“I don’t want her too close to me, for God’s sake,” Bernice cried out. “Whatever happened to privacy? Oh! I wish I were dead!” she moaned over and over. “I want to go to bed!”
Pam shook her head no to Mildred. “We need to get something to eat. Let’s call Sandra and ask her to come. That will brighten your day!” Pam led her to the den while Mildred went to tell Alice to fix something for lunch.
Bernice visibly brightened up. “Sandra! Yes, let’s call her!” Bernice slumped into a high-backed leather wing chair, once her throne, now her prison. It would take two of them to pull her out of it later in the day. “Sandra always has something cheerful to say!”
Pam dug her cell phone out of her purse and keyed in Sandra’s number. She answered on the first ring, saying she would be over in a half hour. She was done eating and only had to get a cab to Bernice’s. There was an immediate change in Bernice after the call.
“I’m going to go upstairs and change my clothes since we aren’t going to brunch,” Pam said. Bernice ignored her. She rang for Mildred, who came through the door wiping her hands on a towel.
“Yes, madam?” she said, successfully hiding her frustration. She was trying to help Alice prepare lunch. “Luncheon will be served shortly.”
“Thank you, Millie. Sandra is coming, and she has already eaten, but I would like something available for her.”
Mildred nodded her head and left the room. One day at a time, she thought to herself. I can take one more day of this. And then Bernice rang for her again. Mildred took a deep breath before she went through the door.
“Oh, Millie, I forgot to tell you that you are not to take orders from Pam. Do you understand me? You are not her personal servant!”
Mildred waited for a few moments, hoping that Bernice would get it all out before she went back to the kitchen. “Anything else, madam?” she asked, grinding her teeth.
“No, that will be all, for now.” Bernice leaned forward, struggling to reach a magazine to read while she waited for Sandra to appear. It was just out of her reach, and just as she was going for the call button again, Pam walked in and saved Mildred from having to make another trip.
As soon as Sandra arrived, Bernice had a turnaround in attitude, was gracious and kind, spoke to Pam with respect, and tried to be more independent. But the weeks of inactivity had taken a toll. Mildred served lunch, Bernice falling asleep with her chin on her chest shortly after the last bite was taken.
“She really failed in a week,” Sandra whispered, nodding toward Bernice. “What brought you into town? I’m happy you’re here!”
“After we talked last night about me moving into the city for the winter, I decided to spend a few days here with her to ease into it. She’s not happy about it!” Pam giggled. “Saying she is annoyed would be putting it mildly. We were in the car to go out to eat, and she had a temper tantrum.”
“Poor Pam. Poor Bernice! She looks awful! What the hell happened?”
“I’ll have to dig around and see. It’s Bill and Jack and Harold, I think. Too much for one person.” Pam avoided repeating her theory about Bernice facing her sins. “By the way, I like your young man very much!”
“Well, it’s already over,” Sandra replied. “He left me a Dear Jane letter when he left last night. Didn’t even have the balls to tell me to my face. I mean, it’s not like there was any great love between us yet. I’m disappointed, but jeez, get over yourself buddy! It’s only been a week!”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth,” Pam said. “He seemed like a nice guy. I’m almost afraid to ask what happened.”
“He could handle another man’s baby and the fact that I was HIV positive, but not my relationship with you and Marie. Here’s the letter,” she said while she dug in her purse for the folded-up paper.
Pam took it from her and began reading it. Then she read out loud, “Your future will be tied up in the lives of your lover’s family, and I don’t have any desire to be involved with them myself. Well, I suppose he has a point. I don’t think most men would be able to be so enmeshed in the life of the former boyfriend. As strange as it seems, I understand him. Do you think you could give up your friendships with us to sustain a relationship?” Pam asked.
“He didn’t even give me that option!” Sandra replied. “He made up his mind, and that was that. I think he was looking for an excuse to leave, that he had made a rash decision and was regretful and didn’t know how to get out of it. I was grateful that I had someone kind and hot looking who was willing to overlook so much, but the truth is that I won’t be shedding any tears over him. I have to grieve, too. I think I want to be alone for now. The loneliness will get worse once the baby is here, I think.”
Pam didn’t say anything, remembering her own postpartum loneliness that her sister Marie had rescued her from.
“If I begin now to accept that I may be alone for the rest of my life, it might be easier for me than to have some trumped-up idea that prince charming will rescue me. I really should be pissed at Tom for doing that!” Sandra could feel the tiniest bit of self-pity creeping in. She knew it was best to squelch it immediately, because its companion, depression, often followed close by.
“I’m going to tell you a story, Sandra. May I?” Pam asked. “It’s about our beloved Jack. I have never told a soul about this, but since you know all my secrets, one more exposure is not going to hurt me, and it might help you. Shall I?”
Sandra was blowing her nose, trying to cover up the tears that were right on the surface. She nodded yes. Pam looked at Bernice to make sure she was still sleeping; she was out cold. It was safe to go on.
“When Lisa was a newborn and Brent was about two, I had what I guess you would call an affair of the mind. Yes, I know. Radical! Silly Pam, perfect Pam. With another man!” She smiled at no one and took a sip of her coffee, which had grown cold. “Jack was never home. I mean, he was often out all night in addition to being gone during the week working. I questioned him, and he told me some lie which I eagerly accepted because I was afraid he would walk out on me. Subconsciously, I knew he was probably cheating on me, but I would never admit it to myself. He was a smooth liar, that man! Where would I go if he left? Nelda’s? Not on your life.
“Anyway, we had a neighbor back then, a man who lived at the Ansonia, right on Broadway. One day, Lisa must have been about six weeks old, I was walking in the neighborhood with both kids in the stroller, and we stood in front of the pet store on Seventy-Sixth—do you know which one I mean? It’s still there, I’m sure. I see their ads in the Times. I had Brent out of the stroller and his little shoes on the window ledge, looking at the puppies, and someone who worked there came out and started yelling at me to get him down from the window. She scared Brent, and he started crying, which woke Lisa up. So I was on the street with two crying children and really wasn’t handling it well.
“Mr. Hill happened to be taking a walk that morning and saw me struggling. I recognized him from shopping in the neighborhood and a poetry reading I had attended in his building. He took Brent so I could give Lisa a bottle right on the street. We stood talking for at least a half hour.
“‘Let me help you get home,’ he said. I didn’t give it a second thought. The man could have been an ax murderer and I was taking him home with me. But I was so starved for adult conversation that I would have been a willing victim. So we walked back to my apartment together. He was so helpful with the stroller and the children. Then he told me about a project he was working on—a screenplay adaptation of a novel that he really hated, but it was how he paid his bills. He asked if I would be interested in reading parts for him, and I agreed.
“Every afternoon during the week, I would take the children to his apartment in the Ansonia and read the female dialogue for him. He said it helped him. Who knows if it really did? He had a housekeeper who would serve us tea, the kind Alice used to fix here, with all the trimmings. She would tend to the children, and I would read for Mr. Hill. I saw him al
most every afternoon for years.
“Finally, when Brent was in first or second grade, I was just getting ready to leave for the Ansonia when a messenger came with a note from Mr. Hill’s housekeeper. He had died. The day before he was fine; we took turns reading aloud from a book of plays written by women, and we were screaming with laughter it was so much fun!
“So that was that. He was gone. We never, ever touched each other. I don’t even know if I ever addressed his sexuality; he could have been gay, for all I know. But I don’t think so. Oh, I don’t know. What difference does it make now? All I know is that he fed my soul for five years. I had my sister Friday through Sunday, and Mr. Hill Monday through Friday. Jack was sort of superfluous.”
Sandra sat quietly listening, but tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“I guess I’m telling you this because I want you to know that you will find people who will fill the void in your life. It won’t be ideal, but it will stave off loneliness. Mr. Hill was wonderful because he stimulated my mind. I had something to look forward to every day. Because of him, it didn’t make any difference if Jack didn’t come home at night; I even stopped looking for him. I would leave Mr. Hill’s and pick up Brent at school on my way home. It was a joy to prepare dinner for my children. We would eat together, and by the time I got them ready for bed, we were all exhausted. Some nights I would hear Jack sneaking in after midnight. Rarely, he was home by eight. I would fight sleep, and he would get angry with me. ‘What do you do all day that you’re too tired to talk to me?’ he’d ask. Oh, Jack, if you only knew.
“Not long after Mr. Hill died, we moved to Long Island. It was the final disconnection from people for me. It’s truly amazing how you adapt to your situation. Taking care of the family filled my life with meaning. I loved it when the children were teenagers. My house would be filled with kids playing video games all weekend. We’d order pizza from Shore Pizza, and I would take a carload of teenagers to pick it up. They would be laughing and horsing around in the car, and I enjoyed every second of it. My sister would call me whining that she had six eight- year-olds in her house for a birthday party; I would counter with having eight sixteen-year-olds!
“When Brent left for college, both Lisa and I were clinically depressed. It was so lonely. She continued having her friends in every weekend, but we missed the boys. One day in October, she saw a couple of Brent’s friends in town, boys who were going to school locally, and she invited them over. After that, they returned each Saturday night. Brent didn’t mind, he claimed. He said he was jealous. Of course, eventually they found other things to do, and then Lisa went away to school last year.
“Poor Jack, all of my focus was on him. Him and Marie. You’d think I’d have noticed something awry, but I didn’t. I went through life happy and content, living vicariously through everyone else.” Pam stopped. “So that’s the story of my life. One mistake after another. Forgive me for rambling?” she asked. She took a deep breath. “What a sorry excuse for a woman.” In a rare display of self-pity, Pam allowed Sandra to see the complete woman as no one else had.
“Can you take some advice from someone without your life experience?” Sandra asked, smiling at Pam through her tears. She reached out her hand to take Pam’s.
Pam nodded in answer to her.
“Forgive yourself for whatever you perceive yourself to have done wrong. You’re not responsible for Jack, or for Marie. The fruit of your life are those kids of yours. Look at how wonderful they are, how they worship you,” Sandra said. “There is something else I need to talk to you about. I don’t want to hurt you or shock you.”
“Let’s go out in the garden,” Pam said.
Sandra got up and followed her outside. They sat at the glass table in the center of the slate terrace, water features splashing and bubbling so that the sounds of the street were muffled.
Once they were situated, Pam said, “I believe I’ve heard everything, but you might surprise me. Go on.”
“When Bill was in my apartment Friday night, he told me that he and Jack had been lovers. He said Harold forced them to have sex while he watched, but I had the impression that it continued after that. His exact words were, ‘It’s okay between brothers.’ Personally, I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything. But it got me thinking about the source of the HIV. Bill could’ve given it to Jack, or the other way around, in which case he might not know. He would literally rot in prison. There’s always Anne, too.”
Pam was sitting, ramrod straight, with her hands folded on the glass table. There was a large vase of flowers on the table in front of her—summer flowers like peonies, roses, and daisies, many of them drooping over the vase—so that Pam looked as though she were holding a large, gaudy bouquet. What the hell am I supposed to say to this? She didn’t respond. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. She thought for a while, looking at Sandra, then at the flowers.
“Visiting hours are on Wednesday at Rikers. I’m taking Bernice then and will speak to Bill. There’s nothing else we can do but inform him. He may know already. Don’t they test prisoners?” She didn’t know. Suddenly tired of any discussion regarding Jack, she asked Sandra if she was going to get in touch with Tom.
“No,” Sandra said. “I don’t think so. If he doesn’t want to make the effort to be in my life, what can I say to him? Would you call him if you were me?”
“Well, do you like him?” Pam asked. “What do you have to lose?”
Sandra smiled to herself. So like Pam not to answer the question directly. “Yes, I like him. But I like you, too! I hate it that he is making me think about not having you in my life.” Sandra realized that she may be at a crossroads here. Tom hadn’t asked her to break ties with Jack’s family. He knew it was unreasonable to do so. But it was also unreasonable of him to think that he could pretend to be the baby’s father. Someday, the child would have to know the truth. Expecting to wipe out someone’s history wasn’t realistic. Maybe he was embarrassed of her after all, and it was his way of making her acceptable to his family and the world. Now she wondered if she really did like him. It was slightly easier than she imagined wiping him out of her life. She hadn’t gotten attached yet.
“No, I guess I don’t really like him! He can accept me for who I am. It was decent of him to leave because he knew it was asking too much, if we can believe his letter.” Tom Adams can go to hell.
“I think you should try to reason with him,” Pam said. “He doesn’t like either one of us, Marie or me, that’s obvious, but it’s okay. We probably represent stupidity personified to him. Why not call him?” Why am I pushing this? Pam thought. Do I want her occupied with something else? It would certainly help me if we had to lie about the paternity of the child.
Sandra listened to the sound of the water bubbling in the fountain. “I don’t care if I ever see him again,” she said with finality.
Bernice was still sleeping peacefully, and Pam was staring at the sky up over the wall of the garden. The odd trio of women would come together in this way again and again, enjoying the beauty of the mansion in the middle of New York and the luxury of living a charmed life without lifting a finger, thanks to Jack Smith.
Chapter 45
Carolyn Fitzsimmons worked on Jack’s file like a person possessed. It was full of interesting folklore about the area with historical anecdotes. Each section she completed brought more satisfaction than she’d had at work in a very long time. She felt somewhat vindicated; she was older than any of the other women in the office, yet was trusted with an important project the very first day on the job. It had proved to be a Godsend. Life at home with her unhappy husband and aging parents was tolerable now that she was getting some relief at work.
On Monday morning, she arrived at her office before anyone else. A long, narrow table had been set up for her along one wall, and on the surface were ten piles of charts and monographs that related to the individual files. She looked at the organized display with pride. Today she would ask Marie to come in and
would make an informal presentation for her. She, in turn, could take the project back to the client, knowing exactly what it contained.
She sat at her desk and opened the main file box. There were a few stray pieces of paper and one eight-by-eleven manila envelope that she had missed earlier. It wasn’t sealed, so she didn’t think twice about removing the document within. It was composed of several sheets of paper, starting with yellowed typing paper and ending with newer printer paper. Thumbing through the papers, Carolyn realized it was simply a list of women’s names, hundreds of them, the earlier ones with addresses and some with phone numbers, and the last sheet with email addresses. The area codes read like a history of Manhattan phone numbers. She had no idea what the purpose of the list was or if it was related to the file in some way, so she would hand it over to Marie when she came in that day. Marie would know what the significance of the list was. After all, didn’t this file once belong to her late brother-in-law? What was his name? Oh, right! His name was Jack.
<<<<>>>>
Also by Suzanne Jenkins
Don’t You Forget About Me is the second installment of the Pam of Babylon series. Although it may be read as a stand-alone novel, character development is on the continuum of all five books in the series. The following are the Pam of Babylon books, available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon.com. Click the titles to follow the links to Amazon.
#1 Pam of Babylon Long Island housewife Pam Smith is called to the hospital after her husband Jack suffers a heart attack on the train from Manhattan. It is the beginning of a journey of self-discovery and sadness, growth and regrets, as she realizes a wife and mother’s worst nightmare.
#2 Don’t You Forget About Me The family begins to sift through the evidence of a life of deceit, putting together the pieces left behind by Jack.
Don't You Forget About Me: Pam of Babylon Book #2 Page 25