by Alon Preiss
“Mind if l sit on the floor?” he asked.
“I haven’t sanded the floor,” she said. “Go ahead, if you’re not worried about ruining that thousand dollar suit.”
“It’s not a thousand dollar suit.”
He sat, and she sat across the room from him, leaning against the wall.
“How did you get my number?” she asked.
“I saw Rachel on the subway,” he said.
Susan laughed.
“Then how did Rachel get my number? I’d been here for three days when you called.”
Daniel frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought Rachel gave me your number. I saw her on the subway, we talked a little …. Who has your number, then? That might help me remember.”
“No one has my number.”
“Oh.”
She smiled. “Listen, I’m unlisted. You’re trying to act as though this was some casual thing. I’m going to be in California, might as well drop in on old Susan for a friendly chat! But I know you must have gone to all sorts of trouble. No one has my phone number. Really, I didn’t want to hear from anyone, so I didn’t give it to anyone, and it is unlisted. It is basically impossible for you to have called me. And yet you did.”
A car honked furiously outside.
“Did you hire a private detective, Daniel?”
“You are joking, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t say anything when you called, because I honestly was flattered by the effort. I guess I thought it would be fun to see you. I didn’t want to scare you off. But Daniel – this took some work.”
“Susan, I really didn’t … I didn’t go to any trouble. I just ….”
“Then tell me how you got my number.”
“I’m not really sure. I thought Rachel gave it to me.”
“Daniel, give it up! How can you think Rachel gave it to you? Do you remember Rachel giving it to you?”
Daniel desperately changed the subject.
“And you? Working?”
She dismissed that subject with a small wave of the hand.
“Some sad things were going on,” she said. “I came up with an idea for a career, made some calls, made a pitch, sold the pitch, moved into a corner office. The place ran into financial problems almost immediately. Every day I would come in to work and wonder whether I was about to be canned. You probably saw it on the news. They couldn’t just lay off everybody at once, they did it bit-by-bit, day-by-day. It was tedious and excruciating. Then one day I was sent home at lunchtime, and that was the end of that. I got to leave with my idea, to sell it somewhere else. But it finally didn’t matter because I inherited enough money to live on for the rest of my life. And it was a stupid idea.”
“And what do you do now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been at it long enough. I don’t need to work, so I’ve been reading poetry and walking in the park. I’ve been making a sort of effort not to see any other people. You know, I see them on the street and in stores and everything. But I haven’t called anybody. I just haven’t felt like talking. I spent some time camping in the middle of the woods, but I don’t think I could survive doing that for too long. I didn’t miss the people, but I sort of missed my bed and the car noises and having a refrigerator – stuff like that. My back always hurt, all the time that I was camping, but it was peaceful, and no voices around – that was nice, no voices around.”
“You seem to be doing well now. You seem to be happy to talk.”
She looked a bit uncertain.
“People,” she said hesitantly. “Like some kind of addiction.” She cringed. That had sounded so stupid coming out of her mouth. Then, like a little knife: “How’s your wife, Daniel? Do you have any children, yet?”
Weren’t things wonderful with his beautiful wife?
They were, really.
But a few minutes later, sitting at a café with the bay wind whipping around them, Daniel told Susan a story that he hadn’t mentioned to anyone else. A few weeks ago, he had left work and decided to rush uptown to Natalie’s studio to try to share a glass of wine with her. It was one of those cool spring-like Summer evenings, the sort of evening when even associates with a good shot at partner decide to leave work at 7:30, wander the streets as the sun sets, drink a glass of wine outside with a beautiful woman. Natalie didn’t answer the phone.
Daniel somehow could not go to her studio and knock on the door. He had a key, but he hadn’t used it in years. Why was that? Things were fine the way they were ... what if .... Well, he told Susan, everyone’s entitled to a suspicion or two. When I get married, Susan said, then looked a little bit pained – and what did that mean? Daniel wondered, suddenly realizing clearly and without any doubt that Susan had been, sometime in the last several years, a blushing bride, all in white, her face lit up with joy – when I get married, Susan said again, I will be certain of my husband’s loyalty, no matter what, or I will end it. Daniel explained that Natalie was loyal, there was no question about that. She was loyal to him, and above all loyal to their union. But maybe she was a little more lonely recently. Daniel was no longer an artist – maybe Natalie sought comfort with someone who thought as she did, in little pictures and shapes. Natalie was also younger than Daniel, but maybe she felt as though she were fast catching up with him ... As a young woman, Susan should understand that. How could Daniel consider any of that a betrayal, if in fact Natalie chose to do something behind Daniel’s back that would not hurt him at all, could not hurt him. Anyway. Daniel realized he had been telling a story. In Soho, he had just wandered the streets a few blocks from Natalie’s studio, just wandered around (he looked suddenly embarrassed, as Susan recognized a trend) and he saw Natalie sitting in the window of a bar-café, drinking an iced coffee with a man. Daniel crossed the street and tapped lightly on the window. Natalie looked startled, then gestured to him to come inside.
“The fact is that Natalie was completely natural,” he said. “She introduced this guy who worked at a gallery that was showing her stuff, and in fact I think I had met him at an opening, though I couldn’t really remember. Some really handsome young guy who seemed like he was a year out of college. Anyway, he seemed completely flustered. Like, ‘My god, I got caught by her husband.’ But there’s no reason in the world why Natalie shouldn’t have a drink with a guy who works in this gallery. None at all She’s sometimes mentioned having a drink with a man. It was just the expression on his face that gave me second thoughts.”
“Maybe he had his own hopes, and you dashed them. Maybe it had nothing to do with Natalie.”
“Sure, maybe.”
“Maybe that’s just his personality.”
“Well, I can’t imagine Natalie bothering even to have a drink with such a fellow if – ”
“Maybe he freezes around men, calms down around women.”
Daniel nodded. “All that stuff could be true -”
“And Daniel,” Susan interrupted, “if you don’t care whether or not Natalie runs around a little, then why are you even thinking about all this?”
“No reason,” Daniel admitted.
They were both a little quiet for a moment. Telefax signals flew unnoticed through their bodies. Far above them, Jupiter’s gravitational pull detoured a comet the size of a planet, dragged it close to the thick, dusty surface, then ripped the nucleus of the hazy cloud into thousands of pieces that drifted out across more than 100,000 miles of space, glistening like a string of pearls.
“Do you think if I met your wife, I would like her?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“What if I’d met her independently? What if you’d never been born and I went to work at a gallery, or I took a Russian literature class with her or something?”
“It would look good on paper, Susan. You two should get along. But I know that no matter what, you would both hate each other. I don’t know how, or why, but I’m sure of it.”
Above Daniel and Susan, an airplane roared.
&
nbsp; “Would it bother you,” Susan asked, “if Natalie were sleeping with this particular guy?”
“I don’t know. I actually have no idea.” He looked at the airplane, which seemed to hover on the horizon, a shrinking dot. “I think about that sometimes. How strange that is.”
The plane vanished into the clouds. And it landed, sometime later, in New York, where Natalie stood, telephone in hand, blinking irritably at the sort of mix-up that frequently and unpredictably changes the course of lives.
“I asked you how I could get in touch with Daniel,” she repeated rather angrily.
“I told you,” came the equally irritable reply. “He’s on vacation.”
“He’s not on vacation,” Natalie said. “I know he’s not on vacation.”
“He is on vacation,” the woman replied curtly.
"This isn’t Janet,” Natalie said.
“Janet’s away from her desk, and I picked up the phone. All day, Janet’s been telling people he’s away on vacation. So he is away on vacation.” Some sort of havoc erupted in the background, and the woman muttered, “Hold on.”
A moment later, Janet came on the line. “I’m sorry, this is his secretary,” she said. “Who’s calling please?”
“His wife.”
The line was silent for a moment.
Then Natalie could hear an audible gulp.
“I’m sorry,” Janet said. “I don’t know what you’ve been told. As you obviously know already, he’s in our California office. He was held over a couple of days, and he’s tying up a few loose ends. He’s not really reachable there, so he’s asking me to take messages for him here.”
“Then leave him a message!” Natalie said sharply, feeling completely humiliated. Getting his secretary involved! That was how men got caught; didn’t Daniel even know that? Not hiding his infidelity was disrespectful, and getting other people involved in the deceit made Natalie the brunt of some public joke. His getting caught like this would make it harder for her to love him, harder to make their rare moments together so magical.
He should at least have had the propriety to maintain the semblance of a normal marriage.
That awkward moment stayed with Natalie for the rest of the day. She would forget about it for a moment or two, then the embarrassment would flood back. She didn’t tidy their apartment, which had become cluttered since the maid’s visit four days earlier, and she didn’t begin to cook dinner until it was too late. And so that evening, when the doorbell rang promptly at nine, the romantic dinner Natalie had envisioned had not materialized.
The man who came to visit Natalie in the apartment she shared with her husband was younger by a few years, younger and richer and drunk, with plenty of time, no serious intent, nothing to do, nothing important to fill his days. He was slightly artistic, but not dauntingly so. He spent a lot of time writing poetry, trying to paint. He admired Natalie’s work, but stupidly. She liked men like this, these days, anyway; she liked his lean, unlined face, wide-open eyes, strong, unweathered body. He lusted after her, genuinely, as men like this would for another few years.
“I brought wine,” he said. He seemed uncomfortable.
“Good,” she said. “I’m ordering in. I thought about cooking for you, but – ” There was no explanation. “Anyway, make yourself at home.”
He sat down on the couch, kept looking around, glancing out the window. He didn’t have much to say, and finally she tried to lure him to the balcony. It was a beautiful night, crisp and clear. Still, he hesitated.
“Should we?” he asked.
“Why shouldn’t we?” she asked sharply.
He smiled. “OK then.”
They went out to the balcony and sat together side-by-side, arm-in-arm, the moon glimmering through their glasses of red wine like an emerald. A few blocks to the west, the Empire State Building was lit up green and yellow and purple; Natalie didn’t know why. He nervously asked her if the neighbors would see them outside on the balcony, two adulterers, though he didn’t use that word. She explained that she and Daniel didn’t know any of their neighbors. Their neighbors wouldn’t care. Perhaps they would gossip, he suggested, and she wondered how that could hurt anyone. Who in the world would care if neighbors she didn’t know gossiped about her with other people she didn’t know? He did not seem placated. She leaned over and nibbled gently on his ear. He didn’t reciprocate. He felt that her husband was everywhere; Daniel’s crinkled eyes stared at them from the wedding photograph on the wall in the hallway, he gazed sternly and reproachfully from a gold-tinted frame on top of the television, Daniel the cuckold lounging around in Bermuda shorts, trying to enjoy himself on some unidentified Caribbean island. How was he supposed to forget about Daniel? How could he relax and embrace Daniel’s wife, carry her to Daniel’s bedroom, lie on Daniel’s sheets? How could he banish the feeling that Daniel would come home early, smiling, laughing perhaps, his arms filled with roses, eager to surprise his beautiful wife. They should go somewhere else, to his apartment, to her studio. This was, he concluded, just a bad idea. She pointed out that there was always the danger of getting caught, no matter where they went, no matter how careful they were. Wasn’t the danger of getting caught the whole appeal of all this?
“I’d feel better getting off the balcony. Everyone can see us up here.”
She sighed. It seemed pointless for her to argue, absolutely hopeless; meaningless sex lost its rejuvenating qualities when mixed with recrimination, and he acted as though it were his marriage they were jeopardizing. Why was he worrying? Perhaps his pursuit of a married woman could be explained by a youthful attempt to evade all responsibility: no girlfriend, no job, no wife, no children, no ties. If he were to destroy Natalie’s marriage, he would bear at least some moral responsibility. Who knew where that would lead? Now, on the balcony, the cool breezes of summer whispered past them playfully, and he stared at her in near-desperation.
“This can’t continue if you’re such a coward,” Natalie said, not even trying to smile. “Look. If sleeping with another man’s wife bothers you, then don’t sleep with another man’s wife.”
“Natalie.”
She looked back out at the midtown apartment buildings, dark and lumbering against the black sky. “Do whatever you want. Stay if you want.”
He was quiet for a moment, lost in his decision.
“OK, I’ll stay,” he said. “I wasn’t going to leave without you. I was just explaining what I thought was the best idea.”
“Well, it was not the best idea.”
“Sorry,” he said softly, thoroughly chastised. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
When she had called to invite him over for dinner, he had immediately accepted, softening when he first heard her voice. His interest now in Daniel was perhaps not so uncommon. Once he had asked her, Do you love your husband?, and she had replied, Very much, yes. Once he had asked her, Why do you see me, if you love your husband?, and she had replied, You are always free to leave, if it bothers you so much. He had even once asked her, What is your husband like? Natalie had described him: very smart, very handsome, loving, irritable. He admitted that he had hoped that Daniel was a monster. Natalie asked why he would wish for that. Did he want her to be unhappy? she wondered. “No,” he’d replied. “Somehow, you loving Daniel so much ... it makes our relationship seem ... wrong, somehow.” At that, Natalie had burst into laughter. “Of course it’s wrong,” she said. She was still angry at him in bed that night, angry for no real reason that she could imagine, but her failure to justify her feelings did not make them go away. She stared down at him, as the candlelight from the wall sconces danced on his face; his face was all shrunken in ecstasy, and she wanted to slap him, to hit him, to shout curses down at him, to tell him how much she hated him, how much she wished her husband were here in bed with her instead ... how much she hated him for being a beautiful boy she could not resist, or send away into the night, or kick out of her bed ... how much she hated him, and the other handsome young men
who were exactly like him, rich and drunk and smooth ... perhaps three in the last four years, since she had first seduced naked young Tommy on her paint-soaked couch ... since then, she had somehow never been able to resist these men during the long idle hours of her life. She hated every one of them. The only man she loved or ever could love was Daniel, wherever he was now. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling in droplets on the young man’s face and bare chest. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and she replied, “Shut up and leave me alone.”
Daniel and Susan walked side-by-side by the bay, watching the sailboats come and go, the gulls squawk. On one dock, dozens of sea lions bellowed. Why were they there, on the outskirts of this polluted metropolis? No one knew; they lay about, fat and trembling, sunning their shiny bodies, then splashing about in the green-black water. That was how they spent each day.
“So what will you do with your life now?” he asked Susan, reminded of her inactivity by the passive existence of the sea lions.
She stared off into the distance, then turned and looked into his eyes.
“Why do I have to do anything with my life?”
“You need to make a living.”
“Even if I worked for forty years I probably would not be able to save as much as my father has just left me. I don’t need to earn a living, you know.”
“No, see, you need to work to feel that you’re somehow contributing to life around you. Otherwise, when your life is over, you’ll wonder what you’ve accomplished.” He had been telling himself this for a number of years, but he had never realized how stupid it would sound out-loud, whipped about by a chilly wind, as marine wildlife bayed a few yards away.
“Daniel, now you’re trying to justify your own existence,” Susan remarked astutely. “But in the end, you’re just bringing home a paycheck for your beautiful wife. What would you do if you didn’t need to bring home that paycheck?”