Chapter 9
Jade drove home in a dream—floating, tingly, exhilarated, feeling attractive.
She had always known she was attractive. She had been blessed with fine bones and good genes, and she had aged well. She still turned heads every now and then. Last weekend she had been out with Mick for lunch, and two businessmen at the next table must have cast her more than a half-dozen glances, seemingly emboldened by Mick’s apparent obliviousness to them. And just this morning a man in the supermarket had made eye contact as they passed each other in the condiments aisle. When they passed each other again in the vegetable section, she could feel his gaze on her, probing, lustful.
Nevertheless, none of this kind of attention had ever made her feel attractive. It wasn’t the men, or their admittedly lecherous attempts at seduction. It was her. She had accepted her place in society as a married woman, and in so doing, she had put away the heels and the lace lingerie, so to speak. She had doused the fire inside her, the fire of her youth, which had become, as Jim Morrison had aptly put it, a funeral pyre.
She had become old.
Perhaps if she were happy in her marriage losing this fire and getting old would not have been such an issue for her; it was the natural progression of life. However, she wasn’t happy. She hadn’t been for a long time. Her days had become dull and pointless. She felt lost and stuck and this had made her depressed. This had turned out the lights inside her, leaving her with that awful darkness that suffocated her days.
But not anymore, she thought. Not right then, at least.
Right then she felt as if anything were possible.
As Jade drove through the twisty, leafy roads of Laurel Canyon, the events of the morning played on a loop in her head, the lunch with Ronnie, the nerve-wracking drive to his house, the passion—oh goodness, the passion and the desire!
This high lasted until she reached her street, and the guilt set in as she passed all the houses and gardens and parked cars that had become so familiar to her since she and Mick had moved there. When she reached her home, she stopped at the base of the driveway so she could take a good, long look at it.
Her home.
She had found it shortly after she and Mick had moved to Los Angeles. They had been living out of a Holiday Inn then. While Mick had been at work, a real estate agent had taken Jade on several viewings. She had liked this house immediately: the many windows that let in lots of natural sunlight, the views of the surrounding hills, the remodeled bathrooms, the marble and hardwood floors. She’d returned with Mick on the weekend, and they’d agreed to purchase it on the spot.
Her home.
Where they had arranged and rearranged their furniture ad infinitum just to get the feel of each room right.
Where they had celebrated their first snowless Christmas with a home-cooked turkey and several bottles of red wine.
Where they had talked about adding an en suite to the guest bedroom for whenever Mick’s parents got on a plane from New York to visit them.
Where they had left one room empty just in case—just in case, because you never know, doctors could be wrong…
Her home.
She started up the driveway.
♀
Mick’s Corvette was parked in front of the garage.
Jade stopped next to it, suddenly filled with nerves.
Mick knew what she had done.
Somehow he knew.
Why else would he be home so early?
Had he seen her? Had somebody seen her and told him?
Gloria or Desiree—one of those superficial bitches who liked nothing more in life than to gossip about mothers with autistic children and, even more juicy, no doubt, wives partaking in extramarital affairs?
Jesus—what was she going to do? Say?
Confess or lie?
She became paralyzed with indecision, not sure she could leave the car.
The back door opened and Mick stood there, a beer in his hand, a smile on his face.
Jade’s nerves dropped away, though she remained confused.
What was he doing home so early?
She got out of the car.
“Hey, honey,” he said pleasantly.
“You’re home early,” she said just as pleasantly.
“I took the afternoon off.”
“Oh?” she said, parlaying nonchalance as she circled the car to the trunk. She lifted the lid and retrieved the two bags of groceries. When he didn’t elaborate, she added, “Spaghetti tonight?”
“Sounds great.”
He held the door open for her as she entered the house (just as Ronnie had done for her earlier, she thought with a good dose of shame). She set the groceries on the counter and, in a moment of horror, realized she probably smelled like mint and juniper.
“Would you mind unpacking these for me?” she said. “My bladder’s about to burst.”
Upstairs, Jade locked herself in the bathroom. She caught her reflection in the mirror and saw an imposter looking back.
She ran water for a shower.
♂
Jade returned to the kitchen, fresh and damp, wearing her housecoat over her white silk pajamas. She could hear Mick in his office, on the phone, talking business.
Back to normal, she thought.
And normal was good. Mick didn’t know what she’d done. She’d gotten away with it. Holy moly, she’d gotten away with it. This understanding filled her with relief—and then disappointment.
She wouldn’t be seeing Ronnie again, would she?
No, she wouldn’t.
It had been a mistake.
It was over.
More relief, and more disappointment.
“You’re one mixed up cookie,” she mumbled to herself as she lit the stove burner.
For the next half hour she went about preparing dinner. Mick, finished on the phone, returned to the kitchen. He planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead, patted her rear, then poured them both glasses of red wine.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.
“Cheers.” She clinked. “You’re in a good mood.”
He sniffed the Merlot, sipped. “Nice to be away from work, I suppose.”
“Is everything all right there?”
“Moving along as usual.”
On most days Jade would have left the conversation at this and gone back to doing whatever she had been doing. Mick’s work didn’t interest her. It was a different world for her. She didn’t even belong in its orbit. But today was not most days, of course. She felt she owed Mick—owed it to him to start being a good wife, a listening wife, an understanding wife.
A wife that doesn’t cheat.
Yes, that too. Especially that.
She asked, “Any more news about that new band?”
Mick chuckled. “Only that half the members have criminal records.” He took another sip of wine. “How was your day?”
Jade went to the cutting board, turning her back to him, so she wouldn’t have to look him in the face while she lied to him. “I did the grocery shopping,” she said, slicing the stem off a red bell pepper.
“Did you get my razors?”
“Oh jeez! I forgot! I mean, I remembered. But I had already left the supermarket…”
“Damn, Jade,” he said. “I threw out my last razor. I’m not going to be able to shave tomorrow. If you remembered, why didn’t you go back?”
Because I was in the car you bought me with the mailman, and we were going back to his place to— “I was almost home.” She cut away the ribs and seeds from the flesh of the pepper. “I’m sorry.”
Jade waited for another outburst. When this didn’t come, she set the knife down and turned around. A tightness had come over Mick’s face, a hardness in his eyes, and she knew what he was thinking: You were home all day, I’d asked you to do one thing for me, and you couldn’t even get that done?
She was about to apologize again when all at once he seemed to relax. “It’s fine,” he said, smiling. “I
actually look rather dashing with a day’s worth of stubble.”
“A regular Sonny Crockett,” she said.
“Who?”
“The detective in Miami Vice. It’s a new TV show.”
He shook his head. “You and your TV shows, Jade.”
♀
Throughout dinner all they talked about—or more precisely, all Mick talked about—were The Tempests. She’d never seen him so excited about a band before.
“Things go well,” he said, pouring the dregs of the wine bottle into his glass, “we’re going to be living on an entirely new level.”
Jade raised her eyebrows. “A new level?”
“We won’t ever have to worry about money. Put it that way.”
“We don’t have to worry…do we?”
“I mean, we won’t really, really have to worry. You could do whatever you want.” He became serious. “What do you want, Jade? I know you’re home all day. I know that can’t be fun. You could take some courses somewhere? Maybe another art class? Or a cooking class? You like cooking? I’ll find the best school in Beverly Hills.”
“I’d like to travel,” she said. “We’ve never been outside the US. We’re nearly forty and we’ve never been overseas.”
He nodded. “Sure, I guess we could travel. Maybe not right away. I’m swamped at work. But in a bit, sure, we could travel. Where would you like to go?”
“Greece,” Jade said.
“Greece?” He contemplated this. “Why not? Heard there are great beaches on the Mediterranean.”
“How long do you think we could go for?”
“I don’t know, Jade. I haven’t even really thought of it. A week?”
She frowned. “A week would barely be long enough to get over the jet lag.”
“Maybe two then. I’d be taking time off work, remember.” He shrugged. “But you could always stay longer—have a vacation of your own? Take a break from LA.”
She was surprised. “Without you?”
“You could do the Roman Holiday thing.”
“Fall in love with an American newsman?”
“The seeing Rome on your own part.” He dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Hey, I got something for you today.” He went to his study and returned with his hands behind his back. “Pick one.”
“What is this?” she asked.
“I told you. I got you something.”
“What for?”
“Just pick a hand, Jade.”
She pointed to his right one. He brought it in front of him, opened his fist. There was nothing in it.
“Do I get a second chance?”
He opened his other fist to reveal a small blue box secured with a white ribbon.
“Tiffany’s?” Jade said, taking the box. She opened it. “Oh, Mick,” she said, lifting out a stunning pendant. She got up and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. Her heart felt the size of an acorn. He’d been out buying her this today, while she’d been… “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I love it.” She hesitated. “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe,” he said, stroking the back of her head. “You’re the best.”
Chapter 10
They shared another two bottles of wine and cuddled together on the sofa in front of the TV. Halfway through Scarface—Jade had purchased the video for Mick after they saw the film in the theater and he raved about it all night—Mick asked her if she wanted to “go to the bedroom.” Jade was so drunk she giggled out loud. He was asking her. How different to the spontaneous combustion that had happened that afternoon—but how nice too.
Yes, she said. She’d love to join him, on the provision he carry her upstairs in his arms. Things went well until they reached the landing. Mick stumbled, gallantly letting her fall on top of him. She walked the rest of the way to the bedroom, stripped off her silk pajamas, and slipped beneath the bed covers. Mick told her he was going to have a quick shower—and that was the last thing she remembered before waking in blackness.
Her head throbbing, her throat parched, Jade had no idea where she was. She heard Mick snoring beside her and a vague picture of them sitting on the sofa drinking wine came to her. Why had they drunk so much? What had been the occasion? He’d bought her something, a pendant. Why’d he do that? No reason, he’d said. And they’d talked about traveling. She’d mentioned Greece—
The mailman—Ronnie. Oh God, was that a dream? The diner, his house, was that all a dream? Her first response: yes, it had to be. Yet the longer she thought about it, beating away the fog of sleep, the less certain she became, until she realized it hadn’t been a dream, it had been real, it had really happened.
Suddenly wide awake, Jade stared into the darkness with widened eyes. She’d had sex with the mailman. She’d cheated on her husband. Conflicting emotions raced inside her, and she didn’t know how or what to feel.
Finally she pushed off the covers and stood as quietly as she could. She was naked. Had she and Mick had sex? No, they were going to…but she had fallen asleep.
She retrieved her housecoat from the floor, slipped it on, and went downstairs. In the kitchen she made herself a cup of tea. Knowing she wouldn’t be returning to sleep, she took her cigarettes from her purse and went out back. Silence reigned over the black night. She lit up, the tobacco crackling loudly in the stillness, and took a long drag.
She thought about what had been floating around in her mind all day: Would Ronnie be on her route again? Was she a one-time fling? Did he sleep with all the housewives on his routes?
After all, wasn’t that what the milkman became infamous for doing in the sixties? Preying on bored, lonely housewives while their husbands were away at work?
Oh Lord, she’d become a bad TV trope.
Damn you, Ronnie, for making me feel this way.
Damn you.
I’m married.
Say it again.
I’m a married woman.
That’s right. And if Ronnie is assigned to your route again?
Ronnie who?
♂
Jade watched mind-numbing infomercials on TV until the sun lightened the eastern horizon and she heard Mick running a shower upstairs. She brewed a pot of coffee, then got to work making breakfast. By the time Mick came downstairs, she had the dining room table set for two.
“You’re having bacon and eggs too?” he asked surprised when she sat down next to him.
“Craving fat and salt.”
“You fell asleep on me.”
“I know, I—”
“It’s all right. Tonight.”
“Don’t come home too late.”
These were just words, Jade knew. Falsehoods, albeit with good intentions. The special bond of the night before had passed. Mick would still come home late. She would be watching TV, or reading in bed. Neither of them would likely feel like having sex. It would be too late, too much effort.
After they finished eating, Jade took the dishes to the sink while Mick retrieved his briefcase from his study. He presented his cheek for his morning kiss. She obliged and followed him outside. They blew air kisses to one another, and he rolled past her down the driveway.
The bird crap, Jade noticed, still marred the windshield. She sensed there might be a larger meaning to this, something profound, but she couldn’t get her hungover mind to grasp it on the spot.
She followed the car down the driveway, watched it turn right onto the street, and disappear from view.
She looked at the mailbox. It didn’t have one of those flags to indicate whether it contained mail or not. It was just a black cast-iron box on a pole. She went to it, peeked in the slot, and saw nothing in the receptacle. She glanced up and down the street. No mailman, Ronnie or otherwise.
She went back inside and had a shower and put on slightly better-than-usual house clothes. She retrieved her Wilbur Smith novel from the bedroom, poured herself another coffee, and settled down in the living room in an armchair she rarely used—but which offered a view of the stree
t through the front window. She tried to read but couldn’t concentrate. She kept looking up from the book every page to see who might be delivering the mail today.
She told herself it would be the regular mailman, whoever that may be, and that would be all right, that would be a relief. Because if it was Ronnie, what then? Would he continue by without a second glance at her house? That would hurt; it would be better not to see him at all. Or would he come up to her porch, knock on the door? She knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore him. She would answer the door. They would talk. They would both know why he was there.
Nevertheless, Jade couldn’t invite him inside. She couldn’t. What she did yesterday was bad, deplorable. Yet to do it a second time, in her house, was, no…that was unforgivable.
Over the next half hour a jogger dressed in red shorts with white piping passed by the window, a mother pushing a baby stroller, some kids on their way to school, as well as a dozen or so cars, before the mailman finally appeared. He was a middle-aged man with stick legs and a large paunch and a bushy mustache. He slipped a few letters in her mailbox and continued on his way.
Well, that’s it, folks, Jade thought, her jittery nerves settling for the first time all morning. Show’s over. It was all for nothing.
Relieved and confused—what an odd state to exist in—she dumped her now-cold coffee down the sink and went about catching up on her chores. She was in the small laundry room, transferring damp clothes from the washing machine to the dryer, when the doorbell rang.
Jade’s heart climbed up her throat. She froze, unable to decide what to do.
The doorbell rang again.
She dashed into the bathroom, checked herself in the mirror, fussed with her bangs, then went to the front door. She was so nervous she wasn’t sure she could speak without a quiver in her voice. She opened the door.
Her disappointment felt like a slap to the face. “Yes?” she said, frowning at the tall, broad-shouldered man she didn’t recognize standing on the porch.
“Oh, hi there,” he said, smiling. His hair had receded into a graying horseshoe, stretching his forehead while accentuating his strong nose and thin mouth, which was set in a lantern jaw.
The Mailman Page 5
