The Last Chance

by Rona Jaffe

  “Do you want me to bring a date?”

  “Only if you want to. It really doesn’t matter. Not all my friends are as ancient as I am. I think you’ll have a good time.”

  “I’ll think about the date,” he said. “Actually, what I meant was, did you want me to bring some wine or anything?”

  I hope he doesn’t faint when he sees the apartment, Rachel thought. A bottle of sangría in a paper bag in his hand, and the maid takes his coat. “No, thanks anyway,” she said. “That was sweet of you to offer. But just bring yourself.”

  He looked delighted. He wrote down her last name and her address in his notebook. “What time?”

  “Eight. And there’ll be food.”

  “Oh, good, I love a free meal!”

  She looked at her watch. “I have another class.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  They strolled out of the park and toward the building where Rachel had her next class. Andy reminded her of the little boy who had carried her books in the sixth grade who had been red-haired too. Actually, he hadn’t carried her books, he had punched her on the ear, but she had known then that he had a crush on her. Even at that age she had attracted funny little boys.

  The enormous size of the student body had made it easy for him to follow Rachel ever since school began. No one paid attention to his obvious difference in age; they thought he was a professor or possibly a part-time student. He lost himself in the crowds and let them sweep him along, keeping her always in sight. He noticed that she came out of one class with the same red-haired boy every time, and he saw them go to Washington Square Park. When he saw them sit down on a bench, side by side, engrossed in conversation, his insides lurched and he felt nauseated. A wave of hatred toward this boy came over him, and then transferred itself toward her. Of course the boy liked her, who would not adore her? But why was she leading him on? He knew what the boy wanted. They all wanted that. But did she want it? Here downtown, away from everyone who knew her, far from her recognized and exemplary life, was she indeed someone else? Why would she waste her time on that young hippie if she didn’t want to rut like all the other bitches? His goddess, dressed in those hideous teen-aged clothes—faded jeans, Snoopy sweatshirt—sitting next to a filthy boy who reeked of sauerkraut, her length of leg touching his, her soft mouth smiling at him. He closed and opened his hands and wanted to choke her.

  As soon as he imagined her dead his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t kill her, he loved her. But he wanted to tear her away from that hairy-faced boy and restore her to her rightful place. It wasn’t right for her to be here with these people. She didn’t belong here. She was giving away pieces of herself to people who didn’t deserve her, demeaning herself. She had to be punished. He didn’t know yet how he would punish her, but he would think of a way.

  Nikki knew she would have to confide in someone. The strain of juggling her husband and her lover was more than she could handle without being able to talk to somebody about it and be reassured that she wasn’t losing her mind. She had resolved never to tell anyone, because she had always rather looked down on women who had to boast of their sexual conquests, but this was more than just a conquest; it was a real problem of how to hold her life together. Robert had his key to her apartment now, and had gotten into the habit of coming in twice a week and sleeping over. He always referred to it as “our” apartment, although he never offered to share the rent. She wouldn’t have let him take it over even if he’d wanted to. This apartment was her safety. Robert was really trying to be different, but if he had control of the apartment she would have no refuge that was truly her own, and then he could behave any way he wanted to. They were both aware of this. He felt the apartment was her weapon, and Nikki was not sure he wasn’t partly right. If having a place to hide was a weapon, then it was.

  When she knew Robert was not coming into New York she spent the night with John at his apartment. She would meet him there at seven thirty carrying a change of clothes in her tote bag for the next day at the office. She left a few toilet articles and other things at his place. She didn’t want to leave too much. She didn’t want to belong to him any more than she did to Robert. She wanted to belong only to herself. John seemed to understand that much better than Robert did, but he was her lover, not her husband, and so it was easier for him to understand.

  She really did want to make her marriage work. That was why she stayed at John’s apartment when Robert was in the country, just in case Robert decided to surprise her by driving in and using his key. She would make sure that Robert never knew anything about John. He would leave her if he knew, whether he wanted to leave her or not, because that was the way he was.

  She decided she would tell Rachel. Of all her friends Rachel was not the wisest, but she was the most discreet. Besides, Rachel had had more of a past than Nikki ever had, so perhaps she knew and understood more about the feelings Nikki couldn’t figure out in herself. They made a date for lunch on a day when Rachel had no classes after twelve.

  Nikki arrived at the restaurant first and was having a drink when Rachel came in. Rachel looked radiant. She was wearing wool slacks, a cashmere sweater, and a suede coat. Her face glowed with happiness. Nikki glanced at herself in the mirror beside the banquette where they were seated and thought she looked pinched and tired. What good was sex and love if they made you look like that?

  “You look so marvelous I think I’m going to enroll in college,” Nikki said.

  Rachel smiled. “I just love it. I’m so glad to see you! How are you, are you all right?”

  “Have a drink first,” Nikki said. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “Perrier, please,” Rachel told the waiter. “With ice and lime. I have to study this afternoon,” she said to Nikki. “Each one of my professors thinks his class is the only one anybody takes.”

  “Robert has started staying over in my apartment,” Nikki said.

  “Well, that’s wonderful! I knew he’d come around. Did he say it was beautiful?”

  “Yes. He’s trying hard to be nice.”

  “But you seem worried.”

  “Do I look awful?” Nikki asked.

  “No, you don’t look awful. You just look as if you’ve been under a strain. Nobody would notice it who didn’t know you as well as I do.”

  “I’m going to tell you something in the strictest confidence.”

  “Of course,” Rachel said.

  “I’m having an affair with John Griffin. Robert doesn’t know.”

  Rachel beamed. “That’s fantastic! I’ve always had a crush on John Griffin, he’s my favorite actor. You ought to be happy. He can have any woman in the world and he picked you. Is he nice?”

  “Yes, he’s nice.”

  “Is he good? Oh, I shouldn’t ask that, I take it back.”

  Nikki thought it was interesting that Rachel didn’t ask her if she was in love with him or he with her. Obviously Rachel was wiser than she appeared. Ellen would have assumed wild love, and Margot would at least have asked. “Yes, he’s good,” she said.

  “It’s difficult for you, isn’t it,” Rachel said sympathetically. “Some women thrive on affairs, but not you. I couldn’t handle it, I know.”

  “It’s not the juggling that’s hard,” Nikki said. “I’ve always been very efficient and calm. It’s not even the guilt. I faced the guilt when I decided to keep on with John even though Robert had come back. What’s so difficult is … I want it to work with Robert, I really do, but I have this feeling that what’s making it work is … well, John. I mean, he’s a crutch for me in a way. He makes me feel sure of myself. And Robert senses that security and it makes him afraid he’ll lose me. So he tries to be nicer.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. It will all take care of itself eventually.”

  “That’s what’s making you so exhausted,” Rachel said thoughtfully.

  “What is?”

  “Letting ‘it’ take care of itself. You’re not
the kind of person who can let other people run your life for you, Nikki. Maybe once you were, but not now. You have to feel in control of your life. We all do.”

  “I can’t control either of them, but I don’t want to,” Nikki said. “I could send John away—that’s control. But I can’t make him fall madly in love with me and ask me to leave my husband, and I wouldn’t want to. Robert is being wonderful, but I don’t ever feel it’s permanent. I think he’s just trying to get me back. If he could convince me that he really takes me seriously—my worth, I mean—then I’d feel safe again. I just haven’t felt safe for such a long time.”

  “What exactly do you want Robert to do?”

  “I don’t know. He’ll have to do it, and then I’ll know.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Robert?” Nikki said.

  “Yes. Do you love him?”

  Nikki thought for a few moments. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m so tired. Sometimes I wish both of them would go away and leave me alone.”

  Ellen had faced the early Labor Day weekend with foreboding, knowing it meant the end of summer and that Reuben’s wife and two children would be coming back to the city. All over New York the summer bachelors were getting their winter divorces from their girl friends, relegating them back to the five-thirty quickies, the after-dinner “walks,” the endless waiting for phone calls. Ellen expected more from Reuben, but it was important to leave the arrangements to him. Now she was testing him. He did not fail her.

  He had a bachelor friend who lent him an apartment. Ellen and Reuben met there for lunch or after work every weekday, and on Fridays they took the afternoon off and met there right after lunch. Ellen made sure that the bachelor friend of Reuben’s did not know whom he was taking there, had never heard of her in fact. It was a pleasant little apartment—a bedroom, a living room, and a kitchen—but it had a temporary look. The man who lived there had been through a divorce that stripped him of most of his material possessions; he had heavy alimony and child-support payments, and his apartment was furnished with castoffs. Ellen felt this was an unwholesome atmosphere for her romance with Reuben.

  She bought some hardy green plants and set them in straw baskets in the living room and bedroom. They made a tremendous difference. At least the place didn’t look as if whoever lived there had given up. She said the plants were a thank-you gift for their host. Reuben bought a set of nice wine glasses and a Lucite cooler.

  “I don’t know how anybody can live like that,” Ellen said. “He ought to get a girl friend. Bachelors have the shortest life expectancy of anybody, and I can see why. Did you look in his refrigerator?”

  “You’ve made a difference just being around,” Reuben said. “You always make any place you’re in come to life.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “This isn’t the best arrangement,” he said, “but I thought it would be safer than a hotel. And nicer.”

  “I just want to be with you,” Ellen said.

  “And I with you.”

  The switchboard at Heller & Strauss was turned off at five o’clock and Ellen didn’t bother to give Hank or the girls her night line, so when she said she was working late they had to believe her. Some evenings she didn’t get home in time to fix dinner, but they went right along without her, scrounging for themselves. She was glad Jill and Stacey were old enough to take care of themselves. Reuben’s wife was used to his working late. The only difference in his life was that now he left the office early; he came home at the same time as usual.

  Ellen became aware of what a sacrifice Reuben was making for their affair in terms of time he had ordinarily spent working. In the afternoons when they met at their borrowed apartment he always had manuscripts with him, to take home to edit. He groaned over one that was a thousand pages long, saying he had hoped the paper shortage would have ended books like that. But he loved his work, even when he complained. He was excited by the business dealings as well as the creative part. “Look at this, the perfect disaster novel—I signed it for very little money, it needs a lot of work, but I can sell it for a good six figures to paperback.” Ellen wished she had something as interesting in her life to keep her busy. Part of Reuben’s mind was always on his responsibilities, but she was an adult now and she realized she wouldn’t want a man who ignored his career for her. She never wanted to be anywhere near another failure.

  What was painful was the weekends. Reuben immersed himself in manuscripts from the office, and tried to be particularly attentive to his two sons. He neglected his wife to the point where she worried about his health, never imagining it was because he was thinking about another woman. Ellen, who had no weekend work, took long walks, cleaned the apartment, and yelled at her daughters. She thought about Reuben. They had discussed accidental meetings at various believable places, such as a museum or a department store, but had then rejected the idea because it would be too painful to pretend. They longed for another whole weekend away together, even an entire night, but they couldn’t figure out how to arrange it.

  “This is much worse than I anticipated,” Reuben told her.

  “In what way?”

  “In every way. I’m obsessed with you. I can’t keep up this charade at home. I want to leave my wife and live with you all the time.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely …”

  “No, I’m not kidding. I mean it, Ellen. Would you leave your husband?”

  “I … hadn’t really thought about it except as a daydream. What would we do then?”

  “I’d marry you of course. I’m a man who has to be married. I want only one woman. There’s no reason not to be married if one doesn’t want to run around. I want you and me to have a real home, a life. We could sleep in the same bed together every night, take our vacations together, have all those weekends to ourselves. You’d love my kids, Ellen. And I know I’d love yours. We’d have a normal life instead of hiding like criminals.”

  All right, Ellen told herself, now you have to decide. You do what you’ve always done and break it off, or you play for time, or you make the move. This is it.

  “You look so miserable,” he told her tenderly. “Why do you look so sad?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Does my idea sound so horrible? If it does, I’ll take it back.”

  “No, don’t take it back. I like it. Would you really do it?”

  “I will if you will.”

  “All right,” Ellen said.

  She had no intention of telling Hank anything until she was totally sure of Reuben; in fact, she wasn’t really going to face the enormity of the whole idea until Reuben proved he meant what he had said. It was not that she didn’t believe him, he was the same as the others, but this time something more was required of her and she had to protect herself.

  On the last Monday of September Ellen and Reuben met at the borrowed apartment at lunchtime. They made love, as they always did, and then they lay in bed eating sandwiches and drinking wine.

  “I told her over the weekend,” Reuben said. He sounded almost too casual, but there was a catch in his voice that made Ellen sure he was telling the truth and was only trying to control his overwhelming emotion.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said goodbye. She’s a proud woman.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said I wanted to live apart from her and think things out. And that I feel our marriage is over. I didn’t tell her about you because she knows who you are and I didn’t want to make it any harder for you when you tell Hank.”

  “Did she ask if there was someone else?”

  “Yes,” Reuben said. “I guess that’s natural. I said there was, but I wouldn’t tell her who.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s your turn now.”

  “I know,” Ellen said. “I will. But where will you live?”

  “I’m moving out this weekend to the Salisbury. It’s a residential hotel on Fifty-seventh Street. I’ll have
a living room and a bedroom and bathroom and a real kitchen. We can live like human beings. You can move in with me this weekend.”

  “I can’t move in with you till we’re both divorced,” Ellen said, horrified. “That’s adultery. Your wife will name me corespondent, my husband will kill me!”

  “I guess you’re right,” Reuben said sadly. “I was moving too fast. But it all seems like a fantasy come true. I feel so free. I feel guilty of course, but I feel reborn too. You’re going to tell Hank tonight.”

  “It’s Stacey’s birthday this weekend,” Ellen said, remembering. “She’s going to be fourteen. We got her tickets to a rock concert, it’s her first big grown-up night out with her friends. We’re going to have a family celebration dinner before. I can’t tell Hank till after this weekend.”

  “Then when will I see you?”

  “I’ll spend the day with you Saturday and help you get your new apartment all fixed up. And I’ll come over Sunday morning and spend the whole day.”

  “And then we’ll have our own place,” Reuben said.

  “It is like a dream come true,” Ellen said.

  “Do you trust me now?”

  “Of course.”

  They kissed. “I want you to trust me,” he said against her mouth. “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll take care of you now.”

  They made love again. Sex was explosive. She thought of this man, a real man, finally taking care of her after all these years of being the strong one, and she felt herself melting into his soul with relief and gratitude.

  But afterward she thought that there were so many things Reuben couldn’t do for her even though he wanted to. He couldn’t leave Hank and the girls for her. She had to do that for herself. She was glad it was Stacey’s birthday on Saturday. It put things off a little. She would live for the moment.

  Reuben moved into the Salisbury Hotel on Friday afternoon. Ellen bought hardy green plants in straw baskets and put them in every room—the living room, the bedroom, the kitchen, even the bathroom. Dampness was good for plants. On Saturday she helped him arrange his things. There wasn’t much to arrange; he had put his clothes in the closets and dresser, his books and papers were scattered around on tables the way he said he liked it, and he had ordered in a supply of food from a nearby market. There were six photographs of his two boys on the dresser, all in thin silver frames. He had lined them up like a reproachful shooting gallery, directly opposite the bed. They christened the bed that afternoon. Ellen was glad he was facing in the opposite direction from the photos.