by I J Shur
“I’ll come in to talk to you tomorrow,” he said, and quickly hung up.
A headache made its way through his brain and pounded at his temples. He suddenly felt as if everything in his life had taken on huge proportions. He began to break life into little pieces, and black threatened to take over each colored page that opened up in front of him. He didn’t know if he could transfer some of his properties into liquid assets, or if he could manage the heavy payments he had committed to. His wife’s face appeared in front of him. “What’s going to happen now?” he imagined her saying exactly at the moment when he needed to hear something positive from her.
He had spent several days the previous month with his friend Gary, whose family construction business had collapsed. The business papers had been full of stories of the swift fall of a company that had lost tens of millions in the space of a week. The story of his friend’s rapid fall into bankruptcy had taken its toll on Udi. During the days that he sat with Gary, Udi saw that the light in Gary’s eyes had dimmed. Gary had spent an incredible amount of energy trying to convince his friends—and Udi in particular—that nothing had happened; that all of a sudden he had more time for his wife and kids. He smiled as he told them that for the first time in his life, he was getting home at three in the afternoon.
Udi saw past the cheer to his drooping shoulders, the eyes that darted from side to side, not making eye contact with those he spoke with. He remembered that a girl had once told him the eyes are the window to the soul. His friend’s thoughts must have been racing through his head. Udi had been a little afraid that Gary might try to do something to harm himself.
“Don’t think that those kinds of thoughts aren’t running through his head,” Varda said when he’d told her about it that night. “You can talk to him about everything you want. If you don’t, others will. It’s clear. Just be there for him. That’s what he needs.”
In light of the news from the bank, his affair with Rona seemed to be threatening his peace of mind. He knew it would crush her if he asked for a few weeks to sort things out. He knew how much she needed him to help her through this rough time. He also knew that he couldn’t ask her to help him with his financial problems because she was going through an extremely and unbearably stressful time in her relationship with her husband.
Udi decided against sharing his current financial situation with his wife since she would only use it as an excuse to lecture him. She’d always told him that people should only attempt the things that they were qualified for. An inner voice whispered to him, “Good opportunities only come along occasionally, and some you cannot refuse.”
Sometimes the leverage was so large that one bad move or incorrect calculation during the sale of a property could make the whole tower fall. He wished that a voice of authority, an external voice, could whisper into his ear that he should not gamble with the bank’s money. He owned a number of properties, so he’d wind up with quite a bit of profit if he turned them into liquid assets. He wanted someone to tell him that he’d achieve the financial freedom that he so wanted that way.
Little gremlins occupied all of the space on his shoulder and were full of stinging criticism. Udi gave in and listened to their claims, feeling that he was losing his power to resist. He was tormented by his thoughts. How have I neglected my home, my wife? When was the last time that I asked her how she was? When was the last time I offered to help out with the shopping, the laundry, the cooking, driving the kids to their activities?
Meirav’s face appeared in front of him. He remembered how they had all sat at dinner the other night and there had been a lively conversation about Oren being given the main role in the class play that would be presented at the end-of-year ceremony. Udi remembered that he had been physically present but hadn’t really been there. Occasionally, Michal would lift her eyes from her iPhone and say, “Are you with us?”
Yes, he had wanted to say something, but his wife beat him to it.
“Leave your father alone. In his mind, he’s still at work—or God knows where.”
A wave of intense hate had washed over him. It isn’t surprising with a wife like you that I need to run away in my thoughts to any place possible. He’d remained silent, as usual.
How did I get myself to this place where I feel so trapped? If I examine all of the stars of my all-star team, I would have to agree that none of them have been doing their jobs. The defenders covered the wrong man. They missed the block and the tackle, and the ball went back to the other team’s offense. If I had been smart enough to do the same arithmetic that my bank manager did, I probably would have been able to avoid the phone conversation that set me into this tailspin.
I feel as though I am at the cold and dry brink of a precipice. Maybe I can simply give up on that loan and put off buying an additional property until a later, more convenient time. If I only knew how to limit my meetings with Rona, then I could dedicate more quality time to the kids. After all, they’d benefit from that. They’d feel more secure with my love, they’d enjoy the attention, and they might stop complaining so much about everything. If I could figure out how to be calmer around my wife, more patient, more physically affectionate; if I could only love her…
Then his thoughts swung to Rona, to the unconditional love, the intense, the absolute. The mere thought of it filled him with waves of pleasure, and his thoughts floated to the gentle fragrance wafting from the candles and the foamy water in the Jacuzzi that would be in the guest room at the spa they’d reserved for their day together.
His phone rang as he was fantasizing about the red silk sheets and the warmth of Rona’s body. Mrs. Shoham’s name appeared on the screen. Nearly two years earlier, she had bought a large, spacious house from Udi. He was surprised. He hadn’t heard from her for at least six months, and to him, that had been a sign that everything had gone smoothly. His great experience in the field of real estate had taught him never to scrimp or save when bringing a property to market. Any shortcuts taken during the building process would eventually turn into complaints. Any savings he might realize, any blemish that he might try to hide from the potential customer, would turn into rungs on a ladder that clients would rush to climb on their way to a trial lawyer who did his job well. Without even blinking, the lawyer would dictate to his secretary such a lawsuit that in the final judgment, it would cost the investor more than if he’d simply agreed to pay the settlement offered before the case went to trial.
He hadn’t spent much time in court despite the kind of business he was in. His rule was to function well in the world in which he was operating, in a fair and straight manner. Every meeting he’d ever had with lawyers, whom he nicknamed “the bad guys,” was aggravating and frustrating.
“How are you, Mrs. Shoham?”
A brief, hoarse reply signaled that this would not be a pleasant conversation.
“Has something happened?” Udi got to the point.
“The truth is that…yes.” Mrs. Shoham’s reply was hurried, and in a singsong tone.
“At your service,” Udi said. He decided to keep it cool.
“The sewage overflowed in the garden. Streams of raw sewage are flowing through the flower beds, and the smell is horrible.” She said it quickly, apparently without breathing. Clearly, her anger weighed on her heavily.
Udi was not going to be able to get rid of her easily.
“I’m asking you to come over right now,” she said. Had Udi been in the middle of an important meeting or at a movie, he’d have made it clear that he would get back to her as soon as he could.
On one hand, he didn’t want to give her the impression that she could just snap her fingers and summon him at her whim, but on the other hand, he felt her pain and didn’t think this was the time to educate her. He promised to come over right away. He called his lawyer first to check where he stood legally. The lawyer answered with heavy breathing.
“I hope I’m not
catching you at a moment when you’re transferring genetic material into the intimate places of some young lady,” Udi joked.
“You caught me during my daily walk,” his lawyer replied jokingly. “If you’d have caught me during the other kind of exercise, you don’t really think I would have picked up, do you? I am actually listening to Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 25 in C major right now. It’s a new recording, and I’m enjoying listening to it no less than I enjoy what your dirty mind just suggested.”
Udi quickly got to the point, asking how he should treat Mrs. Shoham.
“Don’t offer to fix anything at your expense since you’d be taking responsibility for what happened. You can offer to help as much as possible out of your own good will and out of respect to your reputation and your business. Let me know what happens.”
During the drive to Mrs. Shoham’s house, Udi ran through what might happen next. Mrs. Shoham was a woman in her late 50s. She was always impeccably dressed, her slim body squeezed into some fashionable jeans. Soft cloth blouses with wide collars adorned her skinny shoulders, and her prominent cheekbones made her seem aristocratic. Her tiny feet were always encased in the finest black leather shoes with very high heels.
He loved the ritual that she had assigned to him. Each time he arrived at her house, she would walk up to him, staring directly into his eyes. A forced smile would gently part her lips, and she would give him two kisses, one on each cheek. Once, when he arrived at her house, he couldn’t decide whether or not the occasion merited a kiss, but the lady of the house came over and performed the ceremony, and as such, answered his unasked question as to the rules of the house and the decision-making that would remain solely in her hands.
Just before he pressed the intercom button, he ran his fingers through his thinning hair and sniffed his armpits to verify that no faint cloud of sweat preceded him. Mrs. Shoham invited him to come inside, placed two fragrant kisses on his cheeks, and asked him if he’d like something to drink. She knew of his fondness for alcoholic beverages, so she added that she had just opened a new bottle of single malt and that she’d be glad to pour him some.
As he held the wide glass in his hand, he enjoyed the sound of the ice cubes clinking. Mrs. Shoham pressed a small button in the wall, and the electric window shades rolled slowly upward, revealing blue water that contained in a small pool. They trudged outside, and he was hit by the strong stench of sewage.
“You think that we need to live like this? In this awful smell?”
Udi took a swig of the whiskey. “These kinds of things happen. I’m sure that we’ll be able to fix or solve this problem within a couple of days.”
“What’s your solution?” Mrs. Shoham interrogated him. Udi said he’d give her the number of a company that specialized in fixing sewage problems.
“All that you have to do is call them, and they’ll come and take care of it.”
“And who is supposed to pay for all this damage?” she asked.
“It’s your house, and therefore, it’s your responsibility to fix it. If, at the end of the job, it’s clear that the sewage pipes were improperly installed and that’s what caused the problem, then we’ll find a suitable way to deal with it.”
“And who will clean my garden?” She looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Your gardener,” Udi said, and then downed the last of the whiskey.
“You’re lucky that you have always behaved in the most professional manner,” she said. “If that had not been so, this meeting would have certainly been less pleasant.” Mrs. Shoham hastened to the front door to let him out.
Chapter 38
On Sunday evening, shortly before he arrived home, Udi called Rona. “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again,” he said.
Her cracked, broken voice revealed that she was choked with tears. Udi was trying his best to understand the complexities of female emotions, but he found it extremely difficult.
He suddenly saw, spread out before him, an insight into the makings of a relationship, both how to have one and how to maintain it.
If men only knew that all they need to do at the end of the workday is to walk into the house, look their partner deep in the eyes, and tell her that they love her. If they only knew that when they leave the house, they should wish her a pleasant day, and give her flowers on the weekends. If they knew to ask how her day had been and make a supreme effort to just listen to her for at least five uninterrupted minutes, and ask her at least one question that shows that they both listened and digested the information. If they only knew the moment before penetration to kiss her behind the ear and bury their nose in her neck, if they only knew the right moment to kiss an erect nipple or when to whisper sweet words of love into her ear. If they only understood that each and every day, they need to earn that love. If they knew all that, would it lead to a relationship that stood the test of time? These could be tears of joy and not of sadness. Who knows? Maybe a little peace in people’s lives might lead to peace between nations.
Chapter 39
Udi opened his eyes. It was early, and he looked through the slats in the window shades at the bright-green leaves of the old olive tree that had taken over the yard. A warm feeling of joy burst into his consciousness. He had been waiting for this day with bated breath. Soon, he would pick Rona up and she’d be all his for the entire day.
At that moment, as if she had some secret kind of radar, Varda awoke and asked him why he was up so early. He mumbled something and disappeared into the bathroom.
Udi ran his fingers over his cheeks, his chin, and his neck, as would be expected, to check the level of stubble before such an important event. He turned on the electric razor and made repeated circles all over his face until he achieved the desired result. He opened the shower door, looked at the bottles of aftershave, and reached for the one he reserved exclusively for very special occasions. He went to the closet and began rummaging through his best clothes.
“Important meetings today?”
He jumped as he heard his wife’s sleepy voice.
“I feel like dressing up,” he said, slightly defiantly.
“Go for it!” Varda said. “I hope that some lady is worth it.”
“What do you mean? You don’t think that you’re worth it?”
Varda didn’t leave him hanging. She never left him hanging. She said, “This morning, I have this feeling that you’re dressing up for someone special, and that to you, she’s worth it.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Udi tried to return the ball to her court.
“No, but maybe you’d like to elaborate?”
Udi turned to her, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s an investor who wants to take a group of other investors to see some properties that are a few hours north on the interstate. They’ve arranged to fly us up there in a small plane, and we’re invited for breakfast and then to go and survey the properties. Doesn’t that sound worth getting dressed up for?” He fixed his gaze on hers.
Varda returned his gaze for a while, then said, “Tell me, Udi, is there someone else? Is there something that you want to tell me and you’re just trying to protect me from it? If there is someone, tell me now…”
Udi had to think fast. If he waited too long, his wife would realize he was making it all up, and he’d never be able to convince her otherwise. What was his wife telling him with her stare? Did she really want to know? Or in some way, was this a plea to tell her that none of what she had brought up was true? He approached her, held her head in his hands, and looked into her eyes. He said, “I know that things haven’t been a bowl of cherries with us, but I wouldn’t dress up like this for that reason. I’m simply trying to dress appropriately for the meeting I have today.” He hugged her, not only to calm her, but also to escape from her insistent gaze, lest she discover hints of his lies in his eyes.
“Take care of yourself o
n that flight and don’t commit to anything until you check all of the details carefully and have consulted with whoever is necessary. Don’t let someone sweet talk you with a flight and a fancy breakfast. When will you be back?”
“It depends on the rest of the group.” He evaded a direct answer. “I’ll call you when we’re on our way back.”
I don’t hate you. The distance between us has simply taken its toll. My attraction to you is a bittersweet memory, like missing something really good that happened a long time ago.
There was a brisk morning chill when he left the house. A slight tremor of excitement shot through him, and he allowed his body to tremble for a long moment. The blue skies were endless, peppered with wispy, feathery clouds. Birds fluttered through the neighbor’s bushes, jumping from branch to branch, and the neighbor’s dog barked and bared its teeth. He looked at his watch and saw that it was still too early to call Rona.
He knew her morning ritual and knew that at this moment, she was cleaning up around the house and preparing sandwiches filled with fluffy eggs for her two sons. He began fantasizing about her morning. In about fifteen minutes, Rona will take the boys to school. She’ll let the first one, the eldest, out of the car just past the traffic circle. She’ll yell to him not to forget to drink enough water, and she’ll remind him that his father will be picking him up today. Near the younger son’s school, she’ll park the car, hold her young son’s hand, and lead him to the schoolyard. She’ll nod to some of the other mothers and smile shyly when some young father comments on her beauty. “What will your wife say,” she’ll retort for the thousandth time when he invites her out for a coffee. She’ll lean over to kiss her son, and she’ll notice the young father sneaking a look down her shirt. She’ll urge her son to run to class and remind him again that if he needs to go to the restroom, he shouldn’t hold it in. She’ll run to her car, throw her bag in the back, and rev her engine just as she hears the phone ring. On the screen, it will say “Udi.”