by Nancy Thayer
Nell burst out laughing. She let Andy take her plate and quickly reheat her scallops in a pan of wine. They finished their meal before resuming their discussion; after dinner, over coffee and brandy, they argued again. Andy was on the side of nature. Nell championed the needs of people. Their argument grew heated, but Nell didn’t mind this difference of opinion. Rather, she was secretly euphoric—at last she was having an affair with a well-read, thoughtful, intelligent man. And he actually treated Nell as an equal in their discussion, which Marlow had never done. She found their argument more romantic than a dozen red roses, more seductive than poetry and champagne.
And they were very good in bed together. They were so very good in bed together, and it was so intense for Nell that she was afraid. It was as if in their making love together, Andy had somehow opened a Pandora’s box within Nell and out had come all sorts of violent and imperious emotions that Nell had never known she possessed: addictive lust, irrational jealousy, desperate appetites. Every emotion in her had been switched to high. When she was with Andy that weekend, it had been heaven to feel this way, with the sex and the simple pleasure of his presence filling her with joy. But when she went back to Arlington for three weeks and was without him, she missed him terribly, more than she should have. It really was uncomfortable, being in love this way.
Nell sat in her car feeling as wild as a junkie craving a fix, and almost as ashamed. How could she let herself get into such a state? She hardly knew Andy Martindale; how could she let herself feel that the meaning of her entire life revolved around his presence? She felt as if she’d been strapped in a spaceship and was just now taking off for the moon. You’re only going to Nantucket, she told herself. You’ll be fine, she muttered to herself: Nell, you’ll be fine.
The dog in the car next to her whined. She looked at it. It was looking at her. Perhaps she had been talking aloud. Perhaps her presence was worrying the dog. Poor dog, she thought. Poor me. She undid her seat belt and got out of the car, locked it, and went to the upper deck of the ferry to buy herself a sandwich and a beer.
The ferry was packed with vacationers, and every one of them looked calm and happy. College and high school boys sprawled shirtless across chairs, trying to get an early tan. Here and there boys and girls sat in shorts, looking out at the ocean, heads bobbing in rhythm to the beat coming from the Walkman plugged into their ears. Everywhere people sat smiling, talking with one another, their faces turned up to the sun.
Nell took her turkey sandwich and beer and sat down in one of the orange chairs on the deck of the bow. She could swallow the beer, but she was having trouble with the sandwich. This had happened since she first met Andy, this problem with swallowing solid foods. When she was with him, she could do it, but when she was not with him, her body went into a kind of shock, a sort of paralysis, as if in its extreme need to sort out the emotions that had hit her like a hurricane, it was incapable of dealing with anything else, as if it did not want one more piece of anything put into it. She had lost almost ten pounds in the past three weeks. This was fine—she looked great in her bikini now—but she didn’t want to lose any more weight. And she didn’t want to make herself sick. She swallowed some beer to make her mouth wet and took a small bite of food. Perhaps, she thought, if she could think of something else, something other than the children or Andy and this summer she was facing …
“That’s a nice dog you have there,” someone said from behind her.
Nell turned slightly and looked. A nice elderly man in whale pants and a patchwork cap was sitting down next to a young man who had a huge black and white husky at his feet.
“Yes, she is nice, isn’t she,” the man said. “Her name is Guinevere. I’m taking her to Nantucket for the week to teach her to swim.”
“Really,” the old man said. “Well, what do you know about that? That’s interesting. That’s something. Now, she’s a husky, isn’t she? She’s not a natural swimming dog, is she?”
“No, she’s not a natural swimmer,” the man said. “In fact she’s afraid of the water. I’ve had her for five years now and I’ve never been able to get her in the water. So this year I just decided this is it. This is the time. So I’m taking time off from work, and I’m going to teach her to swim. I’ve got it all planned.”
“Well now, maybe she doesn’t want to swim,” the old man said. “Some dogs don’t.”
“No, no, Guinevere wants to swim. I know. Whenever I go in, she always sits there looking at me with this pleading expression. She’s just about saying, ‘Henry, why won’t you teach me to swim?’ I know she wants to learn. So I’ve got this plan. I’ve got ten days. I’ll keep her on a leash. The first day I’ll just take her walking in the surf, right at the edge. She’ll just get her feet wet. The next day we’ll go walking a little further in. And so on and on. I expect about the sixth day I’ll have her swimming.”
“Well, Henry, I think that’s real nice,” the old man said.
Well, Henry, I think you’re crazier than I am, Nell thought, but it gave her great comfort to sit there listening to Henry talk about Guinevere. Guinevere was clever; she could fetch and pull sleds. She was loyal, she was brilliant. Henry thought if they lived on the West Coast she would probably be in the movies. But he was glad they didn’t live on the West Coast, because he didn’t think Guinevere would like that kind of lifestyle.
Henry talked about Guinevere until Nell couldn’t stand to listen to any more. She got up and walked around the ferry, only slightly calmer from her beer. Maybe I need a dog named Guinevere, she thought, maybe then I’d be more serene. She had left her own dog and cats with the college student she had hired to take care of the house while she was gone; Elizabeth and Colin didn’t want animals in their house. Nell thought she would miss the animals, especially Medusa, but she didn’t think their presence would help her that much in this situation. At least they hadn’t made her any calmer in the past few days. Medusa’s gorgeous arrogance and Fred’s amiable stupidity did not for one second relieve Nell of her burden of infatuation.
A lot of people were in love on this ferry. In fact everyone on the ferry seemed in love except Henry, and he had his dog. There were young couples in love all over the boat, and especially there were the families. Nell strolled past these families casually, but she felt her soul looking in at them like a starving child watching through the window of a restaurant. Dads and moms and children clumped together everywhere, at tables, down below on benches, up at decks by the railings. Short lean kids leaned against tall lean mothers, who leaned in turn against tall lean fathers, in tableaux of family perfection. Or sometimes the kids ran off and back to ask their parents for money, and the parents handed it to them, then went back to reading companionably together, side by side.
Nell watched one family who sat inside at a table eating. There were four in the family, and they were all very handsome and healthy looking, all wearing white shorts and running shoes and pastel cotton shirts. Nell couldn’t hear what the children said, but she saw the mother smile and nod and reach over with a napkin to wipe the little boy’s mouth. The children pushed back their chairs and ran off. The mother turned and looked at her husband. They smiled at each other. He ran his hand across her shoulder and up and down her neck as they talked, stroking her lightly. She inclined toward him. Imagine, Nell thought, just imagine: Imagine loving the father of your children! She thought these people must be the luckiest people on earth.
Long ago Nell had stopped attending church or Scout meetings or any other meeting where she had to be confronted with the sight of happy, perfect families. It just hurt too much, made her go home feeling too lonely, too aware of her own plight. On the other hand, she had never wanted to join any group of single parents; she couldn’t imagine how organizing in such a group would ease her individual situation. She was happy enough most days, or at least not suicidal, but now, watching this affectionate husband and wife … she turned away. She went downstairs and into the stern lounge and sat down in a cha
ir by a window. She sat staring out at the sea.
One day a few weeks ago Stellios had picked Nell up at work to take her out to dinner, and Elizabeth had met him. The next day, Elizabeth had casually remarked, “My, he’s gorgeous, Nell, but he’s younger than you are, isn’t he? And not quite your—social equal? I mean, I’m not trying to interfere, and I certainly don’t disapprove, in a way I suppose I’m jealous. But why is it that you prefer these young hunks?”
“I don’t prefer them, Elizabeth,” Nell had said. “Somehow that’s just the only type I ever meet. Don’t you know I’d be thrilled to meet a single doctor or lawyer or accountant, even a vet!” She had been miffed.
But now Nell thought that perhaps it was a little more than that. Long before her divorce from Marlow, but during a time of unhappiness with him, Nell had begun to have a suspicion that by now had hardened into a simple conviction. She believed that there were two kinds of women in the world: those who were loved well by men and those who weren’t.
There wasn’t anything a woman could actually do to gain entrance into that special category of women who were loved by men. It didn’t help if you were beautiful or good or persistent or kind or patient or anything at all. It didn’t hurt to be ugly or dumb or mean or shrewish or flighty. It was all completely a matter of luck. Some women were loved well and truly by men and some women weren’t.
It seemed to Nell as the years went by that she might as well face the fact that she had been placed by fate into the latter category, and there she would stay. It did not mean that she wasn’t lucky in other ways. It did not mean that she wasn’t attractive or clever or good; it didn’t mean anything at all except that she would be alone all her life. She didn’t feel unique in this; she had plenty of friends in the same category. These friends, however, never seemed to admit this truth to themselves, or maybe they just weren’t aware of it. They went optimistically plunging on into affair after affair, coming out again each time more bitterly disappointed. The men, the problems, the reasons for the breakups were never the same. The variety was endless. But it always made Nell so sad when one of her friends was shattered at the loss of a hopeful love. Her friends seemed to her like beautiful birds who could not see the pane of glass that separated them from the other side and so continually flew into the glass and were bruised and smashed and defeated.
Some people were lucky at cards. Some people were lucky at horses. Some people were lucky at love. And some people weren’t. The older Nell got, the more she believed that this kind of luck was unshakable; the person got luck in love the same way she got blue eyes or long legs. And just as a short person would be a fool to continually compete at the pole vault, so it was, Nell thought, just as foolish for a woman to hope continually for love after learning from a few trials just how far short she fell of her goal. Why make the effort, why take the beating, why endure the grief of failure? Much better, far better, Nell thought, to accept and enjoy and never get tricked by hope.
It was much easier to live out this philosophy if you dated only young hunks, men who were pleasurable but who could never cause any false expectations about living a life together. Part of her truly wished she had never met Andy Martindale. She was afraid that he would prove to be more or less like some drug for her, like heroin—addictive, providing great pleasure, but bad for her health and her sanity. But all of her friends advised her to stop worrying about the future, about the long-term consequences. Don’t be so pessimistic, they said. Good grief, don’t give up love and happiness because it may not last. What lasts? Live for the day, they said. Cheer up, Nell, they said, the world might come to an end tomorrow and you would have wasted today worrying. Seize the day, they said. Nell was going to give it a try.
Nell had in her suitcase a black satin nightgown trimmed with black lace. Ilona had given it to her after dropping in unannounced one Sunday morning and catching Nell in her elephant robe. Nell had thanked Ilona, but she had serious doubts about the gown. It had a matching jacket of black lace that cascaded and drifted from the silk bow at the neck to just below her wrists and waist. It could be very alluring if a woman were able to saunter gracefully through a room or lie about seductively in just the right position. Nell had little practice in sauntering or lying about, however; it made her feel silly even to think of arranging her body on the bed in a come-hither pose. She thought it much more likely that she would end up wearing this outfit while trying to fix coffee and that the billowing black lace would float with the movement of her arm onto the burner of the stove and catch on fire. But when she had tried to express these thoughts to Ilona, Ilona had exploded.
“For heaven’s sakes, Nell, you’re a beautiful, sexy woman!” Ilona had yelled. “And from what you’ve told me of this man, he sounds like the type who would appreciate a little elegance in the bedroom. Look at how he cooks. I’m sure he’s not like your young studs, who just want to rip off your clothes and throw you on the bed. Don’t you want to look romantic?”
Nell had smiled, listening to Ilona. Actually, the few times she had been with Andy, their lovemaking had more or less been paced to ripping and throwing. They hadn’t cared about clothes; they had just wanted them off. But she supposed she could see Ilona’s point. She knew she would have two months without her children and without the dog and cats, so she didn’t have to worry about getting up in the night to clean up someone’s vomit. Perhaps she could get away with wearing this luxurious gown. It was likely that Andy would be spending some nights with her while the children were gone—why not try for a little elegance, she decided. She just hoped she didn’t end up feeling too self-conscious. Andy was going to meet Nell at the ferry and go with her to the cottage to help her with her bags. Then he was going to take her out to dinner. Then … Nell grinned and leaned her head against the window of the ferry. The ocean was peacock blue today, and as the boat cut through the water, capricious sprays of white foam leaped up at the window as if trying to peek in. Sunlight sparkled across the water. A large sailboat slanted by, and all the people on it waved at all the people on the top decks of the ferry. Everything was light and dancing.
Nell could tell by the movements of the other passengers that they were nearing Nantucket. She rose and went up to the deck to watch. The ferry rounded Brant Point and headed steadily for the harbor. The engines hummed firmly in the heart of the boat, and all around on the decks another, lighter, kind of humming passed through the air as people laughed and talked in anticipation, gathered up their belongings, waved to people on shore. It isn’t often, Nell thought, that you get to see yourself arriving at a new time and place in life, but now here she was, watching this island and whatever joys or sorrows awaited her for the next three months, come closer, closer. Sunlight sparkled off the water; eager laughter sparkled in the air around her. All these people are happy, Nell thought. She spotted Andy in the crowd on the wharf. He was really there, waiting for her. Her heart thumped.
All right, damnit, Nell thought, I’m scared and I don’t trust it, but I don’t seem to have much choice right now. I guess I’m going to be happy for a while. She went down to the car deck and in no time at all she was driving down the ramp onto the island of Nantucket.
That night, deep in the night—Nell didn’t know what time it was—she was awakened by Andy lightly kissing her face and neck. She had been in a profound sleep, but she was not confused on awakening like this. She was instantly responsive. She wrapped her arms around him and began to kiss him back. He was covering her with kisses, all over her face, down her neck and arms, across her shoulder blades, and down and around her breasts. He nuzzled at her breasts and stomach. It was very dark and she could not see him. She could only feel him, greedily moving in the dark above her, and she finally just lay back and let him be all over her. She reached up and grasped his thick hair in her hands. His desire made him seem both vulnerable and powerful. He was coming at her helplessly, and she received him with the same absolutely natural and thoughtless lust. In the dark bedroom it was
much like being in a dark cave; they might have been Indians or bears. When it was over, though, he became very human, tender. He held her in his arms to soothe her.
* * *
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, because she was crying and trembling.
“No,” Nell said. “Oh no. You didn’t hurt me. You just … it was just …”
She could feel his puzzlement in the dark as she lay in his arms. She knew she could not explain it to him, because he was a man, and the intensity of his having satisfied his lust could never approach the intensity of his need for that satisfaction. Whereas women’s bodies just seemed to go haywire with gratitude for such extravagant pleasure.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Really. I’m fine. I’m not sad. I’m happy.” Still he held her. “That was very nice,” she said, to reassure him, though she felt a quick little snort of laughter pass through her at the extremity of her understatement. Oh, Nell, she thought, you’re lost. But she was so exhausted that she fell immediately back into her profound sleep.
Nell woke up again that night. Andy was lying next to her, so close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest in his rhythmic breathing. She could hear his breathing. Her body was all on its own, unconsciously adjusting to his weight in the bed, and she lay tilted away from him slightly so that she did not roll right down onto him.
* * *
I’m sleeping with a man, Nell thought. Shit.
This time she did not fall back to sleep so easily.
She awoke at eight-fifteen, when her alarm clock went off, to find that she was alone. She rose and looked around. He had left a note on the bed for her.
* * *
“Sorry to leave without saying good morning. But I have a habit of rising early and taking long walks, as you know. I did kiss you goodbye—but you were too much asleep to know it, I think. I’ll stop in the boutique later. Love, Andy.”