by Jane Green
‘Oh dear.’ Grace looks up. ‘Your father needs me. Make sure you come over and talk to us after dinner.’ Blowing them a kiss, she glides over to where Ted is furiously beckoning her, taking a deep breath as she slips into the persona of Grace Chapman, wife of Ted, mother, occasional celebrity-by-association and friend.
The dinner is long and arduous. Not that you would ever be able to tell by looking at Grace. Her face is animated and interested. Her eyes sparkle as she makes sure she has conversations with each and every person at the table, excluding no one. This is who you become, she thinks, married to a difficult man. Ted’s moods, his manners are so unpredictable, she has become her name personified, Grace. Gracious. Graceful.
Grace.
She has trained herself to consciously compose her features in order to appear happy, whatever her state of mind. She is charming, asking questions, staring deeply into people’s eyes, making them feel as if they are the most important person in the room. It isn’t that she isn’t interested, but that she recognized, long ago, how awful it was to be talking to someone, particularly someone you admire, and see their eyes constantly moving, searching for what else is going on, who else they would prefer to be talking to. It may not have been that Ted particularly wanted to be talking to anyone else, but that’s the impression he gives. Grace knows how that feels, remembers it well, how it made her insignificant, irrelevant. She vowed never to give anyone that same feeling.
Ted has been known to turn and walk off, mid-conversation, leaving Grace to apologize without words, by linking her arm through that of a stranger and asking a thousand questions about their lives, making them feel important, making them forget they were just dismissed by Ted Chapman, or, if they remembered, making it immaterial.
Much of her life, she realizes, is spent cleaning up after Ted. Apologizing for him, or charming those who have been snubbed. It has become a reflex, an automatic response to his rudeness. She recognizes dismay, or shock, and sweeps in to make it all better.
Grace is known for her smile: a wide, luminous smile; a smile that makes it look like her world is perfect. It is this smile she is wearing as Ted takes the stage, ruffles his papers, adjusts the microphone, pats his pockets for his reading glasses, then stares over at Grace, who is holding them up above her head, this time with a genuine smile on her face as the room laughs.
‘My beautiful wife.’ Ted leans in to the microphone. ‘Where would I be without her? As blind as a bat, for starters.’ The audience is delighted at this impromptu repartee as a young waiter scurries through the tables to retrieve the glasses and deliver them to Ted.
Ted accepts the glasses, extending a hand to Grace as the audience cheers and applauds. ‘My muse,’ he says, as Grace tilts her head in acceptance, placing a hand on her heart. She is the very picture of the perfect wife, gazing adoringly at her husband and blowing him a kiss.
No one would know that much of the time Grace wonders why she is so unhappy; no one would guess that when Ted shouts at his wife, belittles her, bullies her, it is as if her mother has risen from the dead, determined to ruin the rest of her life too.
‘Mum?’ Clemmie bends down next to Grace’s chair as all around them people are getting up to leave. ‘I need you to meet someone.’
Grace turns to see a young woman standing just behind Clemmie. She is probably in her early thirties, with an open face. Little makeup, natural dark blonde hair, she is confident and self-possessed, meets Grace’s eye with an assured smile. Sweet. Compelling. And possibly perfect.
‘This is Beth. She was at our table, and I was talking about Dad looking for a personal assistant, and guess what! She’s an assistant, and she just left her last job so she’s been looking for something new!’ Clemmie’s voice is quick, excited. ‘Isn’t that an amazing coincidence? I told her I had to introduce you. Don’t you think that’s weird? It must be fate, surely.’
Grace smiles indulgently, but yes, she thinks, how odd. What on earth would a personal assistant be doing here? And what are the chances? Could this be, as Clemmie has said, a sign?
‘Beth?’ Grace gestures to the young woman to sit. ‘What a wonderful stroke of luck indeed. Perhaps we ought to talk.’
‘We don’t have to talk now,’ Beth says. ‘I know how busy you must be at these events and I’m so sorry to disturb your evening. Clemmie insisted on bringing me over, but I know this isn’t a good time.’
‘Sit,’ says Grace, pulling a now-empty chair closer. ‘There’s never a good time. Tell me, where do you live? Tell me about yourself and what you’re looking for.’
Grace watches as Beth sits down. ‘I live in Connecticut but I’m looking to move,’ Beth says, her voice soft, but with a surprising confidence that belies her youth. ‘I just looked at a small house in New Jersey that I fell in love with, but I know I can’t sign the rental agreement until I have a job lined up.’
‘Where in New Jersey?’
‘Northvale?’ Her voice tilts up in a question, as if Grace wouldn’t know it.
‘Northvale!’ Grace’s eyes open in delight. ‘That’s right by us! I know we’re in Rockland County and Northvale is, as you pointed out, in New Jersey, but it’s ten minutes away!’ The excitement dances in her face. ‘So close!’ She refocuses. ‘And for work? You really are a personal assistant? What kind of work have you been doing?’
Beth smiles, her face lighting up, imposing a mask of beauty onto features that seemed so plain.
‘I’ve done a bit of everything,’ she says. ‘Jack of all trades . . . I started nannying for a family in Brooklyn a few years ago, and I guess they just ended up giving me more and more to do, and it really became a household manager/assistant job. It wasn’t what I was looking for, but the kids didn’t need me so much, and I really loved the organizing of the house. I worked in Connecticut for a while, doing much the same thing.’
Grace tries to quickly process this in her head as she looks in the young woman’s eyes. Nanny Loves children. Trustworthy Household manager. Good with responsibility. Personal assistant dealing with sometimes egomaniacal famous author? Unclear.
‘What kinds of things did you do as a household manager?’
‘Anything and everything that needed to be done,’ Beth says. ‘For the Brooklyn family I booked all the travel for the husband. He runs a big hedge fund, so even though he had an assistant at work, he had an office at home, and I just ended up taking on a lot of his work.’
‘You must be good.’
Beth shrugged, unwilling to divulge her obvious talents. ‘I kept on top of the household, which I did for the family in Connecticut too. I had a schedule of who was supposed to come when. I’d make sure the windows were cleaned when they were supposed to be, the pool was opened, the floors were waxed. They had rental properties too, so I was the point of contact with the tenants, fixing anything that needed to be fixed, making sure everything ran smoothly.
‘I was in charge of making sure nothing ran out, that there were always household supplies. I’m kind of a control freak, so that wasn’t difficult. I’d walk their dogs and take them to the vet, arrange all the children’s activities, drive them to airports. I’d go food shopping, and I got into the habit of cooking for them.’
‘You cook?’ Grace’s interested delight is apparent.
Beth looks bashful. ‘Not very well, but I love it, and the wife didn’t cook at all, so my chicken with pasta and rosemary seemed like a gourmet extravaganza. I’ve read a few articles about you and your cooking,’ she says. ‘I even have a few of your recipes I cut out from a magazine. I love how passionate you are about cooking, and how accessible you make it.’
Grace cannot hide her delight. ‘Flattery, as I’m sure you know, will get you everywhere!’ They both laugh. ‘Is there anything you don’t do?’
Beth thinks for a minute. ‘I don’t sew,’ she says finally, which makes Grace laugh.
Shrugging her shoulders apologetically, Beth continues. ‘What really makes me feel good is making
people’s lives easier. If I’ve got nothing to do, I’ll go in and organize a pantry, or a cupboard. Something. Anything. I kind of think that when you’re working in someone’s home, you have to be willing to do whatever needs to be done. I’m happiest when I’m busy.’
This girl might be perfect, she thinks, studying her. She is hard to read – plain in appearance, there is a confidence to her voice that is in contrast to her looks; it is confusing and unexpected, yet confidence is undoubtedly a good thing.
All of which is irrelevant if Ted doesn’t like her. Given her skills, Grace would like to offer her the job anyway. If Ted doesn’t like her, she could come and work for Grace.
‘Darling?’ Ted is bearing down on them, barely noticing Beth. ‘Are you ready?’ He often does this, speaks at large events, is able to be gregarious and charming and warm, but as soon as the window of opportunity to escape opens, he is out of there. His limit for socializing is finite. He can do it, and at times enjoys it, but when he decides he is ready to leave, he must leave, regardless of what anyone else wants.
‘Almost. I was just having a lovely chat with Beth. She’s a personal assistant, looking for her next job.’ Grace surreptitiously raises an eyebrow as Beth turns to Ted, standing to introduce herself properly.
‘It’s an honour to meet you,’ she says, the disarmingly lovely smile now on her face again as Ted pauses, noticing her properly for the first time. ‘I’ve been a reader of your work for years.’
Interesting, notes Grace. She didn’t say ‘fan’. Everyone says ‘fan’. What does it mean that she said ‘reader’? It feels as if it was a word chosen deliberately, as if she wanted to praise him and elevate herself at the same time.
She is clever, Grace realizes, and cool. The combination is ever so slightly unsettling, that quiet confidence in one so young. But is she so young? Grace watches as Beth chats to Ted, who is clearly delighted, wondering just how old she is.
She moves to watch Ted, seeing he is charmed. He has always loved young women, as long as they are not foisted upon him as his editor, and is busy telling her a story that has her laughing, pulling herself quickly together as if embarrassed to reveal so much of herself.
‘Make sure you give Grace your details,’ he says, now ready to go. Beth scribbles her number on a paper napkin, apologizing for not having cards, looking Grace in the eyes and smiling as Grace relaxes, wondering what on earth she was concerned about.
‘I enjoyed myself,’ Ted says in the car, going home. ‘I always dread these evenings, but it was fun.’
Of course it was fun for you, thinks Grace. It is always fun for Ted when he is surrounded by people who feign adoration, particularly when his star is so very faded from what it once was.
In Ted’s mind, he is still one of the greatest writers in America. It is a throne he refuses to relinquish, even though he has been overtaken by many, his book sales are suffering, he is no longer talked about in The New Yorker as one of the greats – is usually not mentioned at all.
No one dares to tell Ted about his dwindling numbers, his changing rank on the ladder of literary success. His agent blames the smaller advances on the state of publishing in general, the poor reviews on the youth, inexperience and the stupidity of the reviewers.
Ted’s fragile ego could never handle the truth, that his books have become long-winded, dull, and largely irrelevant. He still gets awards, like tonight, but that is largely a nod to his past, to who he has been, rather than because of who he is now.
‘You were wonderful,’ Grace says, relieved at his good mood, hoping to keep it that way for the rest of the evening.
‘Thank you. And what a lovely surprise that Clemmie was there! Not sure about the fellow she was with. Looked a little frightening to me.’
Grace shakes her head. ‘He was delightful! You just have a thing about bearded men. You always think they’re suspicious, but I thought he was rather delicious. He had fantastically soulful brown eyes. I quite wanted to be thirty years younger and single.’
Ted looks at her, aghast. ‘Do not turn into one of those dreadful middle-aged women competing for their daughters’ boyfriends’ attention.’
‘I wouldn’t. But I can see how it happens.’
‘You think twenty-five-year-old boys are attractive?’ Ted is amused.
‘I’m sure he was around thirty. And yes, I did think he was attractive. In a nostalgic, yearning, never-going-to-happen kind of way. Speaking of finding younger people attractive, how about that Beth? The potential assistant? What did you think of her?’
‘Ah, Beth. She of the utterly plain face but strangely compelling and confident smile.’
‘Yes!’ Grace sits up. ‘That’s exactly it! She seemed so mousy, but then she smiled, and it was like looking at a completely different person. It made me want to just stare and stare at her. I couldn’t figure her out. I couldn’t decide if she was this quiet librarian type or someone far more confident. So hard to read. Do you think we ought to try her out? She does sound perfect for the job. My God, Ted, she even cooks! Not to mention all the other things.’
Ted shrugs, picking up the paper with the article he hadn’t finished reading on the way in. ‘Why not start by calling her references. If she is as good as you seem to think, we can always try her out for a month.’
Grace turns to look out the window. Of course this is the sensible thing to do, yet letting anyone new into their life is frightening. Ellen was with them for years, and they trusted her implicitly. They never had to worry that they would suddenly open the New York Post to find some snippet of information, of gossip, that could only have come from someone on the inside.
They have made their fair share of mistakes: the gardening company whose price tripled as soon as they discovered the Mrs Chapman who had spoken to them, had asked them to quote, was married to Ted Chapman.
Grace wouldn’t be looking for anyone new unless it was absolutely necessary. It does rather seem that the gods have been looking out for them; that in Beth they have placed the perfect candidate right in their laps.
She has all the right experience and is looking to live ten minutes away. Could anything be more perfect? More right?
She will phone for the references tomorrow, and if everything works out, she will offer her the job.
There is a part of Grace that feels instant relief at the prospect, as if she is finally able to exhale. The stress of trying to cope with everything herself has been more than she has been able to admit. What a relief, what a joy to be able to hand it over to someone as capable and confident as Beth.
What a relief not to have to mother her husband; for her husband needs not just a wife, but someone to hold his hand, soothe his soul, keep him calm, and there is only so much Grace is able to do.
Six
Their lovemaking was never filled with huge passion. Tried and tested, less passionate than well worn, it had been satisfying, comfortable. Often it was quick, routine. Often, they didn’t kiss. It felt perfunctory – Grace acquiescing to fulfill her marital obligation; Ted initiating, more because, it seemed to Grace, it was what he knew he was supposed to do rather than because there existed a great passion between them.
There had been desire in the beginning, but age, exhaustion, their busy lives made that seem a very long time ago. For years it had been more duty than fun. For years Grace had prayed for the sound of Ted’s snoring long before she reached the final page.
How different it was from what she expected as a young woman, convinced marriage was the beginning of a fairy tale. All those years ago she walked across a country field to an arbour strewn with flowers, her eyes sparkling with hope and love and daydreams. She had visions of a perfect life, of endless romance, of finally being able to breathe now that she had found her life partner.
There was nothing that had prepared her for real life, for real marriage, for the ups and downs; the times when you look at your spouse with something that feels very much like hatred, only for it to pass into nu
mbness, then circle back around into deep connection and love.
This morning, Grace looks into Ted’s eyes and realizes she has once again come full circle. There are times when his ego, his demands, his moodiness, his temper are exhausting. There are times when it’s all too much, when she feels herself retreat to lick her wounds, leaving him in the care of Ellen, leaving him to his own devices, unable to deal with his criticism, the way he blames her.
There are times when she finds him exhausting, exasperating. When her feelings for him run much closer to hatred than to love. But it doesn’t occur to her to leave. She made a vow, and the only thing of which she is absolutely certain is that this too shall pass. It always does. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful . . . it all passes.
When she looks at him with disdain, finds fault with everything he does, she has learned to take deep breaths, to keep herself busy, to be more careful with how she spends her time – to do things that make her happy, bring her joy. She will ring Clemmie and take her out in the city or go to see a movie with her friend Sybil. Things she can do without him, things that remind her of the good in life.
She will keep the focus on herself rather than look for someone to blame and wait for it to pass.
It has passed. This morning, as they make love, slowly, mindfully, she looks into her husband’s eyes and feels a thread of connection so strong she can almost see it. She loves him. She loves him. She has only ever loved him. These are the times when that is easy to believe.
Afterwards she gets up, goes into the bathroom as Ted watches her from the bed, manuscript in hand, peering over the top of his reading glasses, laying the manuscript down for a few moments to admire his wife.
‘You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ he says, admiration and gratitude both apparent in his gaze.
Grace pauses, smiling at the unexpected compliment, glad they have circled back to finding love and appreciation for each other. She blows him a kiss before going into the bathroom, a newfound lilt to her step.
