to admit. Her mother claimed that was true of dogs. There was no reason why it couldn’t apply to human beings as well. Why was she pushing for something that nobody really wanted?

  “I’m kind of booked up for the rest of my stay.” Cynthia swayed from one foot to the other.

  “I understand,” Mattie said, though she didn’t really. “Maybe back in Chicago. You’ll have to give me your address and phone number.”

  “I’ll leave it with the dragon lady.” Cynthia checked her watch a second time, although the glance was so brief, Mattie doubted the hour had time to register. “Take care,” she said. “Nice meeting you, Jason.”

  “I’ll walk you downstairs,” Jake volunteered suddenly. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Mattie, who said nothing as he followed Cynthia into the hall and closed the door behind him.

  “Oh, my God,” Mattie whispered as soon as they were gone, the words falling from her lips as she pushed herself off the bed and began pacing back and forth, dragging her legs across the narrow space between the bed and the wall. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  Nice meeting you, Jason.

  Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason.

  What did it mean? What could it mean?

  No wonder Chloe Dorleac had never heard of Cynthia Broome. There was no Cynthia Broome.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  No wonder her voice had always felt so familiar. Mattie had heard that same voice on the telephone more than once. I love you, Jason.

  Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason.

  She’d been here all along, probably trysting with Jake whenever they could find the time. How French, Mattie thought. To go to Paris with both your wife and your mistress. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  I had a good man once.

  What happened to him?

  Circumstances.

  “I have to get out of here,” Mattie muttered, rifling through the drawer of the small table beside her bed, quickly locating her passport beside her return ticket to Chicago. She stumbled around the bed, squishing several chocolates beneath her feet as she grabbed her purse from the floor and stuffed her passport and airline ticket inside. “I have to get out of here.”

  She opened the door, peeked into the hall. No one was there, although voices wafted up the elevator shaft from the lobby. She wondered where Jake had gone with Cynthia.

  No, not Cynthia.

  Honey. Honey Novak.

  Honey with an e-y, she thought bitterly, dragging herself toward the elevator, realizing she’d forgotten her cane, and pushing the button repeatedly with the back of her right hand. She didn’t have time to go back. She had to get out of this damn hotel right now. Before Jake returned. She had to get to the airport. Get on an earlier flight. Hopefully, by the time Jake figured out where she’d gone, she’d be on a plane back to Chicago.

  She could manage by herself, even without her cane. She didn’t have any luggage. It shouldn’t be too difficult to change her ticket. She’d take an extra morphine tablet, sleep all the way back home. First thing she’d do when she got to her house was change all the locks.

  “Where’s the damn elevator?” Mattie slammed her open palm against the button, sighed with relief when she heard the elevator begin its ascent. What if Jake were on it? she wondered, stepping back, flattening herself against the velvet-flocked blue wallpaper, holding her breath.

  Seconds later the elevator bounced to a halt, empty and anticipatory. Slowly, Mattie pushed open the wrought-iron gate and stepped inside. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons, and she accidentally pressed two at once, so that the elevator made an extra, unwanted stop before finally arriving at the lobby. When it got there, Mattie remained motionless, peering through the wrought-iron bars, as if imprisoned, not sure if she had the strength to proceed.

  “Aren’t you getting out?” a little voice asked.

  Mattie nodded at the towheaded youngster standing beyond the bars, the same rambunctious child she’d seen in the breakfast room earlier in the day. Had it really been only a few hours ago? she wondered, stepping out of the elevator. It seemed so much longer ago than that. A lifetime ago, she thought.

  “Stand back and give the lady some room,” the boy’s mother instructed.

  “She walks funny,” Mattie heard the boy squeal as she limped toward the hotel’s double front door with as much speed as she could muster.

  “Ssh!” his mother said.

  “Why was she crying?” the boy asked as the hotel door shut behind her.

  Mattie stepped outside, the rain immediately soaking through her clothes, plastering her hair against the sides of her face. Seconds later, a taxi pulled up and she crawled inside. “Charles de Gaulle Airport,” she said, grinding the mixture of rain and tears into the bruise on her cheek. “Vite.” And then again, remembering her dream, “Vite.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  You want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Jake demanded angrily, his hand on Honey’s elbow as he pushed her toward the stairs. Although he was whispering, there was no mistaking the fury in his voice.

  “Jason, calm down. It’s not what you think.”

  “Really? And what am I thinking, exactly?”

  “I never meant for this to happen.”

  They reached the top of the narrow spiral staircase. Jason hesitated, not sure in which direction to proceed, his fingers digging into the crook of Honey’s arm. He knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. In truth, he wanted to kill her. It was taking all his strength to keep from hurling her down the three winding flights of stairs to the lobby below. What the hell was she doing in Paris? In this hotel? What had she been doing with Mattie? What had she said to her?

  As if reading his thoughts, Honey said, “My room’s
on the fifth floor. Come upstairs, Jason. We can talk. I’ll explain everything.”

  Without allowing himself time to think, Jake pushed Honey up the two flights of stairs to the fifth floor. What had she been doing in his hotel room? What had she said to Mattie to precipitate her attack? If Honey had said anything at all to upset Mattie, he’d throttle her on the spot.

  Except that Mattie hadn’t seemed upset, he reminded himself. If anything, she’d seemed grateful for Honey’s presence, disappointed she was leaving, astounded at Jake’s rudeness. How was he going to explain his strange behavior to Mattie?

  “My key’s in my jacket pocket,” Honey was saying. “I can’t get at it if you don’t let go of my arm.”

  Jake released his grip, watched while Honey unlocked the door, then, after taking a furtive glance around, pushed her inside a room that was virtually identical to his own. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, slamming the door behind them.

  Honey threw her jacket across the unmade bed, disturbing the tousled sheets, dislodging her lingering smell. It wafted toward Jake’s nostrils, reminding him of their months together, of the days and nights he’d spent in the whimsical clutter of her bedroom back home. For an instant he felt his outrage abate, his body start to uncoil, and then he pictured Mattie, sitting bruised and vulnerable on that same bed two floors below, and he felt his anger return, his fist clench at his side. He forced his eyes away from the bed, noting parcels covering every available surface—the chair, the night tables, even the top of the suitcase that lay on the floor by the window.

  “I’ve started collecting French dolls,” Honey told him, following the path of Jake’s eyes. “I’m not sure how I’ll get them all on the plane—”

  “I’m not interested in any goddamn dolls,” Jake snapped. “I want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see Paris,” Honey answered, her shoulders stiffening in quiet, if unmistakable, defiance.

  “Cut the crap, Honey. Why are you here?”

  The sharpness of his rebuke hit her with almost visible force. Her shoulders collapsed instantly, as if she’d been stabbed. Her body caved forward. Tears welled in her eyes. “I would think that’s pretty obvious,” she said after a brief pause, turning away.

  “Enlighten me.”

  Honey walked to the window, stared out at the rain-soaked street. “I was very confused after what happened in your office,” she began, swallowing her tears, refusing to look at him. “Confused and angry. And scared.”

  “Scared?” What was she talking about?

  “I knew I was losing you. That I’d lost you,” she corrected immediately. “You denied it, and I tried to deny it, even when you didn’t call for weeks. That afternoon in your office, the way we left things, the way I just walked out, I couldn’t leave it like that. I couldn’t let it end without one more try. So I called your office, found out when you’d be away, booked a nonrefundable ticket so I couldn’t back down, paid for the hotel room in advance, got here a few days before you did. I didn’t really have a plan. I certainly wasn’t going to reveal myself to Mattie. I just wanted to be here for you, just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case you needed me. In case you wanted me,” she added with a whisper.

  “It’s not about what / want,” Jake said. “I thought you understood that.”

  “I understand a great deal, Jason. More than you think I do. More than I think you do.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I understand that the man I love is in love with someone else.”

  “This isn’t about love,” Jake protested. “It’s about need.”

  “It’s about love,” Honey said firmly. “Why is that so difficult a concept for you to grasp? You love your wife, Jason. It’s as simple as that.”

  Jake shook his head, as if trying to keep Honey’s words from penetrating his brain.

  You love your wife, Jason. It’s as simple as that.

  You love your wife, Jason.

  Jason. Jason. Jason. Jason.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned out loud.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She knows.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Mattie knows.”

  “I don’t understand. How could she—?”

  “You called me Jason.”

  “What?”

  “Downstairs. When you were about to leave, you said, ‘Goodbye, Jason.’ ”

  “No, I … oh, God, yes I did. Do you think she realized—”

  He didn’t answer. In the next second, Jake was out the door and running down the two flights of stairs to the third floor, Honey fast on his heels. “Stay there,” he ordered her as he reached the third-floor landing and began banging on the door to his room. “Mattie! Mattie, let me in. I left my key inside. Mattie,” he called again, feeling her absence, knowing the room was empty, that she was already gone. “Mattie!” he shouted, as the door to the next room opened, and a large woman in a yellow chenille bathrobe stuck her head out the door.

  “Americans,” she muttered under her breath before retreating back inside her room and closing the door.

  “Excuse me,” Jake heard Honey call to someone above her head. “Can you open a door for us?”

  Who was she talking to? Jake wondered, turning to see a cleaning lady following Honey down the remaining stairs. “I forgot my key,” he said, although the cleaning lady was obviously uninterested in his explanations. She opened the door with one of the keys on her large key ring, then retreated back up the stairs without a word. “Mattie!” Jake called, stepping into the empty room, checking the bathroom before opening the armoire, ascertaining her clothes were still there. As was her suitcase, he thought with relief, even as he understood she’d have neither the time, the strength, nor the inclination to pack. “Where the hell is she? Where could she have gone?”

  “Her cane is still here,” Honey said hopefully. “She can’t have gone very far.”

  But Jake was already out the door and leaping down the stairs two at a time, jumping down the last three, hurling himself toward the front desk, where Chloe Dorleac was going over a map of the city with two German tourists. “Have you seen my wife?” Jake demanded. “Ma femme?” he said when Chloe Dorleac refused to acknowledge his presence. “Goddamn it,” he shouted, banging on the desk. “This is an emergency.”

  “I don’t know where your wife is,” the dragon lady said coolly, her eyes never leaving her map.

  “Did you see her go out? It can’t be more than ten minutes ago.”

  “I cannot help you, monsieur,” came the reply.

  “She’s not in the breakfast room,” Honey said, appearing at his side.

  Jake frantically scanned the lobby. His behavior had attracted the attention of the handful of tourists standing around, waiting for the rain to let up. “Has anybody seen my wife?” he pleaded to several blank pairs of eyes. “Does anybody speak English?” He paused, looked toward the street. “Did anybody see her? Tall, thin, blond hair around her shoulders. She has trouble walking—”

  “I saw her,” came a little voice from behind a large potted plant in the far corner of the lobby.

  Jake was instantly on his knees, coaxing a reluctant towheaded youngster out from behind the tall plant. “You saw her?”

  “I’m playing hide-and-seek with my brother,” the boy said.

  “You saw my wife—”

  “She walks funny,” the boy said, and giggled.

  “Where did she go?”

  The boy shrugged. “I have to hide before my brother finds me.”

  “You didn’t see where she went?”

  “She got into a taxi,” the boy explained. “I don’t know where it went.”

  “A taxi?” Jake repeated. Where the hell would she go? Especially in this downpour. The little boy ran from his side, disappeared around the corner just as his mother appeared.

  “Lance, wh
ere are you?” the concerned woman called out. “Damn it. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. The game is over.”

  “Should we call the police?” Jake heard Honey ask as he pushed by her, racing back up the stairs to the third floor, relieved to find the door to his room still open. He ran to the night table on Mattie’s side of the bed, pulled open the drawer, quickly locating his passport and his airplane ticket, knowing Mattie’s were missing even before he checked.

  “Oh, God,” he said, collapsing with fatigue, his breath coming in short ragged bursts, his whole body shaking. He sank onto the side of the bed, his head in his hands. “She’s gone,” he said as Honey stepped into the room. “She’s taken her passport and her ticket, and she’s probably halfway to the airport by now.”

  Honey’s voice was soft and direct. “Then I suggest you get up off your ass and get moving,” she said.

  • • •

  The Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport is an enormous complex located nineteen miles north of Paris. It has two main terminals, the second of which is located several miles away from the first, and is comprised of two linked buildings in four sections. There is also a separate terminal catering to charter flights. In all, the airport is served by at least forty scheduled airlines and sixteen charter companies. Jake had had enough difficulty trying to figure it all out when he and Mattie first arrived. How would Mattie manage on her own? he wondered now, urging the cab driver to hurry through the congested Parisian streets. Despite the airport’s proximity to the city, travelers were advised to allow a full hour to get there, and Jake well understood why, especially in difficult driving conditions such as these. “Do you think you could go a little faster?” Jake urged. “Plus vite,” he said, as the cab-driver shook his head in time to the overworked windshield wipers. “It’s very important I get to the airport as fast as possible.”

  “More important to get there alive,” the driver told him in heavily accented English.

  Jake leaned back against the cracked green vinyl seat of the ancient taxi. At least the Charles de Gaulle Airport was well outfitted to deal with the handicapped. Special telephone facilities were available, as well as restrooms, elevators and air bridges, wheelchairs, and baggage assistance. Agents wearing specially designated uniforms were available for assistance. Would Mattie find them? Would she be able to make herself understood?