The Wife of Reilly

by Jennifer Coburn

  “Holding!” he shouted angrily at the television. He would stay parked in his chair until the absolute last possible moment before the meal. Often, I thought we should give him his silverware while he was still sitting so he could just run to the table, holding his fork and knife above his head when the plates hit the table.

  Reilly looked around the house, noticing every new souvenir my mother had picked up from her travels. How could the man notice an ornamental plate hanging in the foyer, yet be completely unaware that I was having an affair? “Beverly, we brought you some pumpkin pies from that bakery near our place,” Reilly told Mom. What I loved about Reilly was also what I hated. He was just so damn nice.

  “You kids are too good to me,” she said, taking the pies into the kitchen. Mom can never just say “thank you” when people extend themselves for her. She always carries on about how it’s too much, we’re too good, she doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes I just want to shout, “Shut the fuck up and eat the damn pie!”

  Do I have any pills to help take the edge off? I am going to hurt someone very soon. Wine on table. Must pour.

  Mom and Wally’s home is decorated in early American, with a spinning wheel in the living room and a large oak grandfather clock in the corner. The couch and love seat are striped and the walls are cluttered with family photos and sketches of animals.

  Mother is so animated, her voice sounds like a dainty little minuet being played on the piano. Wally, however, sounds like one low note plunking down every so often. If a ballet company were asked to interpret the relationship, the performance would start out with a lovely little dancer twirling, leaping around the stage before someone dropped a dead cow from the rafters.

  “So, Prudence tells me you were in Amsterdam recently, Reilly. Then it’s off to Tokyo?” Mom asked. “Wally and I are planning a trip to Hong Kong soon, isn’t that right, dear?”

  “Yep,” Wally answered.

  “Yes, unfortunately most of my time is spent locked up in a hotel meeting room somewhere, so I don’t get to see much of the culture,” Reilly said.

  “Oh please,” I slurred.

  All eyes turned to me. Except, of course, for Wally, who had more urgent matters to deal with. “Yams please.”

  I passed Wally his yams and continued. “You’re so full of shit, Reilly. Who are you kidding here? You want to enjoy the culture? Please! I’ve been begging you to go to Italy for eleven freaking years, but you’d rather go to Aruba because you’ve already seen the inside of the conference room in the Rome Hilton. Let’s just have a bullshit-free holiday, shall we?”

  Mom tried to keep an everything-is-normal expression on her face, but anyone could see she was thrown off by my drunken confrontation. After a moment of contemplation, Mom decided to continue on the topic of travel. Undaunted, she continued. “Wally and I haven’t been to Italy in years. We were just talking about what a magical place Florence is.”

  That sounds just like something Wally would say, too.

  On the train ride home, Reilly asked me if I wanted to take a trip to Italy this summer. I will be taking a trip to Italy this summer, I sniped silently before realizing that I had exceeded my own capacity for horrible that day.

  “I’m sorry about that scene I made back at Mom and Wally’s,” I said. “It was just the wine talking. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “In vino verite,” he said.

  How can I be such a bitch to a guy that forgives me in Latin? I am a very, very bad person.

  * * *

  The next week, I had my eye surgery after Reilly left for a short trip to Washington to testify before a Congressional committee meeting about a proposed House bill that could affect his clients. A small group of business experts was asked to support an amendment introduced by a Congressman who has an interest in the financial service industry.

  I didn’t even tell Reilly about my lid lift.

  Jennifer and I entered Dr. Kaplan’s office and announced my arrival to the megaphone of a receptionist. Jen just shot her a glare as if to say, “Fuck with her, you’re dealing with me.”

  “Good morning, Miss Malone,” the receptionist said softly, glancing over to Jennifer for approval. “Dr. Kaplan will be right with you.”

  They had a silent conversation with their facial expressions.

  “Was that okay?” the receptionist’s forehead asked.

  “Fine. Keep the volume in check and we won’t have any problems,” Jennifer’s eyes and lips answered.

  In the procedure room, Nurse Sylvia put a needle in my vein and asked me to breathe deeply into a gas mask. “You’ll be out in about ten seconds,” she assured me. “Your lips look very sexy, by the way.”

  Chapter 15

  Weeks passed and finally it was time for Matt’s visit to New York. “Okay, he’s gone,” I said into the phone like a secret agent on Mission Impossible. Reilly’s taxi had turned the corner to take him to the airport. For the next ten days, my husband was Japan’s problem. Matt’s plane from Los Angeles was due in exactly five hours and forty-three minutes.

  Chad answered my call in a no-nonsense manner. “Give him fifteen minutes to clear the area. By that time he’ll be on the Expressway and won’t turn back for anything he may have left behind.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. “Are you and Daniel coming up soon?”

  “Give us fifteen minutes,” he said. “Prudence, you do know your marriage is going to self-destruct in five minutes, don’t you?”

  “Chad, it’s been over for weeks. You know that.”

  “I know, but I want to be sure you understand what you are doing, love.”

  “Chad, why would I start now? Just come upstairs when you guys are ready to start packing up Reilly’s things.”

  Daniel had a criminal mind. “Have you forwarded the house phone to your cell?” he asked.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Hello,” Daniel said. “In case Reilly calls while you and the sunflower god are otherwise engaged. Or what about if he leaves a message on the machine? Jesus Lord, Prudence, think!” He also suggested we make a map of where Reilly’s clothes were left in his closets and drawers, so we could return everything to its place.

  “Have you forwarded his mail?” Daniel inquired.

  “I am not at all comfortable with how good you are at this,” Chad teased.

  Daniel was not distracted. “Just his mail, not yours, right? It will look strange if there’s no mail for you the whole week Matt’s here.” Daniel flung Reilly’s closet door open like he was a drill sergeant doing a spot check. “This is just the kind of thing that could get you busted, Prudence,” Daniel said, pointing at Reilly’s shoes. “Make sure you take note of all these details, or Reilly will come back wondering why his shoes are facing outward instead of in, or why his shirts are hanging where his pants are supposed to be.”

  I thought about Daniel’s suggestion for a moment. “Okay, I’m with you on the phone thing,” I began. “And the mail is a good one too, but I assure you that no straight man is ever going to remember which direction his shoes are facing. I could put them in the freezer and I guarantee you he wouldn’t give it a second thought.”

  “Well, Miss Smarty Puss,” Chad defended his partner in crime. “How ’bout taking off your wedding ring?”

  “Shit!” I said. I slipped off my ring and was horrified that a white mark was wrapped around my finger.

  “Ring line?” Chad asked knowingly.

  “Yeah,” I panicked.

  “Not to worry,” he said, walking me into the bathroom and pointing at my toothbrush. He began brushing the area where my wedding band had left a mark. “Adultery 101, love. Take the class,” he said as he lightly scrubbed away at the evidence. “For the record, I completely disapprove of this, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Duly noted,” I said. “Now keep scrubbing.”

  Jennifer arrived about a half-hour later and helped move boxes of Reilly’s suits and sundries down to the gallery. His toothbr
ush, prescription drugs, bathrobe and men’s magazines were packed and deported. Jennifer did a final inspection before she took the vodka from the freezer and mixed screwdrivers for everyone.

  “Good work, everyone,” she commended. “When do we get to meet Matt?”

  “I thought I’d let him get used to New York first and not overwhelm him right away,” I explained. They agreed to give us two days alone, but after that Matt became public domain.

  “Let’s all go skating Tuesday night.” Chad suggested. “You should have seen Sophie last week. That girl has some moves. She looked pretty cool until they lit up the tree and, good Lord,” Chad said, resting his hands in his face, laughing.

  “What?” Jennifer urged. “What’d she do?”

  Chad imitated Sophie by opening his eyes wide and placing his open palms on his cheeks like the little boy on the Home Alone movie poster. “We have got to jade that child. I’ll give her this, though, first time on the ice and she was getting into it.” He stood up and started shaking his hips a bit, and holding his arms over his head.

  “I don’t know how to skate,” I reminded Chad.

  “Even better,” he said. “Think about how manly Matt will feel picking you up off the ice. Poor little damsel in distress. Oh come on, it’ll be fun. He’s not interested in you for your athletic abilities.”

  “Says you.”

  Before I knew it, it was time to catch a cab to the airport to meet Matt. On the drive to Kennedy, I panicked at the thought that Reilly’s flight may have been delayed and he would be lingering around the airport and see Matt and me. When I remembered that international flights leave from a different terminal than domestic ones, I was somewhat relieved, though not entirely convinced that such a run-in was impossible.

  It would serve you right, Guilt said. You’d be getting exactly what you deserved if Reilly caught you and divorced you on the spot at the Do-It-Yourself Divorce Internet kiosk. Then Matt would get back on a plane to California and dump you too just like he did after college.

  When I saw Matt getting off the airplane, I nearly leapt twenty feet into his arms. I saw him before he noticed me standing at the gate, so I got to enjoy watching the three phases of Matt. Phase One: Matt unaware he is being watched. I could observe the mannerisms that even he didn’t know he had. The way he adjusts his luggage strap on his shoulder. How he moves his head to get a piece of hair away from his eyes. When he says, “Hey. Enjoy New York” to the guy that probably sat next to him on the flight. Phase Two: The moment Matt sees me standing at the gate. The way his face changes upon seeing mine. (I could watch his mouth go from neutral to smiling in slow motion several hundred times without ever growing tired of the sight.) How he lifts his chin just about an inch to say “There you are.” The way his speed picks up just a bit. Phase Three: Matt is completely with me. The thrill of realizing that he is smiling at me. The overwhelming panic of knowing that the only reason he is in New York is to see me. The terror of hoping I can live up to his expectations.

  Matt walked off the plane in super faded jeans, a blue button-down business shirt and a worn-in brown leather bomber jacket. He carried a single canvas carry-on bag and said he hadn’t checked any luggage.

  “Malone,” he said as if it were an entire sentence. Then he hugged me, picking me off the airport carpet and twirling me 180 degrees.

  God I love this man.

  “Hey,” I said, unable to stop smiling. “How was your flight?”

  “I’m here,” he said. “You look awesome, Malone.”

  We both wore ridiculous grins on the entire cab ride home, then raced each other up the stairs to the loft. During our first two days of Matt’s visit, we left the apartment only once to stock up on groceries. By Tuesday, Matt had bonded so well with the Chinese delivery guy from the new carry-out place that the two of them were on a first name basis. Lin recognized Matt’s voice and even made recommendations on daily specials.

  As Matt foraged through the refrigerator wrapped in nothing but my bed sheet, I checked my voice mail. I watched him lean into the cold light, lifting boxes and jars, reading the ingredients listed on the back. Three messages from Reilly, one from Jennifer and one from Reilly’s mother. I had to hang up when I heard her voice. Her “Hi Kids” greeting made me feel as though I were cheating on her too. I hoped she didn’t call when Matt and I were in bed, though odds were pretty heavily in favor of it.

  “Hi, this is Prudence. I’m not able to take your call right now because I’m having wild sex with a man who is not your son,” Guilt poked. Then twisted. “If you leave a message, I’ll try to squeeze you in between blow jobs and naked Dim Sum. Beep.”

  On Tuesday morning, Chad and Daniel knocked on the door to remind us that they planned a skating excursion with everyone. “Malone, you never said anything about going ice skating,” Matt said. “Hey,” he held out his hand. “I’m Matt. How you doing?”

  “Mr. Sunflowers,” Daniel said knowingly.

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Sunflowers,” Matt said. We all laughed.

  “I’m sorry, I meant you. You sent those beautiful sunflowers for Prudence,” Daniel corrected, then offered his name. “This is Chad. You can call him Mr. Pansies if you like.” Chad elbowed him and muttered, pretending to be angry.

  “We thought you might like to do some of the touristy Christmas things like skate at Rockefeller Center,” Chad said. “Prudence never mentioned it, huh? Isn’t that surprising. Here’s the scoop,” he leaned in toward Matt conspiratorially. “She doesn’t want to look silly in front of you.”

  Shut up!!! Maserati-driving anti-Bond girls do not think about looking silly because they never could. Stop talking now, you raving imbecile!

  “S’that true, Malone?” Matt turned to me.

  “Well, skating is not my strongest sport,” I admitted.

  “You’ll do fine,” Matt said. “I promise I won’t laugh if you fall.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Chad said. “We’ll all share a cab uptown at six and meet Sophie and Jen there.”

  “I was hoping to take a subway ride while I’m here,” Matt said.

  “Yes of course,” Daniel chuckled. “The romance of the urine-drenched bowels of the city. Who could pass that up?”

  I twisted my ankle fairly early in the skating session, so I watched the others whiz past the oversized gold statue of Prometheus. Holiday music crackled from the speakers. Life was good. My list of prospective wives for Reilly had grown to three. My soul mate was skating perfectly into my New York life. I had the week off from work. And our new best friend Lin was preparing Peking duck for tomorrow night’s dinner.

  After ice skating, the six of us went to Serendipity for their famous frozen hot chocolates and desserts so rich they cause weight gain from just looking at them. Only once did anyone slip. Sophie told Matt that he was “so much better” for me. Thankfully, Jennifer jumped in and interrupted before Matt had the chance to ask who he was better than. “You are our favorite of any of the guys Prudence has ever dated.”

  Save.

  Matt flashed a toothy smile and nodded his chin in his trademark sexy way.

  “So?” Daniel asked. “New York, New York, it’s a hell of a town, no?”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, sipping his dessert. “L.A. has got a lot going on too.”

  Ah, the battle of the coasts begins. Thankfully, Sophie interrupted before round one began and asked about Matt’s film. “Prudence tells us you’re doing a film about the man who invented homogenization,” she said.

  “Pasteurization,” I corrected, a smidge too much like a mother stroking the scruff of her ten-year-old son’s neck.

  Matt said he wasn’t really supposed to talk about the project but that it was a satire using the life of Louis Pasteur as a basic framework for the story.

  “Wow,” Jennifer said. “Pretty heavy.”

  “Actually, it’s very funny,” he said. “I’m going to let Prudence take a look at it when she’s out in February. My producers would
have my ass if they knew, so don’t say a word,” he turned to me. “Or I’ll have to kill you.” He smiled.

  Matt had no idea why everyone at the table was smiling. He probably assumed we were just charmed by him, which was, in part, true. Chad lifted his eyebrows, which clearly communicated, What goes around comes around, love.

  * * *

  Chad and Daniel took a cab back to SoHo without us. Jennifer and Sophie decided to stay uptown to check out a new musician who played wind instruments he made from water bongs. I opted to take Matt on the tram to Roosevelt Island and have sex with him as we hung from a thread over the Manhattan skyline. When we got on the red box, though, I remembered that an attendant rides the tram with passengers. I whispered in his ear what my original plan was, then asked him if he wanted to visit a park on the island and have sex at sea level. “Most definitely,” he whispered back into my ear.

  * * *

  The next night, we discreetly tucked ourselves into a desolate corner of the observation deck of the Empire State Building and quietly slid into our own world. Matt even bought a long coat for the occasion so he could wrap it around our bodies like a cape. The thought of buying a coat for the sole purpose of turning it into a tent of ill repute exhilarated us both so much that before we were able to complete the transaction, Matt and I found ourselves tangled together in the dressing room at Bloomingdale’s. Then of course there was the incident in the microfiche viewing cubicles in the basement of the Guggenheim. And two similar outbursts in the Statue of Liberty’s crown.

  Not that the entire visit consisted of using tourist attractions as our sexual playground. We also spent quite a bit of time at my loft too.

  We stayed up straight through the night talking about how we wanted to live our new life together, the things we would do and the places we would travel to. I was thrilled to hear Matt say that he would love to show me around Italy. I grimaced only briefly, remembering the circumstances under which he took his first trip there.

  * * *

  “There’s something I want to show you,” Matt said to me on his last day in New York. He took a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it out of his jeans pocket. “Can you tell me where we catch this subway?” he asked, showing me the note.