After the Reunion

by Rona Jaffe

  “When did this happen?”

  “Look,” he said, “I want you to know, first of all, that I love you more than I ever did, and that you and Nicholas are the most important things in my life. I think maybe this has something to do with love. I know that whenever I did something secretly, you knew—not exactly when, but you sensed it. I didn’t want to be that way; meaningless sex with strangers, hurting you, and I felt guilty and hated myself afterward. And then one day I was with a number and I couldn’t go through with it. I wasn’t attracted at all. I couldn’t wait to get away from him. And after that …”

  She waited, numb. “After that, what?”

  “I don’t know what I am anymore,” Alexander said. “I’m not gay, I’m not straight. I seem to have no physical desires.”

  “Can’t I help?”

  “No.” He reached over quickly and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly. “Chris, I didn’t mean that to sound as heartless as it did. I’m sorry. What I mean was that of course I hoped you could help me, but it’s all my fault. None of this has anything to do with you.”

  “Maybe it’s a phase,” she said.

  He smiled, but his eyes were sad. “I hope so. I’ll kill myself if it isn’t.”

  “Don’t you dare kill yourself!” she said in horror. “I’d rather have you this way than not at all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am. Look, maybe we could go to a marriage counselor, or a sex therapist—privately, of course. I’m sure nothing is alien to them. It’s not supposed to take long either. A few sessions … you talk about it …”

  “I couldn’t do that,” Alexander said quickly. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “Nobody would know,” Chris pleaded.

  “I would know.”

  “Maybe it’s a phase,” she said again, finally.

  After she turned off the light they lay there for a long time sleeplessly. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dark and she could see that Alexander was staring at the ceiling. He looked so sad and she felt so sorry for him that she forgot to feel sorry for herself. She reached over and took his hand, and they lay there, side by side, and then he slid his hand from hers and turned over, away from her, and slipped into sleep. He had finally gotten it out, and now it would be better for him. At least now she understood.

  They had been through worse things. Well, perhaps not worse, but different. They loved each other. She had always waited, and somehow things had always worked out eventually. She had to believe that again.

  But three months went by and nothing changed. It was June, and the evenings were light. They were spending weekends in their country house in Connecticut, inviting friends to come with them, filling the long days with pleasant things. The stars were brilliant at night, the air smelled of fresh green life, and the days of sun left Chris feeling sensual and pulsing with desire. Her ripeness seemed an affront to Alexander’s dry celibacy. He was neither charmed nor attracted, and she wondered if other people could see how she felt. It made her ashamed; and sometimes angry, at herself and even at him. Then she would feel guilty about resenting him for a problem he didn’t know how to solve, and tenderness would rush through her until her eyes filled with tears. He was so kind and thoughtful—and so vulnerable. But his affection for her was playful, never sexual, and she wanted more.

  She had discussed it with Annabel, but Annabel’s idea of a solution was not hers. “I think you need a lover,” Annabel had said. “Some charming, marvelous man who makes you feel happy. Nothing serious. Just a fling.”

  Chris was annoyed. “You act like it’s nothing. ‘Have a fling,’ like ‘Have dessert.’”

  “That’s all it should be,” Annabel said cheerfully. “How about Cameron?”

  “My boss?”

  “Why not? You talk about him enough. He’s married, so he’s safe.”

  “He certainly is safe,” Chris said. “He has a young wife.”

  “So what? I hear she’s totally vapid. A little of that goes a long way.”

  “Forget it,” Chris said.

  A lover: what a joke. She would not even allow herself to imagine it.

  The sales conference for all the Cameron magazines, including the one Chris worked on, was being held in Scottsdale, Arizona, this year. Chris flew there with several people from her office, all of them looking forward to a change of pace even though it would still be work. There would be meetings and presentations, but also time to sit around the pool, cocktail parties, a barbecue, and, the last night, a banquet. Spouses, roommates, and dates were not allowed. Since part of the sales conference fell on the weekend, Alexander was going to the country as usual, having invited some friends. In a way, Chris was relieved to be away from the tension that had pervaded their lives these past months.

  Unpacking in her motel room, she realized she had brought too many clothes, which was out of character for her, but she’d been distracted lately. The motel was a large, sprawling compound in the middle of what seemed to be the desert, surrounded by mountains and ringed with tall palm trees. It had been built to appear to be many small bungalows, although they were really just rooms. Each one had its own patio in back, covered with Astroturf, leading out to real lawn. There were tennis courts, a pool, a Jacuzzi, a poolside bar, and a large main building which housed the meeting rooms as well as two dining rooms. Chris reread her schedule and then went out to find the pool.

  She joined a small group of people she knew, and stretched out in a metal chair. It was late in the afternoon, but the sun was warm on her face. Everyone was talking about how the mountain in the distance looked like a camel. She glanced around to see if Cameron was anywhere. She really didn’t expect to see him, and she didn’t. On the other side of the pool she saw his secretary.

  When it started to get chilly Chris went to her room to dress for dinner, and the phone rang.

  “Chris? Bill Cameron.”

  She was surprised, and yet she was not. “Hi,” she said.

  “I’m taking a few people to a restaurant near here tonight at eight o’clock,” he said. “I wondered if you’d like to join us.”

  She had already planned to have dinner at the hotel with the group from the pool, but she knew they wouldn’t care if she changed her mind. She hoped they wouldn’t be jealous when they found out she had been invited to dinner with the brass. No, they’d think it was a command performance. Besides, she didn’t care what they thought, or what anybody thought, and she never had. “I’d love to,” she said.

  Cameron had invited four other people. They drove to a Mexican restaurant that looked like an old mansion, and when he told everyone where to sit he put Chris next to him, which pleased her, because she liked to be near him. She noticed the look of interest and amusement he had when he looked at each of his guests, much the same way he looked at her when they had their lunches or drinks alone together—the good host, the good friend, someone who cared about their futures. They were all executives, like herself; two men and two women. It was a relaxed, totally pleasant evening, and ended later than she’d expected. By the time they got back to the motel it was midnight.

  Chris sat on the edge of her bed beside the phone and wondered if it was too late to call Alexander. She didn’t want to wake him up. Besides, she felt so calm and mellow, all alone, away from the object of her desire and her frustration, that all she wanted was to crawl under the covers and fall peacefully asleep. It was a moment in a capsule, out of time, and she wanted it to last. She didn’t call.

  The next day was spent in meetings. Cameron made a speech. For their lunch break they had a buffet in the main dining room, which was annoying, because everyone was looking longingly at the pool area, where the desert sun was shining brightly. After lunch there were more meetings, and then they were let out at four o’clock, like kids from school, and everyone rushed for their swimsuits and suntan lotion. When Chris walked into her room the phone rang.

  Oh, it’s Alexander, she thought.
/>   “Chris? Bill Cameron.”

  “I know your voice,” she said.

  “Just habit,” he said. “Tonight is the big cookout.”

  “I know.”

  “Colored lights, waiters dressed in costumes, a mariachi band, a live donkey wearing a hat, big greasy steaks … let’s sneak away.”

  She laughed. “It does sound horrendous.”

  “Seven o’clock,” he said. “They’ll all be drinking their margaritas. I’ll drive by your room and you jump into the car.”

  “Shall I wear a black veil?”

  He laughed. “Jeans will be okay. See you at seven.”

  After she hung up she realized how excited she was. It was going to be an adventure. There was just enough time to wash her hair. She wondered where they were going. Some dump, probably, where no one would find them. She was glad that she looked well in jeans, and changed her sweater twice before finally deciding on a silk shirt. She hummed along to the music on the radio while she put on her makeup. Then she called Alexander in the country to be sure everything was all right. He said it was, and that he was having drinks on the terrace with his weekend guests.

  Chris heard the crunch of tires on the gravel outside her front door. “Oh, then I don’t want to keep you,” she said lightly. “Goodnight … I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Her heart turned over at the deception. What deception? That she hadn’t said she was rushing off to have dinner with someone? Alexander knew she was having breakfasts, lunches, drinks, and dinners with people all this time. What in the world was she feeling guilty about?

  As she ran to Cameron’s car she heard the sound of music drifting over from the pool area where the party was in progress. He was alone, and he smiled at her as she slid in beside him. “You look very pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  The car sped off down the road into the desert evening. There was soft music on his car radio, too; but something old, from her past, from one of the many college dances she’d never gone to. She glanced at him and realized she was unaccountably nervous. He looked freshly shaved and smelled faintly of lime cologne. His shirt was crisp and white, and he was even wearing a silk scarf knotted around his neck like a cravat. For some reason she found it touching that he’d gone to these preparations for her.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “An oasis.”

  It was. Off the highway, in the middle of the desert, with not a shopping mall to be seen; the sky filled with big stars like glittering flowers, the scent of sagebrush rising around them, the mountains dark purple shapes in the distance; a very clean little restaurant surrounded by palm trees. Inside it was cool and dimly lit, with nice leather booths. Cameron ordered a bottle of wine.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “It’s famous,” he said.

  “Oh.” She who had always had a million things to say to this man, or to anyone, couldn’t think of a thing to say. She who had been on only one date in her entire life, except for Alexander, felt like a girl on a date. She busied herself with reading the menu, so he wouldn’t sense how totally at a loss she was.

  “What do you think you’re going to have?” he asked comfortably.

  “The barbecued chicken,” Chris said, because it was the first thing she saw. She thought if she ate anything at all she would probably choke.

  “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass, and drank.

  “Cheers.” She sipped the wine. Did Annabel feel this way when she was starting an adventure? Of course not; Annabel was never nervous. And besides, Cameron wasn’t one bit interested; she was just somebody who was fun to have dinner with. Well, hardly fun tonight, just sitting here trying not to look at him.

  And then she noticed his hands were shaking, just a little.

  The young Chris, the one who had been known for her sharp-tongued honesty, would have said: I don’t do this. Do you fool around, and if so, why are you so nervous? Or are the people who don’t fool around the ones whose hands shake when they start to think of it? But this adult Chris, who moved smoothly through her world and Alexander’s, never said things like that.

  He must think she was boring tonight. He was probably sorry he had thought of this escapade and wished they were back at the party. She couldn’t move; she felt as if she were melting.

  “Enjoy your dinners,” the waitress said, putting huge platters of steaming food in front of them.

  “Thank you,” they both said in unison.

  And then he started to talk. Chris was so relieved and grateful she began to relax. The moment of danger seemed safely over. She drank another glass of wine and allowed herself to admit how attractive he really was, now that she knew he would never know she felt that way. His hands weren’t shaking anymore. She leaned back peacefully against the leather. It was too bad the two of them hadn’t met at some other time in their lives. But then, at what time of her life had she ever been available in her heart, even when she was alone? It was a shame she was so woefully unable to handle something like this. Another woman in her place would have thought she was lucky to have the chance.

  After dinner he drove back through the desert under the sky full of stars. She had her hand on the seat between them. He put his hand next to hers, innocently, but the air between them seemed to vibrate. If either of them moved just a little they would be touching.… She clenched her hands together in her lap and stared straight ahead out the windshield. No, it wasn’t over.

  When they reached the motel Chris could still hear the music from the party, and the sound of people laughing. Cameron stopped the car at her door. “Thank you,” she said. “That was wonderful.”

  “Yes, it was fun, wasn’t it.” He was looking at her, waiting to be invited in for a drink, afraid to ask, afraid even to touch her, because then she would know. But she already knew.

  “Goodnight,” she said quickly, and was out of the car and gone.

  The next day Chris sat through the meetings with her heart pounding, thinking of nothing but him. They passed each other going to lunch and he smiled, and she knew that even though tonight was the final banquet which they would both have to attend, there was afterward, and her room, and their last chance. In the afternoon she saw him watching her when he thought no one was looking. “See you at the cocktail party,” he said, his voice too casual, when they passed again.

  “Right.” She went to her room and put her dress for the evening on the bed. She looked at the king-size bed, and the drapes at the windows that could be pulled tightly against the world, and at her wedding ring. Then she called Cameron’s room.

  “It’s Chris. I’m going to have to rush back to New York tonight because my son isn’t feeling well.” She hoped he would mistake the tension in her voice for concern. Then she fled.

  She was alone in the apartment. Alexander was still in the country, as was Mrs. Gormley, and Nicholas had been away for ages. It was very late. Oh, God, I’m safe, Chris thought. But she knew Cameron would be back in New York tomorrow, and so would Alexander, and nothing would have changed with either of them; so she was not safe at all. She took a shower and looked at herself in the mirrored wall of the bathroom. This was the body that one man wanted so badly, and another man—although he loved her—did not. It was so stupidly unfair. She sighed, and then she put on a robe and went into the kitchen. She hadn’t even remembered she’d missed dinner.

  She made a sandwich of whole wheat pita bread with melted cheese and alfalfa sprouts, and drank a glass of wine with it. She found some cold chicken and ate that. There was a half container of butter pecan ice cream that had been hanging around because nobody liked it, so she finished it up. Then she saw an entire pint of chocolate chip ice cream, which she did like, so she let it soften on the counter while she had some crackers and creamy Valembert with another glass of wine. The ice cream was nice and soft then, so she took it to bed with her, eating it slowly and sensually in front of the television set. She was starting to feel a little nauseated.
When she took the empty container back to the kitchen to throw away she started in on the cookies. Before she had finished everything in the cookie jar she was already tearing open a new package of cookies with her teeth, dumping some of them into the jar and eating the others with a glass of milk, dipping them into the milk to soften them, then sucking at them and finally letting them melt on her tongue. She was beyond nausea; she couldn’t stop. There was an empty, starving place deep inside her stomach, and no matter how much she ate she couldn’t seem to fill it up.

  She ate toast with butter and peanut butter and jam when there was nothing else to eat. She even took Mrs. Gormley’s awful supermarket coffee cake, and ran her finger around the inside of the tin when it was finished, to get every last greasy crumb.

  When she had finished eating, Chris went back to the bathroom and brushed and flossed her teeth carefully to be sure she wouldn’t get any cavities. She cleaned off whatever makeup might still be left after her shower, put on moisturizer, and combed her hair. Then she put on a nice, fresh nightgown, got into bed, and fell asleep instantly, as if she had been drugged.

  It was the first time that she had forgotten to call Alexander. It was the first time in all the years of their marriage that she wasn’t where he thought she was.

  Chapter Four

  Everyone said the Caldwells were a perfect family; attractive, bright, rich, charming, social, athletic, and Daphne was also artistic. Their four well-behaved sons would be a source of pride to anybody. They had lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, for a long time now, and the few people who remembered things in their lives that were not perfect would certainly not mention them. There was, for instance, Richard’s first, unfortunate marriage, when he was barely a teenager; nothing really unusual about it except that his wife had been a roadhouse waitress and he a socialite, and their son (who was also named Richard Caldwell, so you couldn’t avoid the coincidence) was a rising star in liberal politics, who was written about in People magazine, and he and Richard had had nothing to do with each other since he was an infant. And there was Daphne and Richard’s youngest child, the daughter, the “different” one who lived away from home. No one ever mentioned her, either, and by now people had either forgotten about her or had never known.