Zoe took a few steps toward them, and bent to kiss the sleeping child, and then Sam opened his eyes and saw her. He barely moved, and smiled as she looked at him, and then she kissed him too, gently on the cheek at first, and then on the lips as her two friends watched her.
“I missed you,” he whispered, and then he stood up to meet the others. He was still carrying Jade and she was sound asleep and didn't stir. They had become good friends in the past two weeks and she really loved him. She had been perfectly happy to fall asleep in his arms, waiting for her mommy. “She was dying to see you,” he explained, and Zoe smiled. “Me too,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Are you okay?” He looked concerned and she nodded.
Mary Stuart and Tanya were anxious to get going. Tom wanted to drink a lot of coffee and keep driving, and get to L.A. by morning. They had another six hours of travel ahead of them, and it was time to go now, though they would have liked to spend more time with Sam and Zoe, but they knew they couldn't. And it was time for Zoe to be with Sam now.
He still had an arm around her shoulders when they left, after a tearful good-bye, and Sam and Zoe waved from the stairs as the boy pulled away, and then he took Zoe inside, and set Jade down on the couch, and gently took her mother into his arms and kissed her.
The bus reached L.A., on schedule, at six o'clock the next morning. It had been almost twenty-four hours since they left Wyoming. And when they got to the house, Mary Stuart found a fax from her husband. He was inquiring about exactly when she was arriving. She had her reservations made, but she had not yet told him. And there was a long list of messages for Tanya, from her lawyers, her secretary, and her agents. But looking at it now, after being in Wyoming for the past two weeks, it all seemed less important. And as the sun came up over L.A., Mary Stuart and Tanya sat at her kitchen table. It was an enormous room, and it felt good to be home in a way, but they both missed Wyoming. They had left a great deal there. And they sat in the kitchen, talking about Gordon and Hartley. It had been an extraordinary trip for all of them, it was hard to believe now it had happened.
“When are you going to London?” Tanya asked. She didn't know either.
“I thought I'd stick around today and tomorrow, and go Wednesday,” she said, “unless you want me to go sooner.”
“Are you kidding?” Tanya said easily. “I wish you'd stay forever. And I hope you come back soon.” They had both made Zoe promise to stay in touch, and they were talking about spending a weekend with her somewhere, maybe in Carmel, if she felt up to it, or Malibu at Tanya's, or even in San Francisco. They all thought it sounded terrific. They were not going to let time or distance or, worse yet, tragedy get between them.
Tanya spent the entire day working with her secretary, and trying to make decisions after two weeks away, and late that afternoon, Gordon called her. He was fine, working in the corral, missing her like crazy, and he'd gone up to see the house, and had a contractor drawing up plans for her. He said they'd be ready to move in, in no time. And she told him about all the horrors of coming back to work in the real world. He told her to just hang in until he got there.
“I can't wait,” she said, her eyes filling with excitement.
“Neither can I,” he said, closing his eyes, and imagining her just the way she looked in his cabin in the morning. He couldn't wait to set up their ranch now.
They talked for a long time, he had gone to a pay phone to call her. He kept putting quarters in, and he refused to let her call the number, or call her collect in future. He was stubborn. And he promised to call her again the next day, and asked her to say hello to Mary Stuart. She had heard nothing from Hartley but she didn't expect to. They had agreed not to call each other until she settled matters in London. And she didn't even know where to reach him in Boston or Seattle. She knew he'd be home on Thursday. And she knew what the code was. “Adieu, Arielle,” or “Bonjour, Arieile,” depending on what happened with her marriage.
Tanya took her to Spago that night, and introduced her to Wolfgang Puck, the owner, and she explained who everyone was. Victoria Principal was having dinner with a big group. George Hamilton was there. Harry Hamlin… Jaclyn Smith… Warren Beatty… And George Christy of the Hollywood Reporter was at a comer table. And everyone knew Tanya, but it was one of the few places in Hollywood where, no matter how big the star was, they never disturbed her.
She and Mary Stuart talked for a long time about everything, and Mary Stuart seemed to have made her mind up. She went shopping the next day when Tanya went to rehearsal. And they went to bed early that night. Gordon had called again, and there was a fax from Bill, confirming her arrival. He had said absolutely nothing personal at all, and Mary Stuart shook her head when she saw it.
And the next morning when she left, she and Tanya clung to each other and cried. She didn't want to leave at all, and they both wanted to turn the clock back and leave for Wyoming.
“It'll be okay,” Tanya encouraged her. “It'll be fine. Just think of Hartley.” It was all Mary Stuart could think of, as she left, and all the way to London. She even wrote him a letter. It would be their first, she smiled to herself, the first she'd written to him. Maybe he'd even keep it. He was wonderfully sentimental. She told him how much he meant to her, and how wonderful Wyoming had been, how empty her life had been before she met him. She was going to mail it when she got to the hotel in London.
The hotel had sent a car for her. She was staying at Claridge's after all. It seemed easier than going to another hotel when he was staying there. But she had reserved her own room. She had no idea if Bill knew that. But actually, the hotel had told him.
She went through customs easily, and reached the hotel shortly after. It was all very civilized, and when she reached Claridge's they ushered her upstairs like a visiting dignitary from another country. And they informed her that Mr. Walker was in the suite he was renting as his offices, with his secretary, he was working. But she did not call him as soon as she reached her room. She wanted time to regain her composure. She washed her face and combed her hair and as usual she looked impeccable in a black linen suit that had traveled perfectly from L.A. to London. It was typical of Mary Stuart.
And when she had ordered a cup of tea, and finished it, she called him. By then, it was ten o'clock in the morning. But she had no idea that Bill was going crazy. He knew her plane had gotten in at seven. He assumed she had gone through customs by eight, and gotten to the hotel at nine. And he had called the desk to confirm it. He knew she was in her own room, and hadn't called him. He had been agonizing ever since then. But Mary Stuart was in no hurry. It was Thursday by then. She had allowed a day for this, and as she had been unable to reach Alyssa, she was flying to New York on Friday. It was certainly a circuitous route from Wyoming.
He answered on the first ring when she called him. It was awkward even speaking to him now, and she gave him her room number, and he said he'd come right down to see her. He left his secretary and told her not to disturb him. He was going to an important meeting.
Mary Stuart opened the door and looked at him, and it was painful to see how familiar he looked, how much like the man she had loved for so long until the year before. But she knew this man was different. They both were.
“Hello, Bill,” she said quietly as he came in, and he was about to put his arms around her, but when he saw her eyes, he decided not to. “How are you?”
“Not so great actually,” he said, and surprised her.
“Is something wrong?” It was odd for her, of all people, to ask him.
“I'm afraid so,” he said, sitting in a chair, and stretching his long legs out before him.
“What happened?” She assumed the case wasn't going well, and she was sorry to hear it. He had certainly put enough time and effort into it to win it.
“Actually,” he said, looking at her mournfully, and seeming very young to her. He looked vulnerable and kind of pathetic. “I've fucked my life up pretty badly and yours.” She was startled by the way he looke
d, and even more so by the way he said it. She wondered if he was going to make some terrible confession, like an affair since he'd been in London. But in some ways, that might make it easy. This was not as easy for her as she'd hoped, just telling him their marriage was over. Suddenly he was a real person, with wrinkles and flaws, and things she had once loved about him.
“What do you mean?” she asked, looking puzzled. What did he mean, he'd fucked his life up?
“I think you know exactly what I mean. That's why you're here, isn't it? I figured that much out, stupid as I am. And as men go, I've been pretty dumb. I've spent the last year with my head buried in my desk somewhere, thinking that if I ignored you long enough you'd go away, or my misery and my guilt would, or Todd would come back, or the stupid things I said to you would be forgotten. But none of that seemed to happen. It just kept getting worse. I felt more awful every day, and you've come to hate me. That was actually pretty predictable, given the way I behaved. The only one who didn't predict it though was me, which is pretty awkward.” He said it all looking like a kid, she had to smile at what he was saying. Sometimes he was very endearing. “Anyway, I don't suppose any of this surprises you. I think I'm the only one around here who's amazed not only by my stupidity, but my behavior. So now you've come to let me know very politely, and in person, which is very kind of you, my dear, that you're going to divorce me.” He was the criminal helping the executioner set up the guillotine, and agreeing all the while that he deserved it. It actually made it harder to kill him.
“Where have you been all year?” she asked. It was the one thing she had wanted to ask him. “How could you have completely hidden from me, frozen me out? You never even spoke to me, or answered questions.” It had been like living with a robot. Or a dead man, and he had been.
“I was unhappy,” he said. He was the master of understatement, and she kept silently reminding herself to think of Hartley. “So what do we do now? Did you bring the divorce papers with you?” He figured she had them ready when he talked to her in Wyoming. It had all suddenly become clear to him, and he knew exactly why she was coming.
“Was I supposed to? Do you want them?”
“Do you have them with you?” He looked ready to sign them, and it annoyed her even more to see how willing he was to give up on what they'd had for twenty-two years. He really didn't care at all, from what she could see. And it infuriated her even further.
“No, I do not have our divorce papers with me,” she said angrily. “Hire yourself a lawyer or draw them up yourself. I can't do everything, for God's sake. I came over to talk to you, not have you sign papers.”
“Oh.” He looked startled. He had also gotten the message when the concierge told him she had her own room. He had been about to tell the housekeeper to prepare for another guest in his room, and it crushed him when he realized she wasn't going to stay with him. That certainly delivered the message. “You're very angry at me, Stu,” he said sadly, looking at her, wishing he could take it all back, or change it. “I don't blame you. I've been a complete bastard to you. I can't even give you an excuse, although you deserve one. All I can give you is an apology. I've been confused ever since Todd died. I felt so guilty, I didn't know who to blame. I blamed myself, but I couldn't stand it, so I pretended to blame you. But I never really did. I was always convinced it was my fault.”
“How could it be your fault?” She was stunned by what he was saying. “It wasn't anyone's fault. It was horrible for all of us, even Alyssa. None of us deserved it. I got really angry at him when I cleaned out his room, and the funny thing is I felt better after I did that.”
“You cleaned out his room? Why?” Once again, she had surprised him.
“Because it was time. I put everything away, and packed up his things. I gave away his clothes to people who could use them. I think I thought that if I left his room there long enough, he'd come back to it. I finally figured out that wasn't going to happen.”
“I think I figured that out here in London.”
Then she shocked him again. “I want to sell the apartment. Or you can do what you want,” she corrected herself, “but I don't want to live there. It's too depressing. None of us are ever going to recover as long as we live there.” Everyone had said not to make hasty decisions, and they hadn't. It had been a year now. “You can live there if you want, but I won't.” When she went back to New York, she was going to look for an apartment, unless she decided to live with Hartley. She still hadn't decided. And she knew he would do whatever she wanted.
“Never mind the apartment,” Bill finally said bluntly. “Do you want to live with me? I think that's the issue.” He almost fell out of his chair when she answered, although he had expected it, he still didn't want to hear it.
“No, I don't,” she said calmly. “Not the way it's been for the past year. I would, the way it used to be. But that's all over.”
“What if we could go back again? If it could be like that, the way it was before, then what?”
“That doesn't happen,” she said sadly, and when she looked up she saw tears in his eyes and she was sorry for him. She had cried so much for the past year, she couldn't cry anymore. For her, it was all over. “I'm really sorry.”
“So am I,” he said, looking vulnerable and human. It was sad, the body snatchers had brought him back too late, but it probably didn't matter anyway, it was only for a visit. If she had agreed to go back to him, he probably would have been rotten to her again, and stopped talking to her, she thought as she looked at him. She didn't want to chance it. “I'm sorry I was such a damn fool,” he said, his lip trembling, his eyes filled with tears. “I just didn't know how to handle what happened.”
“Neither did I,” she said, her eyes filling with tears in spite of herself, “but I needed you. I had no one.” She sobbed as she said it.
“Neither did I. I didn't even have me, that's what was so awful. It was like I died along with Todd, and I killed our marriage.”
“You did,” she accused him openly. This was why she had come to London. She at least wanted him to know why she was leaving. He had a right to know that. But he just sat there, crying. And he looked so miserable while he did, she just wanted to put her arms around him, but she forced herself not to do that.
“I wish I could take it all back and do it differently, Stu, but I can't. I can't do anything but tell you how sorry I am. You deserve a lot better than this. You always did. I was a total shit and a complete moron.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she said, pacing around the room suddenly. For the first time, she looked angry and flustered. “Why are you telling me now what a bastard you were? Why didn't you do something about it?”
“I didn't know how to stop. But I figured it out once I got here. I realized what a mistake this was as soon as I got to London. I was so lonely I couldn't think straight. I wanted you here. I wanted to ask you to come, but I was too embarrassed to do it, and you were having a good time at some goddamn dude ranch. You probably fell in love with a cowboy, for all I know,” he said, looking miserable, and she stared at him and wanted to shake him.
“You are a complete jerk,” she said, with total conviction. She should have said it months ago, and was sorry now that she hadn't.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to be insulting, I just meant I deserved it.”
“You deserve a good swift kick in the behind, and you have all year, William Walker. What do you mean you were lonely when you got here? How could you be stupid enough to set yourself up here for two or three months and just dump me in New York? Why should I even be married to you anymore?”
“You're right. You shouldn't,” he said humbly.
“Good. I'm glad we agree on that. Let's get divorced.” She had finally said it. It was over, but he was staring at her and shaking his head at her, which confused her further.
“I don't want to,” he said, looking like a kid refusing to go to the dentist. “I don't want to divorce you,” he said firmly.
“Why not?” She looked exasperated.
“I love you.” He looked straight into her eyes as he said it, and she looked away from him and out the window.
“It's a little late for that, I'm afraid,” she said sadly. She would never believe again that he loved her. He had proved otherwise for an entire year now. He had ignored her, abandoned her, shunned her, frozen her out, gone to London for two months, and he had never offered her a moment of comfort when their son died. He had cheated her of everything he owed her as a husband.
“It's never too late,” he said, still looking at her, but she shook her head. She knew different. “Are you saying you could never forgive me? That's not like you. You've always been so forgiving.”
“Probably too much so,” she said wisely. “I don't know why, but I do know it's too late for me. I'm really sorry,” she said, standing up, and turning her back to him, as she looked out at the rooftops of London. She wanted to end their discussion. She had told him she wanted a divorce. This was what she had come for. And she had a fax to send… “Bonjour, Arielle”… She wanted Hartley to find it the moment he walked into his apartment on Friday.
But she hadn't realized that Bill had come up behind her, and she jumped a foot when he put his arms around her. “Don't do that, please,” she said, without turning around to see him.
“I want to,” he said, sounding desperately unhappy, “just one last time, please… let me hold you…”
“I can't,” she said miserably, and turned around to face him. He had his arms around her and his face was inches from hers, and he wasn't letting go. She wanted to tell him she didn't love him anymore, but she didn't have the guts to say it. And it wasn't true yet. But it would be one day. It would just take time. She had loved him for too long for it to disappear overnight. But he had hurt her too much for her to want to love him. The only trouble was, she still did though.
“I love you,” he said, looking right at her, and she closed her eyes. He was still holding her and he wouldn't let go, and she didn't want to see him.
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