The Marriage Pact

by Pullen, M. J.

  Now she was crying, too. “I thought I was supporting you, being on your side, but I realize listening to your father that I was secretly just trying to undermine that poor woman and keep you all to myself. He’s right. You have to reach out to her, whatever it costs you.”

  “But Mom—” Nicole started. But Elaine ignored her.

  “Marci, honey, I don’t know what to tell you about Jake. Only you and he can decide whether what you have is enough to sustain a marriage. But Daddy’s right; if you can’t give your whole heart for some reason, for any reason, you’re setting yourself up to fail.” More softly, she added, “We’ve been married thirty-four years and your father still makes me a better person.”

  #

  Marci left three messages for Jake that day, but he did not call back. In return she received two calls from Doug, who both times left the address and room number at the Hyatt Regency. She also got a call from a headhunter named Lynnette, with a potential position as a copywriter for a “big company downtown.”

  She called Lynette back, grateful for something to focus on other than her dual heartaches. The position was entry-level, of course, but in a large department with room for advancement. Marci could barely take in the details: benefits, 401(k), something about a cafeteria...could she be there Monday at 2:00 for an interview? Yes, of course.

  She numbly wrote directions and Lynette went on to say that there would be a lot of competition for the slot from recent college grads, but that Marci’s “life experience” should give her an edge. Marci didn’t think Lynette heard the chuckle.

  Jake was scheduled to be in south Georgia most of the weekend, taping “slice of life” footage for Jamal Anderson and a player named Cedric Williams, who went to another tiny high school in a neighboring county. This meant getting shots of family dinners, and the players tossing a ball with their siblings or working at their jobs. And, of course, church on Sunday. December was the last opportunity to get this kind of background footage before all the hustle leading to “Signing Day” began in January.

  Marci knew this meant Jake would be busy, and that the cell phone reception in the rural counties was sometimes sketchy, so it didn’t surprise her not to hear from him. Still, she sent him one text Saturday morning, “I’m sorry,” and couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he didn’t even respond to that. Waiting and hoping to hear from him reminded her of the days with Doug. She vowed optimistically that someday—perhaps even at some point in the near future—she would no longer be spending weekends surgically attached to her phone, hoping to hear from a boy.

  Doug, on the other hand, she did hear from, and frequently. He was booked at the Hyatt in downtown Atlanta through Monday morning, and threatening to stay longer, waiting for her to come see him so they could finish their conversation. All day Saturday, he left her messages nearly every hour, narrating his steps through Atlanta, commenting on the tourist spots and restaurants where he found himself.

  “Just leaving the MLK monument. Very historic, very important, very cool.”

  “Underground Atlanta was a total bust. I can see why they buried it.”

  “The World of Coke is literally the biggest advertisement I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe they have people paying them to listen to their product pitches and try samples. Clearly I am not the talented marketer I thought I was, because Coke has taught me I still have a long way to go.”

  “Found a great Thai restaurant. Wish someone was here to share the noodles with me.”

  And so on.

  After 2:00, she called back, if only to stop the horrible checklist of Atlanta sights. “Okay, okay. Enough of the ‘Ugly Texan Visits the South.’ We can have dinner, but that’s it.”

  “Awesome. We’ll order room service.”

  “No way. I’ll meet you downstairs in the restaurant.”

  “Fine. No pressure. See you at 7:00.”

  Before she could retort that she knew there was no pressure because she was not coming up to his room, he had hung up.

  Suzanne came home a couple of hours later and they sat talking about her latest relationship failure: Matt in San Diego. Four days earlier, she had boarded a plane for California thinking he might be “the one,” but by this morning she had insisted on taking a cab to the airport rather than letting Matt drive her, to avoid feeling any more connected to him than absolutely necessary.

  “So did you end it?” Marci asked, hugging one of the couch cushions and glad to be focused on someone else’s life for a few minutes.

  “Not exactly. I gave him the whole, ‘I’m easily spooked, don’t come on too strong’ speech; told him we shouldn’t rush anything and to wait for my call.”

  “And you’ll be calling him...?”

  “That’s right. Never.”

  “You’re a class act, Suzanne.”

  “Hey, he’s the one who talked to his mother five times over the four days I was out there. I mean, come on!”

  “Maybe they have a special relationship. Maybe she’s elderly and he needs to check in with her. Sounds to me like a responsible son.”

  “She has her own aerobics studio! And they talked for like twenty minutes at a stretch. One time I got so bored waiting for them to finish talking, I started doing a strip tease in front of him. You know, kind of half-joking, half-‘pay attention to me, dammit?’ He got all freaked out and said I was weird for putting unclean thoughts in his head while he was talking to his mother.”

  “Oh, wow,” Marci said. “Maybe this time you did the right thing.”

  “You think? Anyway, enough about me. How’s Jakie doing?”

  Marci was quiet for a long minute, and took a deep breath. She told Suzanne everything, starting with Doug’s surprise visit Thursday night, ending with Jake ignoring her calls and texts for the last two days. And, of course, her decision to go talk to Doug at the hotel that evening. At this last revelation, Suzanne raised her eyebrows, and Marci quickly tried to explain.

  “I mean, he keeps calling, and he came all this way to talk to me. I feel like if I don’t hear him out and settle this with him in person, it will never be resolved. You know?”

  “Not really,” Suzanne said after thinking for a minute, “but as you know, in-person, grown-up resolution isn’t really my thing.” They both laughed.

  Suzanne got up to make some tea. “Oh crap!” Marci said, looking at the clock over the stove. “It’s almost six. I haven’t even showered!”

  She ran to the guest bedroom where she’d been staying and started digging through piles of clothes on the floor: things she had washed recently, things that were dirty, things traveling back and forth with her to Jake’s apartment... She pulled out jeans and a slightly wrinkled V-neck sweater from the “sort of dirty” pile, and then started looking frantically for clean underwear.

  By the time she got out of the shower, it was quarter past six. She skipped washing her hair and pulled it up into a messy ponytail instead, hoping to make up for sloppy hair by at least getting the makeup right. She leaned toward the bathroom mirror and eyed herself critically, reapplying mascara and comparing two sets of earrings. As an afterthought, she sprayed a bit of perfume on her wrists and rubbed both across the skin exposed by the low-cut sweater. She debated whether to put a tank top on underneath, but decided she didn’t have time.“Looks like a lot of trouble for a little resolution,” Suzanne commented from behind her. “You look pretty hot for someone whose fiancé is out of town.”

  “Shut up,” Marci scowled. “Don’t give me a hard time, okay? I’m nervous enough about this as it is. I just...I just want to get it over with.” She searched for her favorite lip gloss.

  “Mmm...” Suzanne murmured thoughtfully, and sauntered back to the couch.

  “Can I help it if I want him to regret dumping all over me, just a little? What’s the harm in that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him. I’m going to tell him nothing can happen between us ever again.”
/>
  “Absolutely.”

  “If Jake were here, I would do the exact same thing I’m doing now. I’d even offer to take him with me.”

  “Does that include crop-dusting your cleavage there?” Suzanne teased.

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Suzanne called as Marci slammed the front door behind her.

  The restaurant at the Hyatt Regency was nicer than Marci anticipated. She felt underdressed in her jeans and sweater as soon as she walked in. It was also too romantic for her taste, with an enormous aquarium right in the middle providing an ambient light, and cozy little tables all around, covered in white linen and empty water goblets. She debated suggesting that they go somewhere else, racking her brain for someplace more casual close by, but decided that putting Doug in her car was just getting her in deeper.

  He was waiting in front of the hostess stand when she arrived, a few minutes late because of traffic downtown. He hugged her tightly and she was overwhelmed by the familiarity of his scent, and the feel of his arms. She forced herself to push back from him and give a polite smile before they followed the hostess to their table. He ordered a bottle of wine without even asking Marci, saying “I had a few minutes to look at the wine list,” by way of explanation.

  As usual, all the speeches Marci had prepared on her way down to the hotel had evaporated from her mind. “So, I gather you enjoyed your tour of my hometown today?” she said, wanting to be the one controlling the conversation but not sure how to start.

  “I did, I did,” he said. Before she could speak again, he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Marci, I want to apologize for the other night. I should’ve called you first, and I’m sorry. I just knew how badly I wanted to see you and I’d been driving all day. Well, I hope I didn’t disrupt things with your fiancé too badly. At least, I see you’re still wearing this.” He stroked her engagement ring lightly with his thumb.

  She jerked her hand back as though his touch were burning her, but said nothing. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked.

  “What do you want, Doug?” Marci’s voice was the coldest she could muster.

  “Marce, I’m sorry. I keep stepping in it, and all I really want is a chance to talk to you, to apologize, to try to make things right...”

  “Which things?” she demanded. “What is it you think you can make right?”

  He looked slightly taken aback. Just then the waitress reappeared with their wine and asked for their dinner orders. Marci had not even looked at the menu, but Doug ordered anyway. “I’ll have the grilled tilapia, please, and the lady would like the chicken special. Or did I get it wrong?” He looked at Marci playfully.

  She looked at the menu, hoping to counter his suggestion, while the waitress fidgeted impatiently. After viewing all the options, she realized that she really did want the chicken. Damn it. She traded out the polenta for green beans, just to change something, and the waitress twirled away with a scowl for Marci and a flirty smile at Doug. Some things never changed.

  He must have taken Marci’s angry outburst seriously, because like any good salesman, he changed tactics. Moved into small talk. What he’d seen that day, differences between Atlanta and Austin—all complimentary to Atlanta, of course. She watched the fish behind him darting back and forth through the giant tank.

  Then he transitioned into office gossip. Cristina—the receptionist who had made Marci jealous all those months ago—and Jeremy were now dating. When Marci asked whether they seemed happy, Doug shrugged. “I think I heard they’re living together or something now, so I guess they must be.” Good for Jeremy, she thought.

  Victoria had come out as a lesbian after developing a sudden, serious relationship with a petite blonde woman who worked for the paper brokerage down on the fifth floor. She’d cut her hair short (“butch,” Doug called it), and had started leaving at 5:00 every day instead of working her usual long hours. The firm had actually had to hire another person to make up for Victoria only doing the workload of one person, but no one was complaining. She had been profiled in AustinOut magazine as one of the top gay executives in the city and the firm had several new gay-focused clients as a result. Marci thought of Aunt Mildred with a smile, wondering what she would think of Out magazines.

  The biggest news was that one of the partners, Jack Lane (the ‘L’), had resigned suddenly after a spat with the other three during their monthly cigar meeting. Jack was the most artistic of the partners and had a reputation for being temperamental, but he had been gone for two weeks this time and it was looking serious. “So,” Doug was saying, “we either have to change the name of the firm, or find someone else with an ‘L’ name to join us.” He laughed as though this were not a big deal, but his careworn features told another story. Could the firm survive without Jack’s creative drive?

  She had to catch herself and remember that she didn’t care; this was no longer her world. She told Doug about the interview she had coming up on Monday, and he began asking her questions to help her prepare. Marci tried to refuse his help, to say that she didn’t need his advice, but the truth was she did. Doug was giving her insight into exactly the kinds of things someone would be asking her on Monday, and suggestions about how to answer them to her advantage.

  Only when the waitress came to clear their plates did she realize that she hadn’t even had a chance to tell Jake about the interview yet. She tried not to think about how he would feel if he knew Doug had heard about it first.

  As if on cue, Doug asked, “Is he good to you?”

  Marci smiled. “The best,” she said, truthfully.

  He winced. “Good. You deserve that.”

  “You’ve always fancied yourself an expert on what I deserve, haven’t you?”

  “Do you still have the necklace?”

  With the slightest twinge of guilt, she remembered watching it sink into the Mississippi. “It’s in storage.”

  “Marci, I know I can’t undo everything that happened between us.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “Okay, okay. Can you just retract the claws a little? I know I’m a jerk, but I came all this way to talk to you.”

  “Fine.”

  He paid the check. She made no move to offer for her share. “Look, I have something upstairs for you. It’s a letter, explains everything—or at least tries to explain everything.”

  “Why don’t you give me the highlights?”

  “Please, Marci. I agonized over what to say to you, and I really want to get it right. I’ve been working on it for two months. It’ll take five minutes.”

  Five minutes. In Doug’s hotel room. “No.”

  “You don’t even have to come inside. You can wait in the hall while I get the letter, and we’ll come back down here. Or you can leave. Whatever you want.”

  When she stood, her head buzzed from too much wine and the fancy-tiny portion of food. She followed Doug to the elevators, letting him lead her by the hand. They said nothing in the elevator, Doug whistling and Marci staring at the patterned carpet. As he had suggested, she stood outside his hotel room, feeling silly and puritanical. A few months ago, she thought, how much would I have given for a night in a hotel room with Doug? Here we are, and I won’t go in.

  He emerged with a small wrapped box and a thickly folded letter. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t open it now. I just wanted you to know you have options. Here.” The letter was smooth around the edges, as though he’d read and re-read it many times himself.

  They looked around awkwardly for a place to sit. It seemed silly to go all the way back down to the noisy lobby. Before he could suggest going into his room, however, Marci sank to the floor and leaned against the wall. She read.

  Dear Marci --

  At the time of this writing, I don’t know if you’ll be getting this letter in person or if I’ll have to mail it to you. I hope we’re together when you read it, because I want you to be able to look into my eyes and see how com
pletely serious I am about every word.

  “Oh, please,” she said and rolled her eyes. Doug looked a little hurt but remained silent.

  There is no way I can ever make up to you what happened between us during those last days you were in Austin. When I heard that you left town, whatever was left of my heart broke into a thousand pieces because I knew I would never see you again. What hurt even more was knowing that I would never deserve to see you again after all I put you through.

  I know that this explanation will not undo the hurt I caused you, caused both of us, but I hope it will help you to understand why things happened the way they did. If nothing else, I want you to know that what we felt for each other was not a lie.

  Everything I did and said and felt for you was true, Marci. From our first kiss to that last night together in your apartment, I have loved you in a way that was deep and scary. I never thought about stepping out on my marriage before you, even though I have wondered for years whether I made the right choice marrying Cathy. I now know the answer to that question—I only wish I had figured it out before we met so we could have the relationship we were meant to have.

  I meant everything I said on our last night together. Looking back on it, I wish I had not let you make me leave, but just held you all night long. If I had known it was my last chance to touch you, I would not have let go so easily. But when I did leave, as soon as I got down the stairs at your apartment, Cathy was sitting there, in her car. She honked the horn and told me to get in.

  Marci remembered now, hearing the horn, oblivious in her bedroom just fifteen feet away. She had thought nothing of it at the time—had no idea it was the sound of her world being ripped apart.

  I won’t get into details, but it was obviously not a pleasant conversation. Cathy told me she’d been following me for a couple of weeks, and had checked our phone bills and saw all the calls to your number. She demanded to know who you were, threatened to leave me and, to tell everyone in both our families what happened.