The Other Woman

by Joy Fielding

  Jill stepped out of the car and slammed the door, hoping the night air would empty her head, clear away the unwanted pictures that seemed intent on driving her half-crazy. Sarah Welles had died while washing her hair. Nothing made any sense. Everything in this world was at least vaguely absurd. Why should her life be any different?

  Beth had agreed instantly to the idea of her doing the show. ("Do it, Jill," she had said. "It's important. Tell people what I told you. Do the show. Maybe it'll wake some people up.")

  Beth's easy acceptance had made the problem all the more acute. Jill had convinced herself in the time it took to walk from her car to the front door that if Beth's reaction was as negative as David's had been, she would tell Irving so. David was probably right—Irving would call her again, if not this year, maybe the next. ("Do it, Jill," Beth had said, without any questions. "It's important. Do the show.")

  Jill pulled her Volvo into the space beside the empty parking place that was reserved for David's Mercedes. She got quickly out of the car and headed toward the elevator, her keys held firmly between each finger, like a set of brass knuckles, to fend off attackers. Not that she expected anyone to be lurking around, but then, hell, Sarah Welles hadn't expected to drown in her bathroom sink either.

  She reached her apartment, and despite her knowledge that David was not home, was disappointed to find the place empty. She quickly moved from room to room, turning on every light and leaving them on as she entered her bedroom and plopped down on her bed.

  She picked up the phone and called David's private office number. It was just past ten-thirty. What was she going to tell him? Come home—I've decided not to do the show? Just please, stay away from Nicole and come back home.

  There was no answer. Jill let the phone ring ten times, hung up and dialed again. After ten more rings she gave up. Perhaps he was already on his way home, she thought, kicking off her shoes and lying back on the bed. Maybe the whole thing was part of her imagination, something she had invented to get the old adrenaline pumping because things were starting to move too smoothly. She had no proof her husband was having an affair with Nicole Clark. Indeed, she had no hard evidence, as David would call it, that he wasn't doing exactly as he claimed to be doing each night. The firm was undoubtedly in a state of chaos because of Al Weatherby's death; the work load she had seen on David's desk was indeed prodigious. It was understandable, laudable even, that he felt he had to work this hard, this late, and this often to catch up. She had nothing but a lot of overhasty assumptions and conclusions to back up her unwarranted suspicions. David had done nothing. Was doing nothing. She was the only one who was making herself miserable.

  The phone rang beside her and Jill picked it up, feeling strangely groggy.

  "Hello."

  David's voice was soft and mellow. "Hi, sweetheart. Did I wake you up?"

  "I must have dozed off," she said, clearing her throat. Her eyes turning away from the bright glare of the overhead light.

  "I'm sorry, hon. I just wanted you to know that I'm on my way home."

  "Where are you?" she asked.

  "Where do you think?" he said, surprised. "At the office."

  "I called you," she said, looking at the clock. "About half an hour ago." She sat up.

  "You did?" he asked. "Not here.''

  "I let it ring ten times. Then I hung up and called again."

  "Well, it didn't ring—oh, shit, just a minute. I've got the phone turned down. There, I just fixed it. Stupid thing. I turned it off this afternoon so I wouldn't be distracted. Then I forgot about it. Sorry about that, honey."

  "No harm done," she said, a tear falling the length of her cheek. "See you soon."

  She replaced the receiver and sat on the side of the bed for several minutes in absolute silence. She saw David sitting in a strange room filled with nondescript furniture, Nicole Clark moving languorously in the background. She pictured Nicole as she moved to stand beside David, whose hand remained poised over the telephone, a look of doubt trimmed with a slight tinge of guilt falling over his beautiful face. She felt Nicole's hand come down gently, encouragingly, on David's shoulder. Saw him reach up and gently stroke that hand, looking back and smiling ‘sadly in her direction. The same way he had done approximately six years ago when she had stood in Nicole's position and heard him say virtually the same words to Elaine.

  Chapter 24

  She checked her makeup in the mirror and then checked it again and then a third time, trying to remember everything that Mr. Claridge had told her. Light under the eyes, a little highlighting at the sides, just a hint of mascara, a liberal stroke of blush-on and a finishing gloss over her lips. Why did she feel like she needed to wash her face?

  She heard his key turn in the door and rushed to the mirror again to check her appearance. The negligee was new, expensive and completely out of character. Soft pink lace had been discarded with her diapers. It hadn't felt right then and it felt less right now, but David had once expressed a liking for things frilly and feminine, and despite the fact that her arms and feet were freezing and she knew she'd feel much better wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of socks, she persisted, pulling her shoulders back and trying to fill out the delicate trim of the low-cut bodice.

  She took a deep breath as she heard David close the door behind him, and walked from the bedroom into the hall. David Plumley meets Total Woman, she thought as she moved, and feeling like an inept understudy for an ailing Raquel Welch. What am I doing, she wondered, wearing these clothes and this face and carrying on in this ridiculous fashion? I am trying to get my husband back, her inner voice responded. And if this approach can't help, well, then, at least it can't hurt.

  “Hi," he said when he saw her. "What are you doing up? It's late."

  “Just midnight," she replied, throatily.

  "You didn't have to wait up," he said, moving into the kitchen to check on the day's mail.

  "Just a lot of bills," she told him, coming up behind him and encircling him with her arms.

  He patted her hands gently. "What do I smell?" he asked.

  "Oh," she said, her heart beginning to race, "I just took a bath. I used a new bath oil—"

  "No, that's not it. Smells like chocolate."

  "Oh, I made a cake," she said quickly.

  "Sounds good," he said, moving to the dining room and sitting down. "Can I have a piece?"

  "Sure," she said, wondering why instead of rushing her into the bedroom, he was suddenly hungry for chocolate cake. What she was wearing couldn't have totally escaped him; he had to have noticed the way she was made up, the way she smelled. He had to realize why she had waited up. It had been several weeks since they'd last made love. He had to know what she was trying to tell him.

  She took the cake from its dish and cut two substantial pieces.

  "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

  "No," he said, his back to her. "Coffee'll keep me awake, and all I want to do is sleep. I'll have a glass of milk."

  All I want to do is sleep, she heard his voice repeat. Well, he noticed all right, your face, your negligee, your whole ridiculous get-up. And this is his reply. Jill felt cold with humiliation and strode purposefully into the bathroom, turning on the hot water and scrubbing her face until it squeaked. Then she marched briskly into her bedroom, retrieved a warm sweater from her closet and threw it over her shoulders while she fished in her top drawer for a pair of heavy socks and pulled them on. Pushing her now wool-stockinged feet into a pair of tattered pink slippers and thrusting her arms inside the sweater sleeves, she headed back to the kitchen and poured her husband his glass of milk, putting the food in front of him on the table.

  “Thanks," he said absently as Jill sat down across from him and took a bite of her cake. "Thought you were on a diet," he said, half managing a smile. If he noticed that her appearance was in any way changed, he said nothing.

  Jill shrugged. She'd been wrong when she thought disguising herself behind makeup and soft frills wouldn't hur
t. It hurt plenty. She took another bite of chocolate cake.

  "This is good," he said, joining her.

  "Thanks," she said. The way to a man's heart, she thought.

  "So, how come you waited up?"

  "I wanted to see you," she said, truthfully, staring into his deep green eyes, his face as beautiful to her as ever, as refreshing to her sight as a cool glass of lemonade. Would she always feel this, she wondered, this rush of pure pleasure every time she looked at him?

  "Well, that's sweet, honey. But you shouldn't have. You look tired, and God knows I'm in no condition to be much company."

  Jill looked down at the table, trying to ignore his remark about her looking tired. "Do you have any idea," she asked quietly, "how much longer all this is going to go on?"

  "Not much longer, I hope."

  "It seems to be getting worse."

  "I don't like it any better than you do. Christ, I'm so tired all the time."

  "Too tired to make love?" she asked, trying to sound as appealing as she could. He said nothing. "It's been a while," she continued softly.

  "Oh, Jill, please don't start," he interrupted. "Can't you see I can barely stand up these days?!"

  That's not my fault, buster, she wanted to yell. Instead she said, "I’m sorry. It's just that I miss you."

  His face softened again. "I miss you, too, honey."

  Jill finished off the rest of her cake.

  "So," he said, "what did you tell Irving? Today was the day you had to decide, wasn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  Jill said nothing, wishing now she had gone to bed early.

  "You told him you'd do it," he said for her after a pause.

  "Yes," Jill answered.

  David brought his hands to rest behind his head. "Well, what can I say?"

  "I spoke to Beth," Jill explained. "She was very supportive."

  "I'll bet she was."

  "She wants me to do it. She feels it's an important issue."

  "I'm sure she does."

  "So do I, David."

  "That's obvious." He stood up.

  "I'd like to talk to you about it, now that we're on the subject."

  "I've said all I have to say about it, Jill."

  "I haven't," she reminded him.

  He sat back down. "Go ahead."

  "I want you to understand why I'm doing the show."

  "No," he interrupted. "You want yourself to understand."

  "Please don't put words in my mouth! I know what it is I want to say. I'm quite capable of expressing myself."

  "Look, Jill, I'm really tired. Just say what you feel you have to say and let me get to sleep. You know that I'm never going to understand."

  Jill swallowed. "I've seen Beth several times in the last few weeks. She's looking much better. Most of the bruises are gone. Her ribs are still a bit sore, but generally, she's looking pretty good."

  ''Better than Al” David said, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.

  “I believe her, David” Jill said finally.

  There was silence. His look was quizzical, verging on the defensive. He would not like what she was going to say.

  'You believe what?" David asked without moving.

  'I believe Beth's story." Another silence. I’ve talked to her. I really listened to her. And I believe her."

  "Believe what?! That Al was beating her?! That she was a battered wife who suddenly flipped out?"

  "She didn't flip out. She says she's not crazy, not even temporarily. I agree. I don't think she's the slightest bit crazy. I think she did what she had to do. She had no choice. She was fighting for her life!"

  David stood up with such sudden force that his chair fell over backward and crashed to the floor. "What?!" he demanded. “I can't believe I'm hearing this!"

  Jill stood up, torn between comforting her husband and standing her ground. "David, I don't want to fight about this —"

  "What is it with you lately? Maybe you're the one who's gone temporarily insane!"

  "David—"

  "What do you mean exactly when you say that you believe her?" he demanded.

  "I believe that Al did all the things she says he did."

  "What things exactly?'' he repeated, stressing the final word.

  "What do you want me to say? I'm trying to answer your questions but all you're doing is shouting at me." She began pacing nervously back and forth.

  "Jill, for God's sake, you knew Al! And not just casually. We played cards with the man, had him here for dinner, how many times? You saw the way he was with Beth—"

  "In public."

  "You're saying he was a tender, loving husband in public and a monster in private?"

  "That's what Beth is saying. I am saying only that I believe her."

  "A few weeks ago you didn't know what to believe."

  "I didn't understand then."

  "Understand what?"

  "About Al! David, what good is this doing? We're just going around in circles."

  "You said you wanted me to understand! Okay. Go ahead. This is your big chance. Make me understand. Make me understand how Al could fool the whole world for over twenty-five years. Make me understand why my wife would believe the word of a cunning, conniving murderess and not her own eyes and ears."

  Jill stopped her pacing and lowered her voice, trying to restore calm. "I listened to her, David. I really listened to her. She wasn't making it up. She wasn't lying. No one could be that good an actress."

  "Everyone can when their life is at stake." David walked around the table to face his wife. "Has it occurred to you that if what she's saying is true, that for as long as you've known her, everything else about her has been a lie?" Jill said nothing, allowing his words to find meaning in her mind. "If she could fool you for four years, why couldn't she fool you now?" Jill was about to protest, but her thoughts were too confused. "Why didn't she confide in you sooner? Why didn't she just leave him, for God's sake?"

  Jill sank back into her chair. "She was terrified he'd kill her. She was too beaten down—"

  "Did she ever seem frightened to you? Ever seem beaten down?"

  Jill's mind traveled quickly through four years of friendship. "The night we played bridge," she answered at last.

  David's eyes reflected his confusion, then cleared, indicating he had the answer. “She was upset about Lisa's involvement with a married man. Al explained—"

  ''Yes, Al explained. He always had an explanation. But it was a lie. There was no married boyfriend. There was only Al. David, Beth didn't cut herself that night—Al did it!" David was about to shout his protest; Jill kept talking. "And now that I think about it, so much of it makes sense. At the picnic, Beth gave me some stomach pills, told me she'd had ulcers for years—"

  "Oh, Christ, you're fishing at straws!"

  "I believe her, David."

  "Her own children don't believe her!"

  "Lisa does."

  David paused. "If Lisa's decided to believe her mother, it's because she can't deal with what's happened in any other way."

  "Maybe she believes her because she knows it's true."

  "Oh, hog wash, Jill! I'm not listening to any more of this!"

  "Why are you taking it so personally? It had nothing to do with you."

  "It has everything to do with me! Al Weatherby was my friend, my mentor, my colleague. I loved the man, damn it, and my wife, who also knew and liked the man, is suddenly willing to believe every horrible little tidbit she hears about him. Not only that, but from what you're telling me, you actually believe he deserved to die."

  "No, I—"

  "If you believe Al was the kind of monster his wife says he was—do you or don't you?"

  "I believe—"

  "Just a simple yes or no."

  "David, stop it. I am not on the witness stand."

  "Answer the question."

  "I believe what Beth says."

  "That Al was a monster?"

  "You're puttin
g words in my mouth again!"

  "You feel Beth was justified in what she did?"

  "I don't feel she had any choice."

  "She couldn't pick up the phone and call the police?"

  "David, you know how ineffectual the police are about things like that—"

  "You feel she was right to take the law into her own hands?"

  "Please lower your voice."

  "Answer my question! Do you feel she was right in taking the law into her own hands?"

  "It was self-defense!"

  David stared at his wife in dumb amazement. "I just can't believe what I'm hearing."

  "David, when a man murders his wife, more often than not, his only weapon is his fists."

  "The man was asleep!"

  "She had no chance against him when he was awake! He would have killed her. She had no choice."

  "We all have choices. It's part of what being an adult is all about."

  He turned from her and stared out the window at the wide expanse of the city. Jill stood for several minutes before coming up behind him and running her hand across his back.

  "Please don't," he said, without looking at her.

  "David, we don't have to be angry at each other—“

  He turned sharply toward her. "Can't you see what you're doing?"

  She backed off several paces. “What am I doing?"

  "You're making a mockery of my whole way of life."

  Jill was genuinely confused. "I don't understand. How am I doing that?"

  'Tm a lawyer! You're telling me that all I believe in, all I've worked for is just a big joke. That it's okay for people to take that law into their own hands—"

  "What I'm saying is that I believe Beth's story. David, how can you be so damn sure that there isn't the slightest possibility that what Beth is saying is true?"

  “Because I knew the man!"

  "You didn't live with him,"

  "I didn't have to!"