by Joy Fielding
What she didn't miss were the problems it had created in her marriage. At least most of those had been solved when she had informed the network she was leaving. David was right—it was crazy for her to keep putting her life in jeopardy, leaving him to expose herself to bullets and disease all over the globe. Besides, he missed her when she was gone, and he worried about her. His worry interfered with his work. He needed her support. He couldn't feel it when she was half a world away. Didn't she think she could find something more sedentary, something closer to home? Didn't she want to start a family? Yes, she did. She didn't like the separations any more than he did. She missed him terribly. And a man like David needed a lot of ego gratification. If she wasn't there to provide it, she knew there were many who would be only too delighted.
Still, it didn't seem fair. His life, despite a change in wives and the reduced time with his children, had remained remarkably unchanged to all outward appearances. True, he'd exchanged a large house for a small apartment, but it was still a prestige building in a prime location and there was still someone waiting with a hot meal when he finally walked through the door at the end of the day, some nights as late as ten o clock. Most importantly, he was still doing the work he loved.
Her life, on the other hand, had undergone a total transformation, from her surroundings to her marital status to her job. Instead of doing the work she loved, she was teaching others how to do it. TV journalism, the course proclaimed. Jill Plumley, professor. Her world was now confined to a classroom and she could invariably jump off in time to prepare dinner. Why, she'd become a regular little Betty Crocker in the kitchen. How had it all, come about, she wondered, trying to get a fix on the subtle shifts that time had wrought. Temporarily forgetful of her surroundings, Jill pictured a David of approximately five years ago pacing angrily back and forth in front of her. That long ago, she marveled as his image became increasingly clear, his words gaining resonance and conviction. For several minutes, as the past overtook the present, the courtroom disappeared altogether.
She was obviously excited and he was just as obviously upset by her excitement.
"Why shouldn't I be happy? I've never been to Ireland before!"
"We're not talking about a sunny little vacation trip to Dublin—we're talking about bombs and snipers in Belfast."
"I survived the Vietnam war," she reminded him, trying not to sound too cute.
“I don't know why the network has to send you!"
"Because I happen to be a first-rate producer, that's why. And because I asked for this assignment."
"You what?"
"I like to travel, you know that. And this is the kind of project I do very well. Besides," she said softly, "I don't think it would be such a terrible thing for us to take a two-week breather."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
It seemed lately that's how all their conversations ended up. What do you mean? You know what I mean. It all means the same thing—you're a married man.
"All right," he said, "you want to go off for a few weeks, fine. Go to Los Angeles. Go to Bermuda, for Christ's sake. There's no civil war in Bermuda."
"There's nothing in Bermuda."
"You could get killed!"
"I'm not going to get killed."
"Oh, you have that in writing, do you?"
She smiled and kissed him gently. "Only a lawyer would ask a question like that."
"Then do a show on lawyers."
"I already did. That's why I'm in this mess. Remember?"
He sat down on the bed and watched her take out her suitcase and start to pack.
"This is the fourth trip you've taken in the last six months," he said.
"You can't call a two-day stopover in Buffalo a trip!"
"You were away."
He watched her throw a few cotton skirts and several pairs of jeans into the suitcase.
"You like it that I go away," she said jokingly, before she realized that she really wasn't kidding at all.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's part of my mystique," she told him. "It's what sets me apart."
"Apart from what?"
"From the others," she said, knowing instinctively there had been. "From your wife."
He laughed. "My wife's idea of an exciting holiday is two weeks in Las Vegas so that she can play the nickel slot machines and listen to Robert Goulet."
"I was in Las Vegas," Jill told him, "a few years back.
We did a story on those wedding chapels that are open twenty-four hours a day."
"Is there anywhere you haven't been?" he asked her. "Aside from Ireland, that is."
Her face lit into a broad smile. "China," she said. "Parts of Africa. But Tm working on it."
"China, huh? I'd like to see China."
"Well, you can come with me."
"I love you, you know," he said, his voice suddenly soft and serious.
Jill sat on David's lap and let her arms encircle his neck. "Why do you love me?" she asked with genuine interest. "Why does a man who looks the way you do fall in love with a woman who looks the way I do?"
"First of all because you're smart."
"Oh, thanks. You're supposed to say there's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you look, that you think I'm pretty gorgeous."
"I do, that's exactly right, and I love you because you're smart enough to know it."
She laughed. "Yes, okay, what else?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "You're bright, sensitive, you know what's going on in the world, and you do interesting things. You're smart."
"You said that." He nodded. "Not smart enough to tell you to get lost when I found out your definition of marital separation."
"I just couldn't let you walk out of that car," he said, remembering.
She got up off his lap. "I hate this situation. I hate the whole idea of it. I like women too much to be involved with a married man. I don't want to hurt your wife and I certainly don't want to get hurt myself."
"What do you think I want?" he asked.
"I don't know."
He exhaled a deep breath of air. "Neither do I," he said. “I was hoping you could tell me." He looked down at her suitcase. ''Is that all you're going to take?"
She went to the bathroom and 0pened the medicine cabinet, tossing a few items into a small kit.
“You're taking your birth control pills?" he asked, watching her.
He could see her smiling at him indulgently from the reflection of the bathroom mirror. "You don't stop taking them, you know, because you're not going to be doing anything for a few weeks." She came back into the room.
"How long have you been on them?" he asked.
“Eight years," she answered.
“Isn't that a long time?"
"It's eight years."
“Ever think about stopping?"
“All the time. But I don't think this is a particularly appropriate time in my life to conceive, do you? Much as I would very much like to have a child."
"You should. You'd make a really good mother."
"Yes, I think I would."
The conversation halted abruptly. They were back at square one—she was going to Ireland and he was a married man.
"Will you call me as soon as you get back?" he asked.
("What do you mean you're involved with a married man? How could you let yourself do anything so stupid? You're a smart girl, Jill, how can you be so dumb? You think he loves you? Well, maybe he does. You think his wife doesn't understand him? Well, maybe she doesn't. You think he's going to leave her to marry you? Don't kid yourself, my darling daughter, it'll never happen. And if it does, if he does leave her for you, think about it a minute—what kind of prize are you getting? A man who walks out on one woman when he finds one he likes better. A man who trades a slightly used family for a newer set. Is this someone you'll be able to trust? Believe me, Jill, if he'll do it once, he'll do it again. What do you need it for? Think about it, darling. Do
you really need this kind of aggravation?")
"Will you call me as soon as you get back?" he repeated.
"Yes," she answered.
There was a great flurry of movement around her, snapping Jill back into the reality of the present.
"Excuse me," said a voice beside her, as a woman pushed her way past Jill and toward the middle aisle. Jill looked up at the clock on the wall. It was noon. Her eyes tried to find David and finally located him in a conference with several other men. The judge was gone. Obviously, court had been dismissed. And she'd missed the final verdict although she was sure she knew what it was. Still, if David should ask—
"Wonderful, wasn't he?" the voice asked huskily.
Jill looked to her right. Nicole Clark, her hair pulled back into a French braid, was smiling attractively at her, as if it was only natural that she do so. Maybe it was. Maybe she had been joking at the picnic. "Yes, he was," Jill answered, determined to be pleasant. "It's been a while since I've had the chance to watch him. I forgot how impressive he can be."
"That's not very smart," Nicole said, her smile as bright as ever. "It's something I never forget."
Nicole turned and walked toward the rear door. Jill was about to go after her, put an end to the cruel joke once and for all with a simple blow to the head. Would anyone actually have the nerve to charge her? But David was suddenly at her side, his face flushed with victory, his arm around her waist.
"Ready for lunch?" he asked. Before she could answer, he was holding her tight against him and leading her out of the courtroom.
Chapter 6
"I felt a little sorry for that guy on the stand," Jill said, taking a large shrimp from her bowl and covering it in sauce before lifting it to her mouth.
"Don't," David said simply. "Guy's a jerk. He's making three times what he was making five years ago and even then, he tried to get out of everything he could. He got off easy, I assure you." He shook his head. "Jerk. Doesn't even hire a private detective, he's so damn cheap. Follows them himself in his car for a few weeks. That's his idea of evidence. He's lucky the judge didn't increase his payments." She laughed, helping herself to another shrimp. "So, did you enjoy yourself this morning?"
Jill smiled widely. "It was terrific. I'd forgotten how good you look in court." She paused, recalling Nicole's words. "Anyway," she said, recovering quickly, "I want to thank you for suggesting that I come. It was a good idea. You were really wonderful."
David smiled. "My pleasure. Very routine stuff."
"Well," she demurred, knowing his ego was searching for a few more strokes, "you make it seem like it's all very routine, but I know how hard you work. And I know that behind that seemingly casual facade is a man with a map of his every move. And you're terrific, so what else can I say?"
“More of the same would be nice” he smiled.
"And you look absolutely gorgeous," Jill continued, not missing a beat. "Actually, it was very interesting the way you let the poor sucker relax, then—pounce. Very exciting."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
"I enjoyed you” she stated, finishing off the last of her shrimp, and smiling with her open mouth.
"You have sauce on your teeth," he said.
Jill quickly brought her lips together. "Wonderful," she said. "Someday, Tm going to learn how to eat these things properly." She licked at her teeth without opening her mouth. "Gone?" she asked timidly. David nodded. "What can you expect from a girl raised on well-done roast beef and mashed potatoes?" she asked. "So—what did Nicole think of your performance?" She tried to sound as unthreatened as possible.
"She didn't say much. Congratulations. Well done, that sort of thing. She thanked me, of course."
"Of course."
"I noticed the two of you were talking," he broached. "Anything interesting?"
"Very interesting."
"Did she apologize for what she said at the picnic?"
"Not exactly."
"What then? Tell you it was all a joke?"
"Not quite."
"Jill—" he said, a touch of exasperation creeping into his voice.
"She said she thought you were wonderful. Well, no, actually her precise words were 'wonderful, wasn't he?”
David shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, she meant the way I cross-examined the poor bugger—"
"I agreed with her," Jill continued. "Then I said I'd forgotten how impressive you could be, and she said— Jill paused, lowering her voice and trying to capture the other woman's tone. "'That's not very smart. It's something I never forget.” Jill stared directly into David's eyes. There was a second's silence and then he started to laugh. "You're really enjoying all this, aren't you?" Jill accused him, trying to keep from laughing herself.
"No, of course not," he chuckled.
"Oh, sure. You look like the cat who swallowed the canary."
He shook his head. "Well, you have to admit it’s pretty funny."
"To you, maybe.”
"Well, it's not often a man has two beautiful women fighting over him."
"You've had it all your life," she reminded him. "And I'm not sure if I'm more flattered that you think I'm beautiful or angrier that you think she is!" David opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. "Anyway, let's change the subject. I spoke to Beth this morning."
"Oh, how is she?"
"Well, she was apologizing all over the place, of course, for ruining our evening."
'That's ridiculous."
"That's what I told her. It's the last thing she has to worry about. But she apologized anyway. She said her hand finally stopped bleeding around three in the morning, so she didn't get a whole lot of sleep."
"That's too bad. But it's all right now?"
"Apparently. I suggested she have a doctor take a look at it, but she said it’s okay. I'm going to see her next week. We've decided to take an exercise class together every Wednesday."
"That's a good idea."
"You're supposed to say, what do you need to exercise for?"
"Everybody needs exercise," he said.
"You never do."
"I should."
"When was the last time you played squash?" she asked.
"February," he answered. "And it's racquetball, not squash."
"What difference does it make if you don't play?"
"I'm thinking of starting again."
"You should. The club's right in your building. Do you still belong?"
He nodded. "At seventeen hundred dollars a year," he calculated, "that was probably the most expensive racquetball game in history."
"One thousand, seven hundred dollars a year?" Jill repeated. "David, what we could be doing with that money—"
"I’ll start using it again," he promised. "How was your class this morning?"
"You're changing the subject."
"A good lawyer always knows when to change the subject."
"And a good husband?"
"Especially a good husband." He paused, reaching across the table and covering her hand with his own. "So, tell me, were you brilliant as usual?"
"I was awful, as usual," she said. "I'm a rotten teacher, David. I know it and they know it. I'm bored to tears and so are they. One kid was actually reading the morning paper while I was talking."
"What were you talking about?"
"How to conduct an interview."
"Sounds interesting."
"It's not. At least not talking about it. What's interesting is doing it."
"You have to know how first."
"I do know how," Jill said, surprising them both with the passion in her voice. "That's just the point. I should be out there, not stuck in some classroom. I feel sometimes when I'm talking that I'm going to burst wide open with—”
"With what?"
"Resentment,” she said quietly. "I really resent those kids wanting to be what I was, knowing that a few of them will probably do well, become producers, filmmakers. Knowing that they think Tm a teacher because I couldn't
make it—"
"That's not true. You know it's not."
"They don't. They're all firm believers in the old adage: “Them that can, do. Them that can't—teach.”
There was a second's pause before David spoke. "And me?" he asked. "Do you resent me, too?"
She lowered her head, prepared to lie. “Sometimes” she finally admitted, truthfully. "I know it's not your fault, David. Honestly, I know that. It was an impossible situation. I was away too much. We hardly got a chance to see each other. Not that we see that much of each other lately, anyway."
"Things will slow down again, Jill. It just got hectic all of a sudden," he apologized.
"Summer, is usually the slow time, I thought," Jill said quietly.
"Another few weeks," he said. "It should calm down a bit by then." He looked around. It was obvious to Jill that this was not turning out to be quite the victory luncheon David had had in mind. "What is it you want, Jill?" he asked. "You want to quit work at the university? You want to go back into television?"
Jill recalled the early crises in her marriage. They had all revolved around her job. "I don't know what I want," she said at last.
"I don't want to be the heavy in all this," David was saying. "God knows I have nothing against your working. You know that. I don't even mind that you work in television. Christ, that's how I met you. And you were wonderful—you had such spark."
"That's just it, David, I'm losing my spark.”
"No," he argued sincerely. "No. You're just hiding it temporarily." He smiled at her and waited until she reluctantly returned his smile. "Look, why don't you call the network, call Ernie whatever-his-name-was—"
"Irving," she corrected. "Irving Saunders."
"Call Irving and see if he doesn't have something that wouldn't involve any traveling—"
"I asked him that two years ago when I left. There just isn't anything. Not in my field. I mean, there might be a few shows out of Chicago, but nobody's going to guarantee I won't have to do some traveling, or that I can finish up by five o'clock every night or won't have to work weekends or even all night sometimes."
"So, what are you saying?"