All That Was Happy

by M. M. Wilshire

  “You never liked dogs,” he said. He flopped on the couch, looking around, adding up the sum of the existence she’d managed to acquire.

  “Nice suite,” he said. “I haven’t seen these rooms since the Towel heads took over.”

  “How did you find me here?” she said.

  “I’ve been having you followed,” he said. His jacket fell open, revealing his nine-millimeter. Beckie realized she’d left her own gun in the straw bag across the room.

  “I could use some of that coffee,” he said.

  She nearly poured him a cup, then, realizing she’d fallen into shock and was simply moving forward under automatic pilot, caught hold of herself and moved back towards the door.

  “Get it yourself,” she said.

  “Why not?” he said, pouring himself a cup and adding cream and sugar from the service, after which he helped himself to a miniature brandy from the mini-fridge, which he uncapped and poured into the steaming brew. “It’s the New Millennium,” he said. “Not many women do it all anymore--most of them barely manage to make it to work on time, let alone manage to keep the house clean. But being a housewife nowadays doesn’t mean all that much--there’s no exams or previous experience required to get the job. There’s no way to measure the performance of a housewife in terms of how fast things get done, or how much of it. There’s no time clock.”

  “You had me followed?” she said. “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “I have,” he said. “And I must say it’s been interesting. I should add that was some stunt you pulled on Nolene yesterday, the way you walked in and pointed your gun at her--It made her sick; I had to send her home--she thought she was a goner. It really freaked her out. Did your boyfriend put you up to it?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Beckie said. Her defense of her actions shamed her--she wanted to be screaming at him, holding open the door and demanding loudly that he leave and never come back, while at the same time cursing and reviling him for his evil actions of the past six months and recent days. But everything was happening as if to someone else. It wasn’t she, Beckie, who was responding like such a frightened wimp. It was someone she was dreaming.

  “Boyfriend, toy, whatever,” Bernie said. “I guess spending all night at a guy’s beach house doesn’t mean all that much anymore to the women of today--or maybe he didn’t have what it takes to be your boyfriend?”

  “I’m not sure my lawyer would want us to be talking together like this,” she said.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t. I heard all about your fancy woman lawyer from my attorney. Apparently your lawyer has quite a reputation on the West Side. You’re pulling out all the stops, aren’t you--picking a lawyer so vicious even my pit bull of an attorney is worried.”

  “This is all just a big game to you, isn’t it?” Beckie said. “You haven’t given a single thought to what I must be going through. You’re getting all that sympathy from Ira and Leah, acting like the poor little hurt husband.”

  “I am the poor little hurt husband,” he said. “I just spent the last twenty-nine years of my life with a cold wife who gave me no children. If anybody should be hurt, here, it’s me.”

  “You’re going to kill me,” she said. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

  Bernie set down his coffee and opened his jacket further, showing her the gun, it’s polished chrome housing presenting to her eyes the prospect of the crisp, efficient delivery of a violent, messy death. “Is that what you think?” he said. “You think I came here to kill you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Beckie said.

  The light beyond the window was changing to what would have been the welcome familiarity of the dawn under normal circumstances, but to Beckie it seemed that the newly heralded Spring day was a harbinger of evil--the thought that she might be seeing the light for the last time was terribly sad, somehow. That her life was going to end soon, here in this hotel room at the hands of the drunken man she’d been a wife to for twenty-nine years was almost unbearable emotionally, so much so that her emotions could not rise, could not play out, could only whirl, faster and faster at her core, until all that was left was the spinning of herself--of everything she used to be, was now, and might have become-- into a smooth, hard ball of fear in the center of her stomach.

  “You look a little pale,” he said, rising and taking out his gun.

  Chapter 34

  “Don’t be scared,” Bernie said. “I’m not here to traumatize you--not the way you did yesterday to Nolene.”

  He held the gun away from her and ejected the clip before racking the slide and ejecting the extra bullet in the chamber. The gun now empty, he pocketed the clip and spare bullet before returning the piece to his holster.

  “Why did you do it?” Beckie said.

  “Do what?” Bernie said.

  “Why did you just hit me with the divorce out of the blue--why did you try to take everything away from me?”

  “I blew up,” he said. “I was out of control for a little while. Everything was too much for me. When I started seeing Nolene, I discovered a new world of passion I’d never known before--but you know me--I’m Jewish--I don’t have to tell you the guilt I was under. And the merger has been murder--we lost our bank last week and had to take in another one, a big Japanese bank, the kind your mother should have warned you about.”

  “You kept it all to yourself,” Beckie said. “You shut me out.”

  “I shut you out because of Nolene,” Bernie said. “I was torn in two--she was going to have my baby--she touched a part of me that was dead and made it alive again.”

  “We could have worked it out,” Beckie said. “Maybe we could have still had a child--there’s been so many advances...I would have tried for you.”

  “I went off the deep end,” Bernie said. “I wasn’t myself. I guess you might say I was a little out of my mind. I got in over my head with Nolene and it just snowballed from there.”

  “But why did you try to destroy me financially?” Beckie said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I feel bad about it--but my lawyers told me that was the way I had to go. I was just following counselor’s orders.”

  “You know, Bernie, I really didn’t need any of this in my life. Is that what you think I deserved just because I never bore you any children? I realize now I never knew you. You were never the angry type--you were always somebody I could depend on. But suddenly all that changed. It was like you went through a doorway into another world--it was like I suddenly no longer existed. When you’d come home at night, it was as though you really weren’t there.”

  “I’ve been up all night thinking about us,” Bernie said. “I’ve gone over everything a thousand times. I know my behavior has been wrong. It’s just that for these past twenty-nine years, I was carrying the whole world on my shoulders, trying to solve everybody’s problems all the time, always putting myself on the back burner--well, I guess I finally cracked. When Nolene came into my life, I guess I tried to use her to make up for all that I’d missed. At first, I tried to break it off, but instead I just kept getting in deeper and deeper. She came to me one day and said she thought she might be pregnant and at that moment, we both decided we wanted to have the child.”

  “Is she pregnant?”

  “As it turned out, no,” he said. “It was just a false alarm.”

  “Do you love her? Do you still want her to have your baby?”

  He walked to the window and stared out at the city below them.

  “I want us to patch things up,” he said. “I got caught up in something that was too big for me to handle, but I’ve never stopped loving you. I’m dropping the divorce--I want you to come home--I’ll do whatever you want.”

  He turned to her, the tears running down his face and dripping from the lenses of his thick glasses. He knelt down, his head bowed, his arms outstretched.

  “I know you don’t love me the way I love you,” he said. “I know you never will. But I’
m reconciled to that. I know I can never fully make up to you for what I’ve done--but please let me try. Beckie, I’m begging you--please don’t throw away our twenty-nine years together. Please take me back. I want to come home.”

  “We’re not the same two people we were,” Beckie said. “I’ve changed and so have you.”

  “We can start slow,” he said. “I’m not saying we have to go right back to playing house together. Perhaps we’ll just work on being friends again--do you remember what that felt like? We can take walks on the beach the way we used to. Perhaps we can even take a holiday together, go to Vegas, or Paris, or someplace.”

  “What about Nolene?” Beckie said.

  “I’ve told her everything,” he said. “She knows I’m trying to work it out with you. She’s upset, but she’s agreed to bow out quietly if you agree to try and save the marriage.”

  “That’s big of her,” Beckie said.

  “Hey, Beckie, it’s me,” Bernie said. “We’ve been through our share of rough times in the past. We can get through this. I won’t rush you--you can have your own timetable to make a decision--that is, unless you don’t love me enough any more to try. If that’s the case, if you love someone else, then I need you to tell me.”

  Beckie was in a fog, her emotions running wild and blind in the wake of Bernie’s misguided, off-base attempt at reconciliation. They’d both been off in left field, he discovering his passions and she discovering hers, both encountering a fair amount of guilt and fear in the process until the whole thing had turned into a nightmare between them. He’d finally gotten around to the big issue--was there anybody else in her life? True, the trust between herself and Bernie had dissolved, but he appeared willing to go to great lengths to try being loving again--she was boxed in by the pressure of twenty-nine years, by the enormous power of the feeling that if somebody loved her enough to humble themselves before her, and if that somebody else happened to be the man you’d been married to for twenty-nine years, then she had no choice but to try and attend to the business of repairing and righting the wrongs.

  “We’re both emotional cripples,” she said. “If we try again, there are no guarantees.”

  “Then you’ll try?” he said. “There’s nobody else?”

  She walked to the window. The city was awake now. Any minute, the desk would call and announce Dr. Black’s arrival. Bernie remained on his knees, his face twisted into a parody of humiliation and imbalanced desires, the very sincerity of his actions leaving her wobbly, like a top about to go out of control.

  “Okay, you win,” Beckie said. “We can try again. There’s nobody else.”

  Chapter 35

  “Bernie was a golden child, no question,” Beckie said. “His father came here after World War II and worked his way up from kitchen helper to head chef. He never wanted Bernie to suffer what he did, so he handed Bernie the world on a silver platter--but somehow, Bernie likewise turned out to be a hard worker like his dad.”

  “There’s a down side to such an existence,” Black said. “Kids who are spoiled often grow up believing that all they have to do to get what they want is to ask. And that’s exactly what happened when Bernie showed up on your doorstep this morning--he asked, and you complied.”

  Beckie and Black were making fair progress down the shoreline bike path which ran from the southern side of the Marina Del Rey channel all the way to the Redondo Beach Pier, a distance of about ten miles, of which Black planned to complete approximately half before turning back at the Smokestacks, an energy nexus with three tall stacks which were visible for miles around, the compound surrounding them of which housed the necessary onshore pumps to suck dry the massive offshore tankers, hooked up as they were to a bib about a half mile out. Beckie, riding the bike Black had brought with her, rode along side Black, who ran with an experienced, relaxed conversational gait, sweating easily and unafraid to snort or spit as the occasion required, with no loss of grace. The morning was overcast with a light breeze which frothed the wind-broken waves and spoiled the surf.

  “I had a feeling of disorientation when he asked me to start over,” Beckie said. “I was probably in shock because of my breakup with Huntington. I found out that I don’t know either man like I thought I did. I guess I caved to the pressure of twenty-nine years. Are you going to tell me I made a mistake?”

  “I’m your therapist,” Black said. “It’s my job to help you decide those sorts of things for yourself. The real issue here is--are you going to be able to resolve your underlying desire to experience passion again with your desire to rebuild your marriage with Bernie, a relationship which has become increasingly distant over the years?”

  “If I was smart,” Beckie said, “I’d leave Bernie and go on my own--but I feel weak. When I was cut off from Bernie, even though I hated him for doing it, the feelings of abandonment were almost unbearable. I was facing those feelings again after learning of Huntington’s calling to the priesthood. Right then, Bernie showed up and got on his knees.”

  “We’re tribal animals,” Black said. “None of us handles being cut off from support and affection well.”

  “The best I’m going to be able to do,” Beckie said, “is try out the marriage one day at a time. At least I’ve become a member of WE--I won’t be alone like I was.”

  “How do you feel about going home?” Black said. “Obviously, you’ll be returning to your marriage bed this evening--any problems with that?”

  “Well, this is going to sound strange,” Beckie said. “But tonight I’ll be alone. Bernie’s leaving for Japan today to meet with some honchos at some Japanese Bank about the upcoming merger. I won’t be seeing him for at least a week.”

  “I feel sorry for the Japanese,” Black said.

  “How so?” Beckie said.

  “By all accounts,” Black said. “it appears that Bernie’s a master manipulator. He waltzes in, restores his marriage and the next thing you know he’s headed for Japan.”

  “That’s certainly true,” Beckie said. “But I maneuvered a few things out of him as well--among which was a check for eight-hundred grand.”

  “That’s a tidy sum,” Black said. “Dare I ask why?”

  “I’m going to pay Huntington back the five million he gave me,” Beckie said. “I needed the eight hundred grand to make up the shortfall.”

  “And Bernie wrote you a check just like that?” Black said.

  Beckie coasted up alongside Black and smiled.

  “He never batted an eyelash,” she said.

  “Our doctor-patient time is up,” Black said, as they reached the smokestacks, the mighty engines of which were roaring like a workshop in hell as the crude oil was transferred from the offshore tanker. Los Angeles, city of cars as it was, drank a lot of crude, and the sound of its guzzling, accompanied by the belch of thick black smoke into the fresh sea air, was nothing less than obscene. Black turned around and started the return jog back to the Marina.

  “Our time is up?” Beckie said.

  “We’re done analyzing your life for the moment,” Black said. “For the rest of the morning, which I hope includes you buying me a huge breakfast someplace, you and I are going to forget our troubles and live our lives as a couple of girlfriends out enjoying each other’s company.”

  “But Dr. Black, isn’t that against some kind of rule for a therapist to be a friend to her patient?”

  “It’s rules like that which have everybody all screwed up,” Black said. “What if God had such a rule?”

  Beckie smiled at her newfound friend as together they ran and rode down the winding path through the endlessly varied scenarios of planes taking off and ships passing by, most of which, unlike herself, knew where they were going and why.

  Chapter 36

  She’d enjoyed a superior breakfast of hot thick Belgian waffles at the hotel with Dr. Black and upon returning to her room found the note slipped under the door, expressively written in a nice fountain pen script across a sheet of paper, the expensive kind, w
ith the Crane watermark.

  My Darling Beckie,

  I’m writing to say that I love you. I’m so confused and depressed right now. I still want you. I’ve wanted you from the moment you ordered the Banana Banshee.

  I am your slave--held captive by your charm, your beauty, and your ability to “walk the nose” of life even in the face of adversity. I want to be your Mickey Dora and for you to be my “ham sandwich” as I hang-ten on the nose of this world.

  The fact that we met in a bar was not a bad thing to me--rather it was important to me because it showed me the power of God to accomplish his will no matter where we are. The time we spent together I will always remember. Your decision to break it off was a noble one--I realize you’re doing this for my own good--and, although deeply saddened, I love you for it.

  I have not given up hope. I’m sending you a present. After you receive the present, you will hear from me a final time, to ask you, as Regis likes to say, “Is that your final answer?” If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know that it is over and I will remain respectfully out of your life forever.

  Love always, Huntington.

  After she was able to stop the tears from flowing sufficiently to see again, Beckie picked up the phone and called the desk and arranged to have any gift which arrived for her in the coming days forwarded by special messenger to her home, to which she prepared to return, having instructed the hotel to likewise package up all her recent purchases and deliver them to her.

  She then sat down at her desk and wrote a check on her money market account for four million, two hundred thousand dollars, endorsed over her own check from Bernie for the eight-hundred grand she’d received from him, stuffed the checks into an envelope addressed to Huntington at the house on the Strand, gathered up Mr. Boopers and her straw bag containing her gun and the sack filled with one-hundred grand in cash, and departed the room, leaving the envelope containing the checks at the desk to be hand-delivered to Huntington by a bonded, secure delivery company, her last and final act of the morning before her Mercedes Roadster was pulled around, upon which she climbed behind the wheel and left behind, perhaps forever, her passions, and headed for home, a place, she knew, she might never truly find again.