“All right,” he said abruptly. “Enough of that. Let’s finish our wine and get out of here. It’s a pretty day. At least we can spend a little time together before you have to get back to Jerry.”
“Not more than an hour. And then no more. Not while Jerry’s here. I owe him that much, don’t you think?”
“Sure. I’ll stay out of the picture until he goes back to New York. That’s only fair.” He pointed up in the direction of the Hôtel des Invalides. “But right now, we can just walk around, maybe go look at Napoleon’s caskets. All nine of them.”
She laughed. “As long as we stay away from the eighth arrondissement, and the first. And the Avenue Montaigne.”
“All the fashion centers.”
“Right. And the Rue Chabon. And the Jeu de Paume.”
“I get it. Where anyone can recognize you.”
“It’s been great, being a private person. For these few weeks, anyway.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll stay away from any street where you are known. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you in Paris.”
“Oh, Sam. Nothing bad can ever happen in Paris.”
They smiled at each other. If only that could be so.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was late afternoon, almost four thirty, and Jerry was still sleeping when she let herself into the apartment, but he stirred as she shut the door behind her.
“I tried to be quiet,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I had a good rest.” He smiled at her, a sleepy, satisfied sort of smile. “Come on over here.” She put her bag and her jacket onto a chair and sat down next to him on the bed. He reached up and drew her down so he could kiss her. “Thanks for letting me sleep. I was bushed.”
“Do you need to go back to sleep?”
“No. I need to eat. I’m starved. Never got dinner last night and then nothing but some pretzels on the plane. That sick kid next to me kind of took away my appetite. And just a coffee this morning.” He looked at his watch, on the table next to the bed. “We can go get an early dinner.”
She smiled at him. “The French don’t eat an early dinner.” She was glad, actually. She preferred to say what she had to in a public place. Jerry would never make a scene in front of strangers. Nor, for that matter, in front of friends. But alone, she might have to contend with a very angry man.
“So we’ll just be boorish American tourists and I’m sure they’ll put up with us. We’ll find something, a sandwich or something, and we won’t call it dinner.” He pulled back the covers and got out of bed. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”
He had slept naked and Marge had to admit, he was in awfully good shape.
Don’t I have a nice-looking boyfriend? she asked herself. Even with his hair all mussed up. He does have nice hair, thick and nice to get your hands into.
She realized she was looking for ways to add pluses to the “Jerry” column.
“How long will you be able to stay?” she called to him in the bathroom.
“Gotta be back by Monday,” he called back. “That tax fraud case I told you about.”
“So we have three days.”
“Right. Anything special you want to do while I’m here? How about the flea market?”
“Not the Puce. I’d be sure to run into someone there. But I’ve never been to the Asian community. I hear it’s a great place to pick up treasures. In the thirteenth.”
“We could go to Disneyland Paris. Spend the day. We could do that tomorrow.”
She was eager to please him. “Sure. That would be fun.”
He came out of the bathroom. She laughed. “You need a shave.”
“Yeah. Well I didn’t think to bring a razor. And I don’t want to use Mack’s.”
“Never mind. You look cute. Sexy.”
He handed her her bag and her jacket. “Hold that thought,” he said. “Right now, I just want to eat.”
* * * *
She waited till he’d finished his beef bourguignon and was on his second glass of the good Bordeaux he’d ordered.
“Are you feeling good? Nicely fed?” she asked.
“You bet. Why?”
“Because I have to tell you what you may not want to hear.”
“Now what? More about Sam?”
“Yes. More about Sam.”
“Oh, damn, Marge. You’re ruining my dinner.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“I had nothing to do with it”— she crossed her fingers under the table; that was sort of true—“but it turns out Sam is here. In Paris.”
“I’ll be damned! Am I going to have to fight that guy? I mean, toe to toe? Out in the alley? Behind the school? Jesus, Marge!”
“It’s not like that. He wants to be with me. He has the right to go anywhere in the world he wants to, you know. It’s not like either one of you asked the other’s permission. And for sure, no one asked me!”
“Are you defending him?”
“Come on, Jerry. It’s not like that.”
“Yeah? Well, I feel like this city is getting too small for the two of us. Or the three of us.”
“I’ve never seen you like this, Jerry.”
“Like what? Mad?”
“Jealous. And unreasonable.”
“I’m never unreasonable. You know that much about me. But I’m plenty jealous.” He paused, getting control of himself. “You bet I’m jealous. We’ve been together all these years, you and I, and I thought we had at least a comfortable relationship. And some guy out of your past—your high school past, for Christ’s sake!—suddenly shows up, and like that! I’m turned into a potted plant in the corner. How do you think I feel?”
Oh, dear. Marge did the worst thing she could have done. She laughed!
“You’re not a potted plant, Jerry. You could never be a potted plant.”
He was turning red. It was not a pretty sight, and she was instantly sorry.
“I’m sorry, Jerry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have laughed. But this whole thing is so ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? A guy beats my ass in court and then it turns out he’s also screwing my girl?”
Now it was Marge’s turn to get mad.
“Number one, Jerry. I’m not your girl. You don’t own me. And Sam isn’t screwing me. I told you nothing happened. How dare you!? And what’s more, you said you did okay in court. He didn’t ‘beat your ass.’”
“All right. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “It was a figure of speech. Sort of. But I feel like a lot’s been going on behind my back and I don’t like it.”
They glared at each other for a while. A long while. Then Jerry said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Marge said nothing, but stood up. She waited while he paid the bill. They left silently.
They’d walked about a block, and Jerry said, “Where is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s here in Paris. He’s staying somewhere. You must know where.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to do the civilized thing. I’m going to talk to him.”
She thought for a while as they walked a little farther.
“Okay. I’ll tell you. That’s fair.”
And she gave him the name of the hotel on the corner of the Rue Grenelle and the Place des Invalides.
“It’s still early,” he said. “I’m going there now. Where will you be?”
“I’ll go into that café where we met this morning. I never got to read my paper. And Jerry”—she put her hand on his arm as she realized she really was very fond of him—“don’t fight. Remember, you’re both good guys.”
He looked long and hard at her, and she saw that he’d calmed down. “You kn
ow I love you, Marge. You’re precious to me and I’d do anything to keep you. I will fight, but it will be a fair fight and a civilized one, I promise.” And right there on the street, with people walking around them, he held her close and kissed her long and tenderly. And, this being Paris, no one paid any attention to them.
Chapter Twenty-nine
What a blessing it is that it’s possible to sit in a café in Paris for hours and hours, drinking a single cup of coffee, and no one shoos you out. A couple of hours passed while Marge read her paper, and also read part of a book she’d downloaded into her smart phone. She was also left alone to go through all sorts of moods and worries and scenarios while she waited to find out what was happening between the two men.
When at last Jerry came in, she searched his face for a clue. He looked grim, but he didn’t look mad at her. That was a good sign.
The waiter came over and Jerry ordered a coffee.
She didn’t need to ask anything. Her face said clearly she was eager to hear his report.
“Well,” Jerry said, “lawyer to lawyer, Sam Packard could give a clinic in how to do effective oral argument. He managed to convince me.”
“Convince you of what?”
“He wasn’t so crass about it, but bottom line, I’ve had you for six years, and he should have a chance to spend some quality time with you to make his case. Like if I said no, I was being a scaredy-cat. I’m not quite sure how he did it.”
“For God’s sake, I don’t know whether to laugh or be furious. I feel like a hunk of cheese, being passed around for everyone to take a slice. You two are such—such—men!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“And ‘scaredy-cat’? What are you two? Ten?”
“Well, that isn’t exactly what was said.” His coffee arrived and he stopped to unwrap and stir a tiny sugar cube into it. “It was more like ‘a real man stands up and doesn’t run away from the challenge. And is man enough to live with the result.’ Something like that. Anyway, I decided I don’t want to be around while he has a chance to spread his feathers and see if you like the display.”
“You mean like a peacock?”
“Yeah. I think that’s what I mean.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Well, remember, I didn’t even bring a toothbrush. So I’m going to just ride out to Orly and get the next plane back to New York. And I’m going to trust that you’re a sensible and honorable woman, and you’ll do the right thing and not let yourself get swept off your feet. And that I’ll have the backbone to accept your choice if it’s not in my favor. Thumbs up or thumbs down. Like they did with the gladiators long ago.”
How funny. Gladiators. Like at Carnuntum.
He sat back in his chair and drank his coffee and looked long and hard and so lovingly at her face, as though he’d need to keep the memory forever.
He surely didn’t know it, but Marge felt closer to him then than she ever had in their six, almost seven years together.
He finished his coffee. He stood up. He leaned down and kissed her.
“I love you Marge,” he said. And she watched him disappear out onto the Rue Grenelle. He was flagging down a taxi to take him to Orly so he could fly back to New York. She hoped he’d have a good flight and that there’d be no sick kids anywhere near him.
Chapter Thirty
Her phone pinged at her and she saw that she had a message from Sam.
Has he left? Can you talk?
Can I see you?
I need a rest from u guys.
Let’s have breakfast. 9a.m.
Good idea. Fresh start. Luxembourg Gardens?
At the playground? We can watch the kids.
That brings back a memory.
I knew you’d remember.
I’ll bring coffee and croissants.
:-)
She put the phone away.
Yes, a fresh start. It’s what we needed.
Back at the apartment, she took a long, luxurious bath, deliberately thought about nothing important, and had a good night’s sleep.
* * * *
She woke to a glorious morning. Paris was all sunshine and bluebirds and good omens. A lovely autumn day, not too cold, and crisp with promise. The Jardin du Luxembourg was lovely, as it always is, and Sam could not have suggested a better place to start their day together.
He was waiting at one of the flimsy metal tables near the playground, where the bird-chirpy trill of children already brightened the morning. He had a Thermos in front of him and a bag of croissants at the ready.
“The hotel packed them up for me,” he said, offering the bag to her as she sat down.
She took a croissant out of the bag and her fingers were instantly buttery. He handed her a paper napkin.
“Mmm.” She took a bite. “Perfect,” she said. “Thanks.”
He poured a mug of coffee for her.
And then they sat, just smiling at each other.
Then he reached over and put his hands over hers.
“This is much better,” he said. “We’ve cleared the air. No secrets.”
“I know. Jerry’s mad, but it’s better this way.”
“I’ll say this, Marge. He’s mad, of course, but he is a grown-up and took it as well as he could, in the circumstance. And now, may the best man win, and let’s not talk about Jerry any more. At least for the time being.” Marge nodded her agreement. The subject was closed. For the time being.
Marge turned to watch the children. “I love that you suggested meeting here. It’s been ages since I thought about that afternoon we spent together.”
“At the little after-school playground near the day care center.”
“Watching the children.”
The memory seemed to light up the eyes of each of them.
“You were so funny,” Marge said. “You were imagining the futures of each kid. Like the one who’d grow up to be a fussy little male busybody. You thought he’d be a news commentator on TV. And which one a nagging housewife. You picked one to be a stand-up comedian, and another would be a bank robber.”
“And the mothers,” Sam said. “You got mad at one mom because she was really scolding her kid for getting his shirt dirty. I had to keep you from running over there and getting into a fight with her.” Sam laughed. “You were kind of a handful in those days, Marge. Full of piss and vinegar. No, I shouldn’t call it that. You were full of ginger. Just the liveliest, most eager-for-life kid I’d ever known. Male or female.”
“You didn’t mind, did you?”
“Mind? Marge, I wanted you so badly, there were plenty of nights I couldn’t even sleep, thinking about you. Imagining our life together. And then, that night of the prom, the stupid dumb fight we got into, I was so mad at myself, I practically wrecked the car driving home. And then, that summer, when you didn’t answer my letters, well, I wasn’t fit to live with for many months. But I finally managed to tell myself to forget you. I said, ‘She was just your first love. There’ll be others.’ And I got on with my life. College, law school, the military. I did well at all of that, and it was all so I could forget you.”
“You’re leaving out a lot.”
“It doesn’t matter now. You’re sitting here with me now, it’s an absolutely spectacular day,” he waved a hand taking it all in, the park, the children, the cloudless skies above, “and I’m the luckiest man in the whole, wide world.” He said those last words slowly, savoring each one. “The very luckiest.” And then he smiled at her. “And you are absolutely the most beautiful woman in the whole, wide world. And those are the last serious words I’m speaking today. From here on, the day is just for fun.” He turned and looked at the children. “God, they’re sweet, aren’t they? They haven’t a clue what lies ahead. Look at that kid,” he said. He pointed at a very little girl who was twirling around and a
round, arms outstretched, making herself dizzy. “That one’s going to be an astronaut.”
Marge laughed. “Good choice. And that one, over there, the little boy trying to get the whole pile of blocks away from the other one, he’s going to be a hedge fund manager.”
And so they played their game until they’d finished all the coffee in the Thermos and eaten all the croissants in the bag. Sam crumpled up the paper bag and took it to a nearby trash receptacle. Marge said her shoulder bag was big enough to hold the Thermos, and she stowed it away in her big Gucci bag. They took one last, long look at the children and then started a slow stroll through the Gardens. They stopped to watch some old men playing pétanque, old men in baggy corduroy pants and baggy sweaters, having a great time, tossing the hard little balls across the dirt playing area.
“I never did figure out the rules of that game,” Sam said. “But that’s going to be me, some day. I’ll be here in Paris, in my baggy old clothes, a baggy old man myself, playing what looks to me like the simplest game that was ever invented. Probably by then that’s all I’ll be able to do.”
“You expect to be a cranky old codger?”
“Absolutely.”
They both laughed. They both knew there was no way that was going to be true.
“And you?” he said. “What are you going to be?”
“I’m going to be a grand old lady, very elegant, and very rich. I’ll have tossed tons of lovers aside and I’ll have a history so fascinating, they’ll be writing biographies of my life.”
He stopped her, right there on the path alongside the pétanque ground, and he said, “No, Marge.” He put his arms around her and held her close. “No life of lovers tossed aside. Only one lover, only one. Forever.” There was a glitter in his eyes that looked like a fire deep inside and suddenly Marge knew they were about to cross a threshold.
“You said ‘nothing serious’ Sam. Remember?”
She felt a tremor that went through his body, and she remembered that warm current, the first time their bodies touched, so long ago, in the cafeteria of their high school.
“The hell with that,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s get back to the hotel. Now.”
Who Would You Choose? Page 19