by Belva Plain
“There are a few around. I haven’t really made up my mind.”
“You said you never had anything as good since—”
She interrupted. “Sometimes, darling boy, one has to settle for second best in life.”
He was confused, angry at her and at himself for having a conversation like this one, here in the heart of his home. It was as if he were defiling it. At the same time he felt a strange exhilaration, the vivid thrill of illicit risk.
“So, good night, Adam. You’ve had a long day, and so have I. No more talk. Sleep well.”
Now what was he to make of that? Did she mean no more talk just at present, or no more ever? In the gathering dark he stood uncertainly for a time, then sat outdoors in the full darkness, watching fireflies dart across the lawn. Without doubt, if that is what she really wanted, she would find someone to marry, and he would be rid of her for good. But the image of her, that heat and that pneumatic flesh, giving to another man what she had given him last night, roused within Adam a furious jealousy and a recall of desire that were almost unbearable.
All the next day that image kept recurring. At lunch, alone with Jenks, he broached in gingerly fashion the subject of marital infidelity. It was a delicate subject; you never knew whether another man would frown in distaste, as if you were prying into his head, or would perhaps laugh at what he might take as your naïveté. Having no reason to do so, he had never discussed it before.
Jenk’s evasion was adroit. “Depends on a couple of thousand factors, wouldn’t you say?”
Adam moved to another topic. “Nothing about Ramsey lately? Is anybody going to Europe in place of him?”
If anything important were going on, Jenks would know it. Curious and gregarious, he had found his place with the popular “in” group.
“Ramsey, for all we know, may lose his job,” Jenks said, relishing his ability to inform. “Or else, he may be moved in glory to the main office. It can go either way if we link up with CBW. But nobody knows anything for sure about that, and may not know for months.”
“So we’re all really hanging by a thread.”
“Pretty much. If the merger goes through, some of us will go higher, some will go lower, and some will go out. That’s the way it is for us wage slaves.”
Jenks shrugged. He could afford to be casual. If anyone were to stay on, he would. Intellectually, he’s notches below me, and he knows it, Adam thought, yet I’m ten times more likely to be “out.”
This awful possibility was chilling. What if he were dismissed and unable to find another job? Thousands of competent men were being displaced as corporations restructured themselves. And they couldn’t possibly get along on Margaret’s salary.
That evening, as he turned the key in the front door, he was both terrified and angry. What was it about men like Jenks or Fred Davis or Margaret’s dull cousin Gilbert that enabled them to be, at least relatively, secure in their places? Davis, to be sure, had inherited a choice piece of land in the heart of Elmsford, but Gilbert had had nothing except a hale-fellow-well-met personality. As to his probable IQ, the less said, the better.
The dogs, who had been alone all day, rushed to greet Adam, but having no heart for them, he let them out without a word or touch. With the shades drawn against the heat the house was dim and dreary. Every move he made, when he pulled a drawer open to get a fork, when he closed the door of the freezer and set a plate down on the table, resounded through the emptiness. He ate quickly without appetite, washed the dish, and after that did not know what to do with himself. The long night loomed.
He thought then of the previous night. She had not telephoned him today. Perhaps she had meant it literally when she said, “No more talk.” But after all, had he not wanted her to mean it? Yes, certainly he had. And why? Because the weight of guilt on his shoulders was just too heavy, so heavy that it had been visible even to her. Had she not told him so?
But how weak he must look to her, like a man afraid to take the pleasure he wanted, a man tied down, regulated, and controlled as if he were a child! What he had done last night—had it harmed anyone? According to the articles that filled the newspapers, more than half the married men in the country took their secret joys on the side. Half of them also got divorced.
But that was something else again, something too utterly unreal to fathom. To leave Margaret, his good wife, and their three children! Unthinkable.
In the front hall there was a mirror over a small chest that held a lamp. Passing through, he stopped for a moment to examine himself. Not much more than forty, he was trim and youthful with a fair complexion and all his hair. He did not even need glasses.
“Don’t we make a handsome pair?” Randi had said as they were standing before her full-length mirror.
Male and female, unclothed and ready, they had been perfect together. And he stood now, quite still, remembering.…
It was seven o’clock. He locked up the house, got in his car, and drove. Speed, dispelling the heat, filled the car with a joyful breeze. A part of his mind still recognized how absurd it was that the mere anticipation of sexual ecstasy could so swiftly smother all his very valid fears. Nevertheless, it was so. He felt free and younger than he had felt in years.
When he rang the bell and gave his name, she opened the door. She was totally naked and laughing.
“Ah, I knew you would come!” she cried, as he fell upon her.
SEVEN
It was a new experience for Adam to join with Randi in her spontaneous way of life. It was nothing for her to jump out of bed right after making love and go to broil hamburgers in the kitchen. Hamburgers at midnight were certainly not something to which he was accustomed. And he had to smile inwardly at the spectacle of himself with Margaret, both in their night-clothes, pouring ketchup on their french fries. After love they always went to sleep.
At home, even on weekends, they lived by the clock. Saturday was the day for all the errands and appointments that Margaret, occupied with school, was unable to fit into the week: the library, the dentist, Julie’s piano lesson, new shoes or shoe repair, Megan’s haircut, or Danny’s Cub Scout meeting. They were always going somewhere, meeting some obligation hour by half hour. Sometimes it seemed to him that if all the clocks were to break down, the family might free itself from these demands.
Of course, this was sheer wishful fantasy and quite ridiculous. Fantasy, nevertheless, had its place.
In the office he found himself one day staring at Margaret’s photograph on his desk. And studying her face with its calm, candid forehead, he felt such shame that he had to turn away. Yet he knew that as soon as the day’s work was over, he was going to go back to Randolph Crossing.
On the second Saturday he arrived there with the dogs, explaining that since he was to stay until Sunday night, he couldn’t leave them alone.
“They’ve been abandoned this whole week, poor things. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“No, but it’s a good thing they can’t talk.”
She had prepared an outing at the new house. Sleeping bags and a portable icebox were piled by the door, ready to go.
“The electricity’s on, so we can cook, even though the stove’s a mess. Or we can make a campfire. I thought it might be fun to stay overnight there and see how it feels.”
For their first meal they made a campfire, roasted potatoes, and toasted marshmallows.
“This makes you feel young, like a kid,” Adam said, watching the marshmallows turn brown.
“How many years is it since you felt like a kid?”
He did not want to think. He only wanted to lie back on the grass with his head in her lap. As the day cooled and the wind came up, the sunshine of late afternoon was friendly. A pungent pine scent blew on the breeze. From somewhere out of sight he heard the distinctive notes of a cardinal. How long it had been since he had stretched out on the grass, empty of thought, just drifting and feeling and drifting!
“Poor boy,” Randi murmured. “Your scalp is so
tight. You worry too much.” She stroked his head from temple to crown, smoothing his hair with a gesture almost maternal.
His worries were nothing he cared to reveal: responsibilities for his children’s future, expenses, promotions, and, like a shrouded ghost, the threat of unemployment.
“Poor boy. Relax. Randi just wants you to be happy. Do whatever you like. Why, you don’t even need to make love to me tonight if you’re tired. Just go to sleep now.”
He slept. When he woke, she had still not moved. He turned on his elbows and looked up at her, asking, “What have you been thinking of all this time?”
She was gazing out through the gap in the trees toward the river. “Do you really want to know?”
“Tell me.”
She looked down at him. “I’ve been thinking how sad it is that we’ve wasted all these years.”
He understood that she must be expecting him to say, “Yes, I know,” but how could he call a waste the years during which he had lived peaceably with his wife, rearing two fine daughters, Nina, and his Danny?
Yet, remembering how once she had been everything to him, remembering his anguish when she abandoned him, he was overcome with a sense of life’s cruelty. And raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it.
“The one year you and I had was worth more than all the rest put together,” she said. “I think of it all the time, of little funny things, like arriving at that surprise party on the wrong day, and the switched raincoats with the secret address book in the pocket. We had fun, didn’t we? Oh,” she cried, “I know you’re remembering that it ended so horribly! I know. I guess I’ve deserved what I got. Chuck was wrong, all wrong. And losing the baby was such a queer, mixed-up experience, sad and still a relief because, poor baby, it wouldn’t have had much stability in its life, would it? Bunting was nice, but there wasn’t any love with him, just peace for a time, and then he died. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t died.…”
Randi’s voice trailed away. He was trying to find something encouraging, something conclusive, to say when abruptly, she jumped up and pointed to the house, where the dogs were lying on the doorstep.
“Why, look how they’ve made themselves at home! I want you to do the same, Adam. I want you to consider this your house, where you can come and go as you please.”
“I won’t be able to come very often, Randi.”
“I know. But you can invent a conference out of town now and then to allow for a day, or even a week. You’ll keep clothes here, and we’ll hide out together in comfort. Someday I want to build a pool in back of the house. With my first sizable commission, after the place is completely furnished, I’ll do it.”
He smiled. “It sounds luxurious.”
“Not really. I’ve saved a few dollars, and I never spend what I haven’t got.”
Through the high windows late that night, they lay watching the stars. “Just as I promised,” Randi said. “Before you fall asleep, let me tell you what I thought of. You know that strip of motels on the highway south of Elmsford? Well, I can easily drive in sometimes and spend the night there. You can leave home early in the mornings, say that you have a load of work at the office, and come to my room. That way, we can have a couple of hours together.”
Not quite two weeks more, he was thinking. I won’t be able to end this then.… Yet he would have to.… The thought of all the lies, of going home to Margaret’s bed, of her not knowing, was appalling.
“I hate to lie,” he said very low.
“Well, it isn’t the best thing in the world. But it isn’t the worst, either, and sometimes you have to lie a little. The fact is, this is our private affair, and we aren’t hurting a soul by having it.”
No, he had to admit they were not hurting anyone.
“All right, then, my darling worrywart, enough. We’ve had a great day, and tomorrow will be another one.”
On Monday, Margaret telephoned the office. “I’m beside myself,” she cried. “I was almost going to call the police, but everyone here talked me out of it. Where were you last night?”
“Why, home. Where else would I be?”
“I don’t understand. I kept calling you again and again, from eight o’clock on. Didn’t you hear the phone?”
“At eight I was outdoors. I did some weeding, took the dogs for a walk, and stayed out as long as I could. The house was hot as hell, except for the bedroom, and I didn’t feel like sitting there.”
“I called at eleven. Then I gave up.”
“At eleven I was asleep. The air conditioner hums, and I sleep like a log, anyway. You should know that.”
“Well, as long as you’re all right. I was so worried. I didn’t sleep all night.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Marg. Were you calling for anything special?”
“Only because I was lonesome and wanted to hear your voice. I had mailed a letter to you, but that wasn’t enough for me. You’ll probably get it today.”
“Well, you’ll soon be home.”
“Ten days. It seems too long.”
His mind raced as she spoke. A double life! He, Adam Crane. He wasn’t the kind of man who lived that way. But what kind of man did live that way? Was such a man in some fashion marked so that you could recognize him? When he hung the receiver up, he was sweating.
At home that evening, Margaret’s letter was in the mailbox. She had enclosed a snapshot of Danny grinning over a huge trout which, presumably, he had caught himself. For a long minute Adam held the picture as though he were memorizing it: the grin, the torn sneaker, and the red hair so obviously slicked flat because he hated curls. It seemed to him that his Danny had grown taller in this short time away.
Then he sat down and read the letter, which was a long one.
A rainy day, a real storm and a long afternoon indoors. Downstairs they are playing board games, and upstairs I have a hunch most are napping. I don’t feel like doing either, or even like reading. I want to “communicate”—isn’t that the “in” word today—with you. If the trip to the airport weren’t horrendously long, I think I’d go right home. This absence has been too long, and we’re not going to do it again. My room has an enormous bed, wider than our own old double bed, and I feel so bereft in it without you. Do you know what I mean? Yes, I’m sure you must, after all our years of being so close every night. Oh, my darling Adam.
But I shouldn’t complain. In other words it’s been delightful here. Fred’s relatives are so hospitable, with no airs at all, in spite of owning all this splendor. The children are having a marvelous time. Julie plays the piano cheerfully when asked to; Megan has a boyfriend, a handsome old man of seventeen, and she’s all puffed up about it; Julie, naturally, is envious. You would laugh to see it all beginning, romance, sex, whatever you want to call this thing that is so marvelous. But don’t worry, he left yesterday, and he lives in Vancouver. As for Danny—he’s everybody’s favorite, as always.
Nina just came in for a second and, seeing me writing to you, sends love. She has a boyfriend, or I really should say a man, because he is twelve years older than she. Anyway, his name is Keith Anderson, and he is apparently mad about her. She met him semiaccidentally, through her job. I don’t know how serious it will turn out to be. Anyway, I told her not to rush into anything. She’s only just turned twenty-three. She reminded me that I was twenty-one when we were married. So I said, sounding like a really old biddy, that that was different because you were an unusual, responsible man. And she said that Keith is too. In fact, he reminds her of you. She says that’s the highest compliment she can pay him.
She gave me some Polaroids of her new apartment, three rooms in a renovated mansion. The building is filled with young people on their way up. I think Nina must be the youngest, though. It’s really extraordinary how she has climbed. Her bosses have given her another splendid raise, because she’s been able to bring a whole new kind of customer to the firm, young, sophisticated New Yorkers with limited budgets and expensive tastes. Apparently, they save and
buy one fine piece at a time. Like Nina they have an eye and a taste for art. I’m so happy for her, and proud of her. Fred says she’s adorable. He teases her, and pretends to sigh, “If only I were younger!” Well, I wish he were younger. She’d be a lucky woman. He’s the “salt of the earth,” as Mom used to say. Now, don’t go making cracks again about Fred, Mr. Adam Crane.
Shocked to the core by the reality of these written words, he dropped the letter. The words had moved him into a state of terror, as when you are trapped in a nightmare, locked in a dark place with blank walls and no windows.
“They’re coming home late Sunday,” he said on Friday evening.
“That gives us two days.”
“No. I’ve neglected the garden, coming out here every night. It’ll take me most of Saturday to work on it. The corn’s up to my knees and choked with weeds.”
During the days since the letter had arrived, he had spoken twice to Margaret. The sound of her living voice, unlike her letter, had filled him with pity and shame, shame for himself and pity for the situation to which he had brought them both. Uppermost in his mind was the determination that she must never know. Never! He would go through fire first.
And he said now, “Randi, she—my family—can’t ever, ever know.”
She gave him a small reproachful smile. “Have you any idea how often you’ve told me that? Of course they mustn’t. If they ever do find out, Adam, it won’t be from me.”
“My children,” he said. “And she—I can’t do that to her.”
“I understand. Darling, I really do.”
They were in the apartment. On the windowsill sparrows hopped, pecking at crumbs, causing him to remember that he had not fed the birds at home as he had promised to do. Randi, too, was staring out of the window into space.
She said suddenly, “You won’t let this mean the end for us, will you? You’ll just take each day as it comes, as long as we stay together?”
