Indiscretion

by Charles Dubow

  “Harry.”

  “How are they? How’s Maddy? How’s Johnny? I am going out of my mind.”

  “They’re as well as can be expected, under the circumstances,” I answer coolly. There had never been any question of whose side I would take.

  He doesn’t respond to my gibe. “Walt, you need to get Maddy to answer my calls. I need to talk to her. I must have called a hundred times.”

  “I can’t make her do anything. She’ll talk to you if she wants to.”

  “I’m coming to New York.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. Please tell her that I want to see her. And that I love her.”

  “I’ll tell her, but I’m not sure what good it will do.”

  I can hear him sigh on the other end. “Thanks, Walt.”

  “Not at all.” I hang up. If I wasn’t so angry with him, I’d feel like an utter bastard.

  Having Maddy living in my apartment allows me to indulge in more than a few domestic fantasies. What if this was all mine? What if she was my wife? What if Johnny was my son? What a different arc my life would have taken. When we go out on the street, each of us holding Johnny’s hand, we look like a family. I even wake up early every morning to make waffles for Johnny. They are one of his favorites.

  Tomorrow Harry will be coming to my office. He had begged me. I haven’t even heard her so much as breathe his name.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask Maddy after dinner. Our new ritual is to eat, read Johnny a story before bed, and then have a glass of wine in my living room. It is my least favorite room in the house. I rarely sit here, preferring my library. It has the same salmon pink silk sofas and chairs, antique end tables, English landscapes, carpets, and lamps that were once in my parents’ apartment. Of course this room is considerably smaller than their living room, so I had to wedge in what I could and put the rest in storage.

  Maddy has started smoking again. I can’t blame her. I even join her in the occasional cigarette.

  “Not really,” she replies. “Thank you for seeing him, I suppose. I am sure it’s a comfort to him, but I am not ready to see or talk to him.”

  “I understand. What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him just that. I am still in shock and can’t really get my head around what I need to do. I need to first figure out what is best for Johnny and me.”

  “Very well.” I pause. “Do you mind if I ask him one thing?”

  “What one thing?”

  “Well, it’s the lawyer in me, but in this country we presume that people are innocent until proven guilty.”

  She looks me, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean? I saw the credit card bill. What more proof do you want?”

  I hold up my hands. “I agree it’s damning, but it’s not conclusive. What I propose to do is to ask him directly whether or not he had an affair.”

  “Why? I already know.”

  “You think you do, but what if you’re wrong? What if there’s some perfectly simple explanation and this whole thing is one huge misunderstanding?”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No, it’s not. Until you are one hundred percent certain, nothing is impossible.”

  She sits quietly, taking in what I have just said. “I have asked myself that same question thousands of times. What if it’s just one terrible overreaction on my part? But each time the answer is the same. I can’t tell you how I know it. I just do. And I wish to God I was wrong.”

  “As do I.”

  “And what’s to prevent him from lying to you? He lied to me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But remember, I don’t know he did lie to you. I need a confession. Or some other way to prove his guilt or innocence.”

  She nods her head.

  “So it’s all right with you? If for no other reason, it would assuage my lawyerly soul.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself,” she says, extinguishing her cigarette in the full ashtray. “I’m going to bed.”

  She stands and leans over me, her breath strong with tobacco, to place a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “I know you mean well, Walter. Ask him anything you want. If he says anything that you think I should hear, I know you’ll tell me. Thank you again for seeing him. I honestly don’t think I could.”

  ,

  If it had been up to me, he would have been forced to travel to New York on bleeding knees like a Mexican pilgrim, praying for forgiveness the whole way. Even that would not have been enough, but it would have been a start. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s not entirely wide of the mark. It was his job to protect her, and he let her down. Now it’s my job. At least I am taking it on. Part of me just wants to punch him in the nose.

  Needless to say, this time I don’t go out to the airport. He wanted to go to my apartment, but I told him it would be best if he came to my office instead. From both his charm and potentially his fists, I wanted the protection offered by the dignity of my position and the accoutrements of the law, the impressive desk, the shelves groaning with legal books, the ridiculous modern art decorating the hallway walls, the sweeping aerial view of midtown, the helmet-haired receptionists. My secretary, Marybeth, a formidable creature whose personal life I do as little to learn about as possible, I keep starved of affection so that, like a lion deprived of meat, she is particularly fierce with clients.

  She calls me when Harry arrives. He is on time, but I tell her to keep him waiting. I have nothing especially pressing to do, but I want him to sweat a little more under Marybeth’s feline gaze. A quarter of an hour later, I ask her to send him through. It is a shock to see him. He looks haggard, as though he hasn’t slept or bathed in days. His clothes rumpled. His natural jauntiness has been replaced by a heaviness I have never seen in him.

  “Thanks for meeting me, Walt. I came right from the airport.”

  I say nothing, but swivel slightly, impatiently in my chair, steepling my fingers. I do not rise to shake his proffered hand.

  He retracts it and looks at me warily, aware of my hostility but knowing I am his only interlocutor; he needs to subordinate himself to me. I indicate for him to take a seat and he obeys. “How is she, Walt? How’s Johnny?”

  I have no interest in the niceties. I raise my eyebrows and, in a measured voice, attack. “Did you do what Maddy thinks you did? Did you have an affair?”

  He doesn’t look at me. With an effort, he admits, “Yes.”

  He hangs his massive head. I seize the advantage. I know it is almost cowardly of me, but I cannot help myself.

  “And have you said as much to Maddy?”

  “No.”

  “I see.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to. She won’t talk to me.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “But I need to.”

  “Why exactly? To what possible end? I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m not really sure what earthly good it could do. You’ve just admitted to me that you did have an affair. Maddy told me she asked you directly a month ago if you were having one, and you denied it. You lied to her. To her face. You know her. She’s very intelligent and very perceptive. She probably would have forgiven you if you had told the truth—then. You know how important honesty is to her. And how much she despises dishonesty. You of all people should know that by now.”

  I watch my words stabbing him. I am embarrassed to admit I hoped they would.

  “Yes, yes, I know all that. But for God’s sake, she’s my wife. Johnny’s my son. I love her. I love him. I love them.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that before you had an affair,” I say, allowing myself some emotional latitude. “And whom, may I ask, did you have the affair with?” I consciously employ the dangling preposition.

  He says nothing and looks away. I do not press. Some Frenchwoman, no doubt. If Maddy wants to know, I will find out later. We have people who do that sort of thing. It is not important now.

  He looks at me, his eyes burning fiercely. His voice low. �
�I need to speak to Maddy, Walter. If you don’t cut out all this bullshit, I will go directly to your apartment and find her.”

  I sigh patiently. “Look, Harry, I know you know where I live. But why do you think you’re meeting me first instead of her? If she had any desire to see you, she’d be the person you’re talking to, not me. The fact of the matter is that she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  In my calmest voice, I reply, “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what you think. She asked me to intermediate. Not in an official way, of course. I’m not a divorce lawyer. But I am her attorney, as you know, as well as her friend.”

  “Divorce? Is she thinking about divorce?”

  “I really don’t know. But I wouldn’t rule it out.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Meaning that you screwed up. Big time.”

  “I know I did, Walt. That’s why I’m here. What can I do? I need to see her, to speak to her.”

  “We’re going round in circles at this point. You’ve admitted to me that you had an affair, ergo you lied to Maddy. Ergo you broke your wedding vows, and, most important, you broke her trust and her heart. Allegans suam turpitudinem non est audiendus,” I add rather pompously.

  “What?”

  “The translation is ‘One who is alleging his own infamy is not to be heard.’ ” I know it is a bit much, but I can’t help myself.

  He looks at me, half startled, half with contempt. “So you’re saying that I have no right to speak to my wife?” I can see his muscles bunching under his coat, his hands clenching into fists. I know what he is thinking.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He stands up violently. “This is insane.”

  I do not move. He would like nothing better than to strike me. Instead I diffuse the situation. “Sanity is not the question here. Look, there’s no one who’s unhappier about this turn of events than I am,” I say, somewhat disingenuously. “The last thing I ever wanted was for the two of you to find yourselves in this sort of position. But you are. And, not to put too fine a point on it, it’s your own goddamn fault. So if there’s a question of sanity, let me maintain to you, in a purely nonclinical way, that what you did was crazy.”

  He sits down again, defeated. The fight out of him. “I know.” After a time, he raises his head and asks, “So what do you suggest I do?”

  I am torn at this moment. I could offer advice, solace even. Or not. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. All I can say is that, if Maddy changes her mind, she will let you know.”

  He absorbs the blow. “And Johnny? Don’t I have a right to see him?”

  “Again, that’s not for me to decide.”

  He doesn’t move; his great hands dangle between his knees. “Oh my god,” he whispers.

  “Look, Harry, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but I have another appointment,” I lie.

  He looks up at me, befuddled. “Oh, right. Of course.” He stands and puts out his hand. Unthinkingly I take it. “Thanks for seeing me. I really appreciate it. I can only imagine how difficult this all must be for you.”

  “Not at all,” I reply, smiling. “I only wish I could be of more help.”

  “You’ll tell Maddy that I came in, though, won’t you? Tell her I want to see her?”

  “Of course.”

  He turns to leave.

  “One thing, Harry. If she, or I, need to contact you, where can we find you?”

  He gives me a half smile. “I don’t know, Walt. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I suppose I had hoped that I’d be with Maddy and Johnny, but now I don’t know. I’ll be in touch, okay?”

  I watch his broad back exit. I had always been so jealous of him. But not anymore.

  6

  That night once again I wait until after dinner, after the second bottle has been opened and the dishes cleaned and put away. I ask her if she wants to hear about my meeting with Harry. This must be how a doctor feels when he has to deliver bad news to a patient. The spot on the X-ray is what had been feared. These are your options, none of them especially good. The patient, too, doesn’t want to know the truth. These words will change their lives forever, cause irreparable harm, tear apart families. This is nothing they wanted. It is something being done to them. They have been betrayed by what they had always relied upon. There had even been moments of hope that, despite what they feared in their hearts, it was all a big mistake. Human error. The initial tests had been wrong and they would be spared. It takes a tremendous act of courage to listen, not to block up one’s ears, not to lash out, but to accept and to act.

  “I am sorry,” I say after I confirm the worst.

  Her elbows are resting on her knees. She is looking away, as though the news of Harry’s guilt had happened to someone else, and we were talking about two other people whose lives are in tatters. “Thank you, Walter,” she says finally. “I suppose it does remove any doubt.” She lights another cigarette. “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “Can you tell Harry I appreciate his being honest with you? I am sure it wasn’t easy for him.”

  “Of course.”

  “But also that I still don’t want to talk to him.”

  I nod my head. “You can’t keep on avoiding him forever, you know. What about Johnny? He keeps asking about his father.”

  She sighs. “I know. A few more days. That’s all I ask.”

  Despite my efforts to get her to stay in my apartment, she and Johnny move back to theirs at the beginning of the month. It is a cold day, wet with rain. I suppose it is the right thing for them to do, but it seems awfully lonely without them. The night after they return, I insist on inviting myself over. I know she needs me.

  It’s odd being back here. The apartment is the bottom two floors of an old town house. They have the garden, which in many ways always struck me as a wonderful luxury, but I remember that Harry would complain about it. They had moved in shortly after Johnny was born, and the yard had been in pretty rough shape. Maddy had it landscaped, putting in cast-iron chairs and a dining table, as well as a jungle gym and sandbox for Johnny. “Worst idea we ever had,” Harry would grumble. “It’s like an invitation to every cat in the neighborhood. I should put out a sign saying “Welcome to Winslow’s Fabulous Feline Facilities and charge the cats’ owners a quarter each time they use it.” Eventually, the sandbox was boarded up.

  Aside from that, I remember many pleasant evenings having drinks while Maddy cooked steaks on the grill. They even had a heat lamp that allowed us to sit out on all but the coldest nights. Sometimes it would be just us; other times friends of Harry’s, literary people mainly, would descend. Harry always loved parties.

  The house is simple. A classic New York brownstone. The entrance under the stoop past a little courtyard. To the right of the front door a little breakfast area, where Johnny usually ate dinner. There is a long open-ended kitchen that gives onto the dining room, in which sit a magnificent matching set of Queen Anne chairs and a heavy ball-and-claw table Maddy inherited from her grandmother. Then down a few steps a sunken, open living room. Along its left-hand wall an enormous and very beautiful Edo-period screen depicting a scene from The Tale of Genji. Maddy bought it when Harry was stationed in Japan. The living room looks out onto the garden through an enormous picture window. The effect is surprisingly, and pleasantly, airy and modern.

  One night at a particularly uproarious party, a drunken actor friend of theirs walked right into that window, breaking his nose and, so he claimed, costing himself the starring role in a film. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. The actor maintained that he hadn’t realized it was a window. Harry joked that he was so vain he simply couldn’t take his eyes off his reflection.

  Upstairs is their bedroom, which faces out onto the street, and two rooms in the back overlooking the garden. One is Johnny’s, the other Harry’s office. The unfinished basement has an old Ping-Pong table, a wa
sher and dryer, shelves of books, a boiler. I wonder what it is like for Maddy to be here now. His clothes in the closet. Photographs. Books. A favorite coffee mug. It would have been one thing for her to return to the Long Island house. Like my house, it had been built by her family. No one else had ever lived there. Any ghosts there were her ghosts. But not this place. It was hers and Harry’s. Remove one from the equation and the math doesn’t add up.

  Harry, Harry, Harry. Even now I can’t stop referencing him. He filled up everything.

  Now Maddy lets me in. I hang my wet raincoat on a hook. She looks tired. “Hey, Walter,” she says. “Come in.” The house is strangely quiet, like a church on Monday morning. There is something different, not Harry’s absence. No, something else. It doesn’t dawn on me until Maddy says, “I hope you don’t mind if I didn’t cook. I just don’t feel up to it.”

  “Not at all. I’m happy to order in.” That’s when it strikes me. There is no smell of food, no activity in the kitchen. A visit to Maddy’s house always tantalized the senses, the aromas wafting from the various pots seducing the lucky guest. She was always hovering over a stove, happily chatting away while she diced carrots or reduced sauces. But since learning about Harry, she hadn’t so much as warmed up a cup of coffee. I glance at the kitchen. It looks like a sad dog waiting for its master to return.

  “Hey, Uncle Walt,” says Johnny, tearing down the stairs freshly washed and in his pajamas, followed by their old babysitter.

  “You remember Gloria, don’t you, Walter?”

  “Of course,” I say, shaking hands with the Guatemalan woman who has helped look after Johnny since he was very young.

  “Señor Walter,” she says, blushing. Her English is not very good. Maddy speaks near fluent Spanish. My only other language is French, the benefit of having had a mademoiselle for several years as a child. As a result my relationship with Gloria consists of little more than smiling and bobbing at each other.

  “I have a big surprise for you,” I say to Johnny.

  “What?”

  I hold up two tickets to a Rangers game for next week. “You and me, pal. A week from Friday. Center ice. The Rangers against the Penguins,” I say.