Come Pour the Wine
Page 32
“It sure would. Thank you. Any phone calls?”
“A few. I’ve got them written down on your desk. And you got some mail.”
“Thanks, Annabelle. I guess we’ll put dinner on hold for about an hour, okay? I’d like to shower, and then eat on the terrace.”
Going to the den, she sat at her desk and looked at the calls. One had been from a real estate agent who had been hounding her to sell. She crossed that one off. A call from Jason. She’d return it after dinner. Her attention went to the mail … Taking up an envelope, she looked at the return address. It was from Allan Blum. Good Lord, she couldn’t remember if his eyes were green or blue. But she did remember … It read:
Dear Janet,
I’m going to be in New York on the week of July 30th. I hope very much that you’ll find time to allow us to renew our all too brief—by my lights, anyway—acquaintance. Please let me know; my time will be rather tight since I’ll be there on business. I’d hate, though, to think of being in the city without seeing you.
I trust things are going a little more smoothly. As I said when we last met, in times of stress it especially helps to have friends. I hope you’ll consider me one of yours.
Please do write and let me know if you will be free.
Allan
She held the letter in her hand, and read it again. He hadn’t signed it “sincerely,” “cordially,” “fondly.” Merely “Allan.” Without being immodest, she felt she knew why. He apparently didn’t feel he could say what he wanted to say, which was “love,” but he’d settle for no shabby substitutes. She liked that.
The next was a letter from Bill’s attorney, asking that she come to the office to sign some papers. Her courage sank with this one. In spite of her determination not to allow herself any self-pity or idle dream that a miracle would happen, still, she was badly shaken. Getting up from the desk she poured a brandy and drank it down. Composing herself, or at least trying to, she took up the next letter, which was from Nicole. It helped.
Dearest Mother,
I think the closest thing to heaven must be the countryside of France. Today we’re in the Chateau country. The vineyards are indescribable. Mark and I lie in our sleeping bags and look up at the stars. They never seemed so clear or so near. It’s almost as though you could reach up and pick one out of the sky. We have our own special one.
A few days ago we were in Grasse. The mixtures of perfumed air are, to put it mildly, heady. If anybody would appreciate the silk factory in Lyon, it would be you.
While we were in Paris we stayed at a small pension on the Left Bank. Both of us almost forgot we weren’t French. I bought a crocheted bag for groceries and we shopped for food every day. Mark looks hysterically funny with a beret, and imagine a Frenchman coming up to us and asking in French where to find a certain street. I was so proud of my French ancestry. I answered him in French. I guess seeing it this time is so much more meaningful than when we were here last. The only extravagance I allowed myself was a new dress I bought in a lovely shop on the Rue de la Paix, to wear to the ballet. Thank God, Mark had enough sense to bring a suit. We would have looked pretty ridiculous in our jeans, sandals and striped jerseys sitting in the first tier. And, you’ll never believe this, but guess what ballet company was here? … Balanchine’s. Is that crazy? We had to come to Paris to see that? But, c’est la vie. It looked better on this side of the Atlantic.
You’re not the only gifted member of the family, mom. I seem to have taken up the same hobby, documenting everything on film. Enclosed are snapshots of the synagogues we visited. While everyone else was viewing cathedrals … well, we decided to look for the treasures of our heritage. It’s become Mark’s favorite adventure, tracing the old houses of worship.
On Saturday we walked into a synagogue in the Jewish section of Paris, unaware that a bar mitzvah was in progress. It was fascinating and unlike Mark’s, which was so … elegant. But the simplicity of this one made it even more poignant, more effective, I felt. Added to the fascination was hearing the service conducted in French and Hebrew. I just wish I knew more about my Jewish genes. Well, I’ll learn, Mark assures me. Still, I’m so grateful for the little you used to tell Jason and me about our great-great-grandfather. Suddenly the name Yankel Stevensky sounds just right. It’s wonderful to know about one’s roots … it’s also made Mark and me feel even closer, if possible. Like you, I feel very drawn to the part of us that’s Jewish.
Hope you received my birthday gift. Forgive me, I got so carried away I didn’t even ask how you were getting on. But from what Aunt Kit writes, you’re doing great. Keep it up, mom. We love you, and give a big hug and kiss to Jay. We’ll see you the end of August. ’Til then, with all our love,
Nicole and Mark
As she reinserted the letter in its envelope, Janet was smiling. I’m afraid, she told herself, you’re always going to be a romantic. When all’s said and done, nothing is quite like your first love … For Nicole, she devoutly hoped the first would also be the last.
Quickly she went to the bedroom, undressed, and stepped into the cold shower …
At seven she got into bed and called Jason. She gave him Nicole’s hello and news, he asked about the shop, she told him how well it was doing and what fun it was …
“I miss you, mom,” he said. “Can’t wait to come home. Another month seems like a long time. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“You bet, Jay. Keep busy, darling. The time will pass and before you know it you’ll be back forgetting you ever left.” Why did she say that? Why should he forget he ever left … ?
When she hung up her sense of aloneness was so great she almost called him back, but she thought better of it. After all, he was her son … God, the nights were rough …
But she did allow herself to call Kit. “I got a letter from Nicole and Mark. Talk about love in bloom.”
“I know, I got one too. Aren’t they great, and frugal… they’re eating like peasants and Mark’s acting all French, carrying a baguette of bread under his arm … uh, what else is new aside from our kids?”
“…I got a note from Allan Blum. He’s going to be in town the end of the month and wants to have dinner. But I don’t know, Kit—”
“You’re going, Janet.”
“Why? I don’t even know what we’ll talk about.” Or what color his eyes are …
“You’ll find something to say, and if you don’t, he will. Now you go. You can’t keep living like a hermit and that’s what you’re doing. Crawling into a hole can get to be a habit. If you don’t start breaking it now you’ll wind up being a recluse.”
“Then you think I should—?”
“I already answered that. Now don’t forget my party on Saturday.”
Janet wasn’t enthusiastic about the prospect of a Westchester party. She’d turned down every other invitation … but for Kit? She couldn’t say no. “I haven’t forgotten.”
On Saturday night she went through the motions of dressing. After she finished she looked at her reflection. Even the new dress from Bonwit’s didn’t lift her spirits. Whether anyone else thought so or not, she felt like the fifth wheel. She was a woman alone now, a woman whose husband had walked out on her. And in so doing had taken so much of the meaning of her life with him. Would she ever get accustomed to that?
The party was in full swing by the time she arrived. The pool and landscape were bathed in moonlight and illuminated by lanterns. The food was lavishly displayed on the long buffet tables.
Kit looked marvelous. Her deeply tanned skin and black hair—now with the beginning of a gray streak which she refused to color—were highlighted by the flowing white caftan she wore. Nat was in high spirits and was, as usual, the perfect host. And everyone was surprised and pleased to see her.
“The only complaint we have about you, dear, is that the girls miss seeing you. It’s like you dropped off the edge,” said Mary Chase.
The girls! “Well, as you know, I opened a shop in New York—”
My God, where had she heard that before? Wasn’t anyone satisfied? What went wrong with marriage? What are we all looking for? Why doesn’t it … love … last? Janet had a headache.
She slipped away unseen and went into the den, closing the door behind her. She turned off all the lamps but one. In the semi-darkness she lay her head back against the sofa pillows and sat wondering if she’d ever feel like a whole woman again. The shop served its purpose, but, face it, it wasn’t the complete answer she’d hoped for. It was the nights, those awful, lonely nights. Lately she’d begun having nightmares. She could never remember them in the morning, but she awoke from them drenched in perspiration and with a violent headache. Her days were sometimes little better. The memories were revived and relived. Certain songs reminded her of where they’d been, what he’d looked like, what they’d talked about. She avoided passing Bill’s office building; it was too painful to look back and see herself sitting on that leather bench one late afternoon so long ago. She couldn’t go to certain restaurants because she remembered the times they had celebrated in them, could still see Bill’s expression as he’d poured the wine and proposed a toast.
God, who needed snapshots? All the pictures were imprinted on her mind and she couldn’t burn or discard them. It still didn’t make any sense. If they’d fought … if they’d had violent disagreements … if they’d had huge conflicting opinions she might be able to see or understand why … But none of that had happened in their marriage. They were a loving, devoted couple, enjoyed the same things. She tried hard to please him—why are you doing this to yourself, Janet? You’ve gone round and round like a dog chasing his tail. All the things you’re telling yourself may be true, but as Bill put it, life got to be monotonous for him, no excitement, no challenges … What went wrong? I guess I was … too complacent, too much the contented hausfrau … too damn placid. I should have been more aggressive. But then I was afraid he’d think I was dominating him like his mother, and I did a complete about-face. Well, not altogether. I was the one who made him move to the country. I was the one who wanted children. He didn’t. Sure, after they were born he adored them. But what would have happened if we had stayed in the city and waited until he was ready to become a father? Maybe I took him a little too much for granted. Never really considered his needs seriously enough … I should have moved back to the city when he asked, but the children came first, and so did I. You stupid, how many times have you tried figuring it out? There are no answers … maybe Bill’s got the right idea, looking for them on some psychiatrist’s couch. Maybe I should …
Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the door open and Guy Rogers walked in. He was holding a highball glass in his hand. The room was so dim he didn’t see her at first, and he seemed startled when he discovered her sitting on the sofa.
“So you couldn’t take it either … the party, I mean.” His words were slurred.
“I think it’s lovely but I have a headache.”
He sat down next to her. “I’ve had a headache for seventeen years … Do you feel like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“It could help … the headache. I’m going to fix one.” He poured straight Scotch into the glass, filling it almost to the brim, then sat down next to Janet again. “Marriage stinks, Janet, stinks. Sandra, that frigid cold bitch … wasn’t always that way. Oh, no, she wanted to screw all the time before we were married. Didn’t mind the things we did then. It was okay. Would you believe it, Janet, I have to use a condom. She doesn’t want me to get her all messy. She’s so meticulous I can’t even smoke a cigar in my own den. She fluffs up the pillows the minute I get up. I’m like a boarder she tolerates … I’m a goddamn money machine, is what I am. After the boys were born she needed separate beds, then separate rooms, she got migraines. Couldn’t stand me in the same room. Who the hell does she think she’s kidding?” he said between long pulls on his drink. “My life stinks.”
“Why stay married if you’re so miserable?”
“Because … I’ve got responsibilities, can’t walk out on my kids. I owe ’em … didn’t ask to be born … She plays good mother as long as they don’t interfere with her pleasures, but she can’t really cope with the teen-age boys … I got to be around … boys need a man … a father.” And the tears came rolling down his cheeks.
Janet was shaken, her heart went out to him. The world was one shock after another … everybody thinking everybody else was so happy, no one knowing what went on behind the doors of other people’s lives. She had always thought Sandra and Guy were so somehow suited to each other. That was the impression Sandra gave. “Guy’s the dearest, sweetest …”
A facade. What haunted her at this moment was the difference between Guy Rogers and Bill McNeil. Guy lived with a woman for the sake of his children. Bill asked, “Do you sacrifice your own life to perpetuate the happiness of someone else? Is that fair? …” You’re damn right you do, when you have a family.
Guy Rogers put his head on Janet’s shoulder. “God, Janet, I’m so low …”
She knew what that feeling was. It had become her closest companion.
Out of pity she held his hand gently, even patted it. What he was going through was something she could identify with.
His speech slurred, his breathing labored. “You’re the loveliest thing, Janet, so damn kind, good … if only I had someone like you.” Suddenly he was taking her in his arms. “I need you, Janet … I need someone like you … let me love you, Janet … love you …”
She felt his fingers sliding down the zipper of her dress, his hand reaching inside, holding her breast, fondling the nipple.
The room began to swim as his other hand found its way between her legs, separating them. It happened so swiftly—quickly she stood, wrenched herself away from him. “You’re drunk, Guy, so I’m going to forget this, but …”
He held her close again, this time tightly. “I want you, Janet, need you. Please be kind … let me make—”
She tried pushing him away, but his hold on her was too strong. She began to panic, groped for the heavy crystal ashtray on the table and hit him on the head. Staggering, he looked dazedly at her.
Running from the room, she went to the bathroom and threw up. For a while she sat on the edge of the tub, trying to compose herself, and when the worst of her trembling had passed she left the house, got into the car and drove home. But when she found the safety of her bed she began to cry …
That was the end of parties. Pete Gerard, Richard Connors, Guy Rogers … No more. She’d had enough …
The next day she called Kit, told her what had happened and what her decision was.
“Janet, don’t say that about not going out. He was drunk, you have to learn how to handle it.”
“Handle what? I don’t make a play for anyone. I want to be left alone. The truth is, Kit, I’m just not cut out to be the gay divorcée. That’s all right for some women but not for me. No more parties. I can’t take it and I’m not going to. In fact, I just wrote a note to Mr. Allan Blum. He can go to hell too. Who needs it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THANK GOD SHE HAD the shop … that was all she wanted, it was enough … at least that’s what she told herself. It was her haven, actually her home. And Renée was a godsend … her sense of humor was especially therapeutic … Janet even found she was still capable of laughing, mostly at the stories Renée told about her Jewish mother.
Somehow she’d manage to get through the next months. Another four weeks and the children would be home….
At five-thirty she slipped a silk jacket over her shoulders, said goodnight to Renee and was ready to leave … when the door opened and in walked Mr. Allan Blum.
She stood as though transfixed. He’d received her letter, so what was he doing here?
The look on her face told him t
oo clearly what she was thinking. Well, he wasn’t going to let that put him off. “How are you, Janet?”
“Fine, thank you. How did you find out about my shop?”
“I called your house and your housekeeper told me.”
“Oh?”
“I’m glad to see you, Janet. I came to ask if you’d have dinner with me.”
“I’m sorry, I have other plans—”
“Janet, you’d never win an Academy Award for acting.”
“Why should I have to act? You’re right. I have no plans, I’m going home.”
He smiled. It was a warm smile, not at all condescending. “I wish you’d reconsider. I’m only going to be here for a few hours. It’s just for dinner, Janet.”
Her high dudgeon began to subside. You’ve turned into a bitch, Janet … a real pluperfect one … He’s a nice man. And so, knowing she’d been unkind, she answered, “All right, but it will have to be an early evening.”
“I’ll settle for that. In fact, I’m taking the 10:40 plane back to Chicago tonight.”
Janet relaxed.
Somehow Allan Blum was the first man she’d felt at ease with since Bill. True, those days on the cruise had been laced with stilted moments; she had weighed each word so carefully. Allan’s openness, though, made her feel at ease … with him nothing seemed threatening. Looking across the table at him as she took a sip of her drink, she decided he really was quite handsome. Strange, they’d spent two weeks on a ship together and in her bemused state she honestly hadn’t been all that aware. But tonight she was, and not only of his looks …
“How have things been going for you, Janet?”
“Well,” she said, “some things have worked out, others not.”
“Like to talk about it?”
She felt she was speaking to an old friend as she said, “Bill’s seeing a psychiatrist.”
“That, if you’ll forgive me, sounds like a step in the right direction.”