“It’s perfect,” I said, and meant it.
“I did it up myself. Well, my brother helped. I like it.”
“I like it too. Thank you for letting me stay, at least for tonight…”
“You can stay as long as you want.”
We slept together. Esther didn’t feel she could turn me down after I’d planted the idea in her mind that she’d been the catalyst for my grandfather kicking me out of the family home.
She woke me up at six with a cup of coffee. She had dark circles under her eyes. I didn’t look great either.
“You have to go back home and go with them to the church and the cemetery.”
“I won’t be welcome.”
“Even so, you should do it. They’ll appreciate the gesture.”
“Will you come with me?” I tried to make my request sound like a plea.
“Of course. I told the agency yesterday that I wouldn’t be in this morning. But as soon as the service is over at the cemetery I’ll have to leave. I have a meeting with some clients at three.”
When we reached West Seventy-Second Street we found some friends of John’s at the apartment; my mother’s parents, Stella and Ramón, and my uncle, Oswaldo, were also there. My grandfather James wouldn’t even look at me. I swallowed his indifference with a twinge of uneasiness in my stomach. My grandmother Dorothy gave me a kiss, light as a breeze and lightning fast, as if she feared angering my grandfather.
My brother was standing in front of John’s casket. He looked exhausted. He seemed lost in his grief. Esther came up to him and gave him a kiss that he didn’t reject. Then they sat in front of the casket. They were speaking too low for me to hear, but I could feel them looking at me every so often. It bothered me that Esther would talk about me with Jaime.
I sat in a corner and accepted the condolences of all those arriving. As far as those people were concerned I was the son of John Spencer.
Emma, with the help of María and the two servers, went back and forth across the room, making sure that everyone had coffee and cake.
I was distractedly listening to one of John’s partners telling me what good friends they had been and how they enjoyed playing golf together when I felt Jaime’s hand on my shoulder. He asked me to come with him and I followed him to his room.
“I’m grateful that you came, though I imagine this was Esther’s doing.”
I couldn’t be bothered to lie to him, so I didn’t reply and remained silent.
“Last night I was talking to Grandpa and Aunt Emma. They think that the way you’ve behaved, it’s not right. It wasn’t right when Mama got sick and it wasn’t right with Dad. Your indifference hurts, you know that? But even so, Mama always loved you and Dad did too—he’d never allow you to be thrown out of here. If you want to come back…I wouldn’t object.”
That was how Jaime was. I was tempted to say I’d come back, but I didn’t. I had the chance to conquer Esther, to take her away forever. It would be a relief to her if the Spencers were to welcome me back, but that didn’t suit my plans.
“Yes, I suppose that John wouldn’t have allowed you all to throw me out like a dog,” I said bitterly.
“Don’t say that…Grandpa got angry when he saw how you were treating Esther. We’ve kept quiet about a lot of things all this time. We’ve put up with you treating us as if we were less than nothing, keeping your distance, making us see that you don’t consider us your family. Grandpa snapped. That’s understandable. He’s very upset about Dad’s death.”
“And what about me?”
“You didn’t love Dad, or at least you did everything possible not to love him. You offended him so many times…He never understood your heartlessness and always hoped that you would change, that the anger eating you up inside would eventually disappear. You know something? When he saw that Esther and I—well, that we got along, he asked me to give her up. He even told me he wouldn’t forgive me if I hurt you. He was always looking for some display of affection from you, but you wouldn’t even give him that, even when he was on his deathbed. You were the last person he looked at. He would have wanted you so badly to be near him and to give him a kiss.”
I was surprised that Jaime had also noticed what was obvious to me—that when John was looking at me he was begging for affection. I was also irritated by what Jaime was saying about giving up Esther to please his father.
“Esther’s old enough to decide who she wants to be with, don’t you think? You didn’t give anything up—she was the one who decided,” I insisted, not feeling as much certainty as my words seemed to indicate.
“We’re not going to argue—I just wanted to tell you that you can come home.”
“But I’m not going to. I don’t owe you people anything. I imagine that John left this place to you since it belonged to the grandparents. It’s the Spencer home.”
“It is, and that’s why it’s always been your home too. I don’t know what’s in Dad’s will. We’ve got an appointment with the lawyer tomorrow and you should be there, obviously. Think about it. I don’t mind if you live here.”
“Stop being the good little boy. I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s up to you. Now let’s go back to the living room. We have to be at the church in half an hour for the funeral and then we have to go to the cemetery.”
We went through all the prescribed rituals. I stood next to Esther, away from the family. She took my arm out of some desire to protect me. When we left the cemetery I didn’t even say goodbye to my grandparents or Jaime. Aunt Emma watched me go but also made no move to say goodbye.
“You should go kiss your aunt and your grandparents,” Esther suggested.
“They’ve put me through too much humiliation. Don’t ask me to do things I don’t want to.”
It was midday and I suggested that we have lunch before she went back to work. I could tell she was impatient, so I made do with buying a couple of hot dogs from a street vendor and we ate them as we walked to the ad agency where she worked.
“I’ll try not to be home too late,” she said by way of goodbye.
I went to buy flowers, candy, and fruit to kill time until it was dinner.
I thought about unpacking my suitcase and hanging my clothes up in the closet, but I decided to be cautious. I should let Esther be the one to ask me to do that. I shouldn’t pressure her, no matter how certain I was that I needed to convince her to marry me.
Maggie phoned me to fill me in on the calls I’d received and to pass on some admin issues, then she put Cooper on.
“I’ve had an interview with the olive oil company. They want us to present a campaign strategy to them in a week. I’ve got this young friend who’s just finished his studies in advertising—I was thinking about hiring him. We need someone to help out.”
“Absolutely not! We can’t allow ourselves to have employees. We’ll have to do the work ourselves.”
“But you’re in New York, Evelyn’s spending the week with Roy, and I can’t do it all,” protested Cooper.
“The most I can allow is for you to hire him specifically for this campaign. If you really need ideas for the olive oil campaign then bring him in, but for that project only. I don’t want to have to pay him a salary at the end of the month.”
He accepted, relieved. That was the good thing about Cooper—he wouldn’t defy me.
He also told me that Evelyn had been arguing with the Rural Party’s communications team. They had wanted Roy and Suzi to spend their weekend visiting voters for a report to be broadcast on television. The idea was to present Roy as a man in touch with his constituents. But Suzi had refused and Evelyn knew that it was useless to try to force her. So she had faced the head of the party’s communications team and ordered him not to organize any kind of event unless she gave the go-ahead. The guy ended up agreeing after Roy openly supported Evelyn.
None of that particularly interested me. All routine, though it would be good for us to win the olive oil campaign; at least then we�
��d have another source of income.
I was getting impatient waiting for Esther to come home. It occurred to me that I could take her out to dinner, but then I thought she might be tired, so I decided to add smoked salmon and French foie gras to the candy and flowers I’d already bought.
I set the table and then looked for the right music in Esther’s CD collection. Leonard Cohen would be perfect for the occasion.
When I heard her key in the lock I hurried to the door. She seemed tired, and surprised to see the table set.
“Wow, so you made dinner…”
“I just bought a couple of things. I thought you’d be too tired to eat out,” I replied, trying to display a sincere smile.
“I have to work. The client isn’t convinced by the campaign I showed him,” she said brusquely.
“I can help you. Though not much—the little about advertising I did learn was at Paul Hard’s school…”
“I’m going to take a shower. Then we’ll eat something and I’ll get to work. You should rest too, you’ve got to go see the lawyer tomorrow.”
She went into the bathroom as I swallowed and counted to ten so as not to say anything that could make her angry.
As we had dinner she relaxed, and even complimented the salmon.
“You spent a fortune on this salmon.”
“Don’t exaggerate, it’s not bad but it’s not the best either.”
She showed me the washing machine campaign. It looked good to me, but apparently the manufacturer hadn’t liked that Esther had opted to show a man extolling the washer’s great qualities and ease of use.
“The idiot doesn’t realize that women like to believe that their husbands are willing to lend a hand, and that men will feel useful just by seeing an ad,” she complained.
“Go for broke. Tell him you have no intention of changing it, that he’s making a mistake if he rejects it.”
“What world are you living in? I’d be fired. You know how it is, the customer’s always right.”
“Then send them packing and work with me. You know I’ve started my own agency in London and I want to have an office in New York. You could run it.”
She looked at me in surprise, as if she could not understand my determination to keep her close.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea. And it isn’t that easy to get clients.”
I was about to tell her that the Spencers would help me, but I stopped myself. I had to accept the fact that I could no longer count on them. In the past, my grandfather could have handed me any number of clients, but I could no longer ask him to do that. I was the one who had removed myself from the family. Esther knew that. I don’t know what she read in my expression, but she took my hand and held it as if she were trying to give me strength.
“Your offer is tempting but impossible; nobody’s ever going to award a campaign to an unknown agency.”
“We could try. If I made it happen in London there’s no reason it should fail here.”
We talked late into the night. I don’t know how it happened, but Esther did agree to get on board with my proposal. Together we decided that we could also do with Paul Hard’s help; at the end of the day he knew the business better than both of us.
—
Luck was on my side. John had been generous to me in his will.
He’d left me a decent sum of money and stocks. As was to be imagined, however, the residence went to Jaime, although the will stipulated that I could live there for as long as I needed to get myself organized.
My brother and I barely talked as the lawyer read us the will. When we’d arrived we had nodded to each other, and once he’d finished reading us the terms of the will I didn’t stay in the office a moment longer than I needed to.
“Your father always relied on our advice for his investments. In fact, you have a fund that he set up when you were a child, which has seen excellent earnings. I hope you will grant us your confidence and allow us to continue managing your inheritance,” explained the lawyer, satisfied with his good judgment in investing the money.
“For now I’ll leave things as they are,” I agreed, not making any further promises.
Thanks to John I was rich. Not very rich, but rich enough that, if I didn’t waste it, I could live comfortably for the rest of my life. I could even splurge a little bit, I told myself.
I couldn’t let Esther see that I was practically feeling happy. The next few weeks went by very quickly. Esther resigned from her agency, and while she took charge of looking for an office in SoHo, I convinced Paul Hard to join us. He no longer had any prestige, but he knew which doors to knock on and he still had a decent amount of talent, despite his alcoholism. As for Esther, she felt obliged to make things up to me after the loss of the Spencers. She became protective of me because she thought I was lost, and I acted as if I truly were defenseless.
Things couldn’t have been going better for me. Cooper called to say that we’d gotten the olive oil campaign.
Paul Hard guided us with his advice. He was an old fox who knew the ad world like the back of his hand.
I believed that the pieces of my new life were starting to come together. I had what I wanted: Esther, who by now had made space for me in her bed. Sex with her never really did it for me, and I have to be honest and admit that I didn’t do it for her either. But she mattered to me too much for this to be an obstacle.
We didn’t satisfy each other, we never did, and to this day I still haven’t figured out why. Perhaps that is why I wasn’t surprised when one day I happened to see Esther crossing the street with Jaime.
I hadn’t seen my brother since the reading of the will. Neither of us had called the other. I didn’t know anything about my grandparents or Aunt Emma either. I hadn’t even given in to the temptation of going to my parents’ home to find the rest of my things. Esther said that perhaps, deep down, I didn’t want to break all the ties that connected me with my family. She was wrong. The truth was there was nothing there that felt like my own. As for the clothes, I didn’t really need the things I’d left in the closet; I substituted new ones for them. And there was nothing in my room that held any special value for me.
Esther ran the agency, and it wasn’t unusual for her to have meetings with clients away from the office. But that afternoon she had seemed strange, evasive.
“I have to meet a potential client, I’ll be home late for dinner,” she said by way of apology.
Perhaps it was her tone of voice, or that she wouldn’t look me in the eye and barely gave me a chance to ask about the client she was referring to. As I had predicted, the business wasn’t doing too badly. We’d won a bid for the account of a new chain of burger joints. Paul Hard was a genius when it came to figuring out what companies needed from a campaign. We were also running a TV campaign to advertise thermal T-shirts. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and we could say that we were part of the game in the Big Apple.
I decided to follow her. She didn’t notice. It didn’t even occur to her that I would be capable of doing something like that. But I did it.
She was walking quickly, impatiently. She met Jaime three blocks from our office. My blood ran cold when I saw them embrace so intensely it seemed that time had frozen. He took her hand and led her to a nearby bar where they sat down inside. They had their backs to the window, which allowed me to watch them without them seeing me.
Esther gestured with her hands, agitated, and Jaime put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her toward him. She didn’t resist.
I don’t know what they talked about, but Esther cried. I know because I saw her look for a Kleenex in her bag, and dab her eyes with it as Jaime stroked her hair.
They loved each other. Even watching them from behind, it was obvious to me. I felt anger run down my spine, and a bitter taste filled my throat.
They were there for two hours, two hours in which I watched them, pacing from one end of the street to the other to avoid them noticing me. I felt numb. Every so often t
he waitress approached them and I imagined that they would order something to drink to appease her. First coffee, then whiskey, followed by a second round of whiskey. It was past seven thirty when they stood up. I had to speed up and find another spot from where I could watch them. They walked on, unaware of my presence. Jaime hailed a taxi for Esther and they said goodbye with a light kiss on the lips.
I saw my brother walk away with his shoulders sunk and his face drained of all color. The face of a loser. If Esther had given him any hope, Jaime would have been smiling.
I didn’t hurry home. I wanted her to wonder where I was, to get worried. When I opened the door she was sitting at the computer. She seemed absorbed in her work.
“How did it go?” I asked.
She shrugged; then she bit her bottom lip and, after hesitating for a few seconds, she spoke.
“I’ve been with Jaime.” And as she said that she looked at me with an expression that was midway between fearful and defiant.
I stayed silent. I hadn’t expected her confession and I didn’t want to say anything I’d regret.
“We had coffee. He’s good and so are your grandparents. Your aunt Emma went to Europe with a friend of hers, another widow. I think they’re in France right now,” she continued, not looking at me.
“I’m pleased they’re doing well,” I said curtly.
“In spite of it all…Anyway, they keep wondering how you’re doing.”
“They kicked me out, remember?”
“That happened in a moment of stress. It’s tough for parents—parents who are already old themselves—to have to bury their child, and your grandparents were devastated. As for Jaime…He was so hurt by your aloofness.”
Esther’s words alarmed me; if I were to forgive my family, this could be the prelude to her changing her mind about our relationship. I tried hard not to allow room for excuses.
Story of a Sociopath Page 55
