Back In the Game

by Holly Chamberlin

  “It’s a nice idea,” I said, “but I’m not that into jewelry. Besides, I’m not sure I do have a commitment to myself. I’m feeling rather unmoored these days.”

  Nell turned to her sister. “So, Laura, what did you do with your wedding set?”

  “Oh, I kept it. Duncan wanted me to have it.”

  “Because he’s a generous man?” Nell inquired with a false smile. “Or because the set is a bitter reminder of what he had and lost?”

  “There’s no need to be nasty. What Duncan actually said was that he had no use for the rings. Of course he doesn’t. It’s not like he can wear them or give them to some other woman. Anyway, I’m thinking of having the diamonds reset in a totally different way.”

  “You’re not going to save the rings for your daughter?” Nell asked.

  Laura looked at her sister as if she were insane. “No, no, of course not. My daughter will use a set from her father’s family. Duncan has no connection to my children. He’s my past. My children are my future. I think I’ll have the chocolate tart!”

  Nell put her head in her hands. Grace rolled her eyes. And I wondered.

  What would it be like to dismiss the past as easily as Laura seemed able to do?

  Chapter 26

  Jess

  Ninety percent of men want to bail at the first sign of trouble, such as your breast cancer or your mother’s moving in with you. When it comes to women, men prefer to flee rather than to fight.

  —For Better, For Worse—Exploding the Myth of Marriage

  “I’ve been into S & M for about ten years now. It’s really changed my life. I’m so much more open to my emotions now, really in touch with my feelings.”

  “I see,” I said, but I didn’t see at all.

  Dr. Neal Smith is smart, fit, and forty. He’s a respected research scientist with a small private practice. When he stopped by my office earlier that week and asked if I’d like to have dinner with him, I was pleasantly surprised. I had no idea Neal was interested in me.

  In spite of having told my friends there was no point in my dating, I agreed to have dinner with Neal. Maybe, I thought, something nice will happen for us. Not marriage, not love, not even sex, just something pleasant. At the very least, it would get me out of the house for a few hours. All I seemed to do at home was mope.

  We met at Bistro Noir. We shared a bottle of Merlot. The duck was wonderful. Our conversation was easy and wide ranging.

  Things were going well until he suggested we go back to his place. And until he told me about his fondness for bondage.

  “I visit a dominatrix once a week,” he was saying now. “It’s far better than therapy. I feel utterly refreshed when I come out of the Mistress’s lair.”

  “Oh.” Was Neal putting me on? Was this all some sort of sick joke? I took a long drink of water. It didn’t help.

  “I’ve got all the equipment we’ll need: nipple clamps, restraints, whips, so you—”

  I put up my hand. Joke or no joke, things had gone too far. “First of all,” I said, “I hardly know you. I don’t go home with men after a bowl of pasta and an espresso.” If that wasn’t strictly true, it was certainly true for that night.

  Neal had the good grace to say, “Fair enough. Maybe after a few more dates we can—”

  “And second . . .” I leaned a bit closer to him and spoke in a softer voice. “I’m sorry, but I’m not into anything kinky or alternative, especially not with someone I don’t know. Or trust.”

  Neal sat back and grimaced. “Yikes,” he said. “Okay. It’s just that, well, I know you’ve been around some and I thought you might be open to sexual exploration.”

  I shook my head. “What do you mean, I’ve been around some?”

  “Well, you’re divorced and I heard you had an affair and—”

  Really, was everyone out to give me a heart attack?

  “And you know nothing about my life at all,” I hissed. “How dare you make assumptions about me!”

  Neal sat back as if afraid my hissing would turn to slapping. “Whoa, Jess, look, I’m really sorry. My bad. Can we just forget this whole night ever happened?”

  “Gladly.” I tossed my napkin on the table and reached for my purse.

  “And, well, I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone at the university about my preferences. You never know who’s going to freak out on you.”

  Like me, Jess Marlowe, gal about town.

  “Your secret,” I said acidly, “is safe with me.”

  Later that night I lay in bed, not sleeping, staring into the dark, thinking.

  Why, I wondered, did people feel they had the right to humiliate me? Or was I the one doing the humiliating, giving people the power to make me feel like dirt?

  And it had all started, this strange phase of my life, when I destroyed my marriage.

  What had I done by cheating on Matt, by setting us up for a fall? I’d never considered all the possible consequences, all the ramifications. How could I have? Who has that vivid and wide ranging an imagination?

  Here I was judging Laura for what I considered a rash decision to throw away her marriage, but hadn’t I done much the same?

  At least Laura had left Duncan for a real, solid reason. Laura wanted something concrete that Duncan wouldn’t or couldn’t give her; now, she was in search of that something herself.

  What had I wanted, specifically, that Matt wouldn’t or couldn’t give me? What was I in search of, what was my goal, what the hell was I doing with my life?

  I turned out the light. I thought about the papers I needed to finish grading before noon and about the meeting I had to attend and about a colleague’s book I had promised to review.

  Work.

  The only constant in my life, I realized, was work, and it would continue to be. No more romantic entanglements, I prayed to whoever would listen, at least for the rest of the decade.

  Especially not with men who carried their own nipple clamps.

  Chapter 27

  Nell

  Your faith in love has been shattered. Your worldview has been rocked. Everything your church told you about fidelity was a lie. Cheer up! It’s always darkest before the dawn.

  —This Too Shall Pass: Surviving the First Few Months of Divorce

  “We’ll have a bottle of champagne, the Veuve Cliequot.” The waiter moved off noiselessly and Trina flashed me a dazzling smile. “After all, darling Nell, we are celebrating.”

  Trina Donohue—she’d kept her maiden name—was somewhere in her midforties and already on husband number four. Rumor had it she was having an affair with a tax attorney in New York and getting ready to divorce the “old coot,” as her current husband, Miles Collins, was popularly known. Miles wasn’t a particularly nice man; still, I wasn’t sure he deserved a punishing divorce.

  And if Trina’s history was any indication, the divorce would indeed be punishing.

  Trina had called me earlier that week and suggested we meet for lunch. I was surprised and not entirely happy that she’d called. Trina and I had nothing in common besides a uterus. Assuming Trina still had one.

  The waiter returned with the champagne and poured us each a glass. Trina raised hers in a toast.

  “Darling,” she said, “welcome to the club.”

  I raised my glass as well. “What club?” I knew the answer, of course, but I wanted to hear Trina say it.

  Trina touched her glass to mine. “The divorcée club, darling! In spite of what people think, we’re not at all dreary and bitter. We’re a devil-may-care group, darling. We’re seizing the day!”

  I didn’t feel like seizing a piece of bread from the plate in front of me, let alone an entire day.

  “I don’t want to be part of this club,” I said.

  Trina smiled brightly. “But you are, darling Nell, you are. You might as well make the best of it. You might as well learn to enjoy your new position. And by the way, darling Nell, frowning does great damage to the firmness of your skin.”

/>   “You’re married,” I said, ignoring her beauty advice. “You’re not part of this—club—anymore.”

  “Once a member, always a member,” Trina said, rolling a ring around her finger with her thumb. There were enough diamonds on the ring to satisfy a hundred greedy brides. “Besides, darling Nell, I won’t be married much longer.”

  “Does Miles know what’s coming?” I asked.

  “Darling, he doesn’t have a clue. He’s senile, you know. Has been for the last year.”

  “Is it Alzheimer’s?”

  Trina laughed. There were virtually no lines around her eyes. Her face had been plumped. Her hair shone; her teeth gleamed. “Oh, no, nothing official. He’s just become even more of an idiot than he was when I married him.”

  “Why would you marry an idiot?” I blurted.

  “Darling Nell, sometimes idiots are very, very rich.”

  Well, of course. What other answer could there be?

  “Family money?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. The estate has very good management. I made sure to investigate thoroughly before I signed on for the job.”

  “The job?” I asked.

  Trina looked at me slyly. “Darling Nell, you were married for over twenty years. You can’t tell me that marriage isn’t a job.”

  I thought for a moment. Finally, I said, “Marriage is hard work sometimes, most times. But it’s more of a vocation than a job. It’s something you want to do. A job is something you have to do.”

  “And my job,” Trina said, “is to marry wealthy men and relieve them of the money they don’t really need.”

  I might have thought Trina was joking if I hadn’t known her marital history. It was ample proof she was speaking her version of the plain truth.

  “I’ve never met a woman with such a cavalier attitude toward men and marriage,” I said.

  Trina nodded, as if I’d given her a great compliment. “I’ve perfected my art.”

  Now her job had become an art form?

  “So,” I asked, “you don’t believe in love at all?”

  “Of course not, darling.” Trina looked almost shocked that I’d bothered to ask such a ridiculous question. “Love is fine for some people, people who have no ambition, for example, but not for me.”

  “I married for love,” I said.

  “And look where it got you.”

  Single and forty-two. Doubting my sexual appeal. Feeling victimized. Maybe romantic love didn’t necessarily make for a good marriage. But then, what did?

  “My parents had a happy marriage,” I said. At least, I thought they had. But what did I really know about what went on behind their closed doors?

  Trina cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of champagne. I noted again her couture, her Hermes bag, her diamonds. I thought of the clothes and bags I’d bought with money Richard had earned. I pictured my own small but expensive collection of jewelry. Was it possible Trina and I had more in common than I’d first thought?

  “I don’t know if I like you very much,” I blurted.

  Trina smiled. “I’ll admit I’m an acquired taste.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Really, Nell, it’s quite all right.”

  “On the other hand,” I said, “I find myself compelled to sit here and listen to what you have to say.”

  “I often inspire conflicting feelings of attraction and repulsion.”

  Like a boa constrictor, magnificent and deadly.

  “You say you don’t believe in love. But have you ever experienced it?” I asked. “Have you ever loved a man? Has a man ever really loved you? I wonder if you’d recognize love if it was offered.”

  Trina put down her glass. “Darling Nell,” she said. “When I was sixteen I fell in love with a charming, fascinating man. He was married, of course. I believed every word that came from his smiling lips. And every single word turned out to be false, of course. It was then I decided that if love caused such unpleasant feelings, I wanted no part of it.”

  Trina picked up her glass and drained the last of the champagne.

  “One adolescent heartbreak and you gave up on love?” I asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Nevertheless,” Trina said, “it’s the truth. Now, let’s be decadent. Let’s order dessert.”

  Maybe it was the champagne at noon, maybe it was the fabulously rich tart, but by the end of lunch with Trina Donohue, I felt as if a new woman was about to emerge from the old Nell Keats. And I wondered who that woman would be.

  I thought about Trina all the way home.

  She drove me crazy. She fascinated me. I couldn’t wait to see her again.

  Chapter 28

  Laura

  The question of whether or not to maintain a post-divorce relationship with your ex-spouse is entirely yours to make. If the very mention of his name induces projectile vomiting, your course is clear. Stay away from the bum.

  —Negotiating the Rest of Your Life: It’s a Long Road ’Til Death

  “Would you like more water?”

  I looked up at the waiter. He was about twenty and annoyed.

  Well, I wasn’t going to order a drink before my date got there! He was supposed to pay for drinks and dinner; I wasn’t taking any chances on getting stuck with a bill.

  As it turns out, I made a smart decision.

  “No, thank you,” I said stiffly. “My date has been unavoidably delayed. I believe I will wait for him outside.”

  The waiter smirked and slipped off.

  One hour.

  I squinted at my watch to be sure. Yes, no mistaking a sixty-minute revolution of a watch hand. Match #2 wasn’t late. He had stood me up.

  As soon as I got back to my apartment, I placed a call to Happy Couples. My hand shook with anger.

  A recorded voice blared in my ear. The number was no longer in service. There was no forwarding number. I contacted the Better Business Bureau. A bored-sounding woman informed me that they had already received fifty-two complaints about Happy Couples and that they were investigating the whereabouts of its owners.

  “Isn’t there something you can do? Like, now?” I cried.

  “Like what? Refund your money. Sorry, but that’s not our responsibility.”

  I hung up the phone.

  Five hundred dollars down the drain and for what? For a big fat dose of humiliation.

  It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I don’t really understand that expression. I mean, why is there straw on the camel’s back? But I know when to use it, and that night I realized that I’d had enough of single life. I’d had enough of the misery that is dating.

  Nell would smirk and be all smug about it when she found out. She would say, I told you so, but I didn’t care; I could handle my sister’s nastiness.

  I called Duncan.

  Okay, so I abandoned my pride. What choice did I have?

  It was clear, painfully clear that I’d made a huge mistake in filing for a divorce before giving Duncan and myself some time to think things through.

  But it wasn’t too late to fix everything. The divorce wasn’t final.

  It just couldn’t be too late.

  I suggested we meet at a Dunkin’ Donuts by Downtown Crossing. It was Duncan’s favorite fast-food place. He was crazy about their bagels. I thought that if our meeting went well, I’d buy him a dozen bagels to take home. Maybe he’d invite me over to share them.

  I got to the store a few minutes before ten, bought a cup of coffee, poured in lots of milk, and sat at a corner table, facing the door. I was a bundle of nerves, just a mess, but I refused to let Duncan see that I was desperate. I guess I hadn’t abandoned my pride entirely.

  At ten on the nose the glass door opened and in walked Duncan. He looked relaxed, like he always looked. He looked unconcerned.

  I stood and gave a little wave, though he’d already seen me. I wondered if he would kiss me hello. I wondered if he would give me a hug. I’d never expected a handshake. It was
really awkward, me leaning in for an embrace and Duncan thrusting his hand toward me as if to ward off my more intimate touch.

  I took his hand but I couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  I sat down while Duncan strode to the counter. A few minutes later he came back with a coffee and a muffin.

  “I thought you liked the bagels,” I blurted.

  Duncan shrugged. “I’m kind of over them. Now I’m into the muffins.”

  “Oh,” I said. It didn’t feel like a good sign, Duncan’s changing his mind about something he used to like so much.

  “So,” Duncan asked, “why did you want to see me? My lawyer says everything’s going fine, the divorce is in process, no bumps in the road.”

  “You called your lawyer about meeting me?” I asked in surprise.

  “Sure. You and me, we’re on opposites sides of the fence here, Laura. We’re not just two people, we’re a legal issue now. I needed my lawyer to know I was seeing you.”

  “But you just said everything was going smoothly,” I said. “Isn’t it? Have you changed your mind about something?”

  Yes, Laura, I have changed my mind. I don’t want the divorce, I want you back and I want a family.

  Yes, Laura, I have changed my mind. I want to play hardball. I want your doll collection in return for the crap you made of my life.

  Duncan shook his head. “If I’d changed my mind about anything, my lawyer would have contacted your lawyer already.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Of course.” I unfolded the paper napkin. I refolded it. “So, how are you? You look great.”

  Duncan grinned. “I am great. I mean, considering I’m in the middle of a divorce that took me totally by surprise. I met someone, Laura. She’s fabulous.”

  You know that old expression, “you could have knocked me over with a feather”? That’s what I felt like, totally shocked, like if someone blew on me, I would crumble into dust.

  Not once had it occurred to me that Duncan might be dating. I don’t know why.