But the meetings aren’t always amusing; they are often a wrenching dissection of the layers of our marriage, of our feelings for each other, of the way we experience each other. As Sarah has coached, we try to stay away from the word “you” as in “YOU ALWAYS MAKE ME FEEL…” And “always,” that’s another one. But it isn’t easy, especially when we’ve kicked down the repeatedly re-hinged door of propriety and are violent with tears, clenched jaws, raised voices. But we’re smashing through our assumptions about each other, digging deep into ourselves and each other and coming up with our eyes open, able to see not just the outfits that clothe us, but inside each other again. And most of the time, after our hour is up, we take a deep breath and throw out our tissues; and when we walk out it feels as if we’ve patched up a piece of our basement. With cement.
May 1996
Greenwich, CT
Allie and Dana pulled up to the enormous white colonial at 7:30, amazed that they were only 30 minutes late after spending what seemed like hours extricating themselves from Matthew’s superhuman grip. After both begging and bribery failed, they finally just pried the two-year-old’s arms off of Allie’s leg and sprinted out the door, amid shrieks from both Matthew and the baby, who at 10 months was uncannily empathetic to Matthew’s distress.
The couple shared a shaky sigh as they were backing down the driveway.
“Wow,” Dana said, his eyes on the rearview mirror. “I thought he liked Heather.”
“He does. He just likes us better.”
Dana digested that for a few minutes—or maybe he thought about work, Allie was never sure these days—and focused on the dark road. The radio sang several songs into the silence.
“You okay?” Dana asked as the DJ came on.
“I’m fine.” She was so drained from their harrowing escape that she didn’t have the energy to think up a topic of conversation. Why is it that when I’m quiet, something’s wrong, but when he’s quiet, it’s normal? They used to have so much to say to each other; anecdotes and opinions used to froth up and over them like the head on a beer that was poured too fast. They could be silent together too, but the silence had been binding, not isolating. She sighed. Then she straightened her shoulders. She’d been excited about tonight. She and Dana hadn’t had much time together lately, and now that they were out, she didn’t want to waste a moment. She pulled down the visor mirror, reapplied her lipstick, and ran her hands through her long, wavy hair.
Dana peeked at her out of the corner of his eye and smiled. “You look nice,” he said as they pulled up to the house.
“Thanks.” Allie snapped the mirror closed. He rarely complimented her anymore. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was usually in a sweatshirt or because he didn’t think she looked good, or maybe didn’t think of her at all. Melancholy swelled up inside her. His small compliment felt like gold, but it also tapped into sadness, a deep yearning, a longing to be close, to be connected. He felt so far away. She felt so alone.
The intense feeling took her by surprise and she turned to look out her window. She didn’t want Dana to see; it felt so out of place on the way to this party. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
After a minute or two, she smoothed down her black crepe pants and turned to him. “Ready?”
————
Dana could feel the mood in the car shift; he sensed her turn away from him, heard her sigh. The sigh seemed to hiss “you’ve let me down, again” and those words slithered through his heart and into his stomach. He assumed she was irritated with him but he certainly wasn’t going to ask about it, as that might throw gasoline on whatever it was. He racked his brain for what he had done wrong. He didn’t know. He’d been busy most of the day and although he could feel some tension between them earlier, he had tried to stay out of the way so they wouldn’t bump heads.
He glanced up at the house they were about to walk into, all his colleagues, his boss, the partners. He needed to be on his game tonight.
He could still feel her sigh in the pit of his stomach.
————
The deep toll of the doorbell echoed off the walls as they were ushered through the front hall and into the formal living room filled with vases of fragrant, bright flowers and a dozen or so lawyers and their fragrant, bright wives. Dana and Allie were sucked into a group near the door, a circle that included their hostess, a thin, powdered woman with a choker of pale pink pearls around her neck. Allie assumed Dorothy had been a bubbly blond debutante 30 years ago; now however, although the bubbles still popped in the exclamation point at the end of each sentence, they resembled the dime-store suds that are forced through a wand, not the champagne effervescence of an 18-year-old.
Okay, stop it. Allie chided herself. You’re feeling awkward with Dana and out of place in this room. It isn’t Dorothy’s fault. She looked at Dana. Did he feel it too? She wasn’t sure.
She needed to shake her mood, and she was desperate for a glass of wine, as much for something to hold as for something to drink. She slid her hands in her pockets and sized up the crowd. She recognized a few faces—Charlotte and Frank would be good for a few laughs, she’d avoid Nancy for fear of being lured into a corner and bored to death. And hooray, there was Hannah.
Her eyes settled back onto Dana, one of the young stars in the room. She knew it was his hard work that had opened the door to this high-powered group in the office and subsequently at this gathering. She watched him, absorbed him for a moment—his earnest smile, the way he spoke without hesitation and without bulldozing, the way he gestured with his hands when he was energized. A powerful synthesis of pride and love washed over her, and she reached down and squeezed his hand. He glanced down at her with a fleeting public smile, and then turned back to the group.
Dorothy tapped her fingers to her pearls and said, “Oh, I haven’t offered you two a drink!” She flapped her hand at a young girl carrying a silver tray and weaving her way through the knots of people.
“This is my daughter, Courtney,” Dorothy said as the girl scurried over.
Courtney flashed her silver braces. “May I get you a cocktail?”
Allie examined Courtney for some sign that she was annoyed at being sold into servitude, but saw none. “I’d love a glass of chardonnay, thanks.”
Dana opted for scotch. Allie snuck a glance at him. Scotch?
“Allie darling, you look fabulous!” Dorothy said as Courtney pirouetted away. “I can’t believe you have two small kids. Dana, you’re a lucky man.”
Allie bit back a crack to Dana about his luck and focused on Dorothy. “Little kids are easy. You’re dealing with teenagers. Now that’s a job.” She watched Dorothy’s smile spread as she continued, “Courtney’s lovely. How old is she?”
“14, the baby if you can believe it. Grace, who’s not here, is 16. She’s our tricky one. And then Adam,” Dorothy turned towards the bar and exhaled as if life drained out of her, “is off to college in August. We’re letting him tend bar tonight.”
“I can’t imagine Matthew tending bar, much less going to college.” Allie party-smiled at Dana.
“It’ll be here before you know it.” Dorothy shook her head. “Excuse me.” She breezed away to greet another couple.
Allie sipped the wine that Courtney had delivered with a smile just short of a curtsey, and thought that after this glass of wine, she should call and check in with the sitter. She tuned back into Dana—who was dissecting a case with the other men in the circle—and inserted suitable exclamations to a story she’d heard several times. Finally, as her negligibility became obvious—at least to her—she wandered out into the party. Her final destination was Hannah, but as she was on the far side of the room, Allie braced herself for pit stops along the way; it wouldn’t do to make a beeline through the throng. She slid into a group of four.
“How are you, dear?” Susan, a woman with short gray hair, smiled
at Allie. She was married to senior partner Henry Drake, and as such, was the assumed matriarch of the firm. Allie knew they had grandchildren and thought briefly that she should ask her how they made their long marriage work. She realized she’d never had anyone to ask before.
“We’re great.” She flashed a smile she didn’t quite feel. “It’s good to see you all again. Hi, I’m Allie.” She extended her hand to the one woman in the circle she hadn’t met: a tall, stunning brunette. Several compliments lined up on Allie’s tongue—the wave of this woman’s hair, the flawless cut of her turquois dress—but she swallowed them back down. Something told her it wasn’t appropriate.
“June.”
Allie tried not to stare at June’s enormous diamond ring as they shook hands. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Dana talks about Jim all the time; he enjoys working with him.” This wasn’t exactly true, but she was hoping to pump some warmth into June’s cool demeanor.
June blinked, as if reorienting herself to the conversation. “Thanks. Yes, I’ve heard about Dana too.”
There was an awkward silence and Susan waved Courtney over.
“Oh June,” a sleek blonde named Katherine tentatively said. “I heard that Jim just got the Clayton case.”
“He did.” June smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. “He’s been working incredibly hard; in fact, we postponed our vacation to Bermuda.” She turned to Susan and plugged for her husband. “I think he was happy not to go, he’d rather be working.”
“Good for him, he deserves the case.” Susan patted June on the arm. “Just make sure you get that Bermuda trip.”
Allie got the feeling that all these women were being careful with June. She guessed that along with June’s style and obvious money, she had a lot of social power. And maybe not in a good way.
“How are your kids, Allie?” asked Margaret, a woman in a hot pink dress.
“Asleep, I hope.”
“I’m so glad I’m done with the toddler years. Honestly, I don’t know how you get through the day. Even with a nanny, I barely made it,” Margaret said.
“Some days are longer than others.” Allie smiled.
June excused herself, and there was a momentary silence in the hole of her absence.
Allie peered around the room. Dana was deep in conversation with one of his colleagues, so she edged as gracefully as she could out of the circle and continued to make her way through the room towards Hannah. Along the way, she merged into small groups of women and chatted briefly. Each conversation was similar—perfunctory questions or comments about the kids, spouses, or someone at the firm, or perhaps a compliment on an outfit or accessory.
Finally, she reached her friend. Hannah was dressed just to the provocative side of tasteful tonight, wearing long, swingy white silk pants and a white halter, under which she was notably braless. Her wildly curly, dark blond hair was loose and hung to the middle of her back. As Allie approached, Hannah wrapped up her conversation with Bob Crabtree, one of the partners, with a kiss on the cheek that was just a twitch away from his lips.
“Aren’t we the minimalist couple amid all this color,” Hannah said. She hugged Allie; unusual in this room of work relationships.
Allie stepped back to eye their monotone outfits. “Mine was intentional. Black hides the baby weight.”
“I wonder what it says about us that we’re devoid of color amid this tropical rainforest.”
“We’re scared colorless?”
“Scared?” Hannah laughed. “Of what?”
“Have you seen the cast of characters in here?”
“Well I know you have; I saw your slow dance across the room. Were you campaigning?”
“Maybe, although I don’t think I was getting a lot of votes. I can’t tell if they just don’t like me or what.” She smiled. “I guess I was hoping to crack the ice a little.”
“You’ll get there. Hey, if they’ve warmed up to me… Now they actually talk to me instead of just behind my back.”
Allie didn’t know what to say. Hannah laughed again.
“Come on, this group? Even if I didn’t know what they were saying, I could guess. Greg’s handsome, a partner on his second marriage, a much younger wife, no kids. I’m sure there’s imagined scandal in there. Greg and I have given them fodder for years.”
Allie nodded.
“I have to admit, I like to egg them on.” Hannah leaned in. “My lack of an undergarment must be a great conversation starter out there.” She smirked.
Allie laughed. “It definitely saves them from talking about themselves.”
“Oh no, that’s taboo. It’s a cocktail party, and a work one at that. We’re all trying to be sparkling and pretty. No tarnish allowed.”
Allie nodded. “Even ‘how are your kids’—which could be loaded with lots of dirty laundry—it’s all wonderful and shiny.”
“These parties take practice. It’s like skating really, gliding along on Waterford crystal, trying to avoid the thin ice.”
“I must be drinking the Kool Aid. A little while ago, someone asked me how I was, and I said, ‘we’re great.’ We’re. As soon as it came out of my mouth I wanted to shove it back in, but no one blinked.”
“That’s one slip of the tongue I don’t have to worry about.” Hannah paused, sipped her drink. “I think the ‘do you work’ question has the most landmines.”
“But no one asks it anymore. Because if the answer is no, then the whole group’s embarrassed, as if they’ve just denigrated Motherhood. And you feel defensive, like they’ve just asked if you’re a Useful Person and you’ve answered no, and there’s a rush to fill the awkwardness with a list of everything that keeps you busy all day.”
“You’ve thought about this.” Hannah smiled.
“One of the many things I do all day.” Allie’s eyes twinkled.
“Deflection is the name of the game. Admire me, applaud me, but don’t really ask—certainly not at a party like this. But not with your good friends, not with Dana, right?”
Allie was quiet for a moment.
“How is that cute husband of yours?” Hannah said.
“Good, busy. He puts in a lot of hours.”
“Sounds familiar.” Hannah sighed. “You okay?”
“I’m busy too. The kids keep me on my toes.”
“I knew there was a reason I don’t have any.” Hannah’s eyes were fleetingly sad. As if to cover it up she grinned and said, “And what about after hours?”
“You’re looking at it.” Allie waved her hand in Dana’s direction. “Opposite sides of the room.” She sipped her wine.
“Hopefully you’re getting out with your friends.”
It had been quite a while, Allie realized. The garbled noise of a hundred conversations filled the space between them.
“So did you pick up any interesting news while you were making your rounds?”
“Other than your halter?” Allie grinned.
Hannah turned and accepted a merlot from Courtney. “How’s June holding up?”
“Jim’s wife? With the enormous ring? I just met her.” Allie tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. “She was pretty cold. Her polish was so thick I thought it might crack if she smiled.”
Hannah didn’t say anything.
“What’d you mean ‘holding up?’” Allie said.
“Her son died last year in a drunk-driving accident.”
Allie’s hand flew to her mouth.
Someone across the room laughed loudly.
“I think the coldness you saw is paralysis,” Hannah said. “The polish is protective.”
A deep wave of melancholy rolled through Allie. “That poor woman.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“She’s really funny, razor-sharp funny, and nice. But I can’t imagine she finds much funny now.” Hannah
swirled the red wine in her glass. “I worry about her. I know all about suiting up for events, or suiting down.” Hannah smiled and adjusted the strap of her halter. “But I make sure I have a place where I can take the suit off, be real.”
Allie avoided Hannah’s gaze by scanning the crowd. Dana was across the room, a stranger in a clump of navy blazers. She hadn’t seen Megan in weeks. She suddenly felt queasy. When was the last time I checked my suit at the door?
She smiled for Hannah. “Thanks for the life lesson; now I’m thoroughly depressed.”
“Anytime. Now let’s go outside and have a cigarette, and you can regale me with tales of your kids, or Dana, or yourself if you dare.” Hannah’s eyes twinkled.
Allie zeroed in on Dana once more. He was still deep in conversation and had not, to her knowledge, even looked around for her. Then she stepped outside with Hannah to tell her a funny story about someone else.
————
Much later that night, on the car ride home, the passing streetlights gently stroked the silence in the front seat. Allie was warm and woozy from the wine, and introspective in the way the right amount of alcohol and circumstance can render. Dana was quiet as well, perhaps all talked out from discussions with colleagues. As they drove down the familiar streets toward their house, the bright lights and chatter from the party slipped under the tires along with the gritty asphalt underneath them, and the dark gulf between the two front seats yawned, enormous and unbridgeable. Allie stared out the window into the black night and thought that there wasn’t a car big enough to encase the separateness between them right now.
————
The next Friday night, Tess had a decision to make. Close her eyes and drift off to sleep or break a sweat struggling to get off the couch. Unfortunately, the nap was a pipe dream. She planted both arms behind her and rocked front to back, building up enough momentum so that she could tip into a standing position. She laughed at herself—a noise that burped out into the quiet house—and walked, or rather waddled up the stairs.
She tried to ignore the mirror as she undressed, but she caught a glimpse of herself anyway. Hard to avoid; I fill up the whole room. Her belly had swollen so much that it now served as a shelf for her huge breasts, and her belly button had vanished; in fact, all excess skin had been called upon to stretch tightly over the 50-plus pounds she had gained. Early in her pregnancy, she had tried to stick to vegetables and grilled chicken, but she had been so ravenous that after the second month she just threw up her hands. And of course she craved anything laden with excess fat and packing zero nutritional value: mayonnaise, French fries, potato chips, or absolutely anything chocolate.
The Truth Is a Theory Page 24