by Jason Starr
Maybe she was just restraining herself, trying to play the role of “the understanding wife.” But I explained, the best I could, why I’d done it. How I was distraught, thought I’d lost everything, and how it didn’t seem fair for Rob to get off unscathed. As I spoke, I realized how petty and vindictive, even crazy, I must have sounded. I’d blackmailed, actually blackmailed, an old friend, for two hundred thousand dollars because he’d told me about a website? Who does that?
At the same time, it felt good to be honest with her, like a huge burden had been lifted.
“Look,” I went on, “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I wasn’t thinking straight at the time; I was in a bad way. I’d even started drinking again. Yeah, I went off the wagon, I was really starting to lose it, and, in the moment, it seemed like a good idea. I wanted to do something for you and Jonah—just one good thing. I’d done so many bad things lately, made so many mistakes, that, I don’t know, I thought this would make up for it. But now I realize how stupid that was, how I was just scapegoating Rob, making the same mistake I’ve made so many times before. I didn’t have to listen to him, I chose to listen to him. But, don’t worry, I’ll work on this now and become a better man, I promise. This whole experience has scared the shit out of me—I’ve hit my real rock bottom. I’m going back to A.A., and I’ll apologize to Rob and wire that money back to him, and I’ll—”
“No,” Maria said.
She sounded very serious.
“No, what?” I asked.
“No, you’re not returning that money to him.”
She still didn’t sound like she was joking, but I said, “You’re joking, right?”
“I just want to move on,” she said. “The money’s already in our bank account, and Rob wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t want to give it to you. He probably felt bad, realized what he’d put you through, and thought giving you the money was the least he could do.”
“Maybe that’s true,” I said, “but I still have to call him and—”
“No, it’s our money. We need it.” Definitely not joking.
“Come on,” I said, “you really can’t expect me to keep that money.”
“Our money,” Maria said. “It’s in our bank account.”
“But weren’t you listening to what I was saying?” I said. “It’s actually Rob’s money.”
“No, it’s our money now. He wired it to us, to our joint account.”
“But he only did it because I threatened him, because—”
“Because he knows he did something wrong,” Maria said. “Don’t you get it? Rob’s not a good guy. You’ve known that for years. I remember the stories you used to tell me about him. He’s always been an asshole, a player. He lies, cheats—”
“I know,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean—”
“Yes,” she said, “it does. Don’t you get it? You were right—it is all his fault. He knew what he was doing—he was encouraging you, trying to hurt you. He’s like a scummy drug dealer, an enabler. He knows it, too. That’s why he gave you that money, because he felt guilty—”
“No, he did it because—”
“Because he wanted to do it, Jack, because he wanted to redeem himself. People don’t do anything they don’t want to do. Trust me, I’m right. By keeping the money you’re helping him. If that money really meant anything to him, if it was really going to destroy him, do you think he really would’ve wired it? That money’s probably like his lunch budget for the next few years. But we need the money, it could make a difference for us. It could be a down payment on an apartment, pay for Jonah’s college. How many problems for us were caused by money? All the arguments we’ve had about your career, how our apartment’s too small, how we’re not putting enough away for retirement. All of those fights wore us down, put a wedge between us, made us drift farther and farther apart. But now we have a chance—to start again, without all of that stress. I feel like we’re getting along better already, and I know you feel the same way. He was looking to do something good, Jack, just like you were, so you both got what you wanted.”
Although I knew what Maria was saying didn’t make much sense, somehow it all made sense.
“I have an idea,” I said. “How about we put the money aside for a couple of weeks, or a couple of months, and then decide what to do.”
She continued glaring at me, until she managed to smile.
“That does sound like a reasonable compromise,” she said. “Good idea—let’s just keep the money in the bank and agree we won’t touch it … for a while.”
I knew we hadn’t resolved the issue, but at least we’d tabled it.
She was looking at me like she wanted me to kiss her, so I did. We hadn’t kissed, really kissed in a long time. Feeling as awkward as a teenager, I leaned in.
Her lips didn’t feel familiar at all; they felt like a stranger’s lips. I was distracted, flashing back to discovering Sophie’s body, Anthony’s body, killing Lawrence, almost jumping in front of the train.
“Are you okay?” Maria asked.
I realized I was drenched in sweat.
“Yeah,” I said, “fine.”
Maria lay on her back, and I climbed on top. I tried to take control, rejecting my thoughts and memories and trying to focus on Maria. Her body felt unfamiliar, more toned, and then I flashed back to when Maria had visited me at Bellevue—her cold glare. I wanted to refocus on us, in the present, but my mind kept drifting to the past.
I wasn’t close to getting a hard-on.
“It’s okay, we don’t have to do it tonight,” Maria said. “It’s nice just lying next to you.”
I turned away onto my side, and Maria hugged me from behind, spooning me.
I was still sweating.
* * *
In the morning, while Maria showered and got ready for work, I checked my texts. I’d gotten a lot of messages from A.A. friends and acquaintances and old sponsors checking up on me, making sure I was okay, and, yes, I’d gotten a couple of texts from Rob.
The first had been sent a day after I’d almost jumped in front of the train:
Hey bro just heard about you on the news feel awful, had no idea how desperate you were man. I feel so bad for telling you about that site. It wasn’t my intention to fuck things up for you, hope you know that bro and if I knew how bad you were doing I never would’ve let you leave that playground
In another text he continued:
Anyway bro feel bad about how things went down I know you were counting on that commish so I’m wiring the 200 K into your account lets just both move on forget this ever happened sound cool??
I know you are a good guy and you don’t want to do anything to hurt me or my kids
Robby
I read the messages a few times. Unlike the messages from my A.A. friends, Rob’s concern didn’t seem genuine. He’d wired that money out of fear that I’d ruin his marriage, not because he cared that I’d almost killed myself. The guy obviously had zero empathy.
Maybe Maria had been right; maybe we did deserve that money.
I made Jonah breakfast—French toast, his favorite. I made some for myself, too, and, as we sat at the table eating, he told me about the fantasy football team he’d started. When Maria came by, she kissed me, and it was obvious how happy Jonah was—not just because his dad was back home, but because his parents were happy. He’d never seen his parents like this. Over the years, I’d thought I’d been hiding the tension in my marriage from him, but he’d been picking up on it, and it had affected him, as it had affected all of us.
When Maria was leaving for work, I kissed her goodbye and gave her a tight hug.
“I wanna hug, too,” Jonah said.
Our family hug would’ve made a great Christmas card photo: Jonah, grinning widely between his mom and dad, looking like the happiest kid in the world.
Later, Jonah and I walked to school together. Although it wasn’t quite my normal routine, because I had no job to go to, it was still great to
be back to being a dad again, back where I belonged.
At school, going by the awkward looks I got from other parents and some kids, it seemed obvious that if they hadn’t seen me or read about me in the news, they’d heard the rumors. A couple of moms, Stacy and Geri, from the PTA, were discussing preparations for the school’s upcoming annual Halloween “Boo Bash.” I was about to offer to volunteer, as I had in previous years, but when Stacy and Geri saw me they had panicked expressions and headed into the school to avoid me.
“Hey, come on, don’t be ridiculous!” I called after them.
Florence, the security guard, came over.
“What’s goin’ on out here?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said and rushed away.
Without any job to go to, I had a free day until Jonah’s pickup time at two forty. I was eager to start job hunting, try to land another real estate gig, but after everything I’d been through lately, I decided I was entitled to some me-time.
I went to Le Pain Quotidien on 1st and 83rd and had a coffee and croissant and browsed someone’s abandoned New York Times. I didn’t feel like returning to my apartment, so I headed to Central Park. I walked partway around the reservoir. It was chilly and started drizzling—a perfect museum day.
It had been a long time, maybe a year, since I’d been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or to any museum. Years ago, Maria and I used to go frequently, and as I climbed the steps, I flashed back to the times we had carried Jonah up the steps in his stroller—her holding the handles, me lifting from the bottom. I hadn’t seen any plays or movies in movie theaters or live bands recently either. Living in New York City and not taking advantage of the cultural activities was a shame; I’d taken too much for granted lately.
I texted with Maria: @ The Met.
Several seconds later, she replied: Nice Thinking about you too :) I’ll cook dinner!
When was the last time Maria had cooked? Three, four years ago? I responded: Sounds great!
I went to my favorite part of the museum—the Impressionist wing. After checking out my favorite Renoirs, Gauguins, Seurats, Degas, I went over to the Van Goghs.
I checked out some of my faves—Pair of Shoes, Self-Portrait with Straw Hat, Mother Roulin with Her Baby.
Then I went over to the still life: Vase with Irises, and read the description:
In May 1890, just before he checked himself out of the asylum of Saint-Remy, Van Gogh painted four exuberant bouquets of spring flowers, the only still lifes of any ambition he had undertaken during his yearlong stay: two of irises, two of roses, in contrasting color schemes and formats. In the Irises he sought a “harmonious and soft” effect by placing the “violet” flowers against a “pink background,” which have since faded owing to his use of fugitive red pigments.
I’d always liked the painting, but now it had additional meaning for me. I know, I know, grandiose, but I, too, had just come out of an asylum, so I could identify with Van Gogh’s restrained mania in the painting, and of course his use of fugitive reds reminded me of Sophie.
Distracted by my own troubles and reconnecting with my family, I hadn’t thought about her much the past few days, but now I felt as gutted as I had when I’d discovered her body in the bedroom of the townhouse. The poor woman, and her family—they were the biggest victims in all of this. Sophie hadn’t talked much about her family, but her loved ones were probably still suffering, wanting closure.
“Are you okay, sir?”
The security guy, who had a foreign accent, had come over to me. I realized I must’ve looked as awful as I felt.
I sat on a bench, staring at the painting, as more memories of Sophie swarmed me. Our devious, late-night chat sessions, how she’d awakened the dormant, adventurous side to my personality, how close we had gotten so quickly, and her explanation for why she’d chosen the name Fugitive Red, because “love fades.” She’d been so unhappy, trapped in a bad marriage, desperate to make a connection. And we had made a connection. Maybe an online relationship wasn’t a real relationship, but our emotions had been real. I was glad that I’d at least allowed her to feel some joy and hope in her life before she’d died.
“Powerful, isn’t it?”
I didn’t realize that a slight, elderly woman had sat down next to me. I also didn’t realize that I was crying.
“Yes,” I said. “You know that pink background was once red.”
“What?”
I couldn’t tell if she couldn’t hear me or couldn’t understand me.
“The background,” I said a bit louder. “But the big question is did Van Gogh know that the red would fade? Is that why he chose the red? To make a statement about love fading over time after he was released from the asylum?”
The woman seemed perplexed. I felt ridiculous.
“Never mind,” I said. “Have an amazing day.”
* * *
Maria made one of her old specialties—chicken piccata, rice with pine nuts, and sautéed spinach. For dessert, she’d picked up Jonah’s favorite: chocolate mousse.
After dinner, I washed the dishes and Jonah dried, then the three of us watched TV—the original Star Wars because Jonah had never seen it. Seeing Jonah so excited made me feel like I was seeing it for the first time as well. I could tell that Maria felt the same way.
Later, when Jonah was in bed and I was saying goodnight to him, he asked, “When can we see the sequels?”
“Soon,” I said.
“How soon?”
“Very soon.”
“This weekend?”
“Maybe.”
“I can’t wait. Are you gonna stay married to Mommy?”
I was caught off-guard, but I had no reason to hesitate.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”
I kissed him goodnight on the cheek, then joined Maria in the bedroom.
Sex was awkward. I was still distracted and sweating a lot, and Maria didn’t seem that into it either.
“That was incredible,” Maria said afterward, snuggling against me.
I knew she had to be exaggerating at least a little.
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
* * *
The next day, Saturday, we decided to have a family day. We took the Q-train to Coney Island, went on some rides, including the Cyclone, and then walked along the Boardwalk to Brighton Beach. We had stuffed cabbage and pierogies at a casual Russian restaurant and then returned home and watched The Empire Strikes Back.
Later, after Maria and I had more awkward sex, she said, “I have an idea, let’s go on a date night. We haven’t done that in ages.”
Maria sounded like she genuinely wanted to get closer to me and improve our marriage.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
On Sunday, we arranged for Carly to babysit and went to dinner at a restaurant where we used to go frequently, Elio’s on 2nd Avenue. We sat outside and Maria had a glass of wine with dinner and I had water. I had five days of sobriety and wasn’t planning to go off the wagon again.
Afterward, Maria suggested going to Carl Schurz Park. We walked through the park to the promenade and sat on a bench looking out at the East River.
Holding my hand, Maria said, “This feels so nice.”
My gut was screaming at me not to trust any of this. Rationally, I knew that I’d been with her long enough to know that the idea of us getting back to the “good times” in our relationship was just a fantasy.
But when had I ever been rational?
“Yes,” I said. “It does.”
* * *
On Monday morning Maria went to work, and I took Jonah to school. Jonah seemed anxious and wasn’t his usual chatty self. At drop-off, I didn’t feel like hanging around to chat with the parents. Instead, I went to a coffee bar on 85th, and sat in the garden, sipping coffee, searching for a job online.
The two hundred grand in our bank account still didn’t feel like it was ours, but, admittedly, knowing that the money was there was a huge stress reli
ef and eased my desperation. If Rob hadn’t deposited that money, I would’ve been desperate for work right now, felt pressured by Maria, and been forced to accept the first opportunity that came along. Now I felt free to be pickier.
Andrew Wolf had emailed me the other day, apologizing for his “rush to judgment” against me, and offering my old job back “if I wanted it.” I didn’t even bother to respond—not because I held a grudge, but because after years of struggling and neediness, I finally had an opportunity to do what I wanted to do, and I planned to seize it.
Maybe this was my opportunity to get out of real estate and get back to doing something I really loved. I found a listing that intrigued me—an indie record company in Brooklyn was looking to fill a position in their PR department. While I didn’t have PR experience per se, I’d done some band promotion in my twenties and my sales experience sort of tied in. I found a few more music-related positions that sounded cool, and then I worked on my resume. I didn’t want to rush this, though. My plan was to spend the next week or so working on my resume and researching job opportunities, and then I’d set up interviews.
Later, I was going to grab some lunch in the neighborhood, when I thought, Why not surprise Maria? Years ago, way before Jonah was born, Maria and I used to meet for lunch on workdays all the time, but we hadn’t done it in ages.
I walked to midtown, to Maria’s office on 51st and Lexington. I’d been to the office a few times over the years, usually on days when I had an appointment in the afternoon and needed to drop off Jonah with Maria at work when we couldn’t get childcare.
Brad at the front desk recognized me.
“She’s expecting me,” I said.
“Go right in,” he said.
I walked through the row of cubicles, heading toward the windowed office where Maria worked. I knew she’d be surprised to see me and I was looking forward to her reaction. I figured she’d be happy, maybe run up to me and give me a big hug.
As I approached her office, I stopped when I saw she was standing, talking with someone—a man. I figured she was having a meeting, or about to end one, and I was going to come back later or just text her from the street.
