The End of Men

by Karen Rinaldi

  “Will you be involved?” Isabel asked.

  “Yes. Probably Anna as well. Maggie might even do it. We’re still looking for one or two others. Maggie is going to see if there is a problem with three of us being connected to RHM, but part of this is to try to set the record straight—whatever that is—and it might be better if we know who’s involved so there are no scary surprises. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Beth and Isabel spent the next hour over chamomile tea and biscotti, catching up on each other’s family and laughing about past debacles. Christopher wasn’t mentioned again.

  Isabel loved hearing stories about Beth’s crazy father, who was now on his fifth marriage (fourth wife). Beth asked about Isabel’s brother, Bobby, who’d married a gold digger who swigged white wine during the afternoons while he saw patients as an endocrinologist at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. During Beth’s brief affair with Bobby, Isabel and Beth had fantasized about being sisters-in-law, but thankfully, it hadn’t turned out that way. Bobby, a loving and supportive brother, was not the best husband. He was generous to a fault—and unfortunately that generosity didn’t stop when it came to his dick. He’d had affairs with his yoga instructor, the dog sitter, and an ER nurse—so predictable it was cliché. Each time he was caught with his pants down, he repented and promised to stay fully committed to his wife. Isabel couldn’t fathom why they stayed together. And, as much as she missed her brother, she was happy they were a safe distance across the country.

  She considered briefly their parallels in infidelity, but then dismissed any similarities between herself and Bobby. Isabel had never cheated before and didn’t find the prospect of it titillating in any way. Her intimacy with Christopher felt like an entitlement, not to betray her husband, but to act with complete and utter self-concern. Aware that her argument wouldn’t hold with anyone—not even with Sam, who accepted her fully—Isabel hoped it wouldn’t come to a point when she would be forced to explain herself.

  WHEN ISABEL GOT back to the office she called Anna and arranged to spend the night with her sister’s family in Brooklyn. She was not entirely truthful when she told Anna that she needed some family time.

  Christopher had left a message on her voice mail. He was “desperate” to see her—his word—but Isabel stuck with her plans to go to Anna’s. It was the first time she had ever had even a hint of control in their friendship. Thinking back on her conversation with Beth over lunch, she smiled at how right Beth was: Isabel felt sublimely selfish. And it felt okay. Her heart now belonged to another boy—one with different kinds of demands, demands she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Until he entered the world, she was going to enjoy every moment of living only according to her own wishes. Christopher could wait.

  Anna and Isabel met at the subway station to ride to Brooklyn together. They couldn’t get seats, so the women stood with the crowd.

  “You’d think someone would offer you a seat. Do you want me to ask someone to get up for you?” Anna said quietly to Isabel.

  As soon as Anna said it, there was a tap on Isabel’s elbow from a sturdy, elderly woman who’d stood up and pointed to her seat.

  “No, thank you,” Isabel told the woman. “I’d rather stand.” She turned back to her sister and said, “Balancing takes my mind off the pressure on my bladder. Sitting just makes it worse.” Isabel leaned against the pole to steady herself as the train lurched forward. “How are you doing, Anna? You seem tired.” Isabel knew how much Anna hated to be perceived as anything short of Superwoman. She trod lightly.

  “I just miss the boys when I’m at work. I feel like they’ll be teenagers in no time and I’ll have missed some vital part of their development because of my job. I’m scared and sad and exhausted.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re tired because you have a demanding job and two small boys who get your undivided attention when you’re home. That doesn’t leave much time for yourself,” Isabel said, hoping she sounded supportive, not critical.

  “I don’t need time to myself right now. I had plenty of that before the boys. I need more time with them.”

  Isabel wasn’t about to argue, so she let it go. The train pulled into the station, and they were pushed out of the subway car by the mass of commuters also exiting the subway car. Anna provided a human shield for Isabel amid the commotion.

  The sisters arrived at the Ducci-Schwartz home at seven o’clock. While most families around America would be gearing up for the children’s bedtime, Anna’s sons hadn’t had dinner yet, let alone a bath and quiet time. Jason had dinner simmering on the stove, three-year-old Oscar was playing Big Action Construction on the laptop in the living room, and Jason and the baby played catch with a sparkly red bouncy ball.

  Anna kissed each of her men hello. Isabel noticed how her sister’s mood changed considerably just walking in the door. While she looked dull and lethargic at the end of the workday, it was clear that Anna’s family gave back to her, many times over, the energy they no doubt consumed. Still, the wear and tear of being the breadwinner and mother of two was evident. She and Jason had a respectful, loving, sexy thing going between them, but Isabel wondered how long Anna would be able to keep it up. Anna’s patience seemed endless . . . until it wasn’t anymore. This was, until now, her unbroken pattern in past relationships. She’d always walked out when she’d had enough, leaving plenty of baffled and broken hearts in her wake.

  Isabel had admired her sister’s decision to forgo traditional parenthood when she had planned to conceive with her friend instead. But meeting Jason changed all that. With him and the boys filling her life, she now finally had something worth the effort it took to sustain. Beth’s concern about Anna was founded, though. Isabel suspected that it would be her career Anna would walk out on this time, not her man.

  By the time they all sat down to dinner it was close to eight o’clock. Once they’d finished, the boys were wound up into their before-bedtime frenzy. Oscar ran across the living room to the couch, where he jumped up and flipped his feet over his head against the back cushion. Then he fell over, jumped off, and ran back to the other side of the room to do it all again. This happened at least eight times in a row. Meanwhile, Henry ran up and down the hallway throwing and kicking his red ball, squealing with delight each time his foot connected to make the ball fly. Isabel was always astonished at how two small humans could make the same amount of noise as an unruly crowd. Jason apologized: “They’re laughing now and in about five minutes they’ll be in tears. Just wait . . .”

  Jason’s patience impressed Isabel. She wondered how she would fare under similar circumstances. Sure enough, five minutes later, Oscar had a tumble off the couch and bumped his forehead on the coffee table. He began to laugh and cry hysterically at the same time, as was his habit, while Henry, following his brother’s lead, started bawling for no apparent reason. Isabel watched with wonder as Anna calmly whisked Henry up and to bed with a promise to read him his favorite book, Tuesday. Jason grabbed Oscar and brought him in for his bath. As quickly as the chaos had ramped up, the household became hushed.

  Isabel followed Jason into the bathroom. “You can finish what you were doing; I can give Oscar his bath.”

  Once Oscar was dressed in his stripy pajamas and ready for bed, she handed him over to Jason, who had just finished cleaning up the kitchen. Isabel kissed them all good night before heading up to the guest room on the top floor of the brownstone, where she pulled out her phone to call Sam from the coziness of the blankets.

  Beth’s reaction to Isabel’s tryst with Christopher earlier in the day played over in Isabel’s mind. She wasn’t feeling guilty, but rather something more like bewilderment. Isabel didn’t buy into guilt. As far as she was concerned, guilt was just another lie people told themselves: a culturally acceptable way of wanting things both ways—questionable behavior and absolution all in one!

  Still, the riddle as to why she enjoyed intimacy with Christopher, when she knew it would hurt Sam if he were to find out, puzzled her. She was certain
only that her need to compartmentalize and act selfishly was stronger than her sense of preserving the “sanctity of marriage.” Isabel had made a vow of commitment in her marriage to Sam, but not one of exclusivity. It was a bit late to raise the matter with him now. What if Sam is doing the same with an old fling in Chicago? she asked herself. The thought didn’t raise any bile. He might be was the answer that made her smile with the understanding of how foolish it is to believe that anyone ever owns another person. She realized it was likely that Sam might not feel the same; she would keep it to herself to protect him and what they had.

  She dialed his number. “Hi, it’s me,” she whispered as if sneaking a call to her own husband.

  “Are you home?” Sam asked.

  “No, I’m spending the night at Anna’s. It’s crazy-town here with the boys!” They laughed as Isabel described her nephews’ pre-bedtime meltdown antics. But then she grew serious. “Watching Jason and Anna tonight, I wonder how we’re going to do it with you gone all the time.”

  “Is, I’m not going to travel like this forever, I promise. I just want to close this case and use it to gain leverage for more control over how I spend my time going forward,” Sam told her confidently. He always had a plan—it was one of the things she loved about him.

  “Will that be possible? Won’t there just be another case behind it? And then another?” Isabel didn’t usually press Sam on his work, but the realities of family life had struck her hard tonight.

  “Baby, we’ll figure it out and make those decisions. Don’t worry,” Sam assured her. “I wouldn’t abandon you to raise our kids alone.”

  “No, of course you wouldn’t. I know that,” Isabel said, believing every word of it. “I miss you.” Isabel did. She missed him terribly.

  “Same here. I’m so sick of these people and sick of this job, especially because it takes me away from you. I swear I’ll find a way to spend less time away once the baby arrives.”

  “I’d like that. Junior will like it too.” Isabel was so wiped out she nearly fell asleep holding the phone for the few seconds Sam was disrupted on the other end.

  “Issy, are you still there? Is?” Sam said loudly.

  “Yes, I’m still here. I’m just zonked. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m trying for tomorrow night, but I’m not sure yet. I promise I’ll make it home for the weekend.”

  “I hope you do. Good night, Sam.”

  “Good night, my love.”

  JASON WAS ALREADY up and making coffee when Isabel came downstairs the next morning. She had awakened unusually early and thought to get a head start by arriving at the office before the day cranked up. By ten o’clock, her schedule would fill quickly with phone calls and meetings and client crises.

  The sound of the television so early in the morning captured Isabel’s attention. There was something disturbing to her about the unmistakable upbeat background music of most shows on television. Even wars had catchy musical themes. If perversity were to take a form for Isabel, that would be it. This morning the box was tuned to a show featuring a lithe, angular brunette with her hair pulled back in a tight chignon and dressed in black leather leggings under a sleeveless amber silk blouse. The tag under the speaker’s name read, GEORGETTE FONTAINE, INFIDELITY EXPERT.

  How could someone be an expert on infidelity? Was she a professional cuckold or repeat offender? The whole thing seemed more absurd than real, so it took Isabel a moment to realize that this Georgette Fontaine was not only someone she sort of knew but also that she was talking about something Isabel herself had just committed.

  “The thing about adultery today,” Georgette was saying, “is that none of the boundaries apply. Sex for sex’s sake never hurts anyone, but stealing another’s spouse after an infidelity makes it injurious and unnecessary. One could say that the courtesan was a sanctioned whore, yes, but there was a place for her in society, and an accepted place at that—not so different from the Japanese geisha. I say the geisha or courtesan has a rightful place in our culture and we should not be so quick to hasten the disappearance of these very commonsensical practices.”

  Jason walked into the living room as Georgette was pontificating on the tube and handed Isabel a cup of coffee. “You indulging?” he asked.

  For a moment Isabel thought he was referring to the subject on the screen and hesitated before realizing he was talking about caffeine, not extramarital sex. “Um, yes, one cup in the morning. Thanks, Jason.”

  “Do you know that’s Maggie’s husband’s ex? Maggie from Red Hot Mama?” Jason asked, referring to the woman speaking on the screen.

  “Yeah, I was just putting that all together. Why would anyone let herself be labeled an ‘infidelity expert’? I guess she has every reason to be pissed, but why humiliate yourself in front of a national audience?”

  “I know some friends of hers and supposedly she claims that she’s famous now that she’s been on Oprah and the Today show,” Jason said as he stared at the screen. “I feel sorry for her. Couldn’t have been an easy thing to go through.”

  “I guess. Still, some people will trade their dignity for a little attention in a heartbeat.” Isabel caught the contempt in her voice and thought better than to further engage in the topic. Who was she to judge? Georgette somehow exuded both haughtiness and warmth; Isabel found herself held rapt.

  “The other problem, as I see it,” Georgette continued, “is that women are able to keep affairs private, while men seek either forgiveness or justification. This male need for acknowledgment brings an affair that is best played out privately into the open where damage is done. Women have the sense to engage without a third witness. Why do we think only men have affairs? In the heteronormative realm, women are the other part of that equation. Women just don’t need to talk about it.”

  The conversation continued in silence in her own head. What would Georgette think of Isabel’s entanglement with Christopher? Would she consider it “sex for sex’s sake” or injurious adultery? Who in the world could be the arbiter of such judgements?

  For a moment, Isabel thought she’d exclaimed the last bit out loud and turned to Jason to see if he acknowledged it. He didn’t seem to have heard—or maybe she didn’t actually give voice to her thoughts. They both stood silently in front of the blue light of the television for a minute more. Then Jason pecked Isabel on the cheek before turning to leave. “I’m going to get some work done before Anna and the boys wake up. Good to see you, Issy.” He headed down to his office on the ground floor.

  Isabel was tempted to ask Jason how he thought Anna was doing, but then thought it better to mind her own business. She was concerned for her sister, but Anna would resent the concern if Jason were to tell her she’d been asking after her. While fond of Jason, Isabel wished for her sister’s sake that he could better provide for his family. Or maybe Isabel was just projecting her own discomfort with the arrangement onto Anna. She wondered if it was sexist to feel that way.

  Without belaboring the thought, Isabel headed for the subway and a quiet early morning in the office.

  TO HER DISAPPOINTMENT, the Turtle was already there when Isabel arrived. She tried to sneak by without him seeing her.

  The Turtle called, “Hey, Isabel, come on in and let’s chat.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Isabel lamented under her breath, then louder, “You’re in early, Larry. Something happening here?”

  “I have to fly up to Boston to make nice to an account who was offended by a story in the magazine. Thought I’d get some stuff cleared off my desk before heading to LaGuardia. I did want to speak with you about maternity leave, though, so it’s good you’re here. How long do you think you’ll be out?” That the Turtle was wondering at all betrayed an ulterior motive.

  “We get six weeks, and I’ll attach three weeks’ vacation to it, if that’s okay with you. So I’ll be out for about nine weeks.” Isabel felt defensive and willed herself to sound casual. She hated herself for asking permission from this putz and a ha
lf for the time that was rightfully hers to take.

  “That’s fine. When do you plan on leaving?” The Turtle seemed anxious to have her gone.

  “When I go into labor and head for the hospital. Hard to say, Larry, when exactly that will be.” Isabel wanted to tear his head off.

  Larry smiled a constipated smile. “What I meant to ask is when are you due?”

  “January third.” Isabel unconsciously put her hands over her belly as if to protect her child from the passive aggression emanating from the man in front of her.

  “Ah, a New Year’s baby. Well, great! That’s just great! Thanks, Isabel.” The Turtle’s voice, unnaturally high during the exchange, made him impossible to read, although she knew that whatever he was thinking, it was not in her best interest. Isabel got out of there fast, resentful that he had spoiled her morning.

  AFTER HER CONVERSATION with Sam the night before, Isabel had counted on his return that night, only to be disappointed to learn that he was going to be stuck in Chicago for the entire weekend. His team was coming close to having to testify in the landmark case they were working on, and they still had some loose ends. Isabel understood. There were plenty of weekends she had to spend at the office herself, leaving Sam to fend for himself. For better or worse, there’d be plenty to keep Isabel occupied.

  As if to answer a call for distraction, Beth phoned to ask Isabel if she could hang out with Jessie for part of the day on Saturday. She had to take care of some legal matters concerning Paul and needed to meet with him at the lawyer’s office. Isabel was glad to help. Jessie was a self-possessed kid, funny, intelligent, and a delight to be around. Isabel felt honored that Jessie not only agreed to spend the day with her mother’s best friend but also that she specifically requested it.