The houses Brent sent included lengthy descriptions, magazine quality photos, and even virtual tours. Audrey and I clicked away at the pictures with the giddiness of children opening presents. After a dozen or so listings, we found one that seemed absolutely perfect. Though the seller failed to detail them, the pictures revealed tons of upgrades and, given the asking price, it appeared to be an absolute steal.
“I think it would be perfect, Paul,” Audrey whispered, resting her head on my shoulder. The smell of her lilac scented perfume was intoxicating, and I wove my arm around her back, pulling her in closer.
“It is perfect. I’ll call Brent and make an offer,” I promised, once again savoring the role of provider.
“An offer?” she asked, as she popped her head up in surprise, her eyebrows crinkled.
“Well, yes. This place is way under priced, and so we really can’t waste time,” I explained, gently pulling her back towards me. “We need to move quickly if we want to get it.”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” she replied, pulling herself away from my clutch. “Really, we need to fly out there and see it first before rushing in, sight unseen, with an offer.”
Her tone was all business, and I felt like I was being scolded. It’s not like I’d never bought a house before.
“No, we don’t,” I replied, matching her tone. “I know Brent wouldn’t send me a money pit, and I also know the value of the homes out there. Opportunities like this rarely present themselves. We can't risk wasting any time.” I was insistent, and my insistence was met with a look of disgust. Audrey was now sitting straight up in her seat, with her arms folded.
“Well, don’t I have a say in this? I mean, it’s not like you’re the one who gets to call all the shots here. I’m not just some stay-at-home mom that doesn’t know anything else. I know things about running a business,” she argued.
“Just some stay-at-home mom? What is this about?” I looked at her quizzically, trying to understand her hostility that came on so quickly and surprisingly. “Of course you have a say… why are you so angry?”
“I’m not angry!” she shot back. “I just don’t think it’s smart to jump into such a huge purchase with little thought or planning. I mean, you rush into everything.”
“Everything?”
“You always rush into things. Look at us,” she continued, now rising from her seat as her emotions began to take hold. “We hardly dated and you were ready with a proposal. Who gets married after only four months anyway?”
“You do!” I said, as I stood up, refusing to let her beat me up about something I apparently did not understand. “And I proposed because I knew I loved you and I knew what I wanted, and if you didn’t, then you shouldn’t have said ‘yes,’ should you?” I could feel my face flush as well concealed doubts and fears about our relationship began to bubble to the surface. I felt like I had been ambushed. We went from loving and tender to angry and accusatory in a matter of minutes, and I still wasn’t entirely sure what had brought on such a strong reaction.
“I don’t see why we have to rush into this. We need to be careful. We shouldn't do anything that could cause us to lose money.”
“I disagree. I lived in Orange County for over twenty years. I know about real estate there. And I’m calling Brent with an offer.”
“Whatever,” she hissed, and spun around on her heels, storming out of the room, once again leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened. Damn, I was just trying to buy the woman a summer home.
At that moment, part of me hated her. It was just for a moment, a burst of hatred that came upon me as quickly as it left, but it was strong. I hated what she was doing to me, making me feel desperate, powerless, and constantly uncertain about what may come next. More than anything, I hated how far from perfect we were proving to be, despite working so hard to make our new life everything I’d hoped.
I picked up the phone, dialed Brent’s number, and told him to make them an offer.
* * *
The following Thursday found us sitting quietly in my car, parked in front of the loan office where our paperwork for the house was waiting to be signed. The seller accepted my offer, but Audrey had yet to accept my apologies.
While Audrey sat in icy silence, her eyes firmly fixed on something outside her window, I sat anchored in my seat, nervously kneading the steering wheel with my hands as I sought to find the words to make everything better. Since that scene over buying the house, Audrey had walked out of the room and spent every day since in any room I was not. She was in bed asleep before I had a chance to approach her away from the kids, and she was out the door on Saturday morning without so much as a goodbye.
“I think you’re right,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “I do rush into things. I rushed into loving you, I rushed into proposing to you, and I rushed into this house of ours.” I kept my voice even, not wanting to let my emotions get the best of me. Audrey continued to stare out the window, showing no signs of listening. “But I will not apologize for any of that since I've spent my life waiting. Waiting for you, waiting for all of this, and now that it’s here I'm ready to grab it all. What I will apologize for is making you feel like you weren't a part of it. You are. You are a part of everything I do and I want you to understand that.” I stopped, promising myself I would say no more until she gave me some sign, some hope that she was open to what I was saying.
“I accept your apology,” she said plainly, still staring out of her window and not showing any signs of moving.
“Okay, so now what?” I was hesitant to assume a next move. “Shall we go in?”
“Yeah, okay.” And with that business-like agreement, Audrey slowly opened the door and headed toward the front entrance without so much as a glance in my direction. Still feeling completely lost, I slowly got out and followed her in.
The office was brightly lit, overly air conditioned, and filled with the sounds of Neil Diamond’s voice. A woman at the front counter, dressed in a cardigan that bore a certain shade of orange I had never quite seen before in nature, provided an enthusiastic greeting. We took our seats in the conference room.
I shifted uncomfortably in the club style chair, trying to get comfortable and generate some body heat while we waited, and just as “Forever in Blue Jeans” was officially burned in my brain, a middle aged man in a short sleeved dress shirt and blue tie abruptly came in and greeted us.
“Mr. and Mrs. Goldman, thank you for choosing our loan company for your transaction,” he began, and he handed us each a loan application.
“It is not Mrs. Goldman,” Audrey insisted firmly as I felt the old wound reopen. “Call me Audrey.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I will need two IDs from both of you.”
“I can’t be on the loan,” Audrey again spoke firmly. Between her coldness and the painful refrain of “Song Sung Blue,” I was all but ready to walk out the door. Audrey may have said she accepted my apology, but I still felt like I was being punished.
“Why not?” I asked calmly.
“Because my damn husband, Joe Munson, destroyed my credit,” she said, looking down, still unwilling to face me. It occurred to me then that all of this anger she’d been feeling may have had very little to do with me. If her finances were in ruins because of her first husband, perhaps that may finally start to explain some of her behavior. The loan officer interrupted my thoughts.
“Well, if you have bad credit, Audrey, it will make it a lot harder to qualify for the loan with both you and Mr. Goldman on it. Or, at the very least, the interest rate will be higher.”
“Of course, we want the lowest possible rate,” I replied softly, reaching out for Audrey’s hand. “I guess I’ll be the only one on the loan then.” With that, Audrey squeezed my hand and looked at me for the first time in a week.
“Thanks for understanding, Paul,” she said sweetly. Audrey then stood up, tossed her application on the desk, and said, “So, I guess I’ll only be on the title then, and not the loa
n. Could you please tell me where the ladies room is?” A brief nod toward the back of the office was provided by the loan officer, and Audrey was off, leaving me there to feel the slight reassurance of our reconciliation.
But only slightly.
* * *
With the struggle over Saratoga Ranch quickly becoming a distant memory, Audrey and I spent the following weeks and months feeling normal again, at least our own version of normal. Each new week found me counting the minutes until Wednesday, and each Saturday morning watched me sulk as I said goodbye to my part-time wife. The highs and lows that defined our week made me feel like I was on a constant roller coaster ride, with no hope of getting off. Despite our unconventional arrangement, I was still relieved that we hadn’t let our blowup over the house ruin what we had. I was happy, while also harboring a hidden fear that any little event might cause another confrontation and another chance of her walking out the door. I had to get Audrey to open up and reveal more about her past if there was to be any chance of having a real future with her.
As another Saturday morning came too soon, I walked Audrey out to her car to send her off to her grandmother in Cocoa Beach. I opened her door, told her how much I hated her leaving, and I kissed her goodbye like I did every week. And like every week, Audrey smiled, nodded, and accepted my kiss before shutting her car door and peeling off down the road heading north. On this particular Saturday morning, however, Audrey stopped her car halfway down the driveway and rolled down the window.
“Hey, Hanukkah is next week. Why don’t we have a party, so our parents can finally meet each other?” The brown spirals of her hair were now spilling out of the window as she tilted her head to keep me in sight.
“Sure. That’s a great idea,” I replied, disbelieving that Audrey had taken such an initiative and interest.
“Leave all the details to me,” she said. “You have enough on your mind taking care of your business.” And with that, she rolled her window back up and disappeared down the street, leaving only a trail of loose gravel and a pleasantly surprised husband in her wake.
Though I had always attributed her lack of words of endearment for me as part of her guarded personality as opposed to any real ambivalence about our love for each other, I was relieved and elated by her offer to plan a holiday party for our families. I drove the forty miles south to my home office. As long as a renter hadn't been found, I was happy to spend Saturdays through Wednesdays in Boynton. I enjoyed the house because there was so much to do. Between my work and caring for my ten thousand square foot garden, time passed quickly.
On the Wednesday of the party, I raced back to Jupiter Lakes, curious to see what Audrey had come up with. I had no idea what was in store.
Even before turning the corner onto our street, I could hear the sounds of a loud air pump. When our house came into view, the sound explained itself. On the front lawn sat two enormous, inflatable snowmen with swirling snowflakes dancing in their bellies.
“Johnny, look at that!” I shouted, but Johnny had already caught sight of them too and was excitingly bouncing up and down in his car seat. What else could be waiting for us? We hurried through the front door, and found our home unrecognizable. The entire downstairs, every possible nook and cranny, was filled with some kind of Hanukkah or Christmas decoration, resulting in a complete holiday transformation. Overwhelmed by all the things to look at, I slowly made my way upstairs in search of Audrey, wondering if I might instead find Mrs. Claus.
I found Audrey and her daughter Annie in our room putting the finishing touches on their holiday outfits. I stood in the doorway watching them preen, like mother, like daughter, in front of the full length mirror in the closet door.
“Everything looks beautiful, honey,” I said, not wanting to disturb the final preparations. Audrey and Annie both popped their heads up in surprise as I made my way toward them. Annie smiled a thank you before skipping out of the room, while I took Audrey in my arms and kissed her deeply. “You’ve done a fantastic job,” I said, holding her in close, not wanting to let her go. Unfortunately, the doorbell decided to interrupt us. We headed out of the room, arm and arm, and down the stairs.
I caught a glimpse of Davey opening the door and then heard the voice of Mr. Allen boom, “Happy Hanukah, kids! Did you know that Hanukah comes from… ”
And that was all I would hear. Thankfully, Audrey remembered the egg nog as well.
My father and stepmother Helen arrived shortly after the Allens, and the night became a blur of presents, boisterous storytelling, and complete happiness. Audrey was a vision and I relished in the charm she showed and the consideration she showed to my father, whom I was always eager to impress. When the night ended, I walked my father and Helen to their car, filled with pride and exuberance.
“It was really nice, wasn’t it? And Audrey did everything-- the food, the decorations, all of it.” I was floating, buoyed by the egg nog and the imaginary snow Audrey had sprinkled along the walk.
“Yes, very nice,” my father remarked, grinning as he glanced at the snowmen smiling back at us.
“How is it going with you two?” Helen asked, with a tilt of her head. Why did women always do that?
“Us? We’re great!” and I meant it. I felt wonderful. “I mean, I’m not thrilled about having a part-time marriage, but what can you do? The time we spend together is great and I just love her.” We stopped when we reached their car, and I watched my father open Helen’s door.
Turning to me before she stepped in, Helen kissed my cheek, rubbed my shoulder, and said, “If you’re happy, well, that’s all that counts.”
* * *
Compared to Hanukkah, New Year's Eve proved far from perfect. Audrey was due back from Cocoa Beach around six. I prepared a special dinner for us from scratch. When six o'clock came and went with no Audrey, I dialed her cell phone, to make sure she was in route. “Hi honey, just making sure you're on your way. Getting close to home?”
“No, I haven't left yet.”
“Huh? Well, please tell your grandmother that you have to leave to spend New Year's Eve with your husband. I'll put dinner in the oven now, and I've got wine, candles, and roses from the garden. You're the only ingredient missing to our wonderful evening.”
“It sounds great. We've had a rough day, but I'll tell Grandma that I have to leave. I'll call you in an hour, when I'm about halfway home, okay?”
I put the wine back in the refrigerator, and passed the time with some paperwork. Resisting the urge to actually set an alarm clock to signal the hour’s end, I watched the clock constantly, hoping for the best. An hour passed and Audrey didn't call. So, I decided to call her.
“Hi honey, I didn't get your call, so I'm calling to make sure everything's okay,” I said, walking into the kitchen to check on the duck.
“Yeah, everything's fine. I'm getting ready to leave now,” she said hurriedly. I could hear her rummaging through her purse in search of what I presumed were her keys.
“You mean you haven't left yet? Why not?”
“No, but I'm leaving now. Call me in an hour.”
“Wonderful,” I cheered, as I turned the heat down in the oven. “Then I'll see you in two hours! I hope you’re hungry.”
“Right, okay,” she said, sounding distracted. I decided I’d missed the opportunity to give her the perfect present: one of those key chains with a locating device. I again attempted to pass the time with paperwork, but the dull work was making me drowsy and so I watched the Times Square countdown show to help stay awake. Forty-five minutes later, I removed the duck from the oven, and dialed Audrey's cell. She didn't answer. That's funny, I thought. Fifteen minutes later, I called again. This time, she answered.
“Hey, honey, what exit are you at?”
“Exit? Oh, I’m not sure. Call me back in an hour, okay?”
“An hour? You should be here by then,” I said, confused and worried.
“It’s my grandmother. I haven’t left yet. An hour, okay?” Audrey again soun
ded distracted as she hung up the phone before I could respond. Weighed down by the late hour and my own disappointment, I threw some foil over the duck, blew out the largely melted candles, and carried the roses up to our bedroom. Not believing I could manage another hour, I decided the alarm clock was definitely in order and so I set it before I fell into a light slumber.
Jolted awake by the sound of the alarm, I fumbled for the phone, hoping to find Audrey almost home.
“Honey, where are you? Surely, you must be close now,” I said, groggy from my rest.
“I’m in the car, but I am driving slowly. There are drunks all over the road and I'm tired. I’m tempted to just pull over for a rest.”
“Pull over? Well, do whatever is safe, honey. I was hoping you would have been here a long time ago,” I croaked, trying to stop my eyes from sticking.
“I know. Call me in another hour to check up on me, okay?” she asked. Again, the alarm clock was set. When it sounded again, it was just before 3 a.m.
“Honey, where are you?” I said, now more concerned than disappointed. I vaguely remembered her telling me she might need to pull over, but I couldn’t believe I agreed to let her do that. I must have still been really asleep.
“I’m in the county now, but I'm going to go to my parents to sleep. I can’t drive anymore,” she said. “Good night, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, good night,” I yawned. “And, honey, happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year, Paul.” I hung up the phone and fell back onto the bed. I couldn't think of any plausible reason why it would take Audrey so long to make the two hour trip from Cocoa Beach. It's not like the roads were snowed in. This was Florida. I felt disappointed, dejected, and delirious with sleep. My only hope was that this horrible night would not prove to be an omen for the new year.
CHAPTER NINE
The Separation
January – February 2008
Duplicity - A True Story of Crime and Deceit Page 9