The Perfect Marriage

by Adam Mitzner

A few minutes later, the light from the other room allowed her to make out the contours of a person entering the bedroom. Not James, but the woman.

  Haley couldn’t see her face, but that didn’t mean that she was unable to draw certain assumptions.

  Not Jessica—confirmed.

  James’s latest conquest was thin, almost to a childlike degree. Apparently, James had opted for a little variety for this round of infidelity.

  Haley tried not to breathe. The toilet flushed. The faucet ran, then didn’t. The bathroom door opened.

  When the woman emerged from the bathroom, Haley finally saw her from the front. She was a bit flat-chested for James’s taste, and her hair was short, like a boy’s. But she was still the type to turn Haley’s ex-husband’s head. And the way she was dressed suggested she was fully committed to the task at hand.

  James must have heard the bathroom door open too because he had made his way to the bedroom. Just Haley’s luck—he had positioned himself in front of the closet. Now all she could see was the back of his suit jacket. She strained her eyes and focused her hearing, trying to block out the sound of her beating heart.

  Were they kissing again? Was that why she couldn’t hear anything?

  “Shall we?” James said.

  It seemed an odd way for him to suggest that they should have sex, but maybe that’s what James considered gallant these days. She imagined him extending his arm over the bed, like a game show model showing off a new car.

  “Yes,” the woman said.

  Haley checked to make sure the camera side of her phone didn’t emit any light. Once satisfied she would go undetected, she pressed the record button and pointed it at James’s back.

  James moved a step forward. Haley waited for them to fall onto the bed. It would be any moment now.

  Then, everything changed. James stepped aside so that the camera captured the woman. In a flash, however, she moved out of the frame too.

  They weren’t heading to the bed, after all. They had returned to the main room and were there only briefly. A few seconds later, Haley heard the front door open, then shut behind them.

  Jessica had a strict no-phones-at-the-dinner-table policy. But the moment she heard the ring, she jumped up to answer it.

  “It might be James,” she said to Owen by way of explanation.

  Once the phone was in her hand, however, she knew that was not true. The caller ID was from a number outside of her contacts.

  Jessica thought for a second about letting it go to voice mail, then changed her mind.

  “Is this Jessica Sommers?” said a man’s voice.

  “It is.”

  “Ask your husband how he enjoyed fucking that short-haired, skinny bitch,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Just ask him.”

  “Who is this?”

  The connection went dead.

  Jessica assumed it was Haley. Not the voice, obviously, but that she was behind the call. There had been other calls like this in the past. Just want to tell you that your husband fucked me so good last night kind of things.

  More often than not, James had been home when the supposed fucking had occurred, and so there was no reason for Jessica to be concerned that it might be true. But there hadn’t been a call like this in a few weeks, maybe a few months. It was the specificity with which the caller described the other woman—short-haired and skinny—that Jessica found most alarming. If Haley were going to make some woman up, why call her short-haired and skinny? Wouldn’t a twisted mind like Haley’s conjure up a more threatening image—big breasts and wild hair?

  “Who was that?” Owen asked.

  “No one.”

  “You don’t look like it was no one.”

  “It was no one for you to concern yourself about,” she said.

  Jessica hated to admit it, but Haley had achieved her purpose. All through dinner, she couldn’t get the mental image of James with a short-haired, skinny woman out of her head.

  As the hours passed without James coming home, Jessica’s imagination began to get away from her, and as it did, her anger bubbled closer to the surface. At ten, she went upstairs and got into bed. She knew she wouldn’t go to sleep until James arrived home, but she might as well not be sitting up in the living room with her arms folded when he did.

  A half hour later, he was standing in the bedroom. Even though the room was illuminated by only her bedside lamp, she could tell that his cheeks were flushed. His hair even seemed slightly tousled.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” James said. “The traffic was ridiculous tonight. The president’s in town, and for some reason that means that they have to close off the entire FDR or something.”

  He began to undress. As he unbuttoned his shirt, Jessica wondered if he was trying to get out of his clothes quickly so she wouldn’t see some telltale sign of his infidelity. Lipstick on his collar or the scent of her perfume.

  “How was your dinner?” she asked.

  “Good.”

  Jessica had been hoping for a more informative response. She remembered how, back when she was living a double life, she’d adhered to the mantra that “less is more” when parceling out info to Wayne.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Eleven Madison.”

  Eleven Madison Park was among the most expensive, to say nothing of romantic, restaurants in the city. Dinner for two would clock in at about $1,000.

  “That must have cost you a pretty penny. Is your client buying the entire Museum of Modern Art?”

  “Actually, it didn’t cost me even a penny. She paid.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?”

  “And she’s not a client. Not really. She’s more of a broker. Remember I told you that I sold her the Pollock today? Well, I sold it to her client. Then, after you left this afternoon, she called and said that if I could get more, she had other buyers. So it’s possible that I can raise enough for Owen’s entire treatment with just her clients.”

  The righteous indignation that had gripped Jessica since she’d answered the phone at dinner immediately dissipated. She was being foolish. James’s dinner was a business meeting. The purpose of which was to raise money for Owen. Even if it was with a woman at a romantic restaurant and ran late, that didn’t mean he’d slept with her. Besides, James had seemed plenty sated when she’d left him that afternoon.

  She watched her husband continue to disrobe. When he was wearing only his boxer shorts, he rolled back the comforter and slid into bed beside her.

  “I’ve been thinking lately that I might be psychic,” she said.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “It is. And right now, I’m getting the very strong psychic vision that your dinner companion tonight was short-haired and thin?”

  An odd smile came to James’s mouth. “Were you at the restaurant?”

  “No.”

  “Then who told you?”

  “Your other wife.”

  His smile disappeared. “What did Haley do this time?”

  Jessica sighed. “While Owen and I were having a lovely lasagna dinner, I received a phone call. A man’s voice on the other line told me to ask my husband how he enjoyed fucking the thin, short-haired bitch.”

  “Jesus,” James said. “I’m so sorry, Jessica. That’s terrible.”

  “It is now that I know you were at the most romantic restaurant in Manhattan with a thin, short-haired woman.”

  James rolled closer to her until their faces were only inches apart. “Of all the gin joints in all of Manhattan, right? What are the odds that Haley would be at Eleven Madison on the same night I was? But it doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse for her calling you. I’ll reach out to Amanda tomorrow and see about getting her to file something in court. This craziness has got to stop.”

  “Just tell me that I have nothing to worry about, James. Please.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “Jessica, I love you. You have nothing to worry about. Not now. And not ever.”
/>   He certainly looked sincere. Then again, so had Jessica when she made the same promises to Wayne.

  9

  Owen thought it was odd that, when he exited his bedroom on the way to school the following morning, James was sitting at the dining table. His stepfather almost always slept later than anyone else. Owen might have assumed that James had an early meeting had it not been for the fact that he was still wearing pajamas.

  “You got a few minutes to have some breakfast?” James said. “I’m having a delicious and nutritious bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Fix yourself one and join me.”

  Owen was usually pressed for time in the morning, but as luck would have it, today he was running early. Besides, Cap’n Crunch actually sounded good. Owen poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down beside James.

  “Your mom told me that you all had a good doctor’s visit yesterday. I know that it’s a tough road ahead for you, but I also know that you can handle it.”

  Owen’s usual comeback when someone said something in this vein was to point out that he didn’t really have much choice in the matter. Inside, he wondered if he really could handle it.

  Neither response seemed right here. He hoped that he could go without replying, but when it seemed as if James was waiting for an answer, he offered up, “I guess.”

  “I don’t need to guess. I know.”

  Owen was glad that James, who would not lose his hair or feel sick as a dog for weeks or spend more than a month in the hospital, had such confidence that Owen could endure all those things. Another lie from someone who had no idea what the truth was.

  James took a spoonful of cereal. Before he had finishing chewing, he said, “I understand your mom got a very disconcerting phone call last night.”

  This was undoubtedly the reason James had gotten himself out of bed early this morning. “Yeah. She seemed upset by it.”

  “I know. It came from Haley. Or at least Haley asked some poor sap to make the call for her. Haley’s crazy. I’m sorry to say it like that, but, sadly, it’s just a fact. I don’t know if anyone ever told you this, but Haley used to be an investment banker. She worked at a top-tier firm. After she and I got divorced, totally unrelated to our split, she had this problem at work and got fired. She says she’s unemployable now because of it. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that she blames me for every bad thing that’s happened in her life since we split up. Probably blames me for climate change at this point too.”

  James chuckled, but Owen could eke out only the smallest of smiles. He was still waiting for James to get to the purpose of this tête-à-tête.

  “Anyway, she’s so filled with hate these days she’s become unstable,” he continued. “Like what she did at our anniversary party.”

  Owen nodded. “Yeah. That was messed up.”

  “Messed up seems to be Haley’s specialty lately. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry that she’s been so intrusive. It’s not fair to you and your mom. Me either, really, but I can take it, and besides, I was fool enough to marry her. But you and your mom, you’re just collateral damage. I’m going to talk to my lawyers to make sure this stops, once and for all. And finally, and far most importantly, I wanted to tell you what I told your mom last night. What Haley—or her boy toy—said is just not true. The short-haired woman Haley saw me with last night is named Allison. She’s just a business colleague. We’re doing a deal together. Your mom and I are solid. Trust me on that.”

  So that was what the call was all about. Some guy claiming James was cheating.

  And now James wanted Owen, who had known him for barely two years, to trust him when he claimed he was faithful, while his own mother was still lying to him about her own infidelity.

  “Okay, thanks for telling me,” Owen said. Then he scooped a spoonful of sugary cereal.

  James still wasn’t sure that he had convinced Owen that everything between him and Allison was on the up-and-up when his phone rang. Speak of the devil—it was Allison.

  He looked at Owen, still eating his Cap’n Crunch.

  “You’re going to really love me now,” Allison said.

  James mouthed to Owen, “Work.” Then he began making his way into the kitchen for some privacy. “Why am I really going to love you now, Allison?” he said into the phone.

  “Because I’ve got the perfect buyer for the Pollocks. The guy’s been my client for about ten years. When I told him that I could get him some original Pollock sketches with paint splatter, he said, and I quote, ‘I don’t care about the price.’ And get this, I told him that you’re asking a million per, and that still didn’t spook him. When we meet, I’ll counter at eight hundred grand, and then we’ll shake hands at nine.”

  That was the way the art world worked. It was the Wild West. Every broker was out for him- or herself, and the clients had no clue. It wasn’t like your broker was your lawyer, with a fiduciary duty to represent your best interests. It was more akin to a real estate transaction. There might be brokers on both sides, but they were loyal only to the deal.

  Allison got paid a percentage of the purchase price from the buyer, and James took a percentage from the seller. Or in his case, half of Reid’s percentage. The higher the price, the more found its way to them.

  Given that incentive structure, brokers never cared about fairness. Their first duty was to close the deal. Their second duty was to do it at the highest price possible. There was no third duty.

  “He wants to meet today,” she said. “Just tell me when and where.”

  “How about four at my office?”

  “Perfect. I actually think we can run the table with this guy. The remaining three in one deal. I’ll tell him that the more he owns, the more each piece is worth. Kind of like how having a monopoly increases the value of each property.”

  James thought the analogy fitting. Who wouldn’t be convinced to buy millions of dollars of art based on the logic of a board game?

  Reid arrived at James’s office at a quarter to four. Despite the fact that he was about to be a million dollars richer, he was hopping mad.

  “When did you and Allison arrange to sell my Pollocks?”

  James smiled at the implicit accusation.

  The reaction made Reid angrier by confirming that he was on the right track. James was screwing him over.

  “Last night. We had dinner, and she told me she might have this other buyer. She called me this morning and said her guy wants all three of them today, and is willing to pay nine hundred per. The first thing I did after hearing that was to call you. So, unless you have an objection to making some serious money, I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem is you don’t fucking meet with her behind my back to discuss my deal—a deal that you’re only in because of my good graces. That’s the fucking problem, James.”

  “I’m sorry. She wanted to see me alone.”

  “Oh, she wanted to. Makes it easier to fuck her, I assume.”

  “Let’s keep our eye on the ball, shall we? I thought you were in this to make some money. Not to get laid. And not to keep tabs on my love life. So stop worrying about whether I’m fucking Allison, and start thinking about how you’re going to spend the money we’re going to earn on this deal.”

  “I don’t care who you fuck. I care if the two of you are going to fuck me.”

  That’s when the buzzer sounded. Allison was there.

  “Take a deep breath, Reid. No one is fucking you. But if you want to turn away three million dollars because you’re jealous, just say the word and I’ll send them away.”

  Reid wasn’t one to cut off his nose to spite his face. Especially when money was on the line. A lot of money.

  Still, he didn’t like the way this was going.

  And then things only got worse when Allison arrived. She was alone.

  “My client couldn’t get out of DC,” she said. “His instructions are for me to look at the merchandise. If I give the okay, he wants me to deliver them to him in DC thi
s evening. As soon as I get there, he’ll make payment in cash to me.”

  “No fucking way,” Reid said. “You think I’m going to trust you with three Pollocks? Not to mention nearly three million dollars in cash after you sell them?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I wasn’t proposing doing it alone. James can come. In fact, I want him there.”

  “No. They’re mine. I brought James into this. I’ll go with you.”

  “No offense, Reid, but I’m not doing that. I trust James, and I don’t know you. I’m not going to be alone with some guy I don’t know with a suitcase filled with cash. I’m sorry, I just don’t feel safe doing that.”

  Reid did not like this. Not one bit.

  He was getting that hinky feeling again. In spades.

  “Jesus, James, really? Why can’t Reid go?” Jessica said.

  “I suggested that. She said she knows me, not Reid. I’d rather not go either. But remember why I’m going, okay? If all goes well, I’ll be coming back with enough money to pay for the rest of Owen’s treatment.”

  He was right. With effort, Jessica put her suspicions aside.

  “Are you coming home to get a change of clothes?”

  “No time, I’m afraid. I’ll have to wear the same suit for tomorrow’s meeting. Maybe I’ll buy a shirt on the way down.”

  “Okay,” she said, then debated how much nagging she wanted to do. One more, she told herself, and then she’d stop. “Just promise me one thing, will you?”

  “Anything, Jessica.”

  “You’ll be home first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “I swear to you that, come hell or high water, I’ll be on the first Acela in the morning. Reid will be angrier at me than you if I’m not, believe me. He wants his money yesterday.”

  “Okay. You have a safe trip. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Jessica. I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Haley ordered her second martini even though it was not yet four. For reasons that she was certain Dr. Rubenstein could make sense of, nearly being caught the other night had scared her to the core, but not enough to keep her away from Sant Ambroeus to see what today might bring. Her appetite whetted, she was craving more.