From behind me I hear a fist pounding on the outside of the bus door. I turn around to see a woman in a red Western style shirt that looks a little worn and wrinkled. She has frizzy blonde hair, wears jeans tucked into brown cowboy boots.
“Let me in.”
From inside someone calls out.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. Charlene. Austen’s wife.”
It’s as if a bolt of lightning has struck me. I feel paralyzed. Austen’s wife? His wife? He’s married? He’s married to this woman?
The bus door swings open and she steps up into the bus.
“Hey, Charlene. What are you doing here?” It’s Austen’s voice and he sounds friendly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘His wife’? I turn and walk away. Nothing registers around me except ‘Austen’s wife’. I walk a few more steps, stop walking and stand perfectly still. His wife? He’s married? I need to get out of here. I need to go home. I don’t know how to get home. I feel panicky. Austen’s wife? His wife?
I don’t know how long I stand there with the words “his wife” racing around and around in my brain, but suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Mark’s voice.
“Julia, are you okay?”
“No. I don’t feel well. I think I’m sick. Something I ate, I think. Are you going back up to the city now?”
“In about fifteen minutes or so. I want to hear that band onstage and then get out of here before everyone heads for the exit.”
“Could I get a ride with you?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Where is your car? I’ll go there and wait for you.”
“Oh hell, I’ve got enough material already and I’ve heard that band before. Let’s go now.” Mark takes my arm and guides me through the parking area to his car. It’s blue and looks like it is about three years old.
He drives out via the two lane access road then onto the freeway heading north. That woman’s voice saying ‘Austen’s wife’ repeats in my head. And repeats. And repeats. I have to stop this. I have to act normal.
“I’ve never been to a music festival before,” I ask. “Are they all like this one?”
“The big ones are. I heard that Woodstock was absolute chaos. That promoter didn’t anticipate how many people would show up. I’ve seen estimates that there were a half a million people there. It was three days of music and mud with a lot of peace and love, or so I’ve been told. Good vibe and good music. They had an interesting lineup. Some of the bands from here in the Bay area were there. Sly and the Family Stone. The Grateful Dead.”
“Which of the bands did you like best today?”
“Austen’s group was the crowd favorite—that was very clear. It’s better now that they’ve added Tommy. That band was missing something before,” Mark replies. “Austen used to be the lead singer most of the time. Actually, most of the time they were sort of a folk-rock style band. They’ve evolved and are a lot more of a pure rock band now. Tommy’s voice is better for the songs on their new album.”
I am silent, distracted. His wife. Austen’s wife. It is all I can think of. He has been so loving, so fun—and he’s married to some other woman. She has him. I never will.
“Austen’s an interesting guy for a musician,” Mark says finally, breaking the silence. “It’ll be a good profile for Voices. It’s just the kind of thing that Steve likes: the little-known man behind the art—or the lyrics in this case.”
I say nothing. Oh, why is he talking about Austen? I don’t want to talk about him, don’t want to think about him. ‘Austen’s wife’ reverberates in my mind. It’s the worst betrayal I’ve ever felt.
“Most of the guys in rock bands fell out of a garage somewhere and are as green as they come. They don’t know much about anything except playing a guitar and rock ’n’ roll. Did you know that Austen served in the army in Germany?”
“Yes.”
“He knows about literature, too. Likes John Donne’s poetry and Camus’ The Stranger. That was a surprise.”
Lost in my thoughts I don’t reply. Again we travel along in silence. Traffic on the freeway is light.
“That woman was a surprise, too. I didn’t know he was married.”
I don’t say a word for a while. I know Mark is expecting a reaction from me, instead I change the subject.
“Mark, what do you think about Steve?”
The rest of the way back to San Francisco we talk about Steve and Voices and that new weekly in the East Bay. He tells me he has seen Cathy and she likes working there, but hates the long commute from San Francisco.
“Maybe I can find her a new job back in the city somewhere,” Mark says.
“You like finding jobs for people, don’t you?”
“Hey, I work freelance. I want to have friends and contacts in every publication in California—the whole country, in fact. And once I get an assignment I try to meet everyone on staff. It makes working freelance a lot easier.”
Mark stops his car in front of the cottage and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright now, Julia? I could come in. I’ve got the time.”
“I’m better. I think I’ll just go to bed and then I’ll be okay. It must be something I ate. Thanks for the ride.” I smile weakly at him and get out of the car.
Ali is home and I am so happy to see her. I need a girlfriend to talk to right now.
“That blue-eyed devil is married?” She screeches. “That asshole has a wife? And he never let on and none of the rest of them told you about her? Even what’s-her-name—Emma—didn’t say anything to you? What a bunch of disgusting idiots. Every last one of them. What did they think—that you didn’t care whether or not he was married? ”
“I feel like the fool of the world. An absolute fool.” I slump back on the dingy blue sofa, shaking my head. “I was a total idiot. No wonder he never talked about the future. He already has one with that blonde. She’s the one he wants. I was just some fun for him for a few months. It is so horrible, Ali. Everything—it was all lies. I can’t believe I was such a fool. So stupid.”
“No, you’re not stupid. He’s the one who is a lying asshole. A dishonest slimy lying asshole.” She scowls. “What did she look like?”
I take a deep breath. The image of his wife is engraved forever in my mind.
“She had short frizzy blonde hair. Obviously bleached. Bright red lipstick. She looked like those cowgirl types you see at rodeos only nowhere near as nice. She was wearing a cowgirl shirt that was faded and cowboy boots. Not beautiful ones like Austen’s boots, but worn out ones with run down heels.”
“She doesn’t sound very attractive. No wonder he chased after you so hard, if that’s what is waiting for him back home.” She shakes her head. “Well, at least Mark was there to bring you home.”
“I don’t know what I would have done...how I would have got home without him. I would have had to thumb a ride or something. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t. Oh god, this is so horrible.” For a second I think about Mark and how negative I’ve felt about what he’s done in the past. Now he’s turned out to be the one who saved me.
“On the way up here Mark said he didn’t know that Austen was married, that he was surprised when that woman walked in on the interview. He didn’t ask me directly, but I think Mark might have been trying to find out if I knew about her.”
“Oh, Julia. It doesn’t make any difference who knows and who doesn’t know. It is over and done with now. Everyone makes mistakes, especially when they are lied to. Here. Have some more wine. Get drunk. It’ll make you feel better.” She fills my glass right to the brim.
She raises her glass of wine and smiles: “To a better future and a better boyfriend.”
“To a much better future.” A little wine splashes out of the glass onto the sofa, but I don’t care.
Getting drunk doesn’t help much. I still feel betrayed and emotionally exhausted as I collapse into sleep on my mattress upstairs a couple of hours later.
; The phone rings downstairs. We both sit up.
“Don’t answer it. I don’t want to talk to him,” I say.
“But what if the call is from one of our families and it’s an emergency.”
“Don’t answer it. If it is a family emergency we can’t do anything about it until tomorrow. If it’s him, I don’t want to talk to him. Ever again.”
Eventually the phone stops ringing. I toss and turn for what seems like hours and eventually fall asleep again.
The loud knock on the front door downstairs wakes us up. I look at my clock: 7 a.m.
“It’s him,” Ali says, sitting up, still groggy. We both drank way too much wine last night. I don’t feel very well this morning. She looks like she doesn’t feel any better than I do.
“I don’t want to talk to him, Ali. Don’t answer the door. He’ll go away.”
Another loud knock on the door.
“Julia, he will just come back again or, worse yet, show up at your office. You know as well as I do that Austen is not going to give up. Just talk to him now and get it over with.”
“No.”
“You have to talk to him, Julia. What can he say? Nothing. He’s married and you’ve found out the truth. That’s all there is to it. As far as you’re concerned he is ancient history. It’s over. Just tell him that. Tell him to go away. Tell him you never want to see him again.”
I shake my head. I want him to vanish, disappear, leave my life forever, but I don’t want to face him. It would be too painful.
Ali ignores my objections, gets up and goes downstairs, still in her blue pajamas. I hear her pull back the deadbolt and open the door, then I hear Austen ask: “Where’s Julia? I want to see her.”
“She’s not here.”
“The hell she’s not.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“What in the hell is going on, Ali?”
“I told you she does not want to talk to you, Austen,” I hear her say. “No, you can’t come in.” Then she calls out: “Julia, he’s coming upstairs.”
I hear him on the stairs; in four bounding steps he’s at the top. He steps through the door to our bedroom and looks at me, then looks around the room. I’m still sitting on the mattress-bed in my pink nightgown. The pale yellow and green quilt my grandmother made is wrapped around me.
“So this is what it looks like.” Then he sinks down onto my mattress and smiles that honey smile at me. “Baby, what’s going on?” he asks in a soft honey voice. “Why did you leave and not tell anyone? We looked all over the place for you. One of the girls finally told us she saw you leave with some guy. From her description it sounded like that reporter.”
I can’t bear to look at him. I still want him. I long for him to touch me, but “no”—I can’t. He’s married. He lied to me. He belongs to that other woman. I was just a toy for him, a girl to play with. I look away. He reaches out toward my face. I shrink away.
“No. Don’t touch me.” I wrap the quilt tighter around me.
“Julia, please tell me what’s wrong.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, then I whisper: “Charlene is what’s wrong.” My voice begins to grow stronger. I’m angry. “You’re married, Austen. How could you ever think I would get involved with a married man? Go away. Just go away and never call me again. I don’t—“
“Charlene? My ex-wife? What does she have to do with us?”
“Your ex-wife? That’s not what she said and you certainly sounded happy to see her. I was outside the bus and heard her.”
“Oh shit. Of course I sounded happy to see her—that damned reporter was sitting right there. I wasn’t about to have an argument with my ex in front of him. I even introduced her to him—as my ex-wife. As far as that reporter knows, Charlene and I are still friends despite the divorce. I was as surprised as hell to see her. I hadn’t seen her in years.”
Instantly I remember Mark’s comment on the way back to San Francisco: ‘That woman was a surprise to me. I didn’t know he was married’. That’s what he said. Nothing about an ‘ex-wife’. He was deliberately misleading me. Or Austen is now. No, not Austen. Mark is the one I can’t trust. Or maybe both of them. I don’t know.
“Julia, are you okay?” Ali asks from downstairs.
“Yes,” I answer.
He reaches out toward me again. “No.” I shrink away. “Mark said she was your wife. He didn’t say anything about her being your ex.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“He drove me back to the city.”
“Aaah, that shit. He lied to you, Julia. I told you before: he wants you. He’d say anything. Babygirl, I am not married to Charlene. I don’t give a damn about her. We’ve been divorced for five or six years now. She is nothing to me.”
Who do I believe?
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“It didn’t seem important, Julia. She is someone from another life. We were only married for a few months. It was a stupid mistake from the beginning. I never even think about her.”
He suddenly reaches out and pulls me onto his lap. I resist, squirming, trying to pull away from him, but he is strong and holds me against his chest.
“No, Austen. Let go—“
“Don’t fight me Julia.” He tightens his arms around me; I give in and melt against him. Oh god, it feels so good to have his arms around me again and to feel his body against mine.
“That’s better, babygirl. Don’t try to get away from me. I told you before: it’s not going to work. This is where you belong—with me. Now do you want to hear about Charlene?”
I nod my head.
“I dated her in high school. After the army when I was back home, we screwed around some. Then I took off for Nashville. I’d been there a month or so when Charlene called and told me she was pregnant, so I went back and married her. It was a quickie wedding. It didn’t take long to find out she wasn’t pregnant. One day not long after that I got in my old red Chevy and started driving west and didn’t stop until I was on the beach in L.A. Matt handled the divorce for me. I haven’t seen her or talked to her since that day I left East Texas.”
“Then why did she show up there yesterday?”
“Poor Charlene. She has been trying to make it as a singer with a western band playing in a bar outside of Reno. She didn’t say so but I think she got fired. She’ll never make it; her voice is too nasal, too reedy—it’s an old style country singer’s voice. No one wants to listen to that these days, not even in Nashville or Reno. Now she’s broke. That’s all it was. She’d heard I was going to be here and needed money so she drove down. I gave her a few hundred dollars and sent her on her way. Charlene is nothing to me. Julia, I love you. Only you, my beautiful girl. You’re the one I want to be with—not her.”
Tears begin to stream down my face.
“Don’t cry,” he says as he wipes the tears from my cheek. “I love you, baby, and want to make you happy.”
“I am happy.” My tears keep flowing. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that. I’ve never known for sure…and then when Charlene showed up…I love you, too.”
He tightens his arms around me and holds me against his chest. Oh, he feels so good.
“I’ve never been really sure how you felt, Julia. I guess neither one of us were sure. I was going to talk about us, about our future, after the show, but then you disappeared. Baby, if something upsets you, talk to me, ask me. Don’t run away again. I love you and want you with me forever. I thought you knew that.”
He turns my face up to him and gently kisses my lips.
“Promise you’ll talk to me?” He murmurs.
“Yes, I promise.”
“Promise you’ll never run away again?”
I nod my head. It feels so good to be in his arms.
“Marry me, Julia. We can drive over to Nevada and get married tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I jerk away from him.
He can see the shock on my f
ace and quickly goes on to say: “If you want a big church wedding with family and everything we can do that. Whatever you want, Julia, I’ll do it. I just don’t want to lose you.”
I slump. Oh no. Too fast. He’s moving too fast: from not talking about our future at all to getting married tomorrow. How do I answer him? I love him. I don’t want to lose him either. I can’t imagine living without him. But… I reach up and hold his face in my hands and kiss him softly.
“Austen I love you—wildly, madly, more than you can imagine. I want to be with you, but getting married—not yet. Maybe someday, but not right now.”
“Why not?”
“Marriage…it always seems that after that ceremony the wife ends up stuck in a house in the suburbs somewhere, cooking, taking care of the kids—and misses out on everything. I don’t want life to pass me by. I want more than a big house and kids. That’s why I moved to San Francisco. I could have had that big house and kids in Seattle, but I told him ‘no’. I want to have a life that has more to it, that’s more interesting and—“
“Julia, I don’t want you to sit in a house and just wait. Hell, one of the things I love about you is your excitement about new things. Even everyday stuff is more fun with you. You’re playful. You’re smart and beautiful and sexy as sin. I want you to be with me everyday. We can travel and do things together. Stay with me, Julia. Live with me. Just don’t run away.”
“Julia, are you okay?” It’s Ali downstairs. I had forgotten all about her.
“Yes, we’re fine.”
“Say yes, Julia. We’ll work it out together.”
“We need to talk about this, Austen.” I smile. “But no quickie wedding—okay? If we get married, I want it to last.”
“When we get married…” he grins. “When—not ‘if’. And I want it to last, too.”
We spend the rest of the weekend at his place in bed, making love and talking about our future together. I think it is going to be a very good future.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Playing for Julia Page 18