“Sorry to disturb you, Cissy. I’m just leaving.”
She says nothing but lifts her chin a little higher.
“Thank you for letting me stay. When I arrived I really hoped that things would turn out differently. I guess I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. I just wanted to say to you that, for what it’s worth, I still love Maddy and will do everything I can to get her back.”
Without looking at him she says, “Why do men do it? Why do they have to shit all over other people’s lives just because they want to get laid?” Then, turning toward him, “Huh? Can you answer that? You’ve done it. Why did you?”
“I, I don’t know,” Harry stammers.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Did your marriage mean so little to you that you just hopped into bed with some slut for no reason at all?”
“No. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Complicated? How complicated was it? It seems pretty goddamn black and white to me. You were married. To Maddy, of all people, for chrissakes. Wasn’t she beautiful enough? Wasn’t she kind enough? Wasn’t she a good enough mother? Wasn’t she rich enough? Tell me, what didn’t she give you that you had to go somewhere else? Tell me, I’d be really interested to know.”
“No, Maddy gave me everything.”
“So what was it? You wanted more? It wasn’t enough to be a successful writer and father with friends who loved you? With a wife who adored you? Did you think that you were too special to live by the same rules as everyone else? Or maybe you just didn’t really think about what impact your actions would have? That your selfishness would destroy everything? That’s how a child thinks, Harry. That’s not how a grown man thinks.”
He can say nothing.
“You make me sick. God, why don’t you just go already?” There are tears in her eyes.
That afternoon Harry calls me. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve moved out of Ned and Cissy’s apartment.” He tells me he’s found a room in a cheap hotel in the East Twenties. I have never heard of it. “It’s full of German families,” he says. “I’m the only guest not wearing Birkenstocks and carrying a backpack.”
“In case I need to reach you, how long do you plan to stay?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s about two hundred dollars a night, so it’s not too bad. I plan to start looking for an apartment today.”
“Remember, it needs to have a room for Johnny,” I tell him. “Otherwise a judge may not let him stay with you.”
A few days later, he calls again, this time telling me he’s found a one-bedroom in Murray Hill, near the tunnel. The next night is the hockey game. He asks me what he should do. Would it be all right if he picked Johnny up from home? I tell him I’ll check with Maddy and get back to him.
I call her number and wait for the message to play out. I know Maddy. She hates the phone and never bothers to answer it. “Maddy,” I say. “Maddy, it’s me. If you’re there please pick up.”
“Hello, Walter.” As I assumed, she had been waiting by the phone deciding if she would answer or not.
“Tomorrow night’s the hockey game. Harry wants to know if he can pick Johnny up at home. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I can take Johnny to the Garden.”
She sighs. “No, that’s all right. No need for you to be my errand boy. Tell him he can come here.”
“All right. Why don’t I take you out for dinner while they’re gone?”
“Thanks. I’d like that.”
The next night I arrive at Maddy’s apartment at a quarter to seven. Harry is due at seven. “Come on in,” says Maddy, offering me her cheek. Johnny gives me that familiar disappointed look when he sees that, once again, I am not his father. He is wearing his Rangers jersey. I ruffle his hair. “Have fun tonight, okay?”
“Go make yourself a drink, Walter,” says Maddy.
“Good idea. Can I fix you anything?”
“No thanks.”
I wander off to the bar and mix up a martini.
The doorbell rings. “Daddy!”
Johnny tears to the door and jumps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy!”
Harry hugs his son tightly, lifting him off the ground, burying his face in his neck. “Johnny,” he whispers. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Daddy. You’re staying, right?”
Harry looks at Maddy and places Johnny on his feet. Bending over so his eyes are level with his son’s, he takes his hand and says, “Um, I can’t, pal. I’ve still got to finish things up in Rome. I flew in just to see you, and, ah, I’ve got to fly back right after the game.”
“Oh.”
“Johnny, go get your coat,” says Maddy, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. “You don’t want to be late for the game.”
The boy runs upstairs, calling, “I’ll be right back, Daddy.”
“You haven’t told him.”
Her face is like ice. “No. I thought it would be best coming from you.”
“From me?” He looks away and then down at his feet, holding back his emotions, knowing he has no right to protest. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do. He’ll blame me if I tell him that you won’t be living here anymore. I’m not the bad guy here, and I don’t intend to be. And frankly I’m not much in the mood to be one of those parents who fake a united front. It always seems so dishonest.”
“I see. Hello, by the way. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, Walt.”
“Harry.”
“So, do you have any idea what you want me to say?” he whispered.
“You’re the writer. I am sure you’ll be able to think up something.”
He juts out his lower lip and nods his head. “Okay.”
Johnny comes racing downstairs, jumping the last two steps and landing hard. Few things seem to give little boys greater happiness than the act of making loud noises. “Ready!”
“Okay, champ. Let’s go.”
“Bye, Mommy. Bye, Uncle Walt.”
“Bye, darling. Have fun at the game.”
The door closes behind them. Maddy turns to me and says, “You can make me that drink now, Walter.”
We are sitting in the living room with our backs to the garden. Maddy is smoking. When Johnny is in the house, she normally goes outside. “I didn’t know it would be this hard,” she says. “I didn’t know anything could be this hard.”
There are tears in her eyes. “Damn,” she says, wiping them away with the palm of her hand. “I don’t want to cry.”
“Haven’t you cried once?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Not like what I know I need.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’ve been so angry I haven’t felt like crying. But when I saw Johnny with Harry, I just felt so goddamn sad. We had this family, you know? We were happy. And now it’s all gone. It’s just not fair. How could he do it?”
I stand up and hand her my handkerchief. She blows her nose. “I don’t know, Maddy. I truly don’t. Of course, this sort of thing happens all the time. I just never thought it would ever happen to you and Harry.”
She leans her head back over the chair. “Oh, crap. I was trying to be so tough. Tough for Johnny, tough for me, and, in a way, tough for Harry.”
“Were you being too tough?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, what does one do in this sort of situation? My father was divorced three times, but none of those had been much of a marriage. I was too young to remember my mother. His second wife, you remember her, Nancy? God, she was an evil bitch. I couldn’t have been happier when she left. And his last wife, Ingrid, came and went while we were in college. I barely ever spoke to her.”
I remembered the last two wives. Both were beautiful but just as dissolute as the father. Their lives seemed to be an endless round of drinking and pill popping. The second wife was notorious for sleeping around. Maddy even had a nickname for her: “the Bike,” because everyone had a rid
e on her.
“There’s no road map. You’ve got to do what you feel is right for you—and for Johnny. You’re angry at Harry. What’s more, you don’t feel you can trust him anymore and don’t feel you can stay married to him.”
“I guess.”
“You do mind that he had an affair, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And that he lied about it?”
“Of course.”
“So don’t be too hard on yourself. You didn’t make this happen.”
“Well, that’s what I keep asking myself. What if it was something I did? I mean, I know we didn’t sleep together as much as we once did, but Harry never complained about it.”
“What if it was just sex he wanted? Men have been known to go through a midlife crisis. This could be his.”
“You know, I don’t think I’d mind if it was just sex. But he lied to me, Walter. And he seemed so distant at times. You remember when you visited us in Rome over Christmas? You sensed something was wrong, but I wasn’t ready to admit to it. I kept thinking it had to do with his book and being in Rome.”
“I remember.”
“What really upsets me is that he may have fallen in love with someone else.”
I say nothing. The thought to me is inconceivable.
“That’s the only excuse, isn’t it?” she goes on. “I mean, this wasn’t a one-time thing. He was going away all the time—and lying about it. I wouldn’t mind so much if it was just a one-night stand, but this was going on for months.”
“How do you know there wasn’t someone in Rome? No one knows yet who the woman was. I haven’t pried because you didn’t seem to show much interest. I can find out if you want me to.”
“No, that’s okay, Walter. I’ll do it myself when I’m ready.”
“How?”
“I’ll just ask Harry. He’s feeling so rotten I think he’d tell me anything I wanted.”
“How do we know he’s not still seeing this woman? If he had feelings for her, do you think he’d throw her over so easily?”
“The Harry I know is a romantic—and a bit of a sucker. So, yes, it’s possible he’s still seeing her. He’d even do it out of a sense of obligation. And what’s to keep him? After all, I’ve asked him for a separation. He doesn’t need to skulk around anymore.”
“I spoke to Ned the other day. He was staying there, you know.”
“Yes. Cissy and I have been in touch.”
“Then you know she kicked him out.”
“Not at my suggestion. I even asked her to let him stay on, but she couldn’t do it. I think she’s madder at him than I am.”
“Yes, well, Ned told me that Harry had been genuinely distraught. He never went out at night and barely during the day.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that he wasn’t exactly behaving like a sailor on leave. If he was in love with someone else, he’d be seeing her, wherever she is, not moping around Ned and Cissy’s.”
She put out her cigarette. “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, I’m tired of talking about it. I thought you said you were going to buy me dinner.”
I’ve had a number of romantic experiences with women over the years, but they have for the most part passed out of my life, distant as stars. This happened more when I was younger and when the girls of my age and background were on the hunt for suitable mates. Doubtless their mothers persuaded some of them that I was a desirable catch. I was almost engaged once to Agatha, Aggie, as she was known. She had lovely legs and a ready smile, and I think she liked the idea of being Mrs. Walter Gervais, at least the part that came with a large house in the Hamptons, a prominent name, the right clubs, and plenty of money.
She wasn’t greedy. She was too well-bred for that, but by that time I already had enough experience in corporate law to recognize a potentially hostile merger when I saw one. Instead of getting down on one knee as she had hoped I would, I took a trip—to visit Maddy and Harry, in fact—and when I returned, I told her that maybe we had better start seeing other people. She took it moderately well. I could tell she was disappointed, all those lovely aspirations coming to nothing, but she was hardly brokenhearted. I saw her several years afterward. She lived in Darien and had three children and was married to someone on Wall Street. Her hair was blonder, and she looked like she played a lot of golf. Clearly she had gotten what she wanted and bore me no ill will. “And you, Walt?” she asked. “How are you? Do you still have that lovely house?”
I informed her that I did. “And children?”
“No, sadly not. Still looking for the right girl, I suppose.”
She gave me a patronizing little smile. It was a mixture of victory and compassion. “Poor you. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised to hear it. You certainly didn’t seem very interested in getting married.”
It was true, of course. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I wasn’t too upset when I found myself on the wrong side of forty and still single. There was only one woman for me, and she was already taken. The notion of marriage to anyone else was unthinkable. What bothered me the most about dating was that I could always envision the end of the relationship. After a while, it seemed to me pointless, and maybe even a little cruel, to let someone form an attachment that would only be broken off.
Not all the women I dated took it as well as Aggie. Often there were tears and recriminations. The protestations. The anger. A few girls even broke up with me first, but rarely with any objection on my part beyond simple good manners. The reason, of course, was that none of the girls were Maddy. It was too much to expect that any of them would be, so eventually I just stopped trying.
As a result, I really had no idea what it meant to break up with someone you loved. Maddy and I had never been a couple, so there was nothing to break up. Based on my limited understanding, I could only imagine the agonies she and Harry were going through. But Maddy and I were still friends, which was what mattered the most to me, second only to her own happiness. Nor did I know what was going through Harry’s mind when he thought of Claire, even though at this point I still didn’t know of her involvement.
What was Harry going to do? How would he extricate himself? Did he even want to? As I thought about it after, he was caught between two women. One whom he had cheated on and who now despised him but whom, I believed, he still loved. The other was his lover. Both were beautiful and both were important to him. Would he fight a possibly hopeless battle to win back his wife, or would he accept that life changes and embrace the other? The risks were great. By choosing Maddy he could lose them both. By choosing Claire, he would lose Maddy forever. Would that make him happy? I know which choice I would have made.
8
Harry roams the streets. Stopping at windows, ducking in for coffee, occasionally a drink, browsing through bookstores. He is a man unmoored. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know where to go. His aimlessness, his loss. I pieced this all together after.
He walks by Claire’s building. Not for the first time. It is during the day. He knows she is not there. There is no chance she will walk out. She is at work. That is why he is there. He repeats words in his head. What he will say to her. The different scenarios. I am sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You were right. Let’s run away. Somewhere in Mexico where they can’t find us. Panama. I have to stay with my son. I love my wife. I love you. I don’t know what to do. I have never been so confused in my life. Forgive me. One of you. Both of you.
He has been here every day, relieved that he is undiscovered. The only person who recognizes him is the man in the deli. Aztec eyes, a gold tooth. Two sugars, no milk. Then he walks around the block and then again, each time staring up at her window. Remembering what happened in that room, in that bed. Enshrining it in his mind. Wondering where his life went. It is still cold. The trees are bare, the buildings gray. Hardened, blackened mounds of snow cling stubbornly to the sidewalk. Every day he makes his pilgrimage. There is no one for him now. No one loves him. He has no
one who will hold him to her. I need you. I need someone. Not just anybody. That is not the way he thinks. He needs warmth, love, acceptance, forgiveness.
One time when he’s there, he thinks he sees her and panics, not knowing what to say or do. But it isn’t her. He knows that if he wants to see her, all he needs to do is come here earlier. But that is not why he is here. It is in some ways enough to see the building. It is like playing a game of chance. I turn over a card, but what are the odds. He is being a coward. I am growing to hate him.
When he does call her, it is unexpected.
“Hi, it’s me.”
She is at work. “Harry?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God. I’ve been so worried. Are you all right? How are you? Where are you?”
He had been prepared for anger. Its absence surprises him, encourages him. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m in New York. How are you?”
“Can I see you?”
“I’d like that.”
“Tonight?”
“I can’t tonight. It’s my night with Johnny.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Come to my apartment at eight.”
The next night he is back on the familiar street. He had stayed away that day. It is a few minutes past eight. This time, instead of passing by on the opposite side of the street, he walks up the short stoop and presses the buzzer. A moment later there is the answering buzz, and he pushes the door open. He climbs the familiar steps.
She is at the door. How does he greet her? Does he make a joke? Does he give her a polite kiss? Does he take her in his arms? Moments like these are crucial. They reveal everything. If it were me, I’d choose the polite kiss. But it is not me. It could never be.
It is a moment of confusion. Neither of them knows what the other is thinking. Standing in the doorway, halfway in, halfway out. Memories of her body. Shared breath. His hands. A powerful, undeniable attraction.
He embraces her, saying nothing. Remembering her scent, the feel of her hair. The beat of her heart. She grips him tightly, immersing herself in him. It is impossible to tell if it is a welcome or a farewell.
Indiscretion Page 20