“I’ll tell you what,” said Maxine. “Why don’t I give him a ring? He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my number. So if he’s there, he’ll answer.”
“He’s not going to answer for you,” Katie shouted. “Why would he answer for you and not for me?”
“I’m just saying, so we can rule things out.”
“Fine! So call him!”
Katie hung up and waited. One minute later, Maxine called back.
“Katie? Listen, I’m coming over there.”
“What? What happened?”
“Katie, he answered. He answered the phone.”
“I don’t understand, Maxine,” cried Katie as Maxine cradled her in her arms. “I just don’t understand.”
“Me neither,” said Maxine. “It’s … it’s inexplicable. This happens to women. I know. I’ve heard of it before. Men who seem totally in love, and then nothing. They simply stop calling.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” said Katie.
“Well, I have. It happens. And no one has ever figured out why. We’ll never know what happened with Ed.”
“No!” said Katie, pulling away from Maxine. “I’m not letting this go. I’m going to find out what happened.”
By the time Maxine left at around eight o’clock in the evening, Katie had finally stopped crying. She took a shower, got dressed, and put ice packs on her eyes. Then she drove to Ed’s house.
Ed’s car was sitting in the driveway, and the light on the front porch was on. Instead of knocking or ringing the bell, Katie decided to use the key that Ed had given her weeks before. As she opened the door and walked in quietly, she had no idea what she was going to say or do. She wasn’t scared and she wasn’t ashamed. She was simply there to find out the truth.
The house was quiet and dark, but Katie could hear music coming from upstairs. As she climbed the steps, she imagined what Ed’s reaction might be when he saw her. Certainly he would be surprised. Would he be sorry? Regretful? Angry? She hadn’t thought about the possibility of anger, that perhaps he might hurt her. She realized that she didn’t really know this man the way she thought she did, didn’t know what he was capable of. She imagined that if Maxine knew what she was doing she’d be furious at her, but she kept going nonetheless.
At the top of the stairs, Katie could see that Ed’s bedroom door was open and there was a light on. She tiptoed to the doorway and looked inside.
On the bed she saw the back of a woman with a mess of brassy, fake red hair, her plump white ass in the air, with Ed’s hairy pink legs sticking out from under her.
After taking in the vision, Katie immediately turned away, tiptoed downstairs, and walked out the front door. She ran to her car and sped away. And as she drove, holding back her tears, telling herself to wait until she was safe at home, she had the dizzying sensation that she was living somebody else’s life—somebody one might find on an episode of Jerry Springer.
Chapter Seven
Maxine was shocked when Katie told her what she had done, but she also couldn’t help but admire her friend for her bravery, her willingness to face the truth, whatever it was. It had been months since Maxine first discovered that Jake was texting Deirdre, and she still had done nothing about it. She convinced herself that there was nothing to do, that it was all probably completely innocent, that if she was to say something to Jake she would be making a fool of herself. Nor would she allow herself to investigate further by looking at the messages or snooping through his emails, since that would irreparably break the trust between them.
Rather than making her distrust Jake, the whole Ed incident made Maxine believe in Jake all the more. She couldn’t imagine that the man she’d been with all those years would be capable of something like that. Maxine had to believe in Jake, had to believe in their marriage, because that’s all she had.
Still, she had to admit that her marriage was in trouble. Not having sex was not okay. So she decided if she could fix the sex part, maybe everything else would fall into place.
Engineering a night alone with her husband was not easy with three kids, a full-time nanny, and the ever-present chance that Jake would get called in for an emergency. But Maxine succeeded valiantly, carting the kids off to various friends’ houses, giving Cindy the nanny the night off, and conferring with Jake’s partners to ensure they could cover for him in case something came up.
It had been a long time since Maxine had tried to seduce Jake, but she remembered what the key ingredients had to be. First was the lighting. Jake was probably the only physician west of the Mississippi who personally supervised the decorating and lighting design of his waiting room. He couldn’t stand stark overhead lights, except of course in the operating room, and was particularly keen on candles. So Maxine filled the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom with candles, the unscented kind so they wouldn’t bother Jake’s allergies.
Second was the food. Jake was partial to French food, particularly dishes containing an animal or a body part that wasn’t routinely consumed by human beings, such as snails, frogs, lamb pancreas, and cow intestines. Not having the stomach for personally cooking such things but being perfectly willing to eat them, Maxine ordered from a nearby French restaurant, which was Jake’s favorite.
Last was Maxine’s attire. She debated whether she should wear a dress—something slinky and sexy and red, Jake’s favorite—or whether she should skip the preliminaries and go right for the lingerie—also something slinky and sexy and red. She decided on a red silk low-cut top with jeans and heels, in hopes of looking ready—but not overly eager—for sex.
One of the great advantages of being married was not having to endure the awkwardness, embarrassment, or rejection that occurred mainly in newly budding romances. Married couples were so well attuned to each other’s needs and desires that the oft-quoted line, “Not tonight, honey, I have a headache,” was seldom uttered. It was usually more like: “Yes, I know you have a headache, I know you’re in a crappy mood, and I know that you’d much prefer watching a rerun of Friends to having sex with me.” Those married men and women who were willing to ignore all signals and urge their partner to put out, knowing full well they didn’t want to in the least, were so used to the constant refusals that the rejection didn’t really hurt them anymore.
Maxine decided that one of the reasons she and Jake had gone so long without sex was that she had always refused to put herself out and risk rejection. If the subtlest of gestures—a brush against his thigh, an extra button undone on her blouse—didn’t work, she would back off before Jake got the idea she was interested in something he might not be willing to give. Maxine realized that would no longer work. So she decided to pull out all the stops, to make it clear to Jake exactly what she wanted and deal with whatever his reaction might be.
When Maxine heard Jake’s car enter the garage, she made sure she was casually but attractively perched on a kitchen stool, her face lit by a candle, a glass of red wine on the counter, the latest New Yorker open in front of her.
“Hey there, beautiful,” said Jake as he walked in. Jake had a way of saying such things routinely, so tonight, when Maxine truly did feel beautiful, hearing it was a disappointment.
“Hi!” said Maxine with a smile, intent on keeping the mood happy and light.
“No kids, huh? What’s the occasion?”
Maxine had considered making something up, telling Jake this was the anniversary of their first kiss or something, but then she decided to go with the truth. “No occasion. It’s been a while since we’ve been alone. I thought it would be nice.”
“It is nice,” said Jake, giving Maxine a friendly kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“Escargot, sweetbreads, and crème brûlée for dessert.”
“Wow! Come on, what’s going on? Did you wreck the car or something?” Jake asked, smiling and wrapping his arms around Maxine from behind.
With Jake’s body pressed against hers, his warm breath on her neck, Maxine suddenly fe
lt foolish for ever doubting him. “No, I didn’t wreck the car. I just wanted to do something special for you.”
“You’re the best, Maxine,” he said, squeezing her tight and kissing her on the top of her head. “Come on, let’s eat!”
Maxine was actually a little nervous as they sat down to dinner, wondering if they could hold a real conversation without resorting to the topic of their children. But after a glass of wine and a few bites of escargot, she and Jake were eager to catch up on all that was going on in their lives. Jake told her about an article he was writing for a medical journal about ulcerative colitis. Maxine told Jake about her show in Los Angeles that was opening next month. They talked about the upcoming midterm election, about a documentary Jake had seen on capital punishment, about their need to decrease the family’s carbon footprint. They both lamented the fact that they hadn’t taken a trip abroad in a long time and threw out ideas for places they wanted to go, like Egypt, Peru, and New Zealand. Maxine marveled at how energized she felt, how a single, intimate meal could do so much to reinvigorate her marriage. Best of all, she could tell that Jake felt the same way. He, too, had a sparkle in his eye and an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t seen or heard in a long time.
Maxine brought out a special bottle of cognac and led Jake to the couch for a drink. At first they sat a good three feet apart, still talking about their grand plans for the future. Then Maxine moved in close. She took Jake’s drink out of his hand and set both glasses down on the coffee table. She turned back to him and leaned in for a kiss. It was a nice, long, languorous kiss, tender and gentle, not urgent and passionate. Maxine pulled away and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” said Jake.
Still looking in Jake’s eyes, Maxine reached over and undid his pants. She put her hand inside and leaned in for another kiss. As she massaged Jake through his underwear, Maxine thought back to the way this process used to work in the past. As best as she could remember, after two long kisses and some firm massaging, Jake was usually ready to go. But now nothing was happening. She kept working away, but after a few minutes she started to feel foolish. It was like trying to start a car with a dead battery, repeatedly twisting the key but hearing only the defeated wheezing and sputtering of an engine that wouldn’t turn over.
All the while, Jake sat calm and placid, content to allow Maxine to continue for as long as she wanted. But then, perhaps sensing her frustration, he said, “I think I’m tired, honey. Maybe we should just go to bed.”
“Just go to bed?” asked Maxine, backing away and looking at him incredulously. “We always just go to bed. This is not normal, Jake.”
“Maxine—”
“No, Jake! We have to deal with this. We don’t have sex. Not normal.”
“Maxine. We’re tired. We’re busy. We have kids. It’s very normal.”
“Not this long. People find a way,” said Maxine. “Look! Right now. We can do it right now, and we’re not!”
“I had a long, hard day and I’m tired,” said Jake. “Then we had a big meal, a bottle of wine, cognac.”
“So? Some people get turned on by good food and wine. You used to!”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, Maxine. Sometimes … it just doesn’t work. I can’t get it up.”
“Really? And what about Deirdre? Can you get it up for her?” The words came out in a rush, as if they had been waiting to come out for weeks.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” said Maxine, even though she wasn’t at all sure herself.
“No, Maxine, I don’t.”
“I’m saying that I think you and Deirdre are having an affair.”
“Are you crazy?” said Jake, looking at Maxine in complete disbelief.
“I saw your text messages,” she blurted.
“You read my text messages?”
“No, I saw … accidentally … a list … all from Deirdre!”
“And did you read any of them?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.”
“You wouldn’t. Great. So you see a list and make assumptions,” said Jake, regaining his calm. “Well, maybe if you had read them, you’d see that they are completely innocent.”
“Why are you texting her?”
“Because that’s the way she likes to communicate! She’s young—”
“Yes, very.”
“And she prefers texting. So we text.”
“About what?”
“About patients!”
“Really,” said Maxine sarcastically. Since when do doctors consult each other via texting? she thought.
“Yes, really.” Jake pulled his BlackBerry out of his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to Maxine. “Why don’t you read them?”
Maxine took the phone and clicked on a message randomly. “IBS” was all it said. Completely ignorant of the secret language of texting, Maxine wondered what IBS could possibly mean. I be sad? I be sleepy? I be sexy?
“IBS,” she said angrily, pretending that she knew exactly what that meant and had caught him in the act.
“Right,” said Jake. “Irritable bowel syndrome. Next?”
Frustrated, Maxine threw the phone into Jake’s lap. “Just leave me alone, Jake,” she said.
She climbed the stairs, went into her oldest daughter Abby’s room, and threw herself on the bed facedown. More than anything, she wished she and Jake were not alone in the house. She thought about going and collecting her children from their various sleepovers and installing them in their rooms but quickly realized she couldn’t do that at midnight.
Of course Jake had a logical explanation for his texts with Deirdre, thought Maxine. He had a logical explanation for everything. He was a doctor, after all. So rational and logical. It made Maxine sick. Deep down, she felt that all the explanations about why they didn’t have sex and why he was heavily texting a gorgeous, young, brilliant colleague were covering up what was really wrong with their marriage. Maxine had always thought of herself as smart and perceptive and intuitive, but she couldn’t figure this one out. Jake was stonewalling her, thought Maxine. He was hiding something. Now she was finally ready to find out what it was.
Maxine and Jake almost never fought, and in their twenty years together, they had never slept in separate beds while under the same roof. But after that night, Maxine could not bring herself to sleep next to Jake. So after the kids went to bed, she closed herself in her studio to work and fell asleep on the futon in the corner. When the kids asked why she was sleeping in her studio, she told them she had to work late for a new exhibit and didn’t want to wake up Daddy when she came to bed in the middle of the night.
Rather than working, Maxine spent most of her time on the computer, perusing her favorite gossip sites, paying particular attention to the articles about cheating spouses. She noticed how whenever a “news” outlet reported that a star was having an affair, a vociferous denial always followed, with a representative assuring everyone that the star was still happy and devoted to their partner. Then weeks, even months later, it would eventually come out that the cheating really did happen and the star really was leaving their beloved. Maxine couldn’t understand why people needed to prolong the inevitable, why they needed to deny the truth. She figured that when someone was caught cheating, it was simply human nature to leap to one’s own defense and fight the charges.
For that reason, she concluded that Jake’s denial was completely meaningless. And so she decided to take her investigation elsewhere, to the other source of the possible affair: Deirdre.
Maxine knew that Jake and his colleagues frequented a particular coffee shop when they needed a break, so one morning she took her computer there and sat down, determined to wait until Deirdre showed up. She chose a day when she knew Jake had back-to-back surgeries, but she didn’t care if he did walk in. She no longer cared what Jake thought.
After four hours, Deirdre finally arrived at one o’clock. She ordered a coffee a
nd a sandwich and sat down at a table near the door without even noticing Maxine.
Deirdre was the kind of woman who could wear the most boring clothes—beige slacks, a white shirt, black pumps—and still look glamorous. Her shoulder-length blond hair was cut straight across, with no particular style, but it was thick and shiny and had a natural bounce whenever she moved her head. She wore no discernible makeup. Her eyes had such a lovely shape and her skin was so luminous that mascara or blush would have been a distraction.
Maxine packed up her computer as if she was leaving and headed toward Deirdre’s table. “Deirdre?”
“Hi, Maxine! How are you?”
“I’m great! Came in to do a little work on my computer.”
“Are you here to see Jake? I think he’s in surgery.”
“Oh, no. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d hang out for a while before I get the kids from school. Sometimes I need to get out of my studio, you know what I mean? Well, I guess you don’t really know what I mean, since you don’t work in a studio. Although maybe you do. Don’t tell me painting is another of your many hidden talents!” Maxine knew she sounded like a babbling idiot, but wasn’t quite sure how to stop.
“No, I’m no artist,” said Deirdre, seemingly unfazed by Maxine’s rambling. “By the way, I went to see your show at the Red Gallery a couple weeks ago. It was amazing.”
Maxine thought it strange that Deirdre would take the time to go to her show. Was she checking out the competition? “That’s so nice of you to go see it.”
“Oh, I love that stuff. I wish I took advantage of the culture in this city more often.”
“Who’d you go with?” Maxine regretted the question the moment it came out, especially when she saw Deirdre’s confused look. But, she thought, isn’t that why I’m here, to ask the tough questions? For the first time, Maxine wondered what exactly she hoped to learn from Deirdre. Did she think there would be a confession?
“I went with a friend,” answered Deirdre.
“I know how hard it is to make friends in a new city,” said Maxine. Without waiting for an invitation, she pulled out the empty chair across from Deirdre and sat down. “I’m glad you’re meeting people.”
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