by Rona Jaffe
At the opening meeting in the morning Cameron spoke about the new magazine he was going to start. It would be based here in Los Angeles, and would be like the New York based Fashion and Entertainment, and also different, as the lifestyles of the two Coasts were different. Some of the features and articles would appear in both magazines; others would be specially written for the local audience. Each editor would coordinate with his or her counterpart to see which material would be suitable for both, and the Managing Editors would serve as consultants to both editions.
At the coffee break Chris cornered Cameron. “I like your new idea,” she said. “Does it mean I’m going to get a raise?”
“I knew you’d say that,” he said, amused. “How about lunch?”
“Instead of a raise, or besides?” she said, smiling at him. She was flirting! She who had never flirted in her life was suddenly flirting.
“Besides, if you pay for lunch.”
“I like that deal,” Chris said. They both knew lunch was free anyway.
At lunch he deliberately sat at a large table so they could be joined by other people, and soon was deep in a business discussion. He would be hiring the new staff immediately. He had already taken more office space in the building he now used for his West Coast headquarters. Several of the people at the table had suggestions for possible editors, capable colleagues who were out of work because of the squeeze in publishing.
After lunch they went back for more meetings. On her way, Chris was stopped by Cameron’s light touch on her arm. “Remember the party last year that we didn’t go to?”
“Of course,” Chris said, her heart beginning to pound wildly. “The mariachi band and the donkey wearing a hat.”
“This year it’s a buffet indoors. Harder to sneak away. But I thought after the cocktails, when everybody’s still milling around, I could give you a look and then you could head for the door and I’d follow, and then we could have dinner together someplace decent.”
“I’d love that,” Chris said.
He nodded and walked away. She sat through the rest of the meetings in the same fog she had been in last night at Chasen’s, frightened as well as determined. She knew the decision was still hers. But she also knew she had made it back in New York. She wanted him.
In her room—bathed, perfumed, carefully made up, dressed for the party—she phoned Annabel. “I’m scared,” Chris said. “I feel like I’m a kid again.”
“I don’t know why that scares you,” Annabel said cheerfully. “As I recall, back in college when it was considered a major sin to go all the way, you couldn’t wait to do it with Alexander.”
“That was Alexander. And this isn’t. I’ve been married for fifteen years and never …”
“It’s not a marriage anymore,” Annabel said.
“Besides Alexander I’ve only slept with two men in my entire life—both before I was married. One was when Alexander went to Paris for all those years. And the other was a one-night stand.”
“This isn’t a lifetime commitment, you know,” Annabel said. “Cheer up. Maybe it’ll be a one-night stand too.”
“Oh God.”
“Why are you groaning?”
“Because I like him. Cameron’s too good for a one-night stand.”
“Just take it one lay at a time,” Annabel said.
This time Chris really did groan. But when she hung up she was feeling better.
The cocktail party before the buffet dinner was so crowded that Chris found it easy to slip away unnoticed. Cameron had a car waiting, and he drove to a restaurant that looked like a tiny road-house, called Dominick’s. The neon sign in front was out and it looked closed, but he drove right into the parking lot and entered through the kitchen in back, giving the woman cooking in the steamy little kitchen a hug. It was dark inside the restaurant, with red leatherette booths, probably not even ten, checked tablecloths, a Reserved sign on every empty table, a bar, and a jukebox playing old Sinatra records. It all reminded Chris of the kind of places people had gone to on dates when she was young; other people, not she. She had gone to the library to pine over Alexander.
Then her eyes got used to the darkness and she recognized some movie stars sitting in the booths. It was not exactly like the places of her youth, but then neither was she the same person. They ordered white wine and the waitress brought them an enormous carafe.
“Addie, you’re going to kill us,” Cameron said.
“It’s closing night, Bill. Liquor’s on the house.”
“They always close for the summer,” Cameron told Chris. “Nobody knows when they’ll open in the fall, so you just keep calling.”
“Is that why the light in front is out?”
“No, it’s always out. Dom didn’t want people he didn’t know. They didn’t have to be celebrities to get in; he just had to like them. One night I saw him keep a famous movie star waiting at the bar for hours, getting angrier and angrier because all the tables were empty—and just because Dom had decided he didn’t like him.”
“This is a strange city,” Chris said. “Ma Maison has an unlisted phone number, this place turns out its sign.”
“I’m beginning to see an article for you to write.”
“Oh no …”
“Oh yes.”
They sipped their wine in silence, looking at each other. Chris’s heart started to pound again and she looked away. “Do you always leave your company parties?” she asked.
“If possible. I’m paying for them, so I don’t have to go to them too. Life is too short to waste at parties.”
They ordered broiled chicken and mixed green salad. Chris didn’t bother to ask them to leave off the dressing; she knew she wouldn’t be able to choke down a bite anyway. Cameron had the ability to make everyone comfortable, and he could have made her comfortable too, but sex always messed up everything. She had repressed her sexuality for so long she wondered if it was dead forever. A year and a half … What would happen if she let go and gave vent to all those feelings she had locked up inside her?
They both pretended to eat. Chris kept dropping things. She knocked all the french fries off her plate and felt like a fool as she tried to put them back. Then she gave up.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me tonight,” she said.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
She stared at him. Warmth washed over her, and she felt something begin to flutter faintly inside her—her dead heart.
“Why me?” she blurted out. He laughed.
“You shouldn’t say ‘Why me?’” he said. “You should say ‘Why not?’”
“I have inappropriate responses,” she said. “Someone told me that a very long time ago, a friend. He said I had the most inappropriate responses of any girl he knew.”
“I don’t get involved with people I work with,” he said. “With other people, sometimes. But I couldn’t help this happening. And I want you to know that I would never do anything to threaten either of our marriages.”
“Does that mean no?” she said in dismay. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. The old Chris, open, honest, outrageous. He was laughing again, a hearty, happy laugh, looking at her with genuine affection.
“Of course it doesn’t mean no,” he said. “I’m just trying to cover all the important points.” He stopped laughing. “Does what you just said mean yes?”
She nodded.
They left the restaurant and went back to the hotel. The elevator was empty so they both got off at his floor. They walked side by side, discreetly apart, into his suite.
He had a large living room and a bedroom, and he had set up a bar. There was a king-size bed, already turned down for the night. When he came close to her she smelled his cologne again, the cologne that had so touched her the first time they went out to dinner, that night in Arizona. He put his arms around her and kissed her for the first time, and he seemed as desperate as she was. Chris held him tightly, almost sighing with the relief of being he
ld, of being so wanted, feeling how aroused he was—and Alexander sailed into her mind like the moon over the treetops, flooding her world with pale, baleful light.
She tried to will Alexander out of her head. She brought up anger, resentment. She tried to push away the love and the guilt, and concentrate on the kissing. She was betraying Alexander, who did not want her, and she was betraying Cameron too, who did, and who had no idea what she was thinking. He led her into the bedroom.
He was a perfect lover; tender and passionate, considerate and not shy. He was much better than Alexander. She had always been the aggressor with Alexander, hoping every time that she would succeed, but here she was the one being wooed. She was appreciative of it, but she might as well have been anesthetized. I’m wasting all this, she thought in despair. I’m so lucky, I never thought I’d have this, he’s trying so hard; and I might as well be somewhere else. She was sure he must know, but then she realized he didn’t, and the knowledge made her feel so tender that she loved him.
She remembered the first time with Alexander, so long ago at college. It had been a total disappointment except for the moments afterward when he held her lovingly. And she remembered thinking that the first time was always said to be strained. But not for Annabel, not for other people. Only for her, trying to make love to one man with another man inside her head.
But of course he knew—he had to. He wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t a faker.
“It will be better next time,” Cameron said afterward. “We have lots of time.”
How could they have? There was only tomorrow, and then they were going home to New York, where he had promised nothing would threaten either of their marriages.
Chris sneaked back to her room in the middle of the night, using the stairs. She hoped Alexander hadn’t called, and when she saw that the red message light on her phone wasn’t lit she breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to call him tomorrow morning; they had never gone this long without one of them phoning the other. Then she was annoyed. Had they become this estranged without even noticing? But she had to smile at the ridiculous humor of it. They had separate rooms, they both had lovers now—what was that if not estranged?
She got into bed and thought about Cameron, and her phone rang. Alexander, she thought, concerned. But it was Cameron. Warmth and happiness seeped into her.
“I just called to say goodnight,” he said.
“I conjured you up,” Chris said.
“Good. Tomorrow night … the dreaded banquet. We have to go because there are place cards, but can we meet afterward?”
“Of course.”
“I love you,” he said. “Sleep well.” He hung up before she could say that she loved him back, and she wondered if he was afraid she wouldn’t say it. She dialed his room.
“It’s Chris.”
“I know.”
“How did you know?”
“Who else would call me at this hour?”
“I just wanted to say that I love you too.”
“Good,” he said.
After they hung up she realized what she had done. She had cheated on Alexander for the first time, but more importantly, she had told another man she loved him, and had meant it. She didn’t love Cameron in the same way as she loved Alexander, but love itself was the real betrayal. Alexander had shown her that.
She wasn’t going to think about it anymore tonight. She wanted to keep on being happy for as long as she could.
The next day at the final meetings and in the evening at the banquet she tried to act normal. It was easier than she had expected. After the banquet people went back to their hotels to pack, or to have a final drink with friends, and in the confusion Chris found it simple to disappear into Cameron’s suite. He had given her his extra key, but he was already waiting for her.
Then she was in bed with him, and she knew this was her last chance for a long time, and Alexander was still in her mind. She spoke to herself again, this time with perfect logic. There is no point in being here if I’m not here. And now, finally, for the first time, she concentrated totally on what was happening to her body instead of on Alexander, and suddenly Alexander was gone. She was in a world of sensations, and nothing else mattered. It was easy now, everything was easy, and she never wanted to stop.
“You see?” Cameron told her afterwards.
“Don’t gloat.”
“I’m not gloating,” he said innocently.
“Well, I am.”
He poured a glass of brandy and they shared it in bed. He was to stay on in California for several days on business and she was to leave the next day at noon for New York. Chris wondered what would happen to them.
“Why do you look so sad?” he asked.
“I can’t do this in New York and then go home every night to my husband. I can’t handle it.”
“Are you ditching me?” He smiled, but she could see from his eyes that he was upset.
“No, of course not,” she said. She really did love him; and she could never have believed it was possible to love two men at the same time. “I just don’t know what … how …”
“I have it planned,” he said. “First of all, I want you to know that I never do anything in New York that would hurt my wife. It’s really a small town, and people talk. I certainly don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable either. I told you I will never jeopardize our marriages. I travel a great deal, as you’re aware of. Now you’re going to have to travel too. Did you think you could be a special consultant to the new magazine on the telephone?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” Chris said.
“You’ll have to fly out to California once a month for a day or two of meetings. It’s a tiring trip, so I could arrange for it to be over a long weekend.”
“And you’d be there?”
“Of course I would. I run the meetings.”
“I think I could handle that,” Chris said.
“I know you can.”
“So much sneaking around,” she said. “So much planning.”
He smiled. “You’ll begin to find it makes our relationship much more romantic.”
She thought how ironic life was, and that although it was the antithesis of what she had always thought of as romance, he was probably right.
Chapter Twenty-one
It, was fall. In Connecticut the leaves were turning color, the children were back at school, people wore warm sweaters. Pumpkin time. The weather changed and changed back as the seasons changed, but people like Daphne whose lives had been irrevocably altered could not. She knew now that she had become a different person, and that she no longer loved Richard.
He had recovered from his heart attack but was still taking it easy; going into the office for half days. She knew he saw Melissa in New York. His half day at the office was in the morning, but he hardly ever came home to Greenwich until dinner time. Daphne no longer wanted to kill her, but only felt sorry for her. Richard was not such a prize—he was merely charming.
Over and over, like picking at a sore, she relived the tender scene at the hospital when she had told Richard she loved him and he replied that he loved her, while the other woman he had been making love to and lying to waited outside. She and Melissa were both The Other Woman. He had lied to them both.
It was not his cheating that had made Daphne stop loving him; it was everything. He was no longer someone she could respect or love. For decades now, he had sat at the very core of her life, like some benevolent-malevolent monarch, arranging festivals for his subjects, withholding what they needed the most. He could give you a million reasons why he wasn’t doing anything wrong to anybody, and he believed them. She had believed them once, too.
She remembered her good resolution to discuss everything now, and how quickly it had been thwarted. Whenever she tried to have a frank talk with Richard about their lives he told her she was going to upset him, that he was still convalescing, his health unstable. So he would not even allow her that.
/> At the beginning of November she telephoned Dr. Price. “How was Richard’s last checkup?”
“Just fine,” the doctor said. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Of course, but sometimes he forgets little things. You know Richard, he wants to be as healthy as a horse and it’s more convenient to forget.”
“I told him he could resume a normal life. I do want him to watch his diet though; cut down on fats and red meat, a little less drinking. I want him to walk every day, or swim at the club, or whatever he enjoys. His weight is fine.”
“And sex?” Daphne said casually. “Is it all right for him to have sex?”
Dr. Price sounded surprised. “I told him yes a long time ago. Has he been afraid …?”
“Oh, no,” Daphne lied, although Richard hadn’t touched her since he came home from the hospital and she wouldn’t have let him if he had tried. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Richard can have a normal life now,” Dr. Price said.
“And what about stress?”
The doctor laughed. “Stress, unfortunately, is an unavoidable fact of a normal life.”
That evening when Richard came home from the city she was waiting for him. She had a glass of white wine beside her, but no cigarettes. She had stopped smoking in his presence, even though it was hard for her, and tonight if she gave him another heart attack she didn’t want to blame it on her smoking. “Sit down,” she said graciously. “Let’s talk.”
“Daph, will you let me unwind?”
“Of course.”
While he was upstairs she finished her wine, smoked several cigarettes next to the open window. She waited. He came down at seven fifteen, because they always had dinner at seven thirty. He went directly to the bar and poured himself a drink. She said nothing about it. From now on his health precautions would be his own concern.
“Well, now,” she said, in that same gracious tone. “The doctor gave me a very good report today. You’re as good as new.”
“I do feel a little better every day,” Richard said.
“I’m glad,” Daphne said. “Because now we can discuss our divorce.”