Bob called Denise the next day at work and asked her out for dinner Friday night. He told her he could spend the night at her apartment; she told him she was thrilled. He next called Karen, who told him to do whatever he needed to do, that she would be fine with the kids. As soon as Karen hung up with Bob, she called Nick and told him they could be together Friday night, and that instead of talking about being trapped in their marriages they should focus on the positive, on their happy future together. Nick told her he loved her, their new way to end phone calls, and would find a way to be with her. As soon as they hung up, Nick called the hospital and left a message for Trisha. He was going to attend, last minute, an all-day seminar on the survival of the small-town newspaper. He would be gone all day Friday, getting home late Friday night. He would ask their caregiver to take care of the girls. If Dawn couldn’t do it, he would find other arrangements. He hung up, made one more call, then sat back in his chair with a smile on his face. Three more days, he thought, just three more days until he would again hold his lover. They would explore each other’s bodies by candlelight. They would eat sensual food. They would make concrete, feasible plans to leave their spouses.
It was a big-blue-sky day on Friday, warm for the middle of February. Hardened snow sat in the tree Vs, creating that Winter Wonderland effect his elderly neighbor was so fond of pronouncing whenever Nick used his snowblower to clear her driveway. He drove to the library with his driver’s side window cracked an inch to let in some fresh air, listening on and off to an interview on the radio and thinking about the evening ahead of him. Karen had arranged for her sitter to stay until eleven; they would have six hours together. He had never been with her for six hours, even at the office, and was full of expectations about what it would be like to have her for that long. They would not run out of things to say to one another, like he and Trisha often did, even when they hadn’t seen one another all day. He vowed not to look at his watch until he knew it was getting late. Instead, he wanted to spend the time looking at her, at her auburn hair that she had recently lightened as a manifestation that she was a new person, that she was starting a new life with the right man. Her skin was pure white, except for the smattering of freckles along the ridge of her nose, and so soft to the touch. She had laughed at this, when he first told her, telling him that with the amount she spent on skin care products, her skin should feel like velvet. He would be able to touch her for six hours. He would be able to unguardedly gaze at her without worrying what others might think. At work, he was careful, too careful probably. But he knew people talked about them, so he had been more cavalier in his interactions with her, paying less attention to her than the other reporters. In some ways, it was easy. She was the best writer by far and needed his attention less than everyone else at the office. But it was also difficult not being able to give her his attention because he was so much in love.
Karen spent part of the hour before she met Nick in the tub. She sat with her eyes closed in a landscape of caramel-scented bubbles. Karen pictured Nick in her mind, the intensity in his eyes and the firmness of his arms and legs. She could hear his voice, talking to her on the phone, and she could picture him in his office, amid the disorderly piles of stacked newspapers and the clipped articles, wire reports, and pink “urgent message” slips on his desk. She sank lower in the water, allowing the bubbles to surround her neck and crackle in her ears. Where would he take her tonight, she wondered. Would they return to the inn? Karen hoped not; it would be impossible to duplicate or surpass that magical night. Karen opened her eyes to check the clock on the bathroom shelf. With just thirty minutes to get ready, she washed and shaved her legs before getting out of the tub. She changed into a short black dress, black heels, and gold jewelry, and then kissed her children good-bye—telling Rebecca she was excited about her fancy girls’ night out with the other female reporters in the office—and walked out the door.
As Nick and Karen each drove toward the library, Bob sat in a weekly sales meeting. While the figures for the week were below target, Bob was having a hard time concentrating on numbers and projections. Soon, he would be standing at Denise’s door, and he was anticipating how beautiful she would look and how satisfying their night together would be. He longed to touch her, to taste her; her skin was ever so slightly salty. Her oval face showed all of her emotions the moment she felt them. He particularly liked the look of pleasant surprise punctuated by her eyes and brows when he had entered her. She had whispered encouragements in her playful voice. He looked at his watch and breathed in deeply. He had made the dinner reservation for eight at Denise’s request, but was scheduled to be at her place at six. She thought having a drink at her apartment first would be fun, as she put it. Bob hoped her idea of fun matched his.
Denise took a half-day vacation Friday to get ready. First, she went to the mall and bought new underwear and sleepwear and six white taper candles. She then went to the grocery store and bought cashews, large green olives, and grape tomatoes—foods they could feed each other. She bought eggs, cinnamon crumble coffeecake, real orange juice, and freshly ground coffee for the morning. On the way home, she stopped at the florist for a colorful assortment of cut flowers. In her apartment, she arranged the flowers in a large glass vase and set them down on the coffee table she had dusted the night before. She placed two candles in the living room, one in the kitchen, one in the bathroom, and two in the bedroom. She took a long, hot shower and washed and conditioned her hair. Naked in the bathroom, Denise rubbed sesame oil into her arms, legs, and abdomen. She wrapped herself in a terry-cloth robe, and walked into her closet to retrieve the chocolate-brown silk pants suit she had picked up at the dry cleaners and matching heels. When Bob rang the doorbell an hour later, she was ready for him.
Just before six, when Bob was parking his car outside Denise’s apartment building, Karen and Nick were making love in a large feather bed in a one-room log cabin in the woods. It was the work space of a best-selling author friend of Nick’s who was out of town on a book tour and had given Nick permission to use it. It held very little: the bed; a large, single-drawer pine desk; a miniature stove, sink, and refrigerator; and a toilet, sink, and shower, separated from the rest of the room by walls that reached three-quarters of the way to the ceiling. The bed faced a large stone fireplace, in which the last log slowly burned. A bearskin rug sat on the hearth, and next to it, two champagne flutes Karen and Nick had drunk from before they removed each other’s clothes. In bed, they laughed and smiled as they touched each other. Afterward, they talked about their future, about their new resolve to tell their spouses. They would do it at the same time—Sunday afternoon. They would get sitters to take their children to the movies, so they could quietly ask for divorces at home. Neither of them expected a fight. In six months or so, they could be together legally.
Denise loved that Bob was punctual. She opened her door to find him in a dark gray suit, holding a dozen red roses, and looking like someone from the pages of a magazine. She couldn’t believe he was here to be with her, to take her out, and to spend the night in her bed. He smiled when she opened the door, and took a step forward to kiss her on the cheek. He told her she was beautiful, like he always did, and she slowly backed up to let him in. She put the flowers in a white china vase and took them to the bedroom, so they could see and smell them later on. When she walked back into the living room, she found Bob standing where she had left him and laughed. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I would.” Bob followed her to the kitchen. “Let me make you something.”
“I’ve got champagne.”
“Perfect.”
Denise took two freshly washed and hand-dried flutes down from her cupboard and set them on the counter. She’d had them out earlier, but put them away in case Bob wanted a beer instead of the champagne. She watched him open the bottle, admiring his ability to keep the contents from shooting across the room. They took their drinks to the couch and drank to their relationship. Denise took a cashew
from its pottery dish and slipped it through Bob’s lips. He responded by kissing her immediately; she could taste the salt. He took an olive, bit it, and fed Denise half of it. She closed her eyes and let Bob take the glass from her hand. Seconds later, he was gently unbuttoning the top of her pants suit. She opened her eyes and watched him. He inhaled when he saw her brown silk bra. She stood, letting her shirt fall to the floor, took his hand, and led him into the bedroom. She lit the candles and then slowly undressed him. Naked, he watched her remove her pants, revealing the thong that matched her bra. Seconds later, they were on the bed.
At seven thirty, both couples were showered and dressed again. Karen helped Nick strip the bed of its sheets and replace them with clean ones. He put the soiled laundry in a bag and dropped it next to the door. Together, they washed the few dishes they had used and made sure the embers were well contained within the fireplace. Just before they walked out, Nick pulled Karen to him. “We can do this. We can be together every night, just like tonight.”
Karen kissed him gently on the lips. “I can’t wait.”
Nick lifted the bag of laundry onto his shoulder, and they walked to the car. As always, he opened the passenger side door for Karen, who slid in, buckling the seat belt over her camel-hair coat. “So, where are we going for dinner? For some reason, I’m starving.”
Nick smiled at her. “Recreational sports will do that.”
Karen leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Do we have time for more?”
“You are nothing if not insatiable.”
“Only with you.”
Nick started the car. “We’re going to the new Italian place, just outside River City.”
“Oh great! I hear it’s wonderful.”
Afterward, when they were both dressed again, Bob watched Denise strip the sheets from her bed. As she stooped to pick them up from the floor, Bob enjoyed a full view of her rear end. She had a rounded, perfectly shaped pear bottom. It was feminine and inviting, unlike the hard asses of women who spent their mornings in high-impact aerobics classes. Men he knew preferred women who looked and felt like women; most guys were more turned off than on by the toned female, with her taut thighs and sinewy biceps. He followed Denise, as she walked out of the room and into the tiny laundry room next to her kitchen. She put the sheets in the washing machine and turned to face him. “You’re like a puppy,” she said, smiling.
He took her in his arms. “I’d follow you anywhere.”
She kissed him. “Well, you can follow me back into the bedroom and help me remake the bed, or you can relax on the living room couch.”
Bob hesitated. “Do you want me to help?”
“I want you to do whatever makes you happy.”
“Okay,” said Bob, who hadn’t made a bed since his children were very young. “I’ll stay here. I’ll put the hors d’oeuvres in the fridge and wash the glasses.”
“That sounds good. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Bob looked at his watch. “Perfect. We need just ten minutes to get to the restaurant.”
“Where are we going?” called Denise over her shoulder as she walked away.
“Villa Cesare. It’s the new restaurant on Route 10.”
“Oh, I’ve been wanting to go there. I hear it’s wonderful.”
Denise grabbed the set of satin sheets she had bought the previous weekend from her bedroom closet. As she smoothed them over the mattress, she realized she was glad Bob was not helping her. She wanted the regal comfort of her bed to be a surprise. She had not put these sheets on the bed that afternoon because she suspected what had happened would happen. Instead, she saved them, so they could linger in the morning in the midst of satin. One of her coworkers had told her that nothing, except another human body, felt as good on skin.
On the way to the restaurant, they talked about business. Denise wanted to hear about Bob’s career, about how he had started as a salesman and made it to the top. Bob laughed at the notion of being at the top. “The president has that job,” he said, smiling.
Denise reached over and touched his shoulder. “Temporarily. I have all the faith in the world that you will and can do anything you want.”
“You’re so sweet.”
When Bob and Denise arrived at the restaurant, Nick and Karen were already seated. Bob didn’t see them as he escorted Denise through the dining room. It was a large room with busy carpeting and perhaps seventy-five tables, and Bob was focused on two things: Denise, and the table they were being led to. He had asked for a nice table, by a window or in a corner, as far away from the kitchen as possible, and he was hoping the hostess would honor that request. It wasn’t until Bob knew that she had and they were seated at a table in a bay window that he took a casual look around and saw, on the far side of the room, a woman who looked very much like his wife. Feeling suddenly very warm, Bob looked at Denise, who was already reading the menu. He reached into his suit pocket for the glasses he had picked up last week to correct his diminishing distance vision and looked back at the woman across the room. It was Karen. She was laughing, and her left arm was stretched across the table so she could touch her date: Nick Fleming, her editor. Bob picked up his menu as he gathered his thoughts, his heart pumping double-time. He held the menu in front of his face and glanced back at Karen’s table. This time, she was looking back at him. Bob put his menu down on the table. “Excuse me, honey,” he said to Denise. “I’ve got to run to the men’s room. Would you please order me a martini?”
Denise smiled at him. “Of course I will. Hurry back.”
Bob walked down the staircase behind their table, following the sign for the restrooms. He paced and ran his hands over his hair. That bitch, he thought. She’s been fucking Nick Fleming all along! Less than a minute later, Karen appeared at the base of the other staircase, accusation in her eyes, anger on her contorted face. “How’s your business trip?” she spat.
“Don’t start with me, you tramp,” Bob shot back. “How long, Karen? How long have you been lying to me?”
“And I might ask you the same question,” she said, hands on her hips. “Or do you expect me to believe that’s a business colleague on the other side of your romantic, candlelit table for two?”
“You can believe whatever the hell you want because I don’t give a fuck what you do anymore.”
“Well, join the club, because I haven’t cared about you for years.”
Bob stepped back, as if Karen had pushed him. “What do you mean?” His tone was softer, defeated. “What do you mean you haven’t cared about me in years?”
Karen turned away and walked to the chintz couch against the wall. She sat down heavily and draped her arms along her legs. “Look at us. We’ve both been caught with someone else and we’re trying to justify our anger with each other. It’s over, Bob. I don’t want to scream at you, especially not here. I just want to start another life.”
“You want a divorce?” asked Bob, incredulous, even though the word had been running through his mind for several weeks.
“And you don’t? You want to continue pretending we still love each other?”
Bob closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Karen. In some ways, I do still love you.”
“Don’t,” said Karen, standing and holding up her hand. “Don’t say that. You may be in love with the idea of still loving me. But you haven’t loved me for a long time. You love your job, and you love yourself.”
Bob took a step toward his wife. “Now that’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry,” Karen said, putting her hands on his shirtfront. “It doesn’t matter, Bob. Whatever mattered once is long gone.” They were both silent for a moment. “I’m going back upstairs. I’m going to tell Nick I don’t feel well, and I’m going to go home.”
“I’ll do the same thing. We can talk more at home.”
Karen looked at Bob’s watery eyes. “What are we going to say to each other?”
Bob reached out and put his hands on her cheeks, seeing her face as if for the fi
rst time. “We’re going to work things out.”
Karen closed her eyes. “I don’t want to work things out. I can’t, Bob. I need to start a new life.”
“That’s what I mean. We’re going to work out the details of separate lives.”
Karen swallowed, which wasn’t enough to clear the constriction in her throat. “You go first. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to leave.”
Bob headed for the stairs, then turned to face Karen. “I’ll see you at home.”
By the time Karen made her way to the top of the stairs, she was crying. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t laughing, absolutely jubilant, skipping back to the table to tell Nick the good news. Instead, she walked back slowly. Seeing her, Nick rushed to her. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I don’t feel well,” said Karen, holding her stomach. “Can we go home?”
“Absolutely, darling. Let me get you into the car, and then I’ll settle things in here.”
On the way home, Karen closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. She didn’t trust herself to keep quiet about everything that had just happened, about everything that had happened since the day she met Bob Parsons in the student center at State. She held her stomach, which truly did ache. She let the tears that filled her eyes fall down her cheeks. How could exactly what she wanted to happen hurt so badly?
A Changing Marriage Page 33