A Marriage in Four Seasons

by Kathryn Abdul-baki

“Shit,” Richard said, horrified.

  “I was let out the next day and told the police what I saw.”

  “Did they do anything?”

  “I never found out.”

  He stared at her. “Shit. What if he’d attacked you, too?”

  She shook her head, her body seeming to recoil at the memory. “I guess he knew I would have reported him to the American embassy. We still have some clout there. Who could that woman appeal to? I just covered my head with my blanket like she did and waited for his grunts to stop. That’s the only time I wanted to go right home.”

  He felt sick, then furious. He reached up and placed his hands on her shoulders, not sure how to hold her after this. “I’m amazed you ever let a man near you after that.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t have a boyfriend then, and so it didn’t matter. I just handled it. Thinking how brave she was got me through it. She was like steel, you know? Just let him get on with it and leave. I couldn’t have done that.”

  “Nobody should have to do that,” he said, unable to hide his revulsion. “And you still travel to those places?”

  She kissed him lightly on the lips. “If I didn’t still travel, Richard, I wouldn’t have met you. Despite the danger of some places, I wouldn’t give up traveling for anything.”

  He thought she would cry as she thought of that night that must surely have haunted her for years, but she was silent, withdrawing into herself. That silence scraped at his heart more ruthlessly than tears.

  12

  They were once again at the first hotel she’d taken him to on the West Side that had felt so sleazy at the time. That was six months ago. Now, remembering the crazy eagerness of the first night they’d spent there, he didn’t find it as distasteful. It was early spring, and at six o’clock, it was no longer dark outside. It made the night, and his time with her, seem way too short.

  Belinda was unusually restless. He could tell by the way she snapped the drapes shut, then immediately unzipped her dress, without bothering to face him. She had on lavender lace underwear, and he embraced her from behind, resting his chest on her back, kissing her neck, and undoing her bra. But he might as well have been hugging granite.

  He sensed that she was upset with him. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “You haven’t done anything,” she said, quietly.

  He knew she was holding something in like a dam before water gushes through a crack. He pulled back, waiting for the deluge.

  He glanced around the room. “Compared to some of the places we’ve been, this is the Waldorf.”

  “It’s bland,” she agreed, sounding unhappy.

  “We can find someplace worse,” he joked.

  She was silent.

  He continued to kiss her shoulder, sliding his lips down her arm. Her skin was soft and spongier than usual, as if she’d gained a bit of weight. He found that appealing. He was going to tell her so but wasn’t sure whether her gaining weight might be upsetting to her, and so he said nothing.

  “This place doesn’t turn me on, either,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

  “Cut it out, Richard. It’s fine.” The look in her eyes contradicted her tough words.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his eyes. Finally, she said, “An old friend called today. We traveled together a few years ago in Nepal. He’s on his way to Africa. He wants to go out with me.”

  He winced. “And?”

  “I told him I’d think about it.”

  He still had his shirt on but had slipped off his trousers and undershorts. Was she going to talk about her feelings for another man? He wanted to reach to the floor and at least pull on his underwear if this discussion was heading there.

  He tried to sound unfazed. “No crime in meeting up with old friends. How long has it been since you saw this guy?”

  “Rodney,” she said. “Two years.”

  Two years. He should have been forgotten by now. “Well, is he, this Rodney, just a friend?”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “Meaning?”

  She shrugged. “We had sex a few times, but I certainly wasn’t in love with him.”

  His fingers went numb against her shoulders. “And?”

  “He cared more for me than I did for him. He seems to want to restart something, though.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides. He spied his trousers at the foot of the bed and picked them up unceremoniously. “Should we talk?”

  “I told him we could meet, but I made it clear that I was seeing somebody else.”

  His chest expanded. He almost smiled with relief. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to the edge of the bed. The mattress tipped down at the foot end, so they had to scoot farther back toward the middle to be comfortable.

  She drew her hair away from her face in that way that always turned him on. “Do you mind if I go out with him?”

  He eyed her coolly. “Well, is it dinner or are you going to screw him?”

  “It’s just dinner, Richard.”

  “Then what’s the big deal?” He closed his eyes a moment. “Why even ask me if that’s all it is?”

  “Because he’s obviously expecting more. He just got back from Nepal. He’s in the Peace Corps, now.”

  “On leave to look up old girlfriends?”

  She smiled. “You sound childish when you’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” he said, not even convincing himself.

  She cleared her throat. “He’s looking for something, and he can be pretty insistent.”

  “Well, fuck. Are you going to be seduced?” He heard the hard edge in his voice. She obviously wanted to tell him something but was hedging. Maybe she was considering reviving something with this guy, but so far she seemed happy with him.

  Or was she?

  She was thirty. Was she thinking marriage, children, permanence, after all? He remembered Joy’s frantic obsession with pregnancy, like a missile seeking its target.

  Maybe Belinda was looking at this Peace Corps hippie from her past in a new light. After all, the guy had just returned from Nepal, steeped in the transcendental sensuality of the East that so fascinated her, and he had probably mastered as many steamy sexual antics as she. Put the two of them together and who could predict the force of combustion?

  Maybe his lack of escapades was beginning to make her rethink their relationship. Although she claimed to like it that he was stable, she thrived on risky new experiences, and if this guy wanted to sweep her off to Borneo or Kathmandu, not even the trashiest hotel in the Bronx could match that.

  “Are you wanting something more, Belinda?”

  “More?”

  “Do you want to get married?” he asked, somewhat alarmed by his words.

  She looked at him oddly. “Married?”

  “Because if you are, we should talk about it. I can see marrying you.”

  “Richard!” she blurted out, aghast. “You’re already married. I’m not thinking about that. Not at all!”

  “Maybe I’m the one thinking it. Don’t you want commitment? How’s marriage for commitment?”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying. Besides, I don’t want to marry you.”

  It was his turn to be taken aback. He remembered Joy’s tender caresses when he proposed, their kisses all the way home in the cab after dinner in the restaurant where he had presented her with an engagement ring.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  She turned to him and gently took his face in her hands. “Richard, we have to stay as we are. This arrangement is why it works between us. We need to be free. We need to keep this whatever it’s meant to be.”

  “Well, what is this meant to be, exactly? It sounds like you’re not so convinced of our relationship all of a sudden.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. We have a great relationship. But you’re married to the person you should be married to.” She shrugg
ed. “I’m not the marrying type.”

  “But it’s not working out with me and her. It hasn’t for a long time. You know that.”

  “Everything has worked out perfectly for you. Your wife is perfect for you. You just don’t realize it, now.”

  “Why are you so sure of that? You don’t know anything about Joy. And what the hell am I doing here with you if things are so great with her?”

  She looked at him calmly. “I’m perfect for you in other ways. We always end up with who we’re meant to be with at any given time. Someday you’ll understand.”

  “Bull!” He’d had enough of her mumbo-jumbo concepts. “You don’t want me anymore. Is that it?”

  “Richard,” she said in a tone and with a glance that made him feel like one of her preschoolers who’d just spilled juice. “I’m not a lifetime partner for you. Not for you or anybody else. I want my freedom too much.”

  “And I’m supposed to live with one kind of woman and screw another? Because you don’t want to stick with me? Because it inhibits your so-called freedom?”

  “I’m only going to dinner with the man,” she said firmly, ignoring his outburst.

  “Bullshit!”

  Belinda, the exasperated teacher of unruly boys, looked at him a long moment. He half expected her to raise two fingers for a time-out.

  “So, why the hell do you hang around with me when my love scares you so much?” he demanded. “When you could have such an exciting, free life with somebody else?”

  “Because, Richard,” she said, without hesitation, “as I’ve told you before, you’re the most dependable man I’ve ever known.”

  There it was again. Dependable. “That’s it?” he asked, deflated.

  “That’s enough. What more do I need?” She smiled, then after a pause added, “And you’re a great lover.” She stuck out her tongue. “Besides, you’re funny.”

  He was a little surprised. Funny? Maybe she found his cynicism funny. It only seemed to get on Joy’s nerves.

  He realized that the only way he could win this confrontation was to appear to be above her going out with this guy from her past. “Then go,” he said. “Go to dinner with the guy and see what happens. You’ll know what to do.”

  She smiled wearily, obviously relieved that he’d given up.

  All at once he wanted out of there, out of that miserable room, out of the hotel. Fuck hotels!

  He wanted to breathe the fresh night air instead of the lingering staleness that seemed to cling to him now. More than anything, he wanted to be away from her, from the dangerous hold the smooth olive skin of her shoulders had on him. He was unnerved by these new stirrings of jealousy and angry that she’d evoked feelings he hadn’t experienced in years. He needed to catch his train and head back to his marriage, back to reality, but before he could pull on the trousers that lay limply across his lap, she drew him to her.

  This time when they made love, the sweat streamed down his back and between their bodies. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at her, only to feel their mingled wetness, imagining that he was a river swallowing her up. The Ganges, the Amazon, the Nile. He wanted to be those rivers, to drown her so that she’d always, and only, live inside of him.

  He furiously pounded away, burying his face in her moist neck.

  13

  “We’d planned on tomorrow night, Richard,” Belinda said over the phone, sounding upset. “You know I need to see you. It’s important.”

  “Belinda, I’m sorry. This thing . . . I can’t get out of it.”

  “You could have said you’re busy.”

  “If I could have made an excuse, I would have. These are old friends, just in town briefly. Joy made plans with them. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you Sunday night.”

  “I’m busy Sunday.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I have a commitment.”

  Knowing she was just being difficult, he was silent. He couldn’t help smiling through his annoyance. He loved her even when she was being unreasonable, which was rare.

  “I’m not the one doing the double-timing,” she said. “We had plans to see each other, and you broke them. I’ve made other arrangements for Sunday.”

  “With him? Mr. Peace Corps?”

  There was a pause. “It’s none of your business.” The coolness in her voice was unmistakable. He could picture the look in her eyes, that steely resolve to be uncooperative.

  “It is my business,” he said gently.

  “Your business is to keep your appointments.”

  “Baby, why can’t you just tell me now over the phone? I’m all ears. You know I’m dying to see you, but I just can’t see you tomorrow.”

  “Well, I’m not available Sunday.”

  “You’re lying.”

  There was a stillness.

  “You know you’re being stubborn,” he went on. “It’s not as if I’m intentionally—”

  There was a click on the other end.

  “Hello?” He waited, but there was only an eerie silence.

  He glared at his phone. “Damn!”

  He’d learned to handle the arguments with Joy with a certain humor, a quiet aplomb. Even when she won them, he could walk away feeling somewhat vindicated at having put up a logical defense. However, he hadn’t yet learned how to ease out of a quarrel with Belinda, and this failure left him peeved and uneasy. Damn!

  The argument was silly. Belinda had made dinner plans with him, and he’d inadvertently agreed to an engagement with Joy the same night, with old friends they rarely saw, Joy’s college roommate and her husband. They hadn’t seen them since Joy lost the baby, and Joy had been looking forward to the dinner. He was also hoping that seeing her friend would help Joy finally get some relief from her unending grief. Maybe she’d be heartened by the fact that the couple, who had been unable themselves to have children, seemed perfectly happy.

  He didn’t know why Belinda was refusing to meet him on Sunday.

  He had stayed home this morning, Friday, to finish working on his taxes. Now he was suddenly exhausted. That five-minute tiff over the telephone had seemed to last forever, and he was left staring at the receiver, baffled. Should he call back and apologize? Should he try to get out of his dinner with Joy and their friends? Call Belinda back and insist she reschedule dinner with him?

  When he called her number, however, it went to her voice-mail. He waited a few minutes and redialed her, but he got her recording again. She was obviously not going to answer his calls now. Damn! It had never crossed his mind when he first embarked on this rousing new venture that he’d need nerves of platinum.

  Mr. Peace Corps. The prick!

  Richard had no idea why Belinda didn’t call the man her ex-lover, since that’s obviously what he was. But she hadn’t said anything more about him that night, and he hadn’t asked.

  Now, this morning, a fight. He didn’t count any of their other haggling as real fights, but this certainly felt like one, and Joy was indirectly the cause of it. In a way, it was perhaps time that he and Belinda had a real fight. It seemed unnatural that in their time together, they’d never had much to argue about. Perhaps this fight was proof that they were, in fact, a couple, arguing over the inane things longtime couples find to argue about.

  He rifled through the stack of papers on his desk, glancing at the phone, his fingers itching to dial her number, but he’d wait. He’d let her cool down a bit.

  He felt a rubbing against his leg. The cat wanted to jump into his lap. He reached down and nudged her away. Joy insisted that he imagined his allergies to cats, but his sneezing increased whenever any cat came near. He stood, ran his fingers through his hair, and stalked out of the study.

  In the kitchen, he flipped open a can of beer and rolled some turkey into a tortilla, biting into it between impatient gulps of the beer. Damn phone. He couldn’t get that click of her hanging up out of his mind. Such a little thing, but his stomach twitched.

  Back in his study, he continued prepar
ing his taxes so his accountant, Ed, could file them next week. Ed had already filed for an extension, but it was the beginning of March, and Richard had never filed this late. He was always, as Joy claimed, annoyingly punctual, not only with paying bills, but with appointments and even casual meetings. Obviously, keeping a mistress and marriage afloat had caused him to slip.

  He leafed through the documents, occasionally glancing at his phone as if he could will the thing to ring. Belinda hardly called him anyway, and so there was no reason to think she would now, except that he’d told her that Joy was out. It was usually he who called her, and since she always carried her cell phone, even in class, there had never been a need for her to call when he was home. Now, he wished she would ignore their past agreement about not contacting him when he was home and phone him. Even if she were still angry, he wanted to hear her voice, hear the breathless catch it had when she said his name, as if it were somehow unlikely that it was him on the other end.

  He tried calling her again, but she still didn’t answer.

  He tried to push her out of his mind, but she crept back in. Not only the sweet feel of her, but the things they did together that he hadn’t done with anybody else, and certainly not in that unbridled way.

  Chocolate. It was the image he most often had whenever he kissed her. He imagined losing himself in her arms as if in one big pool of chocolate.

  Once, when he’d described these feelings to her, she smiled. “Chocolate?”

  Although the chocolate association amused her, she couldn’t seem to appreciate its potent reverberations in him. She didn’t seem to value her own loveliness enough or give much weight to his obsession with it. Perhaps she was used to men hungering after her and took his admiration for granted.

  He glanced at the yellow pad on the desk under his hand. He’d been jotting down words without thinking: chocolate, desire, potent.

  He ripped the page off and shredded it. Once again, he started to jot down the itemized list of deductions on a separate piece of paper and tried to make sense of the forms in front of him.

  Damn fight!

  The front door opened.

  “Rich?”