Grand Avenue

by Joy Fielding

  “Are you crazy?” Susan gasped in return.

  Vicki laughed with relief. “So what’s going on? What’s the problem?”

  “No problem really.”

  “Which is why you had to see me first thing in the morning, in my office.”

  “I thought we’d have a little more privacy this way.”

  “And we need more privacy because …?”

  “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  It wasn’t like Susan to equivocate. Normally she came right to the point. It was one of the things Vicki liked best about her. Unlike Chris, who’d always been too shy to push her point on others, or Barbara, whose great charm was that she never seemed quite sure what the point was, Susan was one of those rare people who refreshingly said what she meant and meant what she said. “How are the girls?” Vicki asked, giving Susan an opportunity to collect her thoughts.

  “Fine.”

  Okay, not the girls. “Owen?”

  “Fine.”

  Another one fine, Vicki thought. “Your mother?”

  “The same.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Not her mother. “Still liking your job?”

  “I love my job.”

  Vicki shrugged, a shrug that said, I’m running out of options here. “Any more threatening calls from Tony?”

  “Not lately. You?”

  “No. He seems to have calmed down since the court awarded him temporary custody.”

  Both women shook their heads in disbelief.

  “How did that happen? Can you tell me?”

  “Beats the shit out of me,” Vicki said honestly, still bristling at the judge’s decision. “I guess the fact the kids all said they wanted to stay with their father more or less sealed the deal.”

  “Asshole,” Susan muttered.

  “Motherfucking, cocksucking asshole,” Vicki elaborated. “But that’s not why you’re here,” she said pleasantly to Susan.

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to keep guessing?”

  Susan took a deep breath, looked toward the window. “There’s a man.”

  Vicki followed the path of Susan’s eyes to the window. How could Susan see anyone from here? “A man? Where?”

  Susan lowered her head, laughed softly. “No. I don’t mean …”

  “Oh,” Vicki said, surprised to have been caught so off guard. Could Susan really be saying what she thought she was saying? “You mean … a man?”

  A natural blush flooded Susan’s face, turning it bright pink.

  “A man who isn’t Owen?” Vicki asked, careful not to make wrong assumptions.

  “A man who isn’t Owen,” Susan repeated, covering her mouth with her hand, as if to push the words back inside.

  “You’re having an affair?” Vicki tried—and failed—to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

  “No. Of course not,” Susan said quickly.

  “Of course not,” Vicki repeated, trying to navigate the dizzying loops of the conversation. Susan had been in her office ten minutes, and Vicki still had no idea why she was here or what she was talking about. “I don’t understand.”

  “I need some advice.”

  “I need some information.”

  “Sorry. This is very hard for me.”

  “Take your time.” Vicki stole a surreptitious glance at her watch. She had a client coming at eight forty-five, but, hell, this was too good. If necessary, her client would have to wait.

  “There’s this man …”

  “At work?”

  “No!”

  “Good,” Vicki said, not entirely convinced. Susan’s denial had been a little too quick, a tad too emphatic. “It’s never a good idea to shit where you eat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Jeremy always says. ‘You should never shit where you eat,’ ” Vicki pushed thoughts of a naked Michael Rose from her mind. “It means—”

  “Business and pleasure don’t mix.”

  “Exactly. So, where did you meet this man?”

  Susan hesitated. “Is that important?”

  “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. What is?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Vicki threw up her hands in exasperation. “Susan, at some point, you have to tell me something.”

  “There’s this man I find myself very attracted to.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  “What do you want to do about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.”

  Susan brought her hands together, twisted her fingers in her lap. “I love my husband.”

  “This has nothing to do with your husband.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Unless you’re in love with this other man. Are you?”

  “Good God, no! I’m not even sure I like him.”

  Vicki almost laughed. Sometimes Susan could be so naive. “Okay, you’ve met some guy. You’re attracted to him. You want to sleep with him. Is that it?”

  “I don’t know if I want to sleep with him. I don’t know what I want. It’s just that …”

  “You’ve been married a long time,” Vicki said, finishing Susan’s sentence.

  “Yes.”

  “Things aren’t as exciting as they used to be.”

  “It’s not that Owen doesn’t try.”

  “But this guy makes you feel special. He hangs on your every word. When he looks at you, you go weak in the knees.”

  “Nobody’s ever looked at me that way before.”

  “Don’t do it,” Vicki said, surprising herself even more than Susan. She’d been preparing to tell her friend to go for it, cut loose, have a little fun. Join the club. Instead she’d said just the opposite.

  “What?”

  “Don’t do it.” God, she’d said it again. What was the matter with her?

  “Why? I thought you’d tell me …”

  “That it’s okay? It is. For some people.”

  “But not me?”

  “Not you.”

  Susan looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So she did both.

  “Look at you. You’re crying already, and you haven’t even done anything. Have you?” Vicki asked, just to make sure.

  “We kissed.”

  “That’s all? You’re positive?”

  Susan nodded.

  “Okay, so you kissed some guy who isn’t Owen, and it made you feel tingly all over, and you were thinking maybe you’d like to do more, so you came to the expert in the field of adulterous relationships.…”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Insult me? Who said anything about being insulted? Hell, I’m flattered.”

  “I just need some advice.”

  “I think you want more.”

  “What?”

  “I think you want permission.”

  “Permission?”

  “And I won’t give it to you,” Vicki said, her voice adamant. “You can’t have an affair. Okay? Go home to Owen. Be a good girl.”

  Susan jumped to her feet. “Damn it. I’m tired of being a good girl. I’ve been a good girl my whole life!”

  “Which is why it’s too late to change now. Trust me, you don’t want to do this.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. What you’re looking for is a little romance, like in high school. You want to hold hands and go for long walks and maybe make out a little in a parked car before you say good-night. I know you, Susan. You want soft kisses, not hard penises. You’d be miserable. You’d hate yourself in the morning. And you’d be so racked with guilt that you’d probably confess everything to your husband, and that could spell the end of your marriage, and your marriage is one of the good ones, and I won’t let you do anything to screw it up.”

  Susan smiled, shook her head. What more was there to say? Vicki was right. They b
oth knew it. “Sometimes you amaze me.”

  “Sometimes I amaze myself. Now get out of here so I can amaze the people who pay me to amaze them. And don’t do anything stupid,” Vicki added as Susan reached for her office door. “You’re my hero. You remember that.”

  Susan stopped, looked back, her eyes brimming with grateful tears. “And you’re mine.”

  Twenty

  Susan, I need to see you in my office when you get a minute,” Peter Bassett said in passing as he strolled by her cubicle.

  Susan nodded without speaking, although he was already gone. He expects you to follow him, Susan thought, unable to move. She’d been avoiding him all week, making sure they were never alone, that she was in the office by nine and out by five, that she was busy, busy, busy. No time for lunch, no time for coffee breaks, no time for stolen kisses in locked boardrooms. Oh, God, what was the matter with her? She had to banish such thoughts from her mind.

  Susan squirmed in her seat and stared at the pile of work on her cluttered desk. When was the last time she’d seen its scratched oak surface? It was starting to resemble the floor of Ariel’s room. There was simply too much stuff, and nowhere to put it all, exactly as Ariel regularly—and loudly—proclaimed. Maybe she’d been too hard on her older daughter. Maybe it was time to pay closer attention to what she was saying. Shouting, Susan immediately amended, knowing Peter was waiting for her, possibly even watching her from his office across the hall.

  Maybe Ariel shouts so much because she thinks I don’t hear her, Susan realized.

  Maybe she’s right.

  Susan rolled her eyes back in her head, found herself staring at a spider creeping slowly across the top of the Japanese screen that separated her cubicle from the one next to it. The spider was one of those deceptively flimsy-looking things, its legs delicate silver threads that protruded at awkward angles from the tiny black button of its body. Why is it those legs don’t just collapse? Susan wondered, following the insect’s leisurely stroll across the top of the beige partition, imagining a series of minuscule muscles propelling the spider along, wondering if spiders had brains, minds, feelings.

  “You’re starting to think like an undergraduate again,” she muttered, watching the spider disappear over the top of the screen, aware she was stalling for time. What was she doing sitting here musing about the secret life of spiders when she should be on her way to Peter Bassett’s office? “Come into my office, said the spider to the fly,” she said out loud.

  “Sorry,” came the voice from the next cubicle. “Did you say something?”

  Susan shook her head, realized Carrie couldn’t see her. “No. Sorry.”

  Carrie’s head poked around the partition. Her face was thin, pale, angular, surrounded by a sloppy mass of strawberry blond curls that looked as if they’d been impatiently grafted onto her scalp. She was twenty-five, already twice-divorced, with a slight astigmatism in her left eye that made her look vaguely cross-eyed. “You all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “The Great Man on the warpath?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Susan said, wondering if this was true. “Watch out for the spider,” she warned as Carrie leaned her head against the partition.

  Without so much as shifting her position, Carrie reached up and slammed her fist against the side of the screen. It wobbled back and forth as Carrie proudly displayed her open palm, the remains of the spider splayed across the inside of her hand like an abstract tattoo. “You too,” Carrie said, and then was gone.

  Susan took a deep breath, unable to ignore the irrational feeling of outrage building inside her. Why did she have to kill the damn thing? It wasn’t doing anything. It was simply walking along minding its own business, and then Wham! One minute it was alive; the next minute it wasn’t. Squished beyond all recognition, Susan thought melodramatically, marveling at the carelessness of the young. Have they no idea how precious life is? Had she, at Carrie’s age?

  Besides, it was bad luck to kill a spider. If you killed a spider, her mother always said, it meant it was going to rain.

  Susan glanced toward the surrounding walls of windows, noting the heavy, dark clouds gathered at one end of the sky, felt them already moving toward her. Nature imitating the thoughts of man, Susan thought, recalling the expression from one of her English classes. Pathetic fallacy. At least that’s what she thought the proper term was. Her years at university were starting to blur, leak one into the other. Already she’d forgotten so many things. Already she was starting to wonder, What was the point? So she had her degree. Big deal. Could her degree slow the merciless progression of her mother’s cancer? Could it make her older daughter love her? Could it save her from making the biggest mistake of her life? Too bad they didn’t teach common sense in university, she thought as the phone rang.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she heard Owen say. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Susan could see his gentle smile through the phone wires. “I just had a call from Ed Frysinger asking if we’re free for dinner on Friday night. I said I’d check with you and get back to him.”

  “Friday sounds good.”

  “Great. I’ll tell him.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Susan hung up the phone, buried her head in her hands.

  The phone rang again.

  “I need to see you,” Peter Bassett growled in her ear. “Now,” he added, just before the line went dead.

  Susan reluctantly pushed herself to her feet, smiling thinly at Carrie as she passed by her cubicle. Before she reached the end of the narrow corridor, she reached up and closed the top button of her pink cotton shirt. Then she took another deep breath—she’d taken so many she was starting to feel dizzy—pushed her shoulders back, and walked toward Peter Bassett’s office.

  The door was already open. Peter was sitting behind his desk, seemingly absorbed in something he was reading. “Close the door,” he instructed, not bothering to look up, as if unconcerned with preliminaries.

  Susan cleared her throat, then closed the door behind her, her heartbeat quickening. Don’t be silly, she told herself, forcing herself to look directly at her superior, although he continued to ignore her. There’s nothing to be concerned about. Nothing is going to happen. Not now. Not in the middle of the afternoon in a glass-walled office surrounded by curious workers.

  “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he asked, still not looking her way.

  Susan felt her breath catch in her lungs. Oh, God, she thought, feeling the now familiar tingle between her legs.

  “I’ve been sitting here trying to work all day, and I can’t get anything done because I can’t stop thinking about you.” He raised his head, looked directly at her.

  He’s not even that handsome, Susan tried telling herself. He’s too thin and hawklike. Owen is a much pleasanter looking man. Except when was the last time Owen had looked at her with such unadulterated lust? Adultery, Susan repeated silently, damning her overactive brain. Did it never take a rest?

  Peter Bassett suddenly jumped to his feet, thrusting a stack of papers in her hands. “Follow me,” he directed, out the door before she had time to ask why.

  She knew where they were headed even before he turned toward the boardroom. Please let it be occupied, she prayed, waiting while Peter knocked first, then pushed open the door. “Coast is clear,” he whispered with a laugh, then said louder, so that those nearby could hear, “Just spread all that stuff across the table.”

  Susan was laying the papers across the table as directed when she heard the door close, then lock, behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I thought you wanted …”

  “You know what I want.” And suddenly he was standing right behind her, his breathing loud and heavy. Susan could feel it slowly wrapping itself around her, invisible velvet ropes pinning her arms t
o her sides. “You’re so tense,” he was whispering, expert thumbs finding the tender muscles between her shoulder blades. “Try to relax.” His hands slipped around to cup her breasts. Before she could protest, they’d already dropped to her thighs, were pulling at her skirt. Good God, was he really going to make love to her right here in the middle of the office? Was she really going to let him?

  Don’t do it, she heard Vicki say.

  “Don’t,” she heard herself whisper, unconvincing even to herself.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said, spinning her around, his hands groping their way under her skirt, tugging at her pantyhose. His lips found hers, his tongue pushing her lips apart. “I want to kiss you all over.”

  Oh, shit, Susan thought.

  Be a good girl, Vicki told her.

  “Relax,” Peter said hoarsely, fumbling with the zipper of his fly.

  Go home to Owen.

  Owen, Susan thought, hearing his voice on the phone, innocently making plans for Friday night. Owen, whom she’d loved since high school. Her first love. Her only love. Good, sweet, thoughtful Owen, who would never betray her as she was betraying him now. Hadn’t she always hated men who cheated on their wives? Think about Ron, she reminded herself. Think about the hell he’d put Barbara through. Is that what she wanted for her own marriage? Vicki was right. She’d hate herself in the morning. Hell, she hated herself already.

  “No,” she heard herself say. “No. Don’t. Stop.” Susan struggled to turn her face away from Peter’s, but his lips clung stubbornly to hers, like Velero. “Stop,” she said again, spitting the words out of the side of her mouth, the only place where she had any room, but still he wouldn’t stop. She grabbed his hands, tried pushing them aside, but he held tight. Was she going to have to scream to make him stop?

  “Stop this,” Susan pleaded, managing to break free, hold him at arm’s length.