“I just got up. I wasn’t even dressed when you called.” She pointed to the coffee in front of him and said, “Just coffee, thanks.” Jerry signaled the waiter who came right over with a cup and silver pitcher of coffee on a small tray. He poured it out for her and they were silent until he left.
And continued to be silent for a long time, while Jerry stared at her and she wished she could avoid his eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“You got my message?”
“I did.”
Another very long silence.
Then Jerry said, “Leave it to you to give me a rival who’s a good guy.”
“You’re both good guys, Jerry.”
He nodded, agreeing. “That makes it harder. If either one of us was a rat, at least we could hope the good guy wins.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know. At least, that’s what Sam tells me.”
“Just what did he tell you?”
“He told me how it was between you two, long ago. That you broke up in some stupid adolescent way and that when he ran into you in the courthouse, it broke his heart all over again. And when he saw you and me together in the restaurant, he decided to make his move. And then he chased you down in London.”
“That’s about the way it was.”
“I wish he hadn’t done it while we were litigating this thing between us all these weeks. It makes me feel like a fool.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And he said you sent him away.”
“I did.”
“But I had the feeling it wasn’t all platonic and hands-off between you, there in London.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Not much. Just a feeling I had.”
She sat quietly, thoughtfully, trying to decide how much to share. Jerry waited while she sorted out her thoughts.
“I didn’t sleep with him, Jerry.” She’d decided she was willing to say that much.
“I’m not sure it would have made much difference if you had. Something happened between you. I can tell that much.” He reached across the table, put his hand over hers. “Marge, we’ve been together for six years. Almost seven, now.”
“I know, Jerry. But we never said we were exclusive, that there couldn’t be others.”
“There haven’t been others for me, Marge. Never. In all these years. And I guess I thought that was true for you, too.”
She laughed, briefly. “I’ve probably been too damn busy. But it’s true, there hasn’t been anyone else for me either, in all these years.”
“So, is this just a fling? Is it going to blow over? Where do I stand?”
“Oh, Jerry. I don’t know what it is. I just don’t know.” She felt so sad for him—as much as for herself. She realized he’d been blindsided, that it was only hours ago that this had all fallen in on him. “You look exhausted. Did you book a room?” She brushed her hand against his hair, straightening it a bit.
“No, I just went right to the airport and took the next flight to Paris. And by the way, how did Sam know where you were? He gave me that address on the Robiac. The one I went to where the concierge wouldn’t let me in. She said you weren’t there. Never heard of you. And for that matter, how was he able to find you in London? Everyone knew you didn’t want people tracking you down, that you needed your rest and isolation. Even I didn’t know where you were. When you left, nobody knew where you were going. Not even Bridey knew where you were headed; I asked her and she hadn’t a clue.”
“I know how he found me in London. He told me. Well, he didn’t tell me much, but he said he’d had some intelligence experience in the military, after law school, and I had the impression he has a network of useful friends everywhere. He did some sleuthing, and then an old buddy in London helped him out.” She stopped there. Then she said, asking herself the question, “But how did he know where to find me in Paris? I didn’t tell anyone—” She stopped herself. “Oh, my God. I did tell someone.” She remembered texting her contact information to Christiane Riemer, so glad she’d remembered to do that before she got to Paris, with a nice little thank you note. And with that, she also remembered Christiane at the Sacher Café, talking about post-war intrigue in Vienna and old spy networks and new ones, too. How did Christiane know to be in Demel’s her first morning in Vienna? Then she remembered Sam’s last words to her as he rode off in that taxi on Bayswater Road: “Have your first breakfast at Demel’s. On the Kohlmarkt.” She didn’t know if she should be furious—or charmed. James Bond couldn’t have been any smoother. “Maybe Sam Packard really does have ‘old buddies’ everywhere. And they come in all shapes, sizes—and ages and genders.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. I’ll save that for another time. It’s a good story.”
“I suppose I should thank the guy for being honest enough to come to me with the truth. It was the honorable thing for him to do. It couldn’t have been easy.”
“Yes.” She was remembering, from the old days. Sam seemed always to have a code of ethical behavior. Even when he was just a kid.
“So what do we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look, Marge. I’m not going to sit here and drink coffee all day. I haven’t slept. I’m mad. And I want to be alone with you.”
Well, fair’s fair, she thought.
“Okay, Jerry. You need to get some rest. Come on up to the apartment. You can get some sleep there.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Mme. Pilard frowned at Jerry as she saw them go past her apartment and up the stairs, but she said nothing.
“She thinks I’m Miss Adams,” Marge whispered to him. “Emphasis on the ‘Miss.’ If I’d known you were coming, I’d have warned you.”
Jerry just shook his head, choosing to ignore Mme. Pilard’s disapproval. He looked up the long spiral stairway. “Is it a big climb?” he asked. “I’m beat,” he said.
“Two flights.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
The bed in the little pied à terre took up most of the available space, and Jerry looked at it fondly. “But first,” he said, “I feel filthy. That damn kid on the plane. I stayed out of his way, but still—” He sort of shuddered. “I need a shower.”
“In there,” Marge said, pointing. “I think there are new toothbrushes in the cabinet over the basin.”
He was gone for not more than ten minutes and came out with wet hair slicked back, a bath towel wrapped around his middle, and looking for a place to put his clothes.
She was about to take them from him, “Here, I’ll hang them up—” but he dropped them on a chair and put his arms around her.
“Never mind about that,” he said. He pulled her close. He smelled of toothpaste and soap. “You’re not going to send me away, are you?”
“Oh, Jerry. Of course not. I’m glad you’re here.” She realized that it was true. She was glad. Maybe, with some time alone with Jerry, she’d be able to sort things out.
“Marge, honey.” He was so close and he was looking at her so intently, so lovingly, his eyes seeming to be drinking in every feature of her face, as though he were memorizing every bit of it, “This must be confusing for you.” With one hand, he caressed her hair, stroking it back from her forehead. “I’m not blaming you. He’s an appealing guy. And he’s a change. I’m the one you’ve grown accustomed to. I understand. I can’t dazzle you anymore. Maybe I never could. But it never was that way between us. It was just—I don’t know—it was just a ‘good thing’ between us. Steady and regular and comfortable. That can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
“Oh, Jerry, of course not. It’s not a bad thing at all. It’s a good thing.”
“You know I love you. You know I’d marry you in a minute if that’s what you wanted.”
She felt her heart melting. He was so sweet.
And so decent.
“Let’s not try to decide anything now,” she said. “You’re exhausted and you need to sleep.”
“Not that exhausted,” he said. “It’s been weeks, and I’ve missed you so much.”
She was completely willing when he kissed her. It was a long kiss and a kiss that became deeper and more passionate as each moment passed. She could feel the pulse of his heart, and she knew her own heart was responding. He reached up under her tee shirt and unhooked her bra and she held herself still closer against him. He pulled her down onto the bed with him. And in a moment the towel was gone and her clothes were on the floor, and for the time being, she was able to forget about Sam.
* * * *
Jerry was sound asleep when she got out of the bed and went into the bathroom. She washed up, and then stared into her own eyes in the mirror.
“Well, Marge,” she whispered to herself. “What are you going to do now?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
There were no answers coming back from the mirror and she decided to take a walk and let Jerry sleep. She dressed quietly and tiptoed out. She realized she hadn’t eaten all day and it was now after one o’clock. She bought a newspaper and walked to the Avenue Bosquet where she found an inviting café. It was too chilly to sit outside, so she found an unobtrusive spot at a table in the corner, ordered a shrimp risotto, and tried to read the paper while she ate. But she kept reading the same paragraph over and over; she was too preoccupied to concentrate on the news.
Was she glad that Jerry was there? Yes? No? She kept going back and forth.
It was only fair, that he get to spend time with her, too. And surely there was a loyalty she owed him—after all these years.
And just because Sam was a real turn-on, an exciting replay from their youth, that didn’t exactly make Jerry disposable. Did it?
Did she owe anything to either of them? And what did she owe to herself?
What did she want? She was dismayed to realize she wanted to have Sam sitting there with her so she could discuss her problem with him. And that thought was so bizarre, she was embarrassed even to be thinking it.
She ordered coffee. And that didn’t help. She ordered a tarte tatin. And then practically cried into it, because she loved a well-prepared tarte tatin and this one was excellent, and she was too distracted to enjoy it.
Sam. This is terrible. I really wish you were here.
She had told him, way back in London, that if she wanted him to come to her, she’d let him know.
Remember? That’s what you told him.
But that’s what she had said when she wanted to keep him away. Now she was thinking that maybe she really didn’t want to keep him away. Would he really come if she asked him to? Was it an awful idea to have both men in Paris, with her, at the same time? What was she thinking? She had no idea.
This is idiotic.
Sam. I shouldn’t do this. Jerry is here. In Paris. I wish u were here, too. (That’s funny—“having confusing time and wish u were here.”)
I’m already regretting writing this –
There was a pause of a few moments, and Sam’s answer came back.
Of course Jerry is in Paris. I figured he would be.
Never regret, Marge dear.
There was another pause, a little longer, and then a second message from Sam.
Where are u?
U shd know. U alwys know where I am
Not really psychic. ;-)
Tell me.
In Paris.
I know that. Where?
Corner Grenelle and Bosquet.
OK. That’s good.
Walk down Grenelle to the Invalides. On the corner, there’s a hotel. I’m in the restaurant there.
I’ll wait for u.
This was not the first time today she stared at her phone as though it had morphed into a totally new form.
How does he do it?
How do u do it?
I’m magic. Should take u about 10 minutes to get here.
I’ll be wearing a red carnation so you’ll recognize me.
Oh, I’ll know u. Ur the one with the cloak and dagger.
Sorry about that.
I really am sorry.
Don’t be mad.
Have you had lunch?
Should I order something?
A glass of wine?
U bet!
She smiled. And started walking.
* * * *
And sure enough, right there on the corner of the Rue Grenelle, where it meets the Place des Invalides, there was a hotel, and when she went inside to the restaurant, there was Sam, with a wicked smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand. He raised it, as though making a toast, and then got up to hold the chair for her.
Silently, he poured out a drink for each of them, and silently they sat for a moment, each examining the other. Then they each began to talk at the same time:
“There’s something I have to tell —”
“I know you’re wondering—”
And they both laughed. And Sam indicated with a gesture of his hand, “You first.”
“Okay,” Marge said. “I’m not even sure where to start. First of all, I told you, Jerry is here. In Paris.”
“I figured he would be.”
“You figured—?”
“He must have told you we’d talked. I’d been feeling like a jerk, all through the trial, knowing I’d been seeing you behind his back, and him not knowing. So when the trial ended, I called him, told him I needed to talk to him, and we met at some little place near his office. And I told him about how I knew you, about us being in high school together, about everything, that we weren’t just ‘friends.’ And that I’d gone to London a couple of times to see you, and that I knew where you were now.”
“Yeah,” she said. “We’ll get to that later. About how you knew where I was. But first tell me, how did you know he’d be here this morning?”
“I saw the look in his eyes. He was plenty mad. And I’ve watched him work these last few weeks. He’s tenacious. I knew he’d be on the next plane.”
“And what about you? Why are you here?”
“What I didn’t know is if he’d come with guns blazing. If he was in a rage. I don’t know the guy that well but I’d seen how determined he could be. I didn’t think he’d hurt you, but a man in that situation—” Sam paused. “I just thought it might be a good idea to be nearby.” He reached over and put his hand over hers. “Marge, I know I promised not to show up unless you wrote and told me to. But I hoped, with Jerry here, you would want me to be here, too. I hoped you would write. And I thought it would be a good idea to be already here just in case you did.” His phone was on the table, at one side, and he picked it up so she could see the chain of text messages that they’d exchanged only minutes earlier. “And look,” with a big smile, “you did.”
“And what would you have done if I hadn’t written?”
“I’d have waited a couple of days and if I didn’t hear from you, I’d just go on back to New York with my tail between my legs. But I know Jerry’s firm has another big case beginning on Monday and he’s lead counsel on that one, so he’ll have to be back by then.” Sam laughed. “You sure are messing us up. How’s a man supposed to concentrate on his job when he’s chasing you all around the globe?”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got a break for a few weeks. Not a problem for me.”
“Lucky you.”
“So where’s Jerry now?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“Sleeping, eh?”
Yes, Sam. Jerry’s sleeping. In my bed. And I know what you’re thinking.
Yes, of course, she knew what Sam was thinking, what he wanted to know. He was examining her face so closely, he could have been measu
ring it for a mask—as though maybe he could find the answer in her eyes—but he was a gentleman and he wouldn’t ask.
You men! Yes, Sam. We were in bed together. We had sex. He made love to me. And I’m not going to give him a grade.
But she might as well have spoken her thoughts aloud. Because Sam stopped studying her face, and clearly had found his answer. Yes, they did understand each other very easily.
And together, they both said, “So what do we do now?”
And together they laughed.
“We finish our wine,” Sam said.
“And you get to tell me how you knew where I am. It was Christiane, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was Christiane. How did you guess?”
“It wasn’t much of a guess. She’s the only one I told where I was going. Is she another one of your ‘old buddies’?”
“She’s quite a woman, isn’t she? She goes back a long way, long before my time. Back to the war years.”
“She’s very smooth. I was completely taken in.”
“Don’t be mad at her. I owe a lot to her. I’ll tell you someday.”
“Okay, Sam. I won’t be mad at her. But I am mad at you. I can’t believe you’ve been spying on me.”
“Well, not exactly spying.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’ That’s exactly what you’ve been doing.”
“I was just using my resources. It’s what I do when I need information. You weren’t mad when I found you in London. When I pulled you out of that crowd at Speakers Corner.”
He looked so sheepish, her heart went out to him. She couldn’t help herself.
“Oh, Sam. What can I say? I should be so angry.”
“Will it help if I promise I’ll never, never do it again?”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Why was it so easy to forgive this man?
“At least,” he added, “I promise that your secrets will always be safe with me. That much I can promise. But there may be others, sometimes—” His expression seemed to darken. “I may really have to, you know.”
“Don’t tell me, like, if your country calls—or something like that?”
Who Would You Choose? Page 18