Private Affairs

by Judith Michael

Must there be a limit at the outset?

  They looked at each other, both of them remembering Rourke's asking that seductively vague question, in Aspen.

  "I don't have a number," Matt said. "But we want influence in certain states and that means owning key papers in those states. Until we've done that, we keep buying."

  "Twenty-one isn't enough for you? Just you, Matt. Not Keegan or his corporation; just you. I remember when we talked about owning one or two papers—"

  "And you wanted your column to be in one or two papers. Are you unhappy with twenty-one?"

  "Of course not. But no one asked me if I would have been happy with ten or fifteen."

  "Would you have been?"

  "Yes. Just as I'm happy now with twenty and don't need thirty. Matt, there are other things I care about. I thought you did, too. What good is making a lot of money if we can't enjoy it together? What good is paying off our debts if we're not free to travel with Peter and Holly, or alone—or just be together, all of us? We shuttle back and forth between Houston and Santa Fe on little visits, and not many of those, lately; we're all going in different directions; we're not sharing; we've lost the idea we started out with of being partners. We're not working together at anything, not even our marriage. Matt, are you listening?"

  He was gazing over the adobe wall, at the branches of an olive tree faintly outlined against the starlit sky. The scent of primroses filled the air. He took a deep breath. "Yes, of course I was listening. I've had regrets in the past months, too, but I thought we'd make up for them. I thought I was building a future for the two of us—"

  "Alone. Not with me."

  "It worked out that way. You wanted to stay here until Peter graduated and that seemed logical to me."

  "I think I was wrong. It sounded so simple, but how could we believe we could stay close while we were so far apart? It's a romantic idea that couldn't work, at least while our lives are changing—while we're changing. We were wrong to think it was a good idea."

  "I don't think so. It was good for Peter, and I've been on the move so much we wouldn't have seen a lot more of each other than we did with you here. Anyway, it's done. And I've made a start at something enormous—and you want me to quit."

  "I didn't say quit. I said slow down so we can make a life together again."

  "I thought we were planning to make a life together in Houston. In fact, if you'd come to choose a house when I asked, we'd be packing now instead of talking. Do you know how many times you've come to Houston since Keegan's party?"

  "Three."

  "In eight months."

  "I don't enjoy it, Matt. And you don't enjoy having me there. You may have been on the move a lot, but you've managed to make friends and build your own life, and they're not my friends and it's not my life."

  "Because you've always been visiting. If you lived there, you'd make them your friends."

  "Because they're all I'd have? Because I'd find out how lovable they are underneath? Or because they're important to your empire?"

  He made a gesture of impatience, "You'd pick and choose and find those you like. Are you saying you couldn't find a friend in all of Houston? You were more adventurous once."

  "Do you really want an adventurous wife? Or do you want one who will help you be the head of Rourke Publishing? Hostess, companion, good listener; well-groomed, sexually attractive. ..."

  "What's wrong with that? We'd be working together—"

  "That's not the job I want!"

  "It's not a job; it's something we'd do together. I don't want you to stop writing; you know I'm proud of what you're doing. But the more you help me, the faster we'll build the kind of life that will give us everything we want."

  "Matt, will you listen to what I'm saying? I'm not sure I want that kind of life!"

  "That's because you don't understand it."

  "I understand that you're changing in ways that bother me, either because of the people you're with or the work you do—"

  "You've never approved of the work I do because it's come from Kee-gan. You don't understand how important it is—"

  "And how important you are in doing it."

  "What's wrong with that? Elizabeth, listen to me. Small groups of people run the affairs of this country. Why shouldn't I be part of them? Why shouldn't I take advantage of the greatest opportunity I've ever had and give it all I've got? How many times does the brass ring come around? Once—if we're lucky. If I hadn't grabbed it in Aspen, or if I walk away from it now, it would be gone; it won't come again. I'd go back to being a small-town editor with no influence and no importance; not even on the fringes of power. I'd be one of the people you write about who go through life with no say in the decisions that shape the country. Do you think I could go back to that after these past months?"

  Ambition is eating you up inside.

  They both remembered Rourke saying that, too.

  Matt stood, and leaned forward, with both hands on the table. "How often does anyone get a chance to climb above everyone else? Most people never even dare dream about it. But when a man does get it, and knows he has to go after it, he'd like his wife at his side. But my wife wants me to give it up. That's what 'slow down' really means, isn't it? You never wanted me to go after it; you've tried to hold me back since the day Keegan made his offer. And now, after I've spent months working twenty

  hours a day to get a handle on this job, learning how to use the money and power at my disposal, all you can say is you want us to have some time together. Though I'm not sure why you want that, since you also say you don't like the way I've changed."

  "I want it because you're my husband and I love you."

  "If that's really true, if you really gave a damn about our future—"

  "Whose future? Yours or mine?"

  "Our future, damn it. When a wife helps her husband win a race he's waited for all his life, it's their future."

  "I've helped you from the beginning. Or don't you remember that?"

  "I've never denied it. I probably wouldn't have bought the Chieftain without you; I couldn't have made it a success without you. But you've built that into some kind of fairy tale. Have you forgotten how hard we worked there? And for what? To double a circulation of ten thousand! Millions of readers in this country and we cheered for twenty thousand!" He straightened up, looking down at her. "I can't understand why you're fighting me on this. You're getting what you've always wanted, too. You're becoming known, appearing in more papers, making more money . . . Christ, Elizabeth, it's not as if I'm asking you to stay home while I get all the excitement and attention; you have a tremendous talent and a career that I'll make bigger with every step I take—"

  "And that's all that matters, isn't it, Matt? Big, bigger, biggest."

  "Why not? When was it ever possible before?"

  "When was it the main thing in our life before?"

  There was a sudden silence. Matt pulled out his chair with his foot and sat down. Elizabeth added ice and mint leaves to their glasses and poured tea from a glazed pitcher Isabel had made her for Christmas the year before. "Matt, do you really think I don't want you to succeed?"

  "I don't know what you want. I've been trying to figure it out. We understood each other, once; we wanted everything we could get. But this past year you haven't given me any real help or support; in fact, every chance you get you tell me you don't like Keegan, you don't like Chet, you don't like Cal Artner knowing Chet—as if it makes a damn bit of difference!—you don't like the way I've changed. . . . Would you please tell me what you do like?"

  "I like what you used to be. I like what we used to have. I like the determination you had a couple of years ago to work only for yourself, no one else. What happened to that? Doesn't it bother you to work for Keegan, to be at his beck and call—"

  "He isn't that way. I've tried to tell you: he gives me all the space I need. I do what I want."

  "Well, while you're doing what you want, he's getting to you somehow. Because a lot of your idea
s sound like Keegan Rourke, not Matt Lovell."

  "You don't know anything about his ideas. Unless, , . ," He frowned. "Unless Tony is telling tales of his terrible father. Is that it? How often does friend Tony stop by Santa Fe these days?"

  "Two or three times a month."

  "By God, almost as much as your husband. That fills your time nicely, doesn't it?"

  "He never came when we were working together!" Elizabeth cried. "Leave him out of it; he has nothing to do with what we're talking about, I've known Keegan longer than you have—"

  "But not better. I've seen him or talked to him every day for the past year, and I trust him. I have no reason not to. Do you?"

  She was silent.

  "Then you don't have much right to criticize. But you'd rather do that than come with me. You'd rather dream about what we used to have— which was pale and insignificant compared to what we can have now— than take a chance on Keegan Rourke and the future." When Elizabeth was still silent, he said "You told me what you like about the way things were. What do you like about the way they are now?"

  "Between us? Nothing."

  Matt shoved his chair back. "I'll ask you one more time. Will you move to Houston and be part of my life there?"

  "Do you want me to?"

  "I've never said I didn't."

  "That's not an answer, Matt. Are you beginning to wonder whether it would work? You'll still be traveling a lot of the time; is that right?"

  "For a while."

  "A month? Six months? A year?"

  "I don't know."

  "So we might have weekends, if we're lucky. Of course, I'll be going various places to interview for my column; maybe our paths would cross once a month. That leaves Holly alone in Houston, where she has no grandparents and no friends,"

  "She'd make friends."

  "Of course. Then when you and I manage to be home at the same time, I'll be that hostess and good listener and sexual companion you want, while typing my stories with my free hand—"

  "Stop it,"

  "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you'll make sure we have time together. Tell me you really want me to share your life, which means telling you my

  feelings about it. Because I couldn't go to Houston and stand by in silence without telling you how I feel about what you and Keegan, and even Chet and Cal, are doing."

  "Then you don't have to stand by at all."

  The words echoed in the fragrant courtyard. "I didn't mean that," Matt said. "I wish I could make you understand how important this is to me. I know I talk about the excitement of being close to power and having my own ... but it's not fun and games, Elizabeth; it's not the simple problems we had at the Chieftain. It's fighting to prove I can hold my own; it's maneuvering around sharks who think they can run the world—and many of them can, damn it, and they're more ruthless because they know it; it's building walls to protect what I have so no one can take it away. . . ."He leaned forward. "I need you to stand with me, help me believe in myself and what I'm doing, help me fight to get all I can. When we've got our newspaper chain and a uniform policy and people under me I can trust—then I can relax, be a publisher, and spend time with my wife, with all the money we need and the whole world to play in. And you'll be building up your own readership helping me secure our future."

  "Very neat," Elizabeth murmured. "I can't imagine a happier couple."

  He gazed at her somberly. "We could be very happy."

  Elizabeth ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "What would you think if I did interviews on television in addition to the ones in newspapers?"

  "Television?" He grew thoughtful. "It would be perfect. Every viewer would connect your name to the local paper that carries your column: the best kind of advertising. Of course you'd have to insist on keeping the name 'Private Affairs'—"

  Elizabeth flung herself from her chair and almost ran into the house. Matt found her pacing back and forth in the kitchen, holding herself tightly with folded arms. "What the hell is it now?"

  She threw him a look. "I wanted to know what you thought about me in television. Me, Matt, and you, too, because one of the questions I had was how much it might interfere with our marriage—what's left of it. I was asking about me, not the Rourke chain. Can you think about me for a minute separate from your beloved newspapers and powerful boss? I don't give a damn about the Rourke chain—"

  "You've made that clear all too often."

  "Not clear enough. Not often enough. I want you to make me and your children at least as important as that company. Maybe even put us first. Can you understand that? Have you forgotten how to do it?"

  "As much as you've forgotten to put me first. I keep telling you what's happening in my life and all you think about is yourself, Now listen to me. Damn it, sit down and listen!"

  "I don't want to sit down,"

  He shrugged. "Fine." They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen as if an earthquake had ripped apart the floor between them. "I'll try once more to explain this. For the first time in years I'm controlling my own life. I'm not living my father's life; I'm living my own life, my own dream, the one I had when we were married. Do you remember it?"

  "Remember it! We lived it! What were we doing at the Chieftain? Weren't you in control of your life then?"

  There was a pause. "Yes. But that was—"

  "We were in charge of our life!"

  "Let me finish. What we had at the Chieftain was a schoolboy's dream; the one I had when I was twenty-three. It seemed so grand, then: I was going to own a newspaper! My God—a single paper! Sometimes I'd whisper a prayer for two papers. I really thought that would satisfy me!"

  "Maybe it would have. If we'd done it then, together, the way we planned."

  "Maybe. But the reason Saul is content is that he has his big time behind him. I haven't had mine. I'm just beginning it. And I'll do anything it takes—however many hours a day, however many days a year— but I'm going to make it. I am not going to crawl back to this town a failure. Keegan's given me the chance to do everything and be everything I could ever want, and all you've given me are arguments to hold me back. You tried to convince me not to trust him. You wondered why he'd chosen me. You could have had enough faith in your husband to believe he chose me because I was good at my job! Every time you've come to Houston you've criticized the people I work with. And now you want me to quit—sorry, slow down, be satisfied with what I've got, ignore what I might achieve and how far I might go, settle back in my rocking chair and declare myself a happy man."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "No, you wouldn't be happy. It's too late. You'd always think the great exciting world was passing you by. And you'd blame me,"

  "Not If you="

  "Not if I agreed with you and accepted the life you make. But it's too late for that, too, I didn't think I was trying to hold you back, Matt. I always believed in you, But I wanted to be realistic, understand what was happening, go a little slowly so we'd really be in control of our direction, We, Matt. Together. That's what you left out of your story. We had those

  dreams together, and maybe they were timid and young, but I was excited about them because they were about two people who were in love and getting married and planning to work together as partners. And when we came back here to take care of Zachary, you weren't the only one to give up a dream; I did, too. I waited, too. But Keegan wasn't looking for me in Aspen; he came for you and you went along, as starry-eyed as a teenager, and got busy remaking the world, and that put an end to what we were building together: a new partnership, a new marriage. By now we can't even talk about my interviewing on television. Did you ask me how I feel about it? Did you ask how many days I'd have to be in Los Angeles—?"

  "Los Angeles?"

  "It doesn't matter where. New York, Berlin, Moscow—what difference does it make? You weren't curious enough to ask. All you thought about was the impact it might have on your newspapers. You weren't so preoccupied with grabbing your brass ring a couple of years ago—you had time
for the rest of us, then—but Keegan has always thought of grabbing opportunities for himself first. It must please him to see how well you've learned his lessons/'

  Her throat was tight. She turned away, putting her palms on the cool tiles of the countertop. "You said I didn't have to stand by. You meant that. You try to pretend that you want me, probably because you think a man ought to want his wife, but I think you'd be happiest if I stayed out of your way. And I'd rather do that, Matt: stay out of the way while you and Keegan go after all the money and power and influence you can get, in any way you can, without my questions or criticism. It's probably best for you: sometimes people travel fastest and farthest alone." She moved toward the door, her back to Matt, to get out of there before the tightness in her throat turned to tears. "I wish we could have found a way . . . some way to—"

  "Elizabeth, damn it, I love you." Matt was behind her, holding her with her back against him, his face in her hair. "Come with me. You helped me before; help me again. And then we'll have everything. There's nothing we can't do if we do it together."

  His arms were strong and warm around her, and she put her hands on his, remembering all the times their bodies had been so close, closer, joined. "I'll live with you in Houston if you want me to stand with you when I think you're right and disagree when I think you're wrong, and try to slow you down if I think what you're doing is destroying what we have. Do you want that?"

  "A loaded question," he said wryly. "You answer for me."

  "Your answer is no. You don't want me there. I think you still love me

  ... or maybe what you love is the idea of the perfect woman: loving wife, mother, helpmate, successful career woman with her own newspaper column, maybe even a television show. The ideal companion for Kee-gan Rourke's publisher. Why do you hold me this way, so we can't see each other or kiss each other?"

  After a moment, his lips still in her hair, he said, "I don't want you to see my eyes."

  She nodded. She felt empty and cold. "I'd hoped I was wrong, but I wasn't, was I?" Loosening his clasp around her waist, she turned within his arms to face him, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes searching his, and she knew he agreed with her: he could go farthest and fastest alone. "I love you, Matt. But I want you to go. Now."