by Jason Starr
At school, going by the awkward looks I got from other parents and some kids, it seemed obvious that, if they hadn’t seen me or read about me in the news, they’d heard the rumors. A couple of moms, Stacy and Geri, from the PTA, were discussing preparations for the school’s upcoming annual Halloween Boo Bash. I was about to offer to volunteer, as I had in previous years, but when Stacy and Geri saw me they had panicked expressions and headed into the school to avoid me.
‘Hey, come on, don’t be ridiculous!’ I called after them.
Florence, the security guard, came over.
‘What’s goin’ on out here?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ I said and rushed away.
Without any job to go to, I had a free day until Jonah’s pickup time at two forty. I was eager to start job hunting, try to land another real estate gig, but after everything I’d been through lately, I decided I was entitled to some me time.
I went to Le Pain Quotidien on First and 83rd and had a coffee and croissant and browsed someone’s abandoned New York Times. I didn’t feel like returning to my apartment, so I headed to Central Park. I walked partway around the reservoir. It was chilly and started drizzling – a perfect museum day.
It had been a long time, maybe a year, since I’d been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or to any museum. Years ago, Maria and I used to go frequently, and as I climbed the steps I flashed back to the times we had carried Jonah up the steps in his stroller – her holding the handles, me lifting from the bottom. I hadn’t seen any plays or movies in movie theaters or live bands recently either. Living in New York City and not taking advantage of the cultural activities was a shame; I’d taken too much for granted lately.
I texted Maria: @ The Met
Several seconds later, she replied: Nice Thinking about you too :) I’ll cook dinner!
When was the last time Maria had cooked? Three, four years ago?
I responded: Sounds great!
I went to my favorite part of the museum – the Impressionist wing. After checking out my favorite Renoirs, Gauguins, Seurats, Degas, I went over to the Van Goghs.
I checked out some of my favs – Pair of Shoes, Self-Portrait with Straw Hat, Mother Roulin with Her Baby.
Then I went over to the Still Life: Vase with Irises, and read the description:
In May 1890, just before he checked himself out of the asylum of Saint-Remy, Van Gogh painted four exuberant bouquets of spring flowers, the only still lifes of any ambition he had undertaken during his yearlong stay: two of irises, two of roses, in contrasting color schemes and formats. In the Irises he sought a ‘harmonious and soft’ effect by placing the ‘violet’ flowers against a ‘pink background,’ which have since faded owing to his use of fugitive red pigments.
I’d always liked the painting, but now it had additional meaning for me. I know, I know, grandiose, but I too had just come out of an asylum, so I could identify with Van Gogh’s restrained mania in the painting, and of course his use of fugitive reds reminded me of Sophie.
Distracted by my own troubles and reconnecting with my family, I hadn’t thought about her much the past few days, but now I felt as gutted as I had when I’d discovered her body in the bedroom of the townhouse. The poor woman, and her family – they were the biggest victims in all of this. Sophie hadn’t talked much about her family, but her loved ones were probably still suffering, wanting closure.
‘Are you okay, sir?’
The security guy, who had a foreign accent, had come over to me. I realized I must’ve looked as awful as I felt.
I sat on a bench, staring at the painting, as more memories of Sophie swarmed me. Our devious, late-night chat sessions, how she’d awakened the dormant, adventurous side to my personality, how close we had gotten so quickly, and her explanation for why she’d chosen the name FUGITIVE_RED, because ‘love fades.’ She’d been so unhappy, trapped in a bad marriage, desperate to make a connection. And we had made a connection. Maybe an online relationship wasn’t a real relationship, but our emotions had been real. I was glad that I’d at least allowed her to feel some joy and hope in her life before she’d died.
‘Powerful, isn’t it?’
I didn’t realize that a slight, elderly woman had sat down next to me. I also didn’t realize that I was crying.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You know that pink background was once red?’
‘What?’
I couldn’t tell if she couldn’t hear me or couldn’t understand me.
‘The background,’ I said a bit louder. ‘But the big question is did Van Gogh know that the red would fade? Is that why he chose the red? To make a statement about love fading over time after he was released from the asylum?’
The woman seemed perplexed. I felt ridiculous.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Have an amazing day.’
* * *
Maria made one of her old specialties – chicken piccata, rice with pine nuts, and sautéed spinach. For dessert, she’d picked up Jonah’s favorite: chocolate mousse.
After dinner, I washed the dishes and Jonah dried, then the three of us watched TV – the original Star Wars because Jonah had never seen it. Seeing Jonah so excited made me feel like I was seeing it for the first time as well. I could tell that Maria felt the same way.
Later, when Jonah was in bed and I was saying goodnight to him, he asked, ‘When can we see the sequels?’
‘Soon,’ I said.
‘How soon?’
‘Very soon.’
‘This weekend?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I can’t wait. Are you gonna stay married to Mommy?’
I was caught off-guard, but I had no reason to hesitate.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes I am.’
I kissed him goodnight on the cheek, then joined Maria in the bedroom.
Sex was awkward. I was still distracted and sweating a lot, and Maria didn’t seem that into it either.
‘That was incredible,’ Maria said afterward, snuggling against me.
I knew she had to be exaggerating, at least a little.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know.’
* * *
The next day, Saturday, we decided to have a family day. We took the Q-train to Coney Island, went on some rides, including the Cyclone, and then walked along the Boardwalk to Brighton Beach. We had stuffed cabbage and pierogies at a casual Russian restaurant and then returned home and watched The Empire Strikes Back.
Later, after Maria and I had more awkward sex, she said, ‘I have an idea, let’s go on a date night. We haven’t done that in ages.’
Maria sounded like she genuinely wanted to get closer to me and improve our marriage.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said.
On Sunday, we arranged for Carly to babysit and went to dinner at a restaurant where we used to go frequently, Elio’s on Second Avenue. We sat outside and Maria had a glass of wine with dinner and I had water. I had five days of sobriety and wasn’t planning to go off the wagon again.
Afterward, Maria suggested going to Carl Schurz Park. We walked through the park to the promenade and sat on a bench looking out at the East River.
Holding my hand, Maria said, ‘This feels so nice.’
My gut was screaming at me not to trust any of this. Rationally, I knew that I’d been with her long enough to know that the idea of us getting back to the ‘good times’ in our relationship was just a fantasy.
But when had I ever been rational?
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It does.’
* * *
On Monday morning Maria went to work, and I took Jonah to school. Jonah seemed anxious and wasn’t his usual chatty self. At drop-off, I didn’t feel like hanging around to chat with the parents. Instead, I went to a coffee bar on 85th, and sat in the garden, sipping coffee, searching for a job online.
T
he two hundred grand in our bank account still didn’t feel like it was ours, but, admittedly, knowing that the money was there was a huge stress relief and eased my desperation. If Rob hadn’t deposited that money I would’ve been desperate for work right now, felt pressured by Maria, and been forced to accept the first opportunity that came along. Now I felt free to be pickier.
Andrew Wolf had emailed me the other day, apologizing for his ‘rush to judgment’ against me and offering my old job back ‘if I wanted it.’ I didn’t even bother to respond – not because I held a grudge, but because after years of struggling and neediness, I finally had an opportunity to do what I wanted to do, and I planned to seize it.
Maybe this was my opportunity to get out of real estate, and get back to doing something I really loved. I found a listing that intrigued me – an indie record company in Brooklyn was looking to fill a position in their PR department. While I didn’t have PR experience per se, I’d done some band promotion in my twenties and my sales experience sort of tied in. I found a few more music-related positions that sounded cool, and then I worked on my resume. I didn’t want to rush this, though. My plan was to spend the next week or so working on my resume, and researching job opportunities, and then I’d set up interviews.
Later, I was going to grab some lunch in the neighborhood, when I thought, Why not surprise Maria? Years ago, way before Jonah was born, Maria and I used to meet for lunch on workdays all the time, but we hadn’t done it in ages.
I walked to midtown, to Maria’s office on 51st and Lexington. I’d been to the office a few times over the years, usually on days when I had an appointment in the afternoon and needed to drop off Jonah with Maria at work when we couldn’t get childcare.
Brad at the front desk recognized me.
‘She’s expecting me,’ I said.
‘Go right in,’ he said.
I walked through the row of cubicles, heading toward the windowed office where Maria worked. I knew she’d be surprised to see me and I was looking forward to her reaction. I figured she’d be happy, maybe run up to me and give me a big hug.
As I approached her office, I stopped when I saw she was standing, talking with someone – a man. I figured she was having a meeting, or about to end one, and I was going to come back later or just text her from the street.
Then I recognized the guy – it was Maria’s friend Steve from Westchester. Why was Steve here?
I watched as they continued to talk. They both had intense expressions, like they were talking about something serious. I’d always been aware of the sexual tension between Maria and Steve and they were exes. Was it possible they were having an affair, or had been having an affair for years? Maria had always insisted that they were ‘just friends,’ but maybe I’d missed the obvious signs. I knew they spoke on the phone frequently, and texted and emailed. Some might even say this qualified as having an emotional affair, so why couldn’t it have escalated to something physical? I recalled the possibly hypocritical advice Steve had given me about how I should never cheat on Maria. In retrospect, it all made sense – why would he want me to cheat on and potentially hurt the woman he was in love with?
Of course, I knew I was jumping to a lot of conclusions, but my mind was spinning.
I felt weird watching them and was about to turn and leave when Maria saw me.
Did I see a flash of panic in her expression? Seemed like it. Then she smiled and motioned for me to join them.
‘Hey, what a surprise,’ Maria said, and then she kissed me.
‘Hey,’ I said to Steve.
‘What’re you doing here?’ Steve asked.
‘I was about to ask you that same question,’ I said.
Maria cut in with, ‘Steve just stopped by to visit me. He was running some errands in the city today.’
‘Looks like we had the same idea then,’ I said, glancing at Steve.
Steve didn’t say anything, but he looked like he was reining in emotion.
‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ Maria suggested,
‘It’s okay,’ Steve said, ‘I should get going. I have to take the kids to swimming practice later. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetie.’
He kissed Maria on the cheek then left the office without making eye contact with me.
‘Sweetie?’ I said to Maria.
‘Oh, stop it.’ She saw I was serious. ‘Come on, you don’t really think something’s going on with me and Steve, do you?’
‘Is there?’ I asked.
‘No, of course not. He was telling me about his marriage, that’s all. He and Kathy are thinking about getting divorced and he wanted a woman’s perspective. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I’m not looking at you any way,’ I said.
‘I can’t believe you don’t believe me. Me and Steve? Seriously?’
‘I never said I don’t believe you,’ I said.
‘Well, you’re implying it.’
‘How am I implying it?’
We stared at each other for a few seconds, not blinking.
‘So why did you come here anyway?’ she said.
‘Just to surprise you,’ I said. ‘Thought you’d like to grab lunch with me.’
She smiled. ‘Actually, I’d like that a lot.’
We went around the corner and bought salads and ate on metal chairs in a public space nearby.
After some casual conversation, Maria said, ‘Okay, about Steve. He’s just upset that we’re still together, that’s all. When he heard about you in the news he felt protective of me and when I told him I wanted to work on my marriage, he was against the idea. So he came to talk to me.’
‘It’s none of his business,’ I said.
‘I agree with you,’ Maria said. ‘Actually, I was telling him that exact thing when you walked in. That’s why he acted that way when he saw you.’
Maria seemed sincere. I didn’t have any reason to think she wasn’t telling the truth.
‘Sorry if I overreacted,’ I said.
‘Don’t be.’ She held my hand. ‘I understand why you thought what you thought.’
‘No, I definitely made an assumption and it’s frustrating… I mean, I thought we were beyond all this.’
‘Beyond what?’ she asked.
‘The dysfunction,’ I said. ‘Things were so bad with us for a long time, I think we can both acknowledge that. But I thought we’d gotten past the past. I thought things would be normal now.’
‘They are normal,’ she said. ‘They are.’
She let go of my hand and we continued eating our salads.
* * *
‘I’m worried about Jonah,’ I whispered.
I had just tucked him in and joined Maria on the couch.
‘Don’t be,’ Maria said. ‘He’s a happy kid.’
‘It’s true, he seems happy, but I’m worried he’s holding stuff in. He does that sometimes.’
‘He’s been through a lot the past couple of weeks,’ Maria said. ‘He was so excited to see you when you came home, he’s probably just rebounding from that now.’
‘I think we should consider getting him some therapy,’ I said.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Maria said, sort of harshly. Then she said, ‘But if you’re in favor, I’m in favor too. I know you’re more of a therapy fan than I am. By the way, I’m still open to going to marriage counseling if you want to. Actually, I think it would be a good idea.’
‘I’ll try to check into it tomorrow,’ I said.
Maria grabbed the remote. ‘Let’s watch something funny,’ she said.
She turned on the TV, found Anchorman. It was toward the end of the movie and we watched the rest of it – Maria laughing occasionally, and me, distracted, remaining stone-faced.
When the movie ended, Maria peeked into Jonah’s room, then said, ‘Sound aslee
p,’ and shut his light.
‘We should wake him up so he can brush his teeth,’ I said.
‘One missed brushing won’t kill him,’ Maria said.
I didn’t remember her getting into bed. I must’ve already been asleep.
22
When my phone alarm went off in the morning, I dreaded getting out of bed as I remembered that today was Anthony’s funeral.
Shawn, an acquaintance from AA, had sent me a Facebook invite about it. Normally I would’ve wanted to be there to remember a good friend and support his family – I’d been his sponsor, after all – but I felt incredibly awkward. I’d been in denial about his death, hadn’t even thought about it as much as I should have. As far as I knew, the details of Anthony’s death were still unknown, but I couldn’t help feeling responsible. While I knew, rationally, that I hadn’t caused his death, that it could’ve happened on any case he was working on, or when he was a cop, this didn’t make me feel any better about it.
But, to hell with it, I was tired of being the guy who shirks responsibility and avoids situations just because they’re unpleasant. I’d been that guy for long enough.
I manned up and put on my darkest suit.
The funeral was on Long Island, in Smithtown; Shawn rented a Zip Car and drove me out there. Shawn was a young guy, about thirty, whom Anthony had sponsored. Shawn didn’t know, or didn’t seem to know, that Anthony had been technically working for me when he was killed, so I didn’t fill him in on this information.
Anthony hadn’t been religious, but his family was Catholic. Shawn and I viewed the body – I was impressed how the embalming had managed to make a murder victim appear peaceful – and paid our respects to his family and friends. There were a few familiar faces from AA – Maggie and two guys whose names I didn’t know – but most of the attendees were total strangers. I did get a strong ‘cop vibe’ from several people; not surprising given Anthony’s background at the NYPD. One cop-looking guy – stocky but not fat with thick gray hair and gray mustache – seemed to be looking at me, as if he recognized me from somewhere. I told myself I was just being paranoid, or maybe we’d been at an AA meeting one time and I had forgotten meeting him.
