“What if what Nick and I have is stronger than what I have with Bob? Whenever I am around Nick, I feel smart and worthy of attention. I feel pretty. He makes me feel good about myself,” Karen stated. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve felt good about myself?”
“About as long as it’s been since I’ve felt good about myself.” Sarah sipped her tea. “My job definitely helps with my self-esteem; it proves I can do something other than clean and cook. But I haven’t felt really good about myself or my abilities since Vincent and I were first married.”
“And why is that?”
“Because back then we were young and in love. Vincent paid attention to me. We didn’t have children to distract us from each other, and Vincent didn’t work as much as he works now.” Sarah bit into a brownie. “Back then, he would occasionally stop on the way home and buy a small gift for me, a cassette tape or my favorite bubble bath. We went out to dinner a couple of times a month. He told me he liked the color of my hair. It’s different now.”
“It’s different in my house, too.” Karen took a brownie from the plate between them. “And I don’t know why it has to be different. I don’t know why we don’t treat each other the way we used to.”
“So you admit you don’t treat Bob with the same love and affection as you did when you were dating?”
“No, I don’t. I have a million other things to do—like raising children without a lot of help from him, and now, working. Plus, if he doesn’t appreciate me anymore, why should I appreciate him?”
“That’s a bad attitude, and both of us know it.”
“Why is it so bad?” asked Karen, biting into the brownie.
“Because you can make the first move. Tell Bob how proud you are of him. Tell him how much you love him.”
“Yeah, as soon as I do that, he’s got my clothes off.”
“What I’m trying to say is appreciating each other goes both ways. Bob probably doesn’t feel appreciated, even though he gets a paycheck and kudos from his boss. I would guess Vincent is the same way. What they really want is appreciation—and regular sex, of course—from us. But we’re so bitter about their lack of appreciation that we would rather die than give it to them.”
Karen finished her brownie. “Why is it up to us to make the first move? Why can’t they make the first move?”
“Because they’re like selfish children,” Sarah said. “If you want them to share, you’re going to have to share first.”
As Karen drank her single glass of Chardonnay that evening, she admitted to herself that Sarah made a very good point: Karen had to love Bob in the same way that she wanted him to love her. She had to forget about his promises of taking her on weekend retreats, just the two of them, and the missed parent-teacher conferences or ice-cream socials because he was out of town or working on a big deal, and the hours and hours away from her and the children without a word of regret when he finally did come home. And what about his neediness whenever he was home? Did she have to kowtow to that, too? That’s what irked her the most. She could tolerate his work habits, mostly because he was a successful businessman and she knew that came with a price. It was his repeated refusals to help, with anything from sweeping the kitchen floor to picking up a few groceries on the way home to cooking once in a while. Sure, he grilled burgers, steak, and chicken in the summertime, but only because he enjoyed it. Other men, even Caroline’s husband, Rick, made pancakes for their children on Sunday mornings. Not Bob. He worked twelve hours a day at his job and saw no reason to help Karen with what he viewed as her job. Instead of doing something to make her life easier, he did nothing, or, more commonly, was interested in her doing something to help him. He wanted sex, or he wanted a back rub, which would lead to sex, or he wanted her to watch a Cheers rerun with him when the kids were getting ready for bed. He was a man, and yet he was like a child, as Sarah had pointed out, who couldn’t see beyond his own needs. What Sarah was suggesting was that Karen simply disregard his selfishness and pile attention on him. And he, in turn, would pile it on her. Karen didn’t buy it. She could shower him with attention for months and, like a dependable vacuum cleaner, he would continue to suck it in. She would give, and he would take.
On laundry day, Karen picked up soiled clothes from Robert’s floor and emptied the half-full clothes hamper. She started the washing machine and threw his clothes in. She went into Rebecca’s room next and picked up her clothes. The hamper in her closet was empty. Karen walked into the bathroom the children shared, recently enlarged and updated to suit Rebecca’s preteen tastes, and grabbed two pairs of pajamas and a wet towel from the floor, along with a washcloth from the countertop and a pair of underwear that was hanging from a drawer pull. As she pulled, the elastic waistband caught and opened the drawer. Inside was a half-used tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush, some tinted lip balm (the only lipstick Karen would let Rebecca wear), gum, and some candy corn with the yellow cones nibbled off. Karen scooped up the candy and threw it away, then opened the drawer completely and saw the latest edition of Teen People magazine. When she picked it up to get a better look at the cover photo of Hilary Duff, she saw a package of diet pills underneath. Her stomach dropped. Karen resisted the urge to take the package. Instead, she put the magazine back where it was, shut the drawer, grabbed the rest of Rebecca’s dirty clothes, and walked quickly to her bedroom and shut the door. She dropped the clothes on the floor, and then she sat on the bed and called Bob. On the sixth ring, the front desk picked up. “Hotel Carlton.”
“Yes, it’s Karen Parsons. I’m trying to reach my husband, Bob.”
“Very good,” said the man. “Let me see if I can locate him.” Karen looked at her watch. It was three thirty, meaning it was eight thirty there. “He’s apparently out. Shall I tell him you rang?”
“Yes,” said Karen. “Please have him call me when he gets in.” When Karen went to bed at ten thirty, Bob hadn’t called.
When Bob finally did call Sunday afternoon, he was tired and irritable. He talked, briefly, with the children, then spent two minutes with Karen before he said he had to go.
“Where in the world do you have to go,” asked Karen, looking at her watch, “at seven o’clock on a Sunday night?”
“Dinner.”
“I need to talk to you for five minutes. It’s important.”
“Five minutes is all I have. I have to be down at the lobby then.”
Karen told him about finding the diet pills. “What should I do?”
“Take them. Take them and then sit down and talk with her and present them so she can’t deny it.”
“She’ll have a fit, Bob. You know how crazy she’s been acting lately.”
“And tell her the diet pills are precisely the reason she’s been crazy. She’s a smart kid. She’ll understand.”
“I don’t think she will, Bob.”
“Well, Karen, you won’t know if you don’t try.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Look,” he said. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Bob took a moment. “Sit down and talk to her, Karen. You’re her mother.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Karen, sarcastically.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you later on.” The next thing Karen heard was the dial tone.
“You seem distracted today.”
Karen looked up and saw Nick standing over her desk. She smiled at him. “Do I?”
“Take a walk around the block with me? I’ve got an idea.”
“Sure,” said Karen, standing and getting her wool car coat from the back of her chair.
“Where are you two off to now?” asked the front-page editor, Sam, mid-doughnut, looking up from his computer screen.
“Coffee,” said Nick. “Want some?”
“Nah,” he said, looking back at his work. “Seven cups a day is my limit.” Dave, the sports editor, chuckled.
Nick and Karen walked out of the newsroom
and out of the building. “Are we getting coffee? Let me run back in for my wallet.”
“No. Coffee sounds less romantic than a walk around the block.”
They started down the street. “Do we need to worry about things sounding romantic?”
Nick stopped and looked at her. “We work in a newsroom. Reporters and editors are the nosiest people on earth. People notice I spend time with you.”
“Do they think it’s wrong?”
Nick started walking again. “I don’t know, and I don’t much care. I enjoy your company. I enjoy your writing. We work together. There’s nothing wrong with our spending time together.”
“Good,” said Karen, emboldened by his proclamation. “Because I like spending time with you, too.”
Nick put his arm around her shoulder, squeezed her to him for a moment, then released her. “Now tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s my daughter,” she said immediately. “I found diet pills in her bathroom drawer.”
Nick took his hands out of his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s eleven, right?”
“Going on eighteen.”
“So she’s feeling the pressure to be thin like all of the current female American role models.”
“I suppose so, yes. My husband says I should take the pills away and have a good talk with her, but I’m just not sure what to do.”
“What do you want to do?” asked Nick, putting his hands back in his pockets. November’s chill swirled around them.
“I do want to talk to her, but, lately, we don’t seem to be communicating that well.” Karen frowned. “She’s always sarcastic or angry.”
“Is that her personality, or is that the diet pills?”
“I’m not sure at this point.”
Nick brushed the hair out of his eyes with his fingers, but the wind pushed it back onto his forehead. “Sometimes, it helps to get an outside opinion.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said, brightening. “I was thinking about making an appointment with our family doctor and having her talk to Rebecca.”
Nick nodded his head. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Let the two of them talk. Rebecca might say things to the doctor that she wouldn’t tell you.”
Karen smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Good,” said Nick. “Now let’s get back to the office before my reporters write a story about us.”
Dr. Wendy Sonke talked to Rebecca the following week. Keeping some of Rebecca’s conversation confidential, the doctor did tell Karen she wasn’t overly concerned, at this point. Rebecca was going through what a lot of premenstrual girls experienced. She felt anxious about being a smart kid because she was sometimes teased. And she was worried about growing up; she was torn between wanting the safety and security of her childhood and wanting to explore her preteen notions and fantasies. And, Dr. Sonke said, looking up from her notes, she was concerned about her parents’ marriage.
“Really?” asked Karen, eyebrows up, head back.
“She told me you and your husband don’t communicate well and don’t seem to love each other anymore.” Karen looked at the floor. She tried to shelter the children from their disagreements, but she knew she was not always successful. And if she and Bob fought after they had been out together in the evening, the wine she’d consumed raised her voice and dulled her intuition. “I don’t want to begin to try to analyze your marriage, Karen. But if you and your husband are having problems, I can give you the names of a few good counselors,” Dr. Sonke said, writing on her prescription pad. “What Rebecca needs most is what every child needs, and that’s a stable, loving home environment. There’s a lot of stuff to sort through out there in the world, especially during the teenage years. If kids have a safe haven in their homes, they can better handle what’s outside of them.”
When Karen got home, she looked at the names on the paper Dr. Sonke had given her and then folded it and put it in her bedside drawer.
At lunch later that week, Caroline asked about Karen’s job and dreamboat editor. Against her will, Karen blushed. “Excellent,” said Caroline, smiling. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Will you share your secret with us, or do we have to hold you down and drag it out of you?”
Karen held up her hand. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I find that hard to believe. Anyone as scrumptious as he is must attract attention. What’s his name, Nick Flannigan?”
“Nick Fleming. And how do you know what he looks like?”
“I dropped an advertisement for our neighborhood garage sale off at the paper. Afterward, I wandered into the newsroom, where he asked me if I needed help. Yeah, I thought to myself, I need help restraining myself!”
Stephanie laughed as she always did whenever Caroline got going on an irreverent or sexual topic. Stephanie’s amusement fanned the fire.
“You are such talk,” said Karen, buttering a roll she didn’t want.
“On the contrary, I’m all action.”
“Whatever, Caroline.”
“Keep your secrets, Karen, but keep one thing in mind. If you leave that gorgeous, rich husband of yours, there will be a long line of potential replacements.” The server arrived with their salads. As Karen took a bite, she glanced across the table at Caroline, who winked at her before asking who in the group would be interested in a shopping trip the following week.
While Caroline liked to kid around, there was usually a serious side to her jesting. In this case, Karen knew that any number of women would, indeed, be happy to find Bob on the other side of the bed in the morning after meeting him in the middle during the night. He provided Karen and the children with everything they needed materially, and he had planned well for the future. Rebecca and Robert would be able to go to any college in the country that accepted them. They could go to boarding school, too, if that’s what Karen and Bob decided was best. There were few barriers within reason to what the Parsons family could have or do, and it was all because of Bob’s drive to do his very best every day. Over the years, the right people had recognized his potential and rewarded him for it. In the pettiness of every day, Karen knew she often lost sight of what he had done for the financial security of their family.
Perhaps marital counseling was just what they needed. On her hopeful days, Karen was fairly sure that beneath several hardened layers the initial love they had for each other was retrievable. They had enough good history to overshadow the current period of questioning. And a counselor could help them delve into their own psyches, as well as those of one another, to find what they had lost and draw it to the surface. They would discover through their weekly sessions that a relationship like theirs, with a rock-hard foundation, was worth saving. Bob would need to pay more attention to her and to the children, and Karen, in turn, would probably have to give him more sex. Would that be so hard? When Karen got home from lunch, she put the teakettle on to boil, and dialed the phone number of Bob’s hotel in Germany. He picked up the phone on the third ring. “Bob Parsons.”
“Hi, honey. It’s me.”
“What’s up?” he asked, very businesslike.
“Not much. I just thought it would be nice to talk. We’ve both been so busy lately.”
“I can’t right now, Karen. I’m on my way out the door.”
Karen looked at her watch. “Where are you going?”
“To a dinner meeting. The Germans work around the clock.”
“Ah,” said Karen, the resentment she had talked herself out of in the car returning. “Then you must feel right at home.”
“I do have to run, Karen. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Do you miss me?”
“Honey, I’m late.”
“Off you go then,” said Karen before she hung up the phone.
Heinz Schroeder was the production leader of Forester’s plant in Germany. He was a dedicated, driven employee, like Bob, which the two men instantly recognized, forming a quick bond. They
had run through the city’s parks on the two mornings before their meetings began, and tonight was the third and final evening out for dinner and drinks. At thirty-six, Bob’s age, Heinz had little to tie him down in life. His wife of five years had, citing his work habits, recently left him; they had no children. He was free to work long hours when he wished, or to drink into the night. There was no one to scold him when he finally got home, no disappointed looks. He was a strikingly handsome man, with a hard-set jaw covered by a three-day beard that was a few shades darker than his chin-length blond hair. His hair was the same length sported by many women, a bob, but atop his masculine face and muscular body, there was nothing remotely feminine about it. When he tucked it behind his ears, Bob had noticed a shiny gold stud, which Heinz had recently acquired for no reason other than women liked it. And women did like Heinz; there were young, pretty women who unabashedly approached his table and made their interest in him public.
Bob’s last night with Heinz ended up, as the other nights had, at the local bar, The Brauhaus. The safety review had gone better than expected, and the operators had all appeared to enjoy Bob’s congratulatory words and cash gifts. Heinz was full of praise for both the company and Bob as a role model. They laughed like old friends as they took two seats at the bar. Within minutes, Ailse and Bernadette, the two most persistent of the attractive women at hand, were standing next to them. Ailse cozied up to Heinz, and Bernadette, who had announced the previous night a preference for American men, sat on the stool next to Bob. Two beers later, Bob suggested they all go back to his hotel for a nightcap. Even though they all readily agreed, it was just Bernadette who got out of the car with Bob when Heinz pulled his sedan next to the curb. Heinz promised to call Bob before his flight in the morning, waved, and drove away. Bob looked at Bernadette, who smiled at him and said, “The drink?”
“Sure,” he said, putting his arm around her and leading her into his hotel. They walked past the bar in the lobby to the elevators, rode in silence to the third floor, and walked hand-in-hand down the hallway to Bob’s room. Bob flipped on the light and watched Bernadette take off her coat and toss it casually on the bed. She sat down next to her coat and crossed her trim, shapely legs, all the while looking at Bob. Karen would never know. His heart rate skyrocketed as he thought about his next move. Turning away from Bernadette, he retrieved two beers from the mini fridge, opened them, and handed one to her.
A Changing Marriage Page 25