Riverside Drive

by Laura Van Wormer

  For a little while, she had thought she could learn. But then she had embarked on her little adventure of trying to sort out Mrs. Goldblum’s affairs and had quickly felt as hopeless as ever.

  (“Ha-ha-ha,” laughed the man at the Social Security office. “You are very funny, Miss Miller.”

  (“I’m glad you are amused, Mr. Onai, but I can hardly pretend my wish in coming here was to entertain you. I really don’t know what Social Security is, or what it means, beyond the obvious—that it’s something that allegedly reassures society.”)

  No, about all Amanda could manage—barely manage at that—was to hire people to cope with life’s difficulties for her. Even then, as with Mrs. Goldblum’s affairs, Amanda had had to turn to her mother for help simply to enlist the aid of Mr. Osborne—Mr. Osborne, her very own estate attorney!

  Howard replace Melissa with her? Melissa, brilliant and powerful and capable Melissa? Melissa, the woman who had been supporting Howard for eight years in his every endeavor? Strong, dominating, opinionated Melissa?

  How could Howard ever be happy with Amanda?

  Howard let himself into Amanda’s apartment and found her sitting in the living room, drinking a glass of orange juice at the tea table by the window. Her face fell when she noticed his suit. “What has happened?” she asked him, holding the edge of the table.

  His answer was to stride over, sweep Amanda up in his arms and bury his face in her neck. “Oh, God, how I’ve wanted you all day,” he whispered.

  She allowed herself to be held.

  He kissed her, deeply, kissed her neck and ear, and kissed her on the mouth again. He held her tighter. “What’s wrong?” she persisted.

  He released her. “Oh, hell,” he muttered, turning away. A step later he turned back toward her, running a hand over his jaw. “Melissa turned around and came back. She was there waiting for me. We got into a fight and she accused me of wanting to sleep with Cassy Cochran and I told her I’d had it. And I left. And here I am.” He grinned suddenly, pulled the Jockey shorts out of his pocket and twirled them around in the air on his finger. “Guess who’s got the whole night off?”

  “You don’t have to go home?”

  “Nope. I’m spending the night, ‘cooling off.’ I could kill for a beer. You want one?” he asked, heading for the kitchen.

  “No, thank you,” Amanda said, slowly sitting down in the chair.

  “I told her I’d check into a hotel,” he called from the kitchen. Laughter. “Knowing Melissa, she’ll be over at the Cochrans’ looking for me.”

  Amanda was looking out the window. There were amateur firework displays taking place along the New Jersey banks of the river.

  “I’ll have to call her in an hour or so. Or maybe I should call now and get it over with.”

  “Why do you have to call her?”

  “Said I would,” he answered, coming back in. He kissed Amanda’s forehead, stroked her hair twice, and then sat down across the table from her. “The only drawback’s tomorrow morning. God knows what that’s going to be like,” he said, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He sighed, putting the glasses back in place. “Hey, what’s with you? Why so glum?”

  “Howard,” she said, voice tentative.

  “What?” He leaned across the table to take her hand.

  Amanda exhaled slowly, thinking. “Howard, maybe it would be better if you did check into a hotel.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  Amanda sat back in her chair, withdrawing her hand. “I—” She looked at him. “I think you do have some thinking to do about Melissa. Maybe sleeping here with me is not the best preparation for your talk.”

  “Our talk? Oh, hell, Amanda, Melissa and I don’t talk. We yell at each other.” Pause. “I want to be here with you. We planned on it, remember?”

  Amanda rose from her chair and stood at the window, tracing the sash with her fingers. “Howard. Don’t you think the time has arrived that you need to talk to Melissa? About your marriage, about your relationship?”

  A long sigh. “There’s not much to talk about.”

  “But don’t you owe it to her?” She looked out at the horizon.

  “I—” A long silence. Howard rose from his chair and came up behind Amanda, slipping his arms around her waist. He rested his head on her shoulder. “There is only one thing I have to say to Melissa and you’re right, now is the time.”

  Amanda waited.

  He gave her a squeeze, briefly kissing the side of her face. “I’m going to go tell her right now.” He released Amanda and headed to leave. Amanda whirled around.

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  He turned, smiling, walking backward. “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  “Wait, Howard—”

  “Let me get it over with, Amanda, and then I’ll be back,” he called from the hall.

  “Howard!” Amanda tore out of the living room. “Howard, wait!”

  He was waiting, hand on the front door.

  Amanda hung back, struggling to say something. Finally, “What are you going to do?”

  He smiled, pushing his glasses. “I’m leaving her,” he said.

  “Leaving her for where?”

  The question hung in the air.

  Howard released the doorknob and came toward her. “Amanda darling,” he said, reaching for her.

  Amanda pulled back from him.

  He was surprised. Collecting himself, he said, “It’s very simple, really. I love you, Amanda. I loved you the first day I talked to you. I can’t pretend Melissa means anything to me now—anything but a reminder of how many years I’ve wasted.”

  Amanda folded her arms and looked to the floor.

  “Darling, don’t be frightened.” When she failed to say anything, to look at him, he said, “I can’t miss the chance of making a life with you.”

  “Don’t say that, Howard,” she said. Pause. “Having sex for a month is not grounds for making a life with someone.”

  He stepped over to her and wrapped his arms around her. She just stood there, arms still folded. “But I know you,” he whispered, “you know I do. And I know that I love you like I’ve never loved anyone.”

  “Don’t say that, Howard!” Amanda suddenly cried, pushing him away. “It only shows me how little you know about what you’re doing!”

  “I do know what I’m doing—for the first time in years.”

  “But you don’t, Howard,” Amanda said, backing down the hall. “You think you can swing from one vine to another, from Melissa to me. And, Howard, Howard—this vine, me. is not attached to anything. There is nothing to support you here. Nothing like what Melissa has given you.”

  He jerked his head to one side, jamming his hand into his pocket. “Melissa has given me nothing but pain since the day I met her,” he said. His eyes came back around to her. “You just don’t understand, do you? I love you, Amanda. And I want you, Amanda. It’s as simple as that.” He sighed. “And I think you want me too.”

  She was shaking her head, tears starting to fall. “Oh, Howard,” she said, slumping into the wall. “Howard. I can’t replace Melissa.”

  “I don’t want you to replace Melissa.”

  “But you do,” she said, covering her face. “You think that you can leave her and move in here with me and everything will be all right.” She sniffed, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “I can’t be the reason for you to leave her. You have to leave her because you no longer wish to be married to her.”

  “I haven’t wanted to be married to her for years!” he shouted, slamming the wall with the side of his fist.

  “Then why have you stayed married to her?” Amanda screamed, nearly doubled over.

  Silence.

  They stared at each other, breathing heavily.

  “Christ, Amanda!” Howard exploded, slamming his hand against the wall again. “Why don’t you just say it? Go ahead—say it! You don’t love me —you don’t think I’m good enough for you!”
<
br />   “No, Howard,” Amanda moaned, covering her face again.

  He took several deep breaths, pulled himself up and said, “It’s money isn’t it? You think I’m replacing Melissa’s money with yours. Don’t you?”

  “No,” Amanda said, shaking her head, hands still over her face. She lowered her hands. “It’s not money, Howard. What’s wrong with you and what’s wrong with me is not money.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with—”

  “We’re like children,” she said, backing down the hall another step. “We live like children do, Howard. Both of us. Melissa—my money—it’s all the same, Howard. Neither one of us knows what we’re doing, and we’re just wandering off like children, not thinking, not dealing, not facing any of our problems.”

  “Jesus, Amanda,” he muttered, turning away. “Jesus Christ. Children. That’s just terrific. You think I’m a child. That’s just terrific.” He pointed at her. “You, maybe, but not me, Amanda.”

  Silence.

  He lowered his hand. She was holding herself, shivering, looking down to her feet. He sighed. “I didn’t mean that.” Pause. “But it makes me angry to hear you talk like that. You know I love you. You know we make each other happy. And I think I know that you love me.”

  She raised her eyes, slowly. After a long moment she said, “We’ve done fine in there,” gesturing down the hall. Tears were falling from her eyes, but her voice was even, quiet. “But we’ve failed each other already. Can’t you see that? I wanted you to say, ‘I’m leaving Melissa, I will live by myself, and I will come back to you when I’m sure I want to get divorced.’ And you wanted me to say, ‘Move in with me and I will see you through the divorce.’ “

  Silence.

  “Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what we were both hoping for? Two entirely different things?” Silence. “You know I’m right,” she said, eyes dropping. “I want you to take care of me, and you want me to take care of you, and neither one of us can take care of ourselves.” After a moment she turned away. “You’d better go now.”

  He fumbled to get the door open and then stood there, looking at her back. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  “I cannot talk to you,” she said.

  “Damn it, Amanda,” he muttered. He hesitated and then said, “You want me to just disappear, walk away, as if none of this happened? As if I’m not in love with you? Is that what you want?”

  “I want you to leave me alone,” she said, back to him still.

  Silence.

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “What goes on around here on Mondays, anyway?” he finally said. “It has something to do with this, doesn’t it?”

  She whirled around, horror evident. “Oh, leave me alone!” she cried, stumbling against the wall and fleeing down the hall.

  He stood at the door for a long time. And then, after taking his glasses off to wipe his eyes, he departed.

  22

  HOW LONELINESS WAS

  AFFECTING CASSY COCHRAN

  Cassy was not having a fun summer.

  It was just as well—she thought, sighing, pushing the WST revised budget forecasts away from her on the desk—that things were so hectic at the station. It kept her too busy to think. Much.

  WST’s fiscal year had begun on May 1. And now, in late July, after twenty-one years, their transmitter in Weehawken had decided to go on the fritz. At the moment, a thirty-thousand-dollar jerry-rigged job was keeping it going and somehow, somewhere, Cassy needed to find four hundred thousand dollars to really fix it. Soon.

  Well, she could always organize another block party. One from here to, say, Philadelphia. Cassy pushed her glasses on top of her head, closed her eyes and pressed the bridge of her nose.

  She longed to call Henry. But she couldn’t. He was rafting somewhere on the Colorado River. Besides, she had already called him so much that he had offered to come home.

  “Dad called from Chicago.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t sound very good.”

  Dad didn’t sound very good. Dad didn’t feel very well. Dad wasn’t in a great mood. All of these expressions meant the same thing: Dad was drunk.

  “He hasn’t called you yet, has he, Mom?”

  Pause. “No, sweetheart, he hasn’t.”

  “Well, I think he wants to find a job first. Then he’ll call. I’m sure of it. He said he has a lot of interesting prospects.”

  Cassy wondered.

  She had been amazed last week, when she opened Michael’s American Express bill. Los Angeles, San Francisco, Houston, Washington, D.C.—his bills were outrageous.

  “Did you separate your accounts?” Sam Wyatt had asked her.

  “The credit cards, yes.”

  “What about your checking accounts, savings—”

  “Not yet, Sam.”

  “Cassy, you’ve got to do it. Otherwise he might clean you both out.”

  Silence.

  “Cassy?”

  “Yes, Sam.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t pay his bills. You’ve got to let him deal with the consequences of what he’s doing.”

  Sam made the whole thing sound easy. Easy, right. After twenty years, just cut her husband off.

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of drinking money,” Sam had said.

  It was closer to thirty, what Michael had access to, but Cassy was not about to tell Sam this. In any event, at the rate Michael was going, it wouldn’t matter if it were fifty. His American Express bill alone was over fourteen thousand dollars.

  The telephone rang and Cassy reached over to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello!”

  “Alexandra, hi.”

  “Hi. I’m just about to go on the air, but I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”

  Cassy smiled into the phone and sat back in her chair. “I’m on automatic pilot.”

  “But okay?”

  “I am okay.”

  “I’ll call you when I get home.”

  “Great. I’ll watch.”

  “Terrific. I’ve got to run—”

  Cassy hung up the phone.

  Life was getting increasingly strange.

  Cassy didn’t know what she would do without Alexandra. Cassy had often heard about people having friends like Alexandra, but she herself had never come across one before. (“Well,” Alexandra had said recently, “if you don’t tell anyone what’s going on in your life, and if you won’t let anyone do anything for you, of course you’re not going to feel as though you have many friends.”) This friendship had not been Cassy’s choice. It was Alexandra’s mind-reading ability that had created it. She seemed to know exactly how Cassy was feeling, what she was thinking, and outmaneuvered Cassy in ways that taught her that she could lean on Alexandra without fear of repercussions.

  Repercussions, yes.

  The night Alexandra said she thought she was falling in love with her, Cassy had handled it with all of the tact and aplomb of the exhausted wreck she had been. She had said she was sorry to hear it, thanked Alexandra for all she had done, and left the apartment with the intention of never coming in contact with her again.

  Cassy expected that kind of come—on from men but not from women—not Alexandra. Men almost always said they were in love with Cassy, a declaration that made Cassy want to yawn (unless, of course, it is true that a man’s heart is located in his pants), and over the years she had become increasingly adept at handling these hastily offered vows. Classmates, professors, bosses, colleagues, neighbors—Cassy’s beauty had been an open invitation for men to try their hand. Or so it seemed. Only a month ago a board member of Rogers, Dale & Company—WST’s parent company—had whispered his declaration of love during the dinner for WST advertisers held at the St. Regis. He was sixty, handsome, married and the father of seven children. Three days later a twenty-four-year-old trainee named Henton Ruddenvale had been on the edge of his seat in Cassy’s o
ffice, swearing that his future happiness lay in Cassy’s hands—could she come to love him too?

  (Actually, if the men stopped declaring love and started declaring what it was they really wanted, Cassy would pay more attention. The closest she had ever come to cheating on Michael was four years ago, when Morton Gillien, sitting next to her at a movie screening, had whispered in her ear, “You’re married, I’m married, but still, I’d love to fuck you silly tonight.” The words “fuck” and “silly” used in the same sentence, in application to her, were intriguing enough on their own merits to warrant Cassy’s interest. But she hadn’t gone through with it. Morton Gillien, however, to this day commanded a kind of respect from Cassy that the Messrs. I-Love-You never would.)

  This was not to say that Cassy had never been approached by women. On the contrary. But their overtures had always been polite, aloof, cautious invitations to get to know each other better—they never assumed Cassy would fling herself at them because they said, “I love you.”

  That night—the night Alexandra had said she thought she was falling in love with Cassy—Cassy had felt vaguely insulted by her. And, more than that, irritated that Alexandra had, in a way, betrayed her own sex with that kind of a come-on.

  After a good night’s sleep, however, Cassy had changed her mind and felt guilty. It hadn’t really been a come-on, she didn’t think; Alexandra had been too upset. And who wouldn’t be? Of all the people in the whole wide world, anyone who thought she was falling in love with a despairing middle-aged wreck, the wife of her drunken ex-boss...

  Well, good, bad or indifferent, Cassy had then felt the least she could do for Alexandra was to put her in the hands of a good psychiatrist who could teach her to distinguish between romantic love and infatuation born out of loneliness. Cassy had called Alexandra to make a lunch date, and then she had prepared a little speech.

  Poor Alexandra. She had sat there, not touching her food, listening to Cassy go on and on in a manner befitting the Queen Mother. The speech: Alexandra was new in New York, and lonely. She had a huge job to do, a new job, and not even Michael was there anymore to help her, teach her. You see, what Alexandra felt for Cassy was perfectly normal—Cassy was someone Alexandra admired, Cassy knew things Alexandra needed to know and, physically, she reminded Alexandra of her friend Lisa. By transferring her feelings from Michael and Lisa, who were no longer there for her, to Cassy, of course Alexandra thought she was falling in love with her. Didn’t Alexandra see that?