V
“Get off that wheel,” said Vicky. “Quit. Now’s the time to wash your hands of this mess and start a new life. You don’t want to go to London, do you?”
“I guess you’re thinking of us. Well, I agree it’ll be inconvenient, but—”
“Inconvenient? Did you say inconvenient?”
“But we’ll still see each other! I’ll be coming back to New York regularly on business, and of course you can come to London as often as you can make it.”
“An intercontinental love affair—yes, I see,” said Vicky. “How wonderful. How glamorous. What more could I possibly want?” She started to cry.
“Vicky—”
“Oh, shut up! You just don’t live in the real world at all!” She struggled out of bed and groped for her clothes.
I was groping too—for an understanding of what was going on in her mind. Belatedly I remembered that she had talked of wanting someone who was more than just an uncommitted lover, and I realized I had to give her the reassurance she needed. To offer an intercontinental love affair was not enough. I had to convince her I wanted more than just a part-time relationship; I had to make her an offer which would help her feel more secure.
“Come to London with me,” I said abruptly. “We’ll live together. I don’t want us to be apart any more than you do.”
She stopped crying and looked at me. “But what about the children?”
“Well …” I suddenly found I had no idea what to say. “Well, I’m sure you love your kids, Vicky, but I somehow thought … if there was an alternative way of life available to you … I’m sure Cornelius would be happy to help you out.”
“Let’s get this straight,” said Vicky. “I’m not leaving my children. Where I go, they go.”
“But I thought you implied on board ship that you hated your life here and only stayed with your children out of guilt!”
“That’s true. I do feel guilty. I brought those children into the world when I didn’t want them, and what could be more thoroughly wrong than that? The very least I can do to make amends is to stand by them and make some sort of attempt, no matter how inadequate, to show them I care.”
“But if you don’t care, isn’t that just being hypocritical?”
“My God, it’s easy to tell you’re a childless bachelor! I do care about my children. I love them very much. I love them all the while I’m hating them for messing up my life and draining me emotionally day after day after day. But if you can’t give up the life your guilt makes you lead, why should you expect me to give up mine?”
I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and spent three minutes doing some hard thinking. Then I flushed the toilet to provide myself with an excuse for my absence and returned to the bedroom. She was still wearing only her underclothes, but she had lit another cigarette and was standing tensely by the window.
I put on my robe and knotted the cord. “Let’s have some more coffee.”
We sat at the kitchen counter and drank Sanka in silence. Finally I said, “There’s got to be a way we can work this out. I respect how you feel, but please try to understand my difficulty. I’m not used to children. I’m not even used to living with anyone. I’d like to be able to tell you I could handle all of you with one hand tied behind my back, but if I told you that, I’d be a liar. I’ve got to take this a step at a time.”
“But time is the one thing we don’t have!”
“Yes, but if we can keep on seeing each other … I accept that you can’t cut off your life here in order to live with me full-time in London, but—”
“The trouble is,” she interrupted, “that an intercontinental love affair with all the jet-set trimmings would suit you right down to the ground. You’re used to long periods of celibacy punctuated by bursts of high-powered activity, and if I consented to adopt that pattern with you, why should you ever settle for anything different?”
“When I return to New York—”
“But that’s four years away! I’m sorry, you may be able to live that kind of life for four years, but I couldn’t. I’d crack up. I couldn’t stand all the strain and the tension and the awful partings and the frustration of you never being around when I most wanted you—God, can’t you see how hopeless it would be? Anyway, I have enough strain in my private life, and I’m just not equipped to take on any more.”
There was a silence. We finished our coffee. She stubbed out her cigarette.
“Well,” she said, “so much for the insoluble future. And we’ve certainly had more than enough tonight of the intolerable past. That leaves the present. It’s not much, but it seems to be all we’ve got.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“Oh, Scott, neither can I. …”
She was in my arms. My robe parted. She shoved aside her clothes. Within ten seconds we were in bed together, and then time ceased to matter at last as the night exploded brilliantly before our eyes.
VI
She called me at nine the next evening when I was dictating the last memo into the machine. My head was aching and the light from the desk lamp hurt my eyes. The jangling of the call coming through on my outside line was so loud I winced.
“Hi,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Badly. Sorry I haven’t called.”
“Do you want to come to my place when you’re finished?”
“You know I do. But I’m very tired. I’ll be poor company.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“No. Yes, wait a minute, I had half a hot dog at my desk, but I never got the chance to finish it. There’s so much to do to clear the way for my departure.”
“Get out of that horrible place and come here right away.”
I left.
When I arrived at her apartment she was wearing a white quilted robe and no makeup and her bright hair was smooth and soft beneath my fingers.
“I’ve got some barbecued chicken and French fries from the takeout joint around the corner,” she said, “and a six-pack of Coke. I thought we needed a contrast to the Four Seasons.”
We ate all the chicken and all the French fries and drank all the Coke.
“Feeling better?”
“Like a new person.”
We went to bed.
“Got anything else to drink?” I said later.
“I’ve got some quinine water, the stuff the British call tonic and drink with gin. If you’re going to London, you’d better practice drinking it.”
Without a word I got out of bed and went to the kitchen. The quinine water was on the bottom shelf in the refrigerator door.
“I’ll cut you a slice of lemon to go with it,” she said.
I still said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the word ‘London,’ but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been thinking about the future all day.”
I took a sip of the quinine water and decided it was drinkable. I took another sip.
“Is there no chance that Daddy could change his mind about this decision?”
“None.”
“But he’ll miss you so much! Who will he play chess with in the evenings?”
I said nothing.
“Things are hell for him at the moment,” she said. “Alicia’s not speaking to him because of Sebastian. Poor Daddy’s absolutely miserable.”
“That’s tough.” I poured myself a little more quinine water and added another ice cube.
“Might he recall you, do you think, after a few months?”
“Not a chance.”
“Supposing … supposing …”
“Yes?”
“Supposing you just flatly refuse to go. Would he fire you? He couldn’t, could he, because you told me he was terrified of what might happen if you became president of Reischman’s.”
“No, he wouldn’t fire me now. He’d fire me later, as soon as he had the chance to do so.”
“But he might have forgiven you by then!”
“
No. Never. No man, not even me, defies Cornelius to that extent and gets away with it.”
“But supposing … supposing … Scott, supposing we got married.”
I turned away and watched the two pink fish floating dreamily in their aquarium.
“Don’t you see?” said Vicky in a trembling voice. “If you marry me, you’re certain to stay in the firm and get what you want. How could Daddy pass you over if you were his son-in-law?”
I drank the quinine water and went on watching the pink fish.
“I know you dislike children, but—”
“I don’t dislike them,” I said, suppressing the memory of Rose and Lori taking up too much of Emily’s time in the past.
“—but Eric and Paul will both be away at school for most of the year soon, and the girls are so little trouble—girls are much easier than boys—and that leaves Benjamin, but Benjamin’s really very sweet, and I can manage him. I wouldn’t let him bother you in any way …”
She stopped. Then she laughed awkwardly and said, “I don’t usually propose to men like this, believe me, but it’s the only solution to our problems that I can come up with.”
I knew I had to choose my next words with great care. “It’s a very attractive solution,” I said warmly, giving her a kiss. “And in theory it’s a great idea.”
“In theory? Not in practice? You don’t think it would work?”
“No. The timing’s all wrong.” I knew better than to try to kiss her again then, but I took her hands in mine and held them tightly. “Vicky, listen. The truth is that if I marry you now and get out of going to London, Cornelius is going to be very upset. He won’t believe I’m marrying you because I love you. He’ll immediately convince himself that I’m marrying you just to secure my future, and who could blame him for jumping to that conclusion in the circumstances?”
“Oh, screw Daddy! I’ll fix him!”
“I doubt that. You may have a lot of influence with him, but not where the bank’s concerned.”
“I see. So you haven’t the guts to marry me because you’re afraid of upsetting Daddy!” She jerked her hands away and stood up.
“It’s not so simple as that. Supposing we did marry now and couldn’t get the marriage to work. It’s possible. We have a lot going for us, but marriage is never a bed of roses, and we could run into trouble. And then where would I be? I agree I’d have Cornelius where I want him if I were his son-in-law, but where would I be if I was his ex-son-in-law by the time we come to his magic date of the first of January 1968? I’d be washed up and out in the cold.”
“I see what Kevin meant now,” she said. “I’m beginning to think he was right after all. You can’t relate properly to people. You can only relate to your ambition.”
“Now, wait a minute—hear me out! I’m not saying we should never marry! I want to marry you very much. All I’m saying is that it would be a mistake to rush into marriage now. I think we ought to give our relationship a thorough trial over a long period of time so we can iron out all the difficulties that are certain to crop up. I think we should marry when I return to New York in 1968.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “That, of course, would be the perfect moment to nail down your future once and for all without alienating Daddy. He can hardly object to the legalization of an affair which has been going on for four years.”
“But Vicky, I just feel in all sincerity—”
“You feel nothing. You don’t care about me. All you care about is that damned bank. What’s going on here can be summed up in four words: you don’t love me.”
“But I do love you!” I shouted. “I’m crazy about you! You’re the one who’s not in love. If you loved me, you wouldn’t let me go to London alone! You’d come with me. When a woman’s really in love, she doesn’t care about anything except being with her lover—she doesn’t even care about her kids! Look what happened when Alicia met Cornelius!”
“I don’t have to look at what happened,” she said. “I lived with it for years. I was one of the victims.”
“Yes, but—”
“Okay, maybe I don’t love you! Perhaps you’re right! Perhaps I just like the way you make love! The truth is, I’m so upset and confused and hurt and rejected and just plain goddamned unhappy that I don’t know anything anymore. Would you mind going now, please? I don’t want to make love to you again. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Vicky …” I was in despair. “Look, we’ll work this out, I know we will.”
“Oh, face reality, Scott, for God’s sake! This is no fairy tale! It’s been a wonderful affair, but now it’s over. It has to be over. There’s nowhere else for it to go.”
“But, honey … sweetheart …”
She looked up at me with fierce gray eyes. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was unaware of them. “I wish I was with Sebastian!” she said brutally. “He really loved me! And he never called me any of those stupid, meaningless, empty names!”
The jealousy hit me with such violence that I felt dizzy. I stumbled back a pace, jarred the coffee table; the quinine water splashed turbulently in the glass.
“Okay, go back to him,” I said. “Why don’t you?” I found my way to the bedroom and pulled on my clothes. “If he solves all your problems,” I shouted, “you go back. Fine. Great. Good luck to you.”
I heard muffled sobs. I knotted my tie, pushed back my hair with a shaking hand, and found myself once more in the living room. She was slumped on the couch with her hands covering her face.
“So what’s your problem?” I said. “Maybe Sebastian doesn’t have too much finesse in bed, but why should that bother you now? If ever you want a good fuck, just jet into London and maybe if I’m not too busy I’ll spare you a couple of hours of my time. That’s all you wanted out of me anyway, wasn’t it? You were just using me to prove something to yourself, and now that you’ve got the proof you need, you don’t want me anymore!”
She raised a blotched tearstained face swollen with weeping. I had a sickening memory of Emily grieving for my father.
“Vicky, I’m sorry. Forgive me—I didn’t mean that.”
“Shut up!” she screamed. “Get out! You’ve messed up my life quite enough. Leave me alone! Christ, and to think you have the nerve to accuse me of using you! You’ve been using me all the way along the line! You can’t treat women in any other way! You’re sick! It doesn’t matter how good you are in bed—you’ll always end up a failure with women because you’ll never be any better than an emotional cripple!”
I picked up the glass of quinine water and hurled it against the wall. Vicky screamed. Fragments of glass burst across the carpet. I turned. I was by the liquor cabinet. I picked up the bottle of gin and flung that too after the glass. There was another crash, another scream, then the sickening reek of alcohol.
“No!” shouted Vicky. “No! I’ll call the police! No!”
I looked down. I had a bottle of Scotch in my hand. I replaced it slowly in the liquor cabinet and rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, dazed. “I don’t know what happened. I’ve never done that before when I was sober.”
She backed away from me. I could tell she was frightened.
“Please go now,” she said in a high voice.
“I’m very sorry. Forgive me …”
“Just go.”
“I’ll call you.”
She did not answer, and I did not look back. Groping my way to the front door, I left the apartment and somehow found my way out of the lighted corridors into the darkness which lay waiting for me beyond.
Chapter Seven
I
“ARE YOU OKAY?” SAID Cornelius.
“Just fine.”
“Still think you’ll be ready to leave on Tuesday?”
“My secretary’s made the plane reservation.”
“Good. … No problems?”
“None.”
I called her as soon as I returned to my office. I had intended to wait until the eve
ning, but I now knew waiting was impossible. I had to talk to her at once.
There was no answer from the apartment, so I called the duplex and spoke to the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Foxworth’s gone away for a few days, sir. She left an hour ago.”
“Where’s she gone?”
“I don’t know, but she’s left an address with her father in case there was an emergency. I’m sure if you asked Mr. Van Zale—”
I hung up. No wonder Cornelius had been inquiring so tenderly after my health. I called his houses in Arizona and Bar Harbor, but no one was expecting her to arrive. Later in the day I called them again, but she wasn’t there.
I somehow got through the rest of the day, and when I reached home late that evening I found a letter which had arrived for me by special delivery. She had written: “I don’t want to see you again before you leave and I don’t want you to call me from London. I’ve no doubt we’ll eventually meet again, but meanwhile I must have time to get over all this. I do sincerely hope you’ll be happy in London and that you’ll get whatever it is you want out of life. I’ve quite accepted the fact that it isn’t me.”
I switched on the television to distract myself, but no distraction was possible. I switched off the set and read the letter again. I began to be afraid I might call the liquor store to place an order, so I immediately fixed myself a tall Coke with a heavy twist of lemon, but to my alarm I drank it in seconds. That was bad. I always tried to drink slowly. I decided I had to get some quinine water. I wouldn’t want to drink that fast. Did the supermarket carry quinine water? I couldn’t remember. I decided to inquire at the nearest liquor store.
I got to the liquor store, but then it occurred to me that it would be easier—not smarter, not wiser, just easier—if I visited the supermarket instead, so I went in and bought a six-pack of 7-Up.
Back home again I fixed myself a fake Tom Collins and drank it very slowly while I found some notepaper and sat down at the kitchen counter.
I wrote: “Dear Vicky,” but that seemed so cold, so I tore off the sheet and tried again. No words came. I was remembering how Vicky had said: “Get off that wheel!” and suddenly I thought how wonderful it would be to be free. What would I do with myself? I decided I would like to live with Vicky on a boat somewhere a long way away. I loved the sea and I was a good sailor. My father had had a yacht, and every weekend in the summer he had taken me sailing on Long Island Sound.
Sins of the Fathers Page 66
