Story of a Sociopath

by Julia Navarro

  “Olivia doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “I know. You just screw her.”

  Paul knew too much about me. He could read me like an open book. I didn’t bother denying my relationship with Olivia, although I hadn’t realized that it was so obvious. I was worried that it might also be to Esther.

  “Do you think Esther knows about Olivia?”

  “I don’t think Esther’s worried. She doesn’t consider her a rival.”

  —

  It seemed that Nicholas Carter had also realized that, if nobody prevented it, something might happen between me and Constance. And he was content with the prospect.

  I wasn’t surprised when he called me a few days later to invite me for a drink.

  We arranged to meet on the terrace of Rockefeller Center, a place to see and be seen and where it was difficult to talk, but we did.

  “We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Constance is refusing to be a part of the campaign. And she’s said that she won’t drag Ellen into it either. We’ve agreed to do a feature for Vanity Fair: the whole family, at home, like any other middle-class American family. But she won’t do it.”

  “Well, I imagine Ralph could convince her.”

  “No, he’s tried but he can’t.”

  “What about you?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Don’t be stupid, Thomas. You know she can’t stand me.”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “I suppose I’ve just tried to prevent her husband from being a poor loser who earns fifty dollars an hour working for a third-rate legal practice.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “What have they told you?” he asked suspiciously.

  “They haven’t told me anything. Is there anything to tell?”

  “Don’t lie, Thomas. We’re on the same team.”

  “I don’t know who your team is, Carter. My team is me alone, so we’re not on the same team. My company takes care of the nuts and bolts of the campaign, nothing more.”

  “Talk to her,” he said defiantly.

  “To whom?”

  “To Constance. She likes you. It’s obvious. She’ll listen to you. We need her to do this damned feature for Vanity Fair.”

  “She doesn’t like me, Carter; it’s just that she doesn’t see me as an enemy like she does you.”

  “I don’t care about the reason. Ralph and I both agree that she’ll listen to you. Call her, invite her to lunch, whatever you want.”

  “Ralph wants me to invite his wife to lunch?”

  “Whatever, Thomas, I’ve already told you.”

  “It’s an advantage to have the go-ahead from the husband,” I replied, laughing.

  “What about Esther?” he asked.

  “It’s too noisy here. We’ll catch up again soon.”

  When we’d parted ways I began to laugh. I really let go, chuckling loudly. The situation seemed surreal.

  I let a few days pass, enough for Carter and Ralph to get nervous. Then I called Constance without saying anything to Esther or Paul.

  I invited her to lunch and she refused, but she agreed to have coffee with me in the morning after she had dropped Ellen off at school.

  We agreed to meet at the bar at the Waldorf. I hadn’t been able to come up with a better place, but it was clearly a mistake, because anyone could have seen us there.

  When I saw her come in I knew that she had dressed up for me. She was wearing a floral dress cinched in at the waist with a belt, and shoes with high enough heels to really lengthen her legs. Her clean, loose hair shone.

  We sat at a table at the far end of the bar. We could talk there without anyone disturbing us.

  “So, what’s this important thing you need to tell me?”

  “I’m not trying to trick you, Constance, I don’t want to, so I’ll tell you why I called you. Your husband needs you to do the feature for Vanity Fair. He and Carter thought that perhaps I could change your mind, make you understand how important this feature will be for the campaign.”

  “So you’re here in your capacity as a public image expert…” she said, disappointed.

  “Well, they gave me an excuse to call you and I’m delighted to be able to do so. But if you want to know the truth, I’ve been thinking about how I might be able to see you again for days.”

  “Would you have called me?”

  “Yes, I would have; although I must confess I’ve been going out of my mind trying to think of a good excuse.”

  “Why? Why do you want to see me?”

  “What about you, Constance, why do you want to see me?”

  “You told me it was important…”

  “And it is. It seems very important for me to tell you that…well, after our conversation I haven’t stopped thinking about you. To be honest I haven’t stopped since the day you came to our office with your husband. I don’t know why you had such an effect on me, but you did. I don’t want to think about you, but I do. And there you go, I’ve told you.”

  I held out my hand and she took it. I felt her shaking. I knew that I’d won her over.

  “This isn’t right.”

  “No, it’s not right. You have a husband who loves you and I have a wife who’s done nothing wrong. It’s not right, but I don’t think either of them make our hearts beat faster when we see them, or make us eager to go running to the bedroom, or…Well, at least that’s how I feel. But you know what, Constance? Life doesn’t give you many chances, and when a person feels that they’ve found someone special, when just thinking about that person gives them butterflies…then I think it’s worth it…I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to you.”

  I was a good actor. I always have been. I guess it comes down to my skill at lying.

  “Do you think I should do this feature?”

  “I think you should do what you want. There’s no doubt that it’s important to Ralph’s campaign, but if you don’t do it, you have your reasons.”

  “He doesn’t love me, Thomas. He’s never loved me.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Nobody had to tell me. It’s clear in the way he looks at you. I’m not saying that he doesn’t appreciate you. He’s a good father to Ellen, but he doesn’t love you the way you need to be loved.”

  “It’s my fault. I fought to hold on to him.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m bound to him by Ellen. My daughter is sick, and we need money to treat her. There are days when she can’t go to school, weeks when she has to be in the hospital. She needs me by her side.”

  “And I need to hold you right now.”

  “Thomas! Don’t say that…”

  “And you want me to.”

  She lowered her head. I knew she was defeated. This woman was desperate for a good afternoon of sex and affection.

  “This is wrong. Please, let’s leave it here.”

  Her look was a supplication. Yes, she wanted to sleep with me, but at the same time she hoped that I would be able to stop her. I didn’t. If I weren’t a bastard I could have. The scene would have been completely different:

  “Constance, I’m here to ask you to do the Vanity Fair feature.”

  She would have argued against it, and might have even told me off for trying to convince her.

  “I don’t know why they put you up to this.”

  “I guess it’s because they know I get along with you.”

  But I wouldn’t have said another word. Not a hint of romance.

  “I’m fed up with them trying to manipulate me,” she would have said.

  “I’m not trying to manipulate you, I’ve told you the truth. It’s up to you, Constance.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I’m not in your shoes, it doesn’t matter what I think. You have to decide what’s best for you, what’s best for both of you.”

  “What’s good for Ralph isn’t necessarily good for me.
”

  “He’s your husband, Constance, and he’s a good man.”

  “If you only knew…”

  “I don’t want to know anything. But what I will say is that if you’re with him you ought to support him. For your daughter, for yourself.”

  “I want to live, Thomas, to feel like I’m alive.”

  “Please, Constance, I’m not the person who should hear you say such things. They only asked me to explain how important this Vanity Fair feature is because I’m a public image expert and perhaps you might want to listen to me.”

  “That’s the only reason you’re here?”

  “That’s the only reason.”

  “I thought that you and I…”

  “You have a husband and I have a wife. We owe them, if not love, then at least loyalty. I understand your dissatisfaction; you dreamed your marriage would be different…Well, that happens. But I’m not going to be the one who drags you into a situation that would make you even more unhappy in the long run.”

  “I’m fed up, Thomas.”

  “Life isn’t easy, but we have to face it as it comes. You’ve got more than you think. Ralph would never do anything to upset you and your daughter needs you both. Sometimes men don’t know how to show our emotions, but that doesn’t signify a lack of love.”

  “If you only knew…”

  —

  Yes, the conversation could have gone like that. I didn’t have to lay siege to her until she gave in. I shouldn’t have taken her hand. I shouldn’t have insinuated that together we might enjoy something she had never enjoyed until that moment.

  I knew that the opposite was true—that what we were about to do would sully her, that it would make her even more unhappy. But that didn’t bother me. I’m not a good person, I never have been; I’ve always put my desires before anything else. She was just an appetizing morsel that I wanted to devour.

  So I didn’t say any of what I should have said and I persuaded her that we should go up to a room that I had booked there at the Waldorf, just in case.

  I shouldn’t have propositioned her. I could even have backtracked: “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry, I don’t want to compromise you or take advantage of the situation…You must forgive me. I don’t know what made me suggest something like this to you. You deserve better. Forget about me, and I’ll try to forget about you.”

  —

  But instead I kissed her in the elevator and when we entered the room we fell onto the sofa and from there onto the floor.

  Why did she give in to me that day at the hotel? I asked Olivia a few hours later when I went to see her at her apartment.

  I told her what had happened. I’ve never had to pretend with Olivia. She knows that I don’t love her and I know that she doesn’t love me either, so for all these years I’ve been able to speak openly with her, without lies. I think that a financial contract is stronger than love and that’s what has joined me to Olivia: a contract by which I have access to her whenever I want, and in return I fund her life.

  I explained to her what had happened in detail—not to show off in front of her; I didn’t need to—but because I was genuinely curious as to why it had been so easy to seduce Constance.

  “Her marriage must just be a show. A man marries her because he’s nothing but ambition and doesn’t want to leave any skeletons to be discovered. What would the voters say if he hadn’t done it and they found out about a young woman abandoned with a sick child?

  “I don’t like Ralph Morgan, everything about him seems fake. His choirboy face, his unruly mop of hair, his suits that fit him like a glove but aren’t so expensive that they’ll alienate the voters in the Bronx, the years he’s been going to the neighborhoods to offer free legal advice…In truth, Constance is perfect for him. The people are moved to know that his kid is sick and that, despite getting better grades than he did in college, his wife sacrifices herself to her daughter’s illness. Morgan is a fake, a good fake, yes, but there’s not a drop of humanity in him.”

  “But you don’t know him!” I protested.

  “I’ve seen him on TV, and from what you’ve told me about that poor woman…I’m not surprised she slept with you; she needs someone to make her feel alive. She can use you for revenge; it’s a private revenge, but it is revenge.”

  “So you don’t think she did it because she likes me, then?” I asked, knowing the reply.

  “Come on, Thomas! You’re no Adonis and you know that well. The women who sleep with you have their reasons, but none of them has anything to do with you being an attractive guy. You’re not even nice. You’re the person Constance has closest at hand, so she picked you. She can’t do it with Carter because he’s gay; if not, she would have preferred to hurt her husband with someone closer to him. But be careful. That woman could become a problem.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Because she’s desperate, angry, bored, and she’s going to stick to you like a barnacle. You’ll see.”

  Olivia was right. Constance would become a burden that was difficult to bear.

  I hadn’t yet left Olivia’s when my cell phone rang. I was surprised to hear Constance’s voice. She wanted to know where and when we would see each other the next day. Her tone was such that her question was effectively an order.

  But I found it amusing to deceive Ralph Morgan and Constance was really something in bed.

  For the first few months I enjoyed our furtive liaisons, and I would be laughing inside when I met Ralph Morgan, remembering the intimate moments I had spent with his wife.

  I tried to meet up with her at least a couple of times a week. In the beginning we would meet at hotels, but I convinced her that we should carry on with the affair at her house, in the bed she shared with Ralph. I would usually go to see her midmorning, knowing that Ralph would be immersed in his campaign at that time, his faithful Carter following him like a shadow, the perfect Cerberus.

  I asked Olivia to go and observe Ralph Morgan during a meeting he held with young artists. I introduced her to him at the end. Morgan was enchanted with her. Not just because he recognized her from the ads but because I told him she was a good friend of mine.

  Olivia stayed and waited for me while I debriefed with Carter and Ralph. She had moved away a bit, but not so far that she couldn’t hear what we were saying. She was doing what I had asked her to: carefully observing Morgan and Carter.

  It was lunchtime when we finished and I invited her to join me at an Italian restaurant.

  “What did you think of them close up?” I wanted to know.

  “Those two…I don’t know…I don’t think Morgan’s interested in men, but he manages Carter’s emotions well in the knowledge that he’s in love with him. Have you noticed how he smiles at him? Carter melts when Morgan looks at him or gives him a pat on the back.”

  “Do you think there’s anything between them?” I asked, eager to know her opinion.

  “Pfff! I would say no. The fact is, Morgan is a manipulator. He uses people as it suits him. He does it with Carter and with everyone else. I noticed him flirting with that redhead who’s showing her work at a gallery in SoHo, but then he got carried away praising that boring blonde who’s in a Broadway musical, and he sucked up to that wacko who directs an orchestra in Harlem. He spoke to each of them as if they were important to him, as if they were unique. He establishes an emotional connection, as if nothing else exists. Morgan’s very smart. He even treats you as if he really appreciates you and needs your advice.”

  “So you don’t think he and Carter are messing around.”

  “Who knows? Maybe when they first met in college…There may have been the occasional threesome…But what do I know? I’m more inclined to believe the explanation I gave you. Morgan is an emotional manipulator, he knows how to get people on his side by making them think that he’s on their side.”

  “Maybe you should become a psychologist rather than trying to be an actress,” I told her sincerely.<
br />
  “It would have made my father happy, but, as you know, I studied art and here I am, hoping that you’ll actually do something for me for once.” She gave me a meaningful look.

  “Paying your bills is enough already,” I replied curtly.

  “You told me that you’d be able to get me a part on Broadway soon. If that vapid blonde is in a musical, I don’t see why I couldn’t be.”

  “Paul has promised me that he’s working on it.”

  “I’ll end up asking Esther. At least she’s sensitive and likes helping people.”

  “I don’t want to see you anywhere near my wife.”

  “You know what, Thomas? I sometimes think that Esther knows about us, but it doesn’t bother her. I can understand that. You’re too intense to deal with all the time.”

  —

  She did. She asked Esther to help her. That’s what Olivia was like. She would stop at nothing.

  Esther told me about it. “Olivia called me. We should help her.” Esther went ahead and managed to get a hold of something neither Paul nor myself could: a role for Olivia in an experimental play. Olivia even sang a sad and melancholy song. She wasn’t a bad singer. She wasn’t brilliant, but she wasn’t any worse than many actresses on Broadway.

  Not only did Esther get her that role, but she also hired Olivia for a new perfume ad we were working on.

  The ad was a success. The director was able to get the best out of Olivia; the camera fell in love with her green eyes and her milky white skin. She was suggestive and elegant at the same time. But not even the success of the commercial satisfied her yearning to become an actress.

  I couldn’t stop wondering if Olivia was right when she said that Esther knew we were sleeping together and didn’t really care. I suspected it too. But if that were the case, there was no way of knowing unless I asked her directly, which I wasn’t willing to do because that would have required a sincere conversation that I didn’t want to have.

  I was happy in my own way. I had Esther watching my back, taking care of me. She pretended to be happy, although she wasn’t, no matter how rewarding she found the work and especially the fact that our agency had become a reference point in the advertising world. Esther had made a name for herself and received great acclaim, which increased the prestige of Global Communication.