Portrait of a Married Woman

by Sally Mandel

  “He’d be a very good father,” Eliza said. “He’s always wanted children.”

  Maggie shook her head. “It sounds so reasonable. But it’s doing it that’s difficult. I must be an awful coward.”

  “Or else you haven’t made up your mind.”

  “Oh but, Eliza, I see other people wait twenty-five years in a terrible marriage until the children are grown, and I think, what a waste, what a criminal waste. And then I try to imagine myself sitting down with my kids to tell them about David, and it just seems absurd. This is not how I always thought I would live my life. And there’s Matthew.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know what I feel. I’m very angry, I guess. Whenever I try to figure him out, I mean in relation to me and the marriage, I get this feeling as if my head has turned to cement, just a solid block of it.” She looked up at Eliza. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  “Can you imagine yourself living with David?”

  “Yes. I do it all the time. I have trouble with the children, though … they don’t seem to belong in this part of my life. But that’s surely a matter of adjustment. For me, for them. Oh Lord.” Maggie rubbed her head. “Here comes the cement.”

  “Do you feel strange here?” Eliza asked. “I mean here, on the boat, with me, with David.”

  “It’s curious, today seems like a kind of … nailing things down, in a way. David and I have been pretty much isolated in our own world. Today, being here with you, has made it even more real. A confirmation. And talking about it with you. I haven’t talked about it with anyone except David.”

  “I’m very fond of Dee,” Eliza said. “I would hate to see him hurt.”

  “Somebody’s going to be, and it’ll be me who’s doing the hurting. It’s pretty ironic, after making a lifetime career out of being nice to everybody.”

  David’s head appeared in the galley entrance, but Eliza managed a final remark. “Forget being nice. Be honest, and you’ll do the right thing.” She waved at David. “All fixed?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good,” Eliza said. “You gave us a chance to pick your character apart.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. His face was glowing with sunburn.

  Maggie pulled him down beside her. “But we decided that you have a few redeeming qualities.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tolerance,” Maggie said.

  Eliza hooted. “Come over here, Maggie. As soon as we get untied you can take over.”

  A train whistle blew in the distance. Its ghostly echo bounced back and forth between the mountainous banks. Eliza glanced at her watch. “Amtrak, more or less on time. All right, David? We’re clear?”

  “All set!” he called.

  Eliza started the engine and they moved away from the mooring. “We’ll wait until we get out into the bay, then you’ll take the helm,” she told Maggie.

  The craft was very responsive. “Can we go faster?” Maggie asked.

  “You can do forty-five miles an hour in this thing,” David said. “But let’s not.”

  “Chicken,” Maggie said. With the wind rushing past her ears and the soft purple mountains curling away behind her, she had the momentary fantasy of steering them all up out of the water like a seaplane and off into the darkening sky beyond the evening star to freedom. At the Tappan Zee Bridge, Maggie relinquished the wheel to Eliza and lay down with her head in David’s lap. He stroked her hair and argued with Eliza.

  “Art is explosive communication,” he said. “It demands attention from the public, as if to say: Look at this and understand it the way I understand it.”

  “I don’t care if nobody sees my work,” Eliza retorted. “It’s communion, not communication. I only show my paintings so I can make enough money to keep doing it.”

  “Bullshit,” David said.

  Maggie’s eyelids began to droop. David’s voice seemed to be a buzz emerging from the firm muscle of his thigh. The sky was like a soft deep-gray canvas with streaks of gold.

  “Then what you’re doing is for other people,” Eliza protested. “You may just as well be in the advertising business. Right, Maggie? Oh heavens, let her sleep.”

  I could be very happy here, Maggie thought, and surrendered to the rocking motion of the boat and the drone of the engine.

  When she awoke, the sky was black. There were jagged splits in the cloud cover that allowed glimpses of stars. Eliza, whose straw hat had disappeared, smiled at her.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Maggie asked.

  “An hour maybe,” David answered.

  “Oh no. Where are we?”

  “Take a look,” Eliza said.

  Maggie sat up stiffly. Behind them, shimmering lights blurred, then came into focus. The twin towers of the World Trade Center rose like splendid glittering columns out of the water. She turned toward the bow and caught her breath. To starboard, the Statue of Liberty stood draped in scaffolding. The intricate webbing of cables had been lit so that each strand was like a fine golden chain. Barely visible beneath the luminous veil was the shadow of the lady herself, imposing, dark, secret.

  “Oh, look at her,” Maggie whispered. They were all silent as Eliza moved closer, then made a long arc and headed up the East River.

  Bulky shadows passed back and forth as they motored up past Governors Island, where headlights could be seen blinking through the black silhouettes of trees. “What are all those huge ships?” Maggie asked.

  “Tankers. Cargo ships. This is the busiest harbor in the world, next to Rotterdam,” Eliza explained.

  “I had no idea,” Maggie said.

  “It’s easy to forget that we live in a seaport,” David remarked.

  “Extraordinary.” Maggie gazed at the Manhattan skyline. “It looks so fragile, as if it’s all afloat, and could sink at any moment.”

  “Liza,” David said. “It’s almost nine. Maggie has to be back at ten.”

  Maggie looked at him, startled. It was impossible to imagine stepping back onto dry land and leaving this magic world of reflections and darkness. “I didn’t want to hear it from you,” David said softly, putting his face next to her cheek.

  It took very little time, with the engine near full throttle, to deliver them back to Seventy-ninth Street. The marina glistened against West Side Manhattan like a handful of diamonds tossed carelessly against the shore. When Maggie stepped off the boat onto the dock, she felt her knees give way. The solid planks seemed cruelly unyielding beneath her feet after the gentle roll of the river. She held her hand out to Eliza. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Come again, that’s how,” Eliza answered. She waved and disappeared below.

  David walked Maggie to the bus stop. Neither of them spoke. He kissed her once, lightly, and she stepped up into the phosphorescent glare of the crosstown bus.

  Chapter 18

  “Forget the cards,” Phyllis said. “Put them away, Robin.”

  Robin looked at the others.

  Maggie nodded. “Phyl’s right,” she said. “Nobody can concentrate.”

  “Something tells me our bridge days are numbered,” Hilary remarked.

  “What’s the rent for this place anyway?” Phyllis asked. Maggie noticed that she had refused a glass of wine and was drinking Perrier like Hilary.

  “Five-seventy-five.”

  “You know you could always move in with us,” Phyllis said. “We have the sofa bed in the living room.”

  “Thanks, you’re sweet, but I need a place of my own.”

  The apartment was in a new high-rise that catered to young singles. Rock music pounded through the Sheet-rock wall, and from the floor above, someone seemed to be dropping paper clips in a relentless rhythm. After three months, the apartment was still bare, almost ascetic compared to the friendly clutter of Robin’s home with Jackson. There was the card table where they sat, which also served as a dining table and a desk. There was a couch which open
ed into a bed, a small portable television, and one jade plant. There was not a single hooked rug in evidence.

  “I saw a bevy of stewardesses in the lobby,” Phyllis said. “And somebody’s having a Halloween party. The elevator had a belly dancer, a witch, and a gorilla in it. God, they’re all so young.” She gave Robin one of her penetrating inspections.

  Robin had lost weight and given up her contact lenses. The combination of visible cheekbones and large tortoiseshell glasses lent her a sober appearance that was in marked contrast to her former little-girl softness. She had gradually removed most of her wardrobe from the old apartment and sold it to secondhand clothing stores. With the profits, she bought herself several pairs of pants and some tailored dresses. Tonight she wore plain black wool pants and a cowl-necked sweater.

  Phyllis nodded approvingly. “You look fine,” she said. “I’ve got to confess, you shocked the hell out of me.”

  “Leaving my husband? People do it all the time.”

  “Not you. Christ, I’ve been bitching and moaning about my marriage for fifteen years, and I’d never have the guts to do what you did.”

  “How’s Jackson?” Maggie asked.

  “He calls a lot. He wants to date.”

  “Will you?” Hilary asked.

  “I’ve seen him a few times,” Robin said. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “It must be so strange, living by yourself after all these years,” Maggie said.

  “It’s lonely and it’s very nice. Well, Hil, you know.”

  Hilary smiled. “It’s different if you’ve never been married.”

  “Do you know I tried practicing my shorthand today and I couldn’t remember any of it?” Robin said.

  “You’re not going to get a job?” Phyllis sounded so appalled that they all laughed.

  “Sure. How else am I going to pay for this place? I blew all my savings when I moved in.”

  “I thought Jackson was paying the rent,” Hilary said.

  “He wanted to, but I won’t let him.”

  “You’ve lost a few bolts there, dear,” Phyllis remarked.

  Robin smoothed her hair but it popped right back into its springy curls. “This is my place. It’s the first time I’ve ever had anything of my own, and I don’t want to owe anybody, especially not Jackson.”

  “Let me see what I can scare up,” Hilary said. “But you know, secretaries use computers now. Think you could handle that?”

  “I’ll learn.”

  “Christ,” Phyllis said. “We used to wear white gloves to work every day. Imagine that.”

  “Yes, and getting a swat on the behind from the boss was a token of his appreciation,” Hilary added.

  “I don’t know if there’s any way I could explain how it was to my liberated daughter,” Maggie said.

  “She should never know,” Phyllis remarked.

  As the others reminisced about Woman’s Companion, Maggie thought about David. Tonight they would be together all night long. Matthew had left on a rare three-day trip out of town, and the children were on a school outing at Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts. It was wonderful to think of falling asleep in David’s arms and waking to find him beside her. She was almost sorry that it was nearly time to leave Robin’s. Soon there would be no more minutes left for this delicious anticipation.

  “Hil’s coming home with me tonight,” Phyllis was saying. “You want us to drop you?”

  “No, I think I’ll walk, thanks. Matt’s out of town so there’s no need to hurry home.”

  Phyllis’s eyes narrowed briefly. Downstairs when Hilary stepped into the street to hail a cab, Phyllis said, “Did you put my number down as a backup for the Sturbridge trip?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “Good,” Phyllis said. “Just in case there’s an emergency, God forbid, and there’s something wrong with your phone.”

  Maggie thought: Someday, I’ll tell you how much I love you. As soon as their cab was out of sight, she flagged another one and headed for the West Side.

  David was standing in the doorway in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt as Maggie ran gasping up the last flight of stairs.

  “You couldn’t possibly have found an apartment on the first floor,” she laughed, falling into his arms.

  “Just a little closer to heaven,” David said.

  “I’ll say. No, don’t kiss me yet. I’m all sweaty.”

  David ran his tongue lightly along her cheek. “Mm, delicious. Like sashimi.”

  “You don’t really eat that stuff, do you? Raw fish?”

  “Such a sheltered life you lead, my love.” He drew her to the round table, sat down, and pulled her onto his lap.

  “Not sheltered anymore. David, we have all night together.”

  “I know.”

  She wove his long dark hair through her fingers. “It’s nice to be home.”

  “Yes.” He unbuttoned the bodice of her dress and made her naked to the waist. She could feel him growing hard under her thighs.

  “Take off your clothes,” she said.

  He lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and set her down.

  “How did you do that? I weigh almost as much as you do.”

  “You’re a whole lot lighter than a quarter of a ton of Belgian marble.”

  “Look at you.” Maggie stared at his penis, erect and slightly curved. “How did you ever get that way?”

  “Practice.”

  Maggie laughed.

  “Care to straighten me out?”

  She held out her arms. “If it takes me all night.”

  As their lovemaking became more intense, the light-hearted mood shifted. Maggie watched David above her as their bodies did their slow dance. His face reflected the same mingled pain and joy that she felt, and as her eyes filled with tears, his did too. Afterward she cried against his shoulder while he stroked her hair.

  “David, what are we going to do?”

  He lifted himself away and lay down on his side so that he could look at her. “Do you really want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head and held his hand hard against her cheek. Then they slept. When David woke up, Maggie was standing over him. He sat up in a panic. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “It’s all right. We only slept for a few minutes. Are you hungry? There’s not much in the refrigerator.”

  “I could eat.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists like a child. His hair looked soft against the hard lean muscles of his shoulders. “All right, I know what,” he said. “I’m taking you out.”

  “Out? We can’t go out.”

  “It’ll be all right.”

  Maggie considered. No one she knew could possibly be dining at one A.M. in this neighborhood. And then, she could not deny, there was an appealing element of danger, even of defiance.

  David picked up her rumpled clothes and handed them to her. She hesitated a moment, and then got dressed.

  Columbus Avenue was lively, but not with the trendy elegance of the Upper East Side. Here were crowds of young people with punk hairdos and outrageous clothing, long-haired women in faded jeans walking arm in arm, and bearded men with wire-rimmed glasses talking earnestly over espresso in the windows of cafes.

  “Doesn’t anybody ever go to bed?” Maggie asked.

  “Eventually.”

  The October sky was a clean navy blue. Maggie held David’s arm. A black man passed in dancer’s leg warmers. He let his eyes linger on Maggie and gave her a smile. She knew her body told the street that she adored this man, and that she had just made love to him.

  David steered her into a tiny Japanese restaurant with half a dozen tables and a counter. The place was nearly full, but they found a table at the back.

  “All right. It’s time you discovered sushi.”

  “Oh dear,” Maggie said nervously. “I was kind of thinking about a cheeseburger.”

  “Don’t be crude. Trust
me.”

  “I do,” Maggie said. “God, I’m so in love it’s sickening.”

  David ordered several unintelligible items and two Japanese beers.

  “What are we getting?”

  “Don’t ask. Just eat.”

  Soon a lacquered tray appeared with what looked like a garden laid out on it.

  “We can’t disturb this,” Maggie said, poking carefully at a shiny pink rectangle fastened to a ball of rice with a seaweed belt.

  David lifted a piece of raw tuna in his fingers, dipped it in soy sauce, and popped it into Maggie’s mouth before she could protest. She chewed bravely. The pleasant texture surprised her, and also the delicacy of the flavor. She had expected a heavy fishy taste.

  “So?” David asked.

  “Good. What’s that?” She picked up something white and slightly translucent.

  “Giant clam. It takes perseverance to get your teeth through it, but it’s worth the effort.”

  “Life with you is an adventure,” Maggie said. She worked at the tough clam while David kept his eyes on her. “Eat something,” she urged with her mouth full.

  “I am, in my way …” His feet grasped her ankles under the table. “Tell me about your work. Did you have time this week?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t fall asleep Sunday night. I guess I was all jagged up from …” She nearly mentioned yet another disagreeable conversation with Matthew about Robin and Jackson, but she could not bear to bring Matthew into the restaurant with them. “I was just lying there thinking about that damn black surface of the cityscape piece and how I couldn’t make the shapes come alive. I wanted it thick, you know, and round in this particular spot, but not static. There just didn’t seem to be a way, and then I suddenly remembered Fred’s hole punch. Revelation. I bounded out of bed and sat punching holes like a madwoman until six A.M. It works, David. I paint each little circle, then pile them up one on top of the other, but not rigid. They bend and twist. It’s quite wonderful.”

  “I want to see it.”

  “You will. Aren’t you going to ask me why I paint all the pieces when it’s only the one on top that’s visible?”