Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  I didn’t read any further. I tore the letter up. “Son-of-a-bitch!” I screamed. “Judas! Double crosser!” Although John had never explicitly promised me he’d divorce Rachel, I nonetheless felt betrayed. I gathered the pieces of the letter and the envelope and went to the kitchen sink. I burned the letter in the sink until it was completely consumed. I then turned on the water and through my tears, watched the ashes wash down the drain. When I wrote Laurie, I told her I wanted no further contact with John and not to send any more letters from him. I did not tell her why. I just didn’t want to go into it then.

  I remember little about the next couple of months. Twice, John sent a letter to me at my office. Both times I sent it back unopened. Then, he somehow got my office phone number, probably from Laurie, and phoned. I hanged up on him without a word. I began screening my calls. Soon, he gave up.

  Matty’s Christmas visit perked me up some, as did Laurie’s in January to attend the Sundance Film Festival with me. I was happy to hear from her that she and James had come to terms with their infertility. After attending a screening, as we walked along the streets in Park City, I remembered John and I began crying.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong?” Laurie said, alarmed. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.” We found a restaurant that had a table in back where we could have some tea and a little privacy. I finally confided to her why I cut contact with John. When we got up to leave, she hugged me. “I know you two still love each other,” she said. “But if it’s so painful for you, perhaps it’s best to just let it go. Letting go is something I too, have had to learn to do.”

  I took Laurie’s words to heart and decided to renew my efforts to salvage my marriage. As part of these efforts, I wrote a song to use in a Ford Motors commercial. Guillermo took it to the advertising department and to my surprise they wanted me to sing it for the commercial. I suggested that perhaps they may want to hire a trained singer. “No,” the advertising department head told me. “You’re the perfect choice. This commercial is going to be shown in the mountain states and we want someone who actually lives here to do it. It will be more authentic that way.” So, on a March weekend, a film crew and I went out to the Lone Peak Wilderness area and filmed the commercial. It was still cold then and I wondered if it was going to show on film how much I was shivering. When the ad aired though, I thought it wasn’t half bad. Even Guillermo said he was proud of my performance.

  Guillermo’s older daughter, Victoria, wanted to come to live with us. Guillermo was happy at the prospect of having his daughter with us. He wanted to buy a house to accommodate her and Matty. I hesitated at first, thinking of all the maintenance and probable added expense that would entail, but then I thought of Matty when he visited, sleeping in the spare room, which Guillermo had taken over as his room and knew he would be happier in a room which was truly his own. Guillermo and I went house hunting with an agent on a chilly windy day and right away found several places to consider. We ultimately settled on a split level with a finished basement and a good sized back yard located in the Millcreek neighborhood.

  As soon as spring term was over, Guillermo and I moved into the house. I hadn’t lived in a single family house since I left my parents’ home, so it was an adjustment, after so many years of living in New York apartments. Matty came for his summer visit and the three of us worked on planting a garden and other home improvement projects. Matty and I spent one afternoon painting two bookcases while he told me all about his new high school – the teachers, his friends and classmates. It was a happy time, but it wasn’t to last. Victoria decided she didn’t want to leave her boyfriend, so she never came to live with us, and my success in reconnecting with Guillermo proved to be limited and temporary. By the end of the summer, things between us had returned to how they’d been before. He moved back out of our bedroom into the one Victoria would have occupied and even installed a TV in there, so I almost never saw him, even when he was home.

  43

  Matty left early to return to Seattle because Tony and Deirdre wanted to take him to London for a few weeks before school started. He hadn’t been there since he went with Tony the year before Vivian died. He’d been so good that summer, helping Guillermo and me with the work on the house and yard. I wondered if he was glad to be getting away to have a real vacation. I chuckled to myself at that thought as I drove home after seeing him off. Without any warning, my car’s engine stopped and the car drifted to a stop in the middle of a busy roadway. Smoke billowed out from under the hood. Thankfully, a couple of people stopped and helped me to push it out of the traffic. I spotted an office building nearby and phoned for a tow truck from there.

  When the truck arrived and the driver began hooking up my car, I watched him with fascination. He moved with a panther like grace, his body compact and muscular. He wasn’t a big man; he barely matched my own height, but when he came up to me with the paperwork to sign, I felt outsized. “I can give you a ride home, if you like,” he said. “I don’t usually do that, but it’s so hot today and I’d hate to have you wait out here in this heat. The truck is nice and air-conditioned.”

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I actually climbed into the truck with this stranger. He introduced himself. I will not reveal his real name but refer to him by the pseudonym “Frank.” As we made small talk, I took in his black hair, high cheekbones and dark intense eyes that seemed to look right through me. When he dropped me off at home, as I walked into the house, I could have sworn he was undressing me with his eyes.

  Over the weekend, my thoughts kept returning to Frank. I can’t say why except that he appealed to something in my subconscious. He was handsome, but not that handsome. Nothing about him was extraordinary. On Monday, my instincts told me to have Guillermo go to the garage to retrieve my car, or at least have him go with me, but for some reason I was bent on tempting fate. When I walked into the garage, Frank flashed me a sly grin, his straight white teeth standing out against his tan face.

  “Want to go for a drink later?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if I should. I’m … I’m married.”

  “Somehow, I get the feeling that your husband doesn’t appreciate what he has.” He was standing well within my personal space, but instead of it annoying me or making me nervous, it aroused me.

  I had a private instruction student until four that afternoon, but she was barely out the door before I was too, on my way to meet Frank at a bar called Rocky’s. It was still a little early for the after work crowd, so Frank and I had the place almost to ourselves. We slipped into a back booth. Our conversation consisted of the usual ‘getting to know you’ exchange. Frank was a Tejano, or Tex-Mex, originally from San Antonio. He told me he moved to Utah with his ex-wife about a decade previously. Their marriage ended shortly thereafter, but Frank decided to stay rather than go back to San Antonio. Looking back, I’m glad now that I had the presence of mind then not to reveal too much about myself. I told him only that I was from California and that Guillermo and I moved here so I could take a teaching job at the University.

  “So, why did a nice professor-lady like you agree to have a drink with me?” It was only then that I noticed his slight drawl. It was subtle; just enough to intrigue me, adding to my attraction to him.

  “Well, because you seem to be someone that I can talk to, whose company I could enjoy.” That wasn’t wholly true. I was looking for something to ease the pain and fill the emptiness left by John’s absence from my life. Guillermo? He lived in his own little world, in which I was no longer welcome. I couldn’t have been an easier mark for someone like Frank if I’d had a bull’s eye on my back, and I walked right into it.

  For three months, we met when we could, once a week or so. I’d rush off as soon as I could get away to meet Frank, usually at Rocky’s. Occasionally, we’d go to a park and sit on a bench near the creek. I often imagined myself in bed with him, even at the most inappropriate times, such as during class or meetings. At first, I forced myself to purge these thoughts from my
mind. Before long, I no longer even bothered to try. One Friday in November, Frank drove us to a motel in Orem, about a thirty minute drive south from Salt Lake City. I must have looked nervous because he said, “I thought we’d have a little privacy here. Your husband is still going to be gone all weekend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He’s in San Diego until Monday.”

  “Well then, come on in.” His fingers slid up my thigh. I had to catch my breath. “I brought us something.”

  When we entered the room, it smelled like a mixture of stale cigarette smoke and mothballs. I wondered if the carpet had been shampooed at all in the last year. Frank reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a bong. He then reached into his trousers pocket for a small packet wrapped in wax paper.

  “I know what that is,” I said, pointing to the bong. “But what is that?” Frank opened the packet to reveal a lump of what looked like dark brown sludge.

  “Hashish. You’ve never seen any before?”

  “No,” I answered, curious. “Where did you get it?”

  “Don’t ask!” he yelled. He lowered his voice. “Sorry, but trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.”

  When he offered me the bong, I took a hit, but I took too much and choked. Frank laughed and said, “Here, I’ll show you.” He took a hit then handed the bong back to me. “Easy – that’s right – don’t take too much at a time.”

  After several more hits, I was floating and quite light headed. “Like it?” Frank said. He was stroking my hair, but now his hand moved down and deftly unbuttoned my blouse, then unfastened my trousers.

  “Oh yeah … “I reached for the bong to take another hit, but Frank moved it out of my reach.

  “Later. I’ve got something else for you now.” He sat up and removed his shirt. When he unzipped his trousers, the last bit of judgement and good sense I had evaporated. What I’d been fantasizing about all those weeks finally became reality.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that I remembered I had a lunch meeting with some of the members of Terpsichore to plan upcoming holiday performances. Still groggy from the hash and worn out from the sex, I shook Frank awake and made him drive me back to Salt Lake. Once home, I ran a hot shower and stayed under it as long as I could. I felt soiled by what I had done. I vowed never to do it again, but I remembered how it was the only thing that made me forget John, made the memory of him disappear. I knew then that I would do it again – the next time I needed to forget.

  Between then and Christmas, I had plenty to occupy me with school and rehearsing with Terpsichore for the performances we had booked for the holiday season. Still, every couple of weeks or so, I slipped off to be with Frank. He liked to rotate motels. There were five or six, all fairly near the freeway, all quite shabby. He had enticing, powerful drugs to offer and I quickly became addicted. Our association had nothing to do with love. He was a pusher and I was a willing addict. Once, when I phoned him from my office, wanting a fix, he said, “Hey, hash and motel rooms cost money. You want a good time, you gotta pay the hash man.” It didn’t faze me. I just made sure to have money on me whenever I went to meet with him.

  I didn’t see Frank during Matty’s Christmas visit. I didn’t want to look Matty in the face afterwards. It was hard enough to face Guillermo. His indifference had hurt me but now, I was grateful for it.

  Right after New Year’s, I received a letter from David Halpern, Debbie’s brother. He said that Debbie died on December 30th of cirrhosis of the liver. She’d been in and out of the hospital since the previous spring. Since she returned to St. Louis, Debbie and I kept in touch, writing and phoning one another two or three times a year. I hadn’t heard from her for months – not even a Christmas card, something she never forgot. I wondered why and now I knew. David included several photos with his letter, one of which was of Debbie and me at her Easter barbeque the year I met Tony. I looked at it and felt sad that time got away from me and I never made it to St. Louis to visit her.

  ***

  Whenever I met Frank, I was careful to cover my tracks and hide any evidence. At least that is what I thought. In February, I recorded a second album with Terpsichore. One weekend, we recorded all day Saturday and on Sunday, a photographer named Al, who was a friend of several Terpsichore members, came to shoot photos for the album cover. The shoot ran longer than expected and I had plans to meet Frank. Guillermo wasn’t expecting me until late and the next day was a holiday. It was a perfect chance. I became agitated and testy with Al. “Do you think you could hurry up? I don’t have all night!” I snapped. I really was in need of a fix. I even began sweating, I was so wound up.

  “Hannah, take it easy,” said Al. “It won’t be much longer, all right?”

  I nodded and took a deep breath to calm myself. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just have things to do at home and some papers to grade.” I took off almost as soon as Al snapped the last photo. Frank and I went to another motel in Orem, where I finally got my fix of hash and sex.

  Several days later, Charlene dropped by my house. She had the necklace I’d worn for the photo shoot and in my haste left behind at the studio. “Listen, Hannah,” she said. She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “We’ve noticed … you’ve not been yourself. We’re concerned. You were very rude to Al and that’s not like you. I also came to tell you that because you were in such a rush Sunday, some of the photos Al took didn’t turn out and we have to re-do them.” She put her arm around me. “Is there anything going on … something we can help with?”

  “It’s nothing, Charlene. I’ve been under pressure at school. Our department chair has been on my case. You know how it is. I promise I’ll come to the re-shoot. Just name the time. I won’t complain and I’ll apologize to Al. I really am so sorry about everything.” When Charlene left, I stood against the door, shaking. I just had a harsh reality check. I vowed right then to break my addiction and end my association with Frank.

  For three weeks, I kept busy with anything I could, even cleaning every inch of the house. I drove myself nearly to exhaustion in an effort to get that monkey off my back. Just when I thought I was almost free, Frank phoned me at my office. Thank God I had put my office number and not my home number on the papers I filled out when he towed my car.

  “I got some fine hash, special for you,” he said.

  “Frank, I need to stop this. We need to stop. It’s gone too far.”

  He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Forgot already how good the hash man makes you feel?”

  “No, but …”

  “Well, how about this afternoon, when you’re done with your class or whatever?”

  I told myself it would only be this one more time, then I’d be through for good. My will broke down once I had the fix though, and I ensnared myself once again. From there, it became harder and harder to continue feeding the addiction while keeping up the pretense that nothing was amiss.

  One afternoon near the end of spring term, I was with a private instruction student. She was having difficulty mastering a Chopin mazurka. I had her repeat a section. She made the same mistake again. I had her play the section a third time. She still got it wrong. I turned on her. “What is wrong with you? Why do you keep playing F natural when the music reads F sharp? Do you not know where F sharp is?” I reached over and jabbed the F sharp key five or six times.

  She looked at me in bewilderment for a moment. Finally, she grabbed the sheet music and stuffed it into her back pack. “I’m outta here,” she said. She then stalked out of the room. I sat there for a minute, not quite believing that I had just berated and yelled at a student. I jumped up and ran out into the hall after her to apologize, but she had disappeared. I knew I’d feel better when I got another fix. I returned to my office and called Frank.

  When I returned home late that evening, Guillermo was in his room, already asleep and the house was quiet. I was famished so I fixed myself dinner and turned on the TV. I wasn’t really watching anything. I just wanted to dispel the silence.
My mind drifted back to that afternoon. The shocked look on my student’s face kept coming back to me. I had to find a way to break this addiction. I thought of seeing a doctor, but I dismissed that idea because I was too ashamed; plus I knew the addiction wasn’t physical but rather a psychological dependence.

  I was rehearsing once again with Terpsichore for performances we had scheduled for late August. That and Matty’s summer visit enabled me to avoid Frank for the next five weeks. After the Fourth of July, Matty went back to Seattle. The day I took him to the airport and saw him off, I returned to my car, intending to go up to campus and work on a new piece I was writing. On impulse, I went straight to Frank’s garage.

  When I arrived, Frank was unhooking a car with front end damage from his tow truck. When he saw me, he walked up to me with an angry look on his face. “What in the hell are you doing here?” There was something sinister about his tone, his body language. It made the hair on my neck stand up.

  “I just saw my son off back home and I thought …”

  He motioned me off to one side, away from where others were working. “I haven’t got anything on me now and, as you can see,” he said, jerking his head toward the car he just brought in, “I’m busy, so you need to leave now.” I opened my mouth to ask when we could meet, but something made me think the better of it, so I just left.

  Three or four days later, Frank phoned me. I’ve got some good stuff now, if you’re still interested.”

  ***

  I lay on the bed feeling hungry. Hash always gave me the hungries. Frank was sitting at the table, shirtless. He was cutting an apple into pieces with his knife. I’d seen this knife before, as he always carried it, but now I wondered why he chose to carry a knife like this one. It wasn’t a pocket knife like many people carry, but a hunting knife, about eight inches long, with a black handle. He noticed me watching him. “Hungry?” I nodded. He speared a piece of apple. The sound of the tip of the knife hitting the table made me jump. Frank laughed maliciously. “Here,” he said, holding the piece out to me. I took it and put it into my mouth, but my appetite was giving way to queasiness.