She rented a locker and put her bags in it, so she could get a cup of coffee and not have to drag them around with her. She started to feel calmer after a while, and for a little while she got really angry, but most of the time she felt just plain sad. She thought about calling her mother and telling her, but her mother disliked Brandon so much, she didn't want to give her the satisfaction of telling her he'd been cheating on her all along. Or had he been? There was no way to know now. And she doubted that he'd be honest with her. For the moment, he didn't even know he'd been caught red-handed.
She drank five big cups of black coffee, and stayed up all night, reading magazines, thinking about him, and wandering around. She thought about writing him a letter, and telling him everything she felt, but that didn't seem strong enough. She didn't know what to do. She could have gone back to the Fairmont, or called him to see what he'd say. She could have done a lot of things, but most of all, she just wanted to go home and think about it.
She sat and watched the sun come up, and she started to cry again as she thought of him. And she felt like a madwoman when she got on the first plane at six o'clock. There were a handful of what looked like businessmen, and a couple of families, but it was Saturday and there was hardly anyone on the flight at all.
The stewardess poured her another cup of coffee and gave her a breakfast roll, which she never touched. She felt completely wrung out. She'd been traveling for almost twenty hours by then, and she looked every bit of it when she finally got off the flight. It was seven ten, and once again she got a cab from the airport. This was the third airport she'd seen in less than two days. She lay her head back against the seat, as the taxi drove her home, and at eight o'clock she walked through her front door. She'd been gone for nearly seven days, and she'd half fallen in love with a man three thousand miles away, and found the man she had been devoted to for two years cheating on her. It had been a rough week, particularly since the night before in San Francisco.
She set her briefcase down, and stood looking around. There was a stack of mail on her desk the cleaning lady had left for her, and her answering machine was almost full when she turned it on. There were the usual messages from the dry cleaner about a jacket they couldn't repair, the laundry about the pillowcases they'd lost, a health club that wanted her to enroll, the garage where she bought tires for her car. Her mother had called the night before to see if she wanted to have dinner with them on Sunday night, and Carmen had called to say she was staying at a friend's. She had left a number that Allegra knew she'd heard before, but she didn't quite remember it, and it went by too fast anyway. And then at the very end, Brandon had called. He said he was going to San Francisco to see the girls, they had pled at the trial and ended it early, and the girls really wanted him to come up. He was sure she was tired after a week in New York, and had a lot of catching up to do. And he would see her on Sunday night when he got back. She wondered if he would bother to call her again, or if he thought that covered it. And she wondered too if he thought she might call him.
She had no intention of calling him, or anyone else at the moment. She wanted to be alone, to lick her wounds, and decide what had to be done. She wasn't sure yet how she was going to tell him. But it was pretty straightforward, there was no mystery to what he'd done, and she couldn't imagine continuing the relationship beyond that.
She unpacked and put her clothes away. She made herself some toast, and a cup of tea. She took a shower and washed her hair, and tried to achieve some kind of normalcy, but all the while there was a constant, almost physical ache in her heart. It felt like something she was carrying deep inside her, as though something had broken inside as she looked at Brandon's girlfriend's bra and her see-through nightgown.
She called her parents at ten o'clock that morning, but she was relieved when they weren't there. Sam said they were playing tennis at the club. Allegra told her only that she was fine, and had just gotten back from New York that morning, but she had too much to do to come to dinner on Sunday night.
“Tell Mom for me, will you, Sam?”
“Sure,” she said offhandedly, and Allegra immediately worried that her mother wouldn't get the message. Samantha did that sometimes if she had more important things on her mind, like a party, or a boy, or a shopping spree with a girlfriend. “Don't forget, will you, please? I don't want her to think I didn't call her back.”
“Well, listen to Miss Important. Your messages aren't such a big deal, you know, Allie.”
“Maybe they are to Mom.”
“Relax, I'll give it to her. How was New York, by the way? Did you buy anything?” Yes, a book by a man I met and went ice-skating with. …
“I didn't have time to do any shopping.”
“Bummer. That's no fun.”
“It wasn't really a fun trip. I was working.” But there had been more than work involved. “How's Mom?”
“Fine. Why?” Sam sounded surprised that Allegra had asked her. It never occurred to her that something might be wrong. At seventeen her entire world was bordered by her own interests, and currently her parents were low on her scores.
“Is she okay after not getting the award?”
“Sure.” Sam shrugged. “She never said anything. I don't really think she cares,” which only proved to Allegra how little Samantha knew their mother. Blaire was a perfectionist, and a high achiever, who worried about every little detail. Allegra was sure that she had agonized about not winning the award, but she was too proud to say it, and, of course, seventeen-year-old Sam was completely unaware of their mother's feelings. This was her senior year, and all she could think about was modeling and shopping, and her excitement over going to college.
“Tell her I'll call her when I have time, and send my love to Mom and Dad.”
“Gaaad … anything else you want me to write down?”
“Knock it off.”
“You're in a crabby mood.”
“I was at the airport all night.” Not to mention what had happened with Brandon. And she was in no mood to take any guff from a seventeen-year-old girl.
“Sorreee …”
“Good-bye, Sam.” She'd had enough by then, and after she hung up, she thought about it for a while, and decided to call Alan. But he was out and there was no answer there.
She would have liked to talk to him about what had happened. He didn't like Brandon particularly, but he was always fair. And eventually, she wanted to talk to him about Jeff too, and see if he thought she was completely insane for the way she was feeling about a relative stranger.
By noon she was so worn out, she couldn't even think straight, and she finally gave up and lay down on her bed. No one called her, the doorbell never rang. Brandon never even called to see if she'd gotten home from New York all right, and she woke up six hours later. It was dark outside again, and she felt as though she had a ten-thousand-pound weight on her chest and a bowling ball in her stomach. She lay on her bed for a long time, looking at the ceiling, thinking about him, and as she remembered what had happened, tears slid slowly from the corners of her eyes and down her face. The night before had been miserable for her, and she couldn't even think of what to do now. She didn't want to go on, or start again, or trust anyone ever again. Jeff was probably just another one of them. That was all she picked, men who avoided her and hurt her, men who couldn't give and eventually ran away. The only man in her life who had never hurt her, or run away from her, was Simon Steinberg. He was the only man she could trust, or even dared to love. And she knew to her core that he would never betray her.
And now she would have to confront Brandon. It was all so tiring, she couldn't bear to think about it. She didn't want to see his face or his eyes when he lied to her. She would have hated him for it.
She didn't even bother to eat that night, she just lay there, alternately crying and sleeping. She did a lot of both, and when she woke again the next day, on Sunday morning, she finally got up. She felt as though her whole body had been beaten, she ached from head
to foot, and she wasn't even sure why. Her outsides hurt almost as much as her insides, and she still had the same dull ache in her heart. She didn't want to talk to anyone, and when Carmen called, Allegra didn't even pick it up. She was giggling and laughing, so Allegra knew she was all right. Allegra didn't pick up a single call until Brandon finally called at four o'clock on Sunday.
She picked up the phone as soon as she heard him. She wanted to get it over with, and he had said he might come to see her that night when he returned from San Francisco.
“Hello, Brandon,” she said calmly. Her hand was shaking terribly, but there was nothing even remotely suspicious in her voice as she answered.
“Hi, babe, how are you? How was the flight from New York?”
“Fine, thanks.” She was cool, but not vicious, and he just thought she was distracted by her work. He was that way sometimes too, and to him it seemed normal.
“I called Friday afternoon, but I guess you hadn't gotten in,” he said in a relaxed voice.
“I got the message. Where are you?” She was getting tenser.
“I'm still in San Francisco,” he explained easily. “I had a great weekend with the girls. Now that the case is settled, I feel as though I have a huge weight off my back. It's terrific.” And apparently, so was his weekend.
“I'm glad to hear it. When are you coming back to L.A.?”
“I thought I'd take the six o'clock. I could come by around eight.”
“That would be fine,” she said, feeling like a robot, and he finally picked it up as he listened.
“Is something wrong?” He didn't sound concerned, only surprised. She was usually so cheerful. “Are you still tired after the trip?”
“Yes, I am.” More than she had ever been in her life. “I'll see you at eight then.”
“Great.” He hesitated for an instant, as though sensing that more was needed than usual, and for once he was willing to give it. He was very artful at covering his tracks. “Allegra … I really missed you.”
“So did I,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again. “So did I. I'll see you later,” she said, covering it again.
“Do you want to go out to dinner?” She was surprised he had the energy after his weekend with Miss Peekaboo Nightgown, or maybe she was already an old flame and didn't require quite as much zeal as it had appeared to Allegra.
“Actually, I'd rather stay here.” What she had to say to him she couldn't say in a restaurant, or any public place. The next four hours seemed endless to her. She needed to get it off her chest as soon as possible, for her own sake.
She went for a long walk that afternoon, and called her parents. She told her mother she had to go into the office and work late that night.
“On Sunday? That's ridiculous,” Blaire said, worried about her. She worked much too hard, and she sounded exhausted.
“I've been gone for a week, Mom. I'll come by sometime this week.”
“Take care of yourself,” Blaire said, and for once she didn't ask about Brandon. Allegra was grateful for that.
She ate a yogurt for dinner, tried to watch the news on TV, but found she didn't know what she was seeing, and eventually she just lay down and waited on the couch. She heard him in the driveway at eight-fifteen, and when she heard his key in the door, she sat up. She had given him the key over a year before, and he looked happy and relaxed as he smiled at her and came to give her a hug where she was sitting. But she avoided him completely, and surprised him by standing up to greet him. She took a step backward from him, looking him over. She was searching his eyes, but there were no answers there to any of her questions.
He looked shocked. She was usually so affectionate and so friendly, it startled him when she avoided him, and for a long moment, she didn't speak at all, as they stared at each other in silence. “Is something wrong?” he asked her finally.
“I think so. Don't you, Brandon?” It was all she said, and she could see a muscle in his neck become tense immediately as he became wary.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe you should tell me. I have the feeling suddenly that some things have been going on that I knew nothing about, Brandon. Things that maybe you should have mentioned.”
“Like what?” He stood looking at her, beginning to get angry, but she knew it was a defense. He'd been caught, and he sensed it even before she told him. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He walked across the room, and watching him, she sat down again.
“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean, you're just not sure how much I know, and neither am I. I guess that's what I want to know now. How often, and for how long? How many women have you been screwing? Have you been cheating on me for the whole two years, or did it start recently? When did it start, Brandon? All of a sudden I remember all the times you went to San Francisco, all the times you told me you wanted to be alone with the girls, or you and Joanie had to talk. That doesn't even take into account the time you went to Chicago, and the deal you were supposedly making in Detroit. So what was it?” She looked at him coolly. All the pain she'd felt for two days was suddenly ice cold. “Where do we start?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” he said, trying to make her sound and feel foolish. But he looked pale as he sat down. And she saw that his hands were shaking when he lit a cigarette.
“This must make you very nervous. It would me, if I were in your shoes,” she said, watching him. “The thing is, I just don't see the point. Why bother? We're not even married, why cheat on me? Why not just call it a day before it gets to that point?”
“What point?” he said, trying to look confused. He would have liked to imply that she was crazy, but he didn't quite dare. He could see easily that she was seething.
“The point you were at this weekend, at the Fairmont. Surely, I don't have to spell it out.” Her long blond hair hung over her shoulders, and she had no idea how lovely she looked in her blue jeans and an old navy blue sweatshirt.
“What is all that supposed to mean?” He was playing it to the end, and she looked at him with utter contempt.
“All right, if you want things made a little clearer—though if I were in your shoes, I don't think I'd do that. I called your office on Friday, and your secretary told me the case was over and you were going to San Francisco to see the girls. So, fool that I am, I decided to surprise you, and I changed my ticket from New York.” His face was getting whiter and whiter as she spoke, but he continued to look calm and smoke his cigarette, as his eyes narrowed.
“I flew to San Francisco,” she went on. “The flight was delayed, but I'll spare you all that. I got to the Fairmont about eleven-thirty Friday night, and I thought I'd surprise you and just slip into bed. They gave me the room key when I said I was Mrs. Edwards.”
He looked annoyed as he stubbed out his cigarette. “They really shouldn't do that.”
“I guess not,” she said sadly. It wasn't a pretty story, and telling it to him brought it all back. “Anyway, I let myself into the room, and I guess, all things considered, I got lucky. You and your friend were out. At first I thought I had the wrong room, but then I recognized your briefcase and your jacket. What I didn't recognize though, was everything else. It wasn't mine, it wasn't Nicky's or Stephanie's, it wasn't Joanie's. So whose was it, Brandon? Should I bother to ask, or do we just call it quits and forget it?” She sat staring at him and he looked at her in total silence, searching for words with which to answer. For a long moment, he found none.
“You had no business being there, Allegra,” he said at last, which truly startled her. She couldn't believe that.
“Why not?”
“You weren't invited. Considering that, maybe you got what you deserved. I don't just show up when you go away on business. We don't belong to each other; we're not married. We have a right to our own lives.”
“Really?” She looked at him, truly amazed at what he was saying to her. “I thought we were more or less, what do they call it
these days—steadies? Or is that passé? We're not live ins, so what are we? I thought we were both monogamous, but apparently not.”
“I don't owe you any explanations. I'm not married to you,” he said as he stood up.
“No, you're not,” she said, watching him. “You're married to someone else.”
“That's what bothers you, isn't it? The fact that I maintained my own independence. I'm not owned by you, or anyone else. You don't own me, Allegra. You never will, not you, or your family, or anyone. I do exactly what I want.”
She had never understood the depths of his resentment; she had no idea that that was how he felt. “I never wanted to own you. I just wanted to love you, and maybe eventually be your wife.”
“I'm not interested in that. If I were, I'd have gotten divorced. But I never have. Couldn't you figure that out?” She not only felt hurt, she felt stupid. The message had been clear, just as Dr. Green had said, and she had ignored it. She hadn't wanted to hear it, just as she didn't want to hear it now. But they were both angry, and it was all finally getting said. And it was very painful.
“You took advantage of me,” she accused him from across the room. “You lied to me, you cheated! You had no right to do that. I was decent to you, Brandon, that's not fair!”
“Fair is a lot of bullshit, who do you know that's fair in this world? Don't give me that crap. You have to look out for yourself, Allegra.”
The Wedding Page 17
