“Why do you stay then? Why does he? Why do you let him for that matter?”
Rosemary took another breath of smoke and looked at Karen simply, “Why should I deprive myself of nice things? Anyway, no matter how young they are, or what they give him...he always comes running back to me.” She took another sultry, lingering drag on her cigarillo. “Not that he gets anything from me!
He can’t divorce me; I would take too much! As time goes on, it only worsens for him. The more mistresses he takes, the more he fears a divorce!” She smiled devilishly.
“What about you?”
Rosemary blinked at Karen, “What about me?!”
“Did you ever have a lover?”
“I have one bastard already, why would I want another?!”
Karen snorted with laughter despite herself. This made Rosemary Dawson laugh. A deep, rich chuckle that was pleasing to Karen’s ears. She felt much better.
Later that evening, after the two ladies had supped and drank two bottles of wine between them, Karen asked what she should do.
“Let him tell you, trust me dear, he won’t be able to resist.”
“And what do I say?”
“Stay calm. Ask the questions you want answers to – who is she? Though I can guarantee it’s the secretary...it always ends up being the secretary.” She stuck her tongue into her cheek. She looked liked a lioness. A really pissed off lioness. “Who is she? How did they meet? Ask whatever, but never lose your temper! You need to stay the one in control.”
“And what if he says he’s leaving me?!” Karen couldn’t hide her rising hysteria again.
“Don't react. Your calmness will scare him to begin with. If he says that, and you still keep your composure, he won’t know what to do! He might just turn on his heels, go find the strumpet, end it and then come crawling back to you begging for forgiveness!” She hooted. “And you can make the probationary period as long as you want!”
She let out another cackle and winked at Karen.
“Okay.” Karen nodded and smiled.
“No matter what...we will look after you! You and the children can stay with us.” Rosemary smiled warmly and placed her hand on Karen’s pregnant stomach.
7
James was getting scared of his pregnant wife. She was not reacting to his continued revelation of infidelity. He realized he had made a huge mistake.
“Hold on, honey. I forgot something in the car.”
James half ran to the front door, tripping as he looked back over his shoulder.
Karen heard the car engine cough to life and then the unmistakable sound of a car racing off down the street.
James drove at an illegal speed to Jayne Pardew’s apartment. He stumbled up the stairs of her building on Bowdoin Street, Dorchester. He frantically palmed all of the buzzers until an occupant stopped the incessant ringing and let him in. James flailed at the door handle, finally using his entire body to open it. He flopped over the threshold and then continued his stumble up the stairs to Jayne’s door. James knocked on it until she opened.
“Who is fuc---James!” her scowling face now turned to something akin to a vampire lusting over her prey. Her bleach blonde shoulder length hair disguised this comparison. “Decided you couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s...dictation...?” She bit her lip suggestively, looking at James over her reading glasses. This was the look that got James all worked up.
She was just about to drag James into her apartment when he blurted out, “We can’t do this anymore!”
She stepped back in abject horror.
“What the fuck, James?! Don’t tell me you’ve developed a conscience!”
“I love my wife...” he paused and then turned towards the door, deciding he had said all that was required. He paused and then walked. His pace slow and deliberate; composed again.
“He did exactly what you said he would!” Karen said in happy disbelief.
Her mother-in-law shrugged, holding her hands up as if to dismiss this power of foresight.
“Men are primitive. They are very predictable.” She smiled and continued smoking.
Karen had gone to see Rosemary the day after the admission. She had thrown her arms around the woman as soon as she had opened the door.
James had returned less than an hour after he rushed out of the house, slightly less flustered but still sweating. He dropped to his knees in front of Karen who was in the kitchen washing the dinner plates.
“It’s over! I told her I loved my wife too much!” he held Karen’s hand as he spoke, pawing at it constantly.
“Who says your wife loves you though?” Karen showed all the emotion of a bag of rice.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but let me prove my worth! Whatever there is left!” He was pleading with all his might.
Karen pulled free of his grip and strolled out of the kitchen. She ascended the stairs.
She said nothing.
James waited several seconds before getting to his feet and following her route out of the kitchen.
“Darling...?” He ventured from the foot of the staircase.
A pillow hit him in the face before he could ask anything more.
Karen did not speak to James the following morning. He was up and out the door before she awoke.
Did he come in to get clothes? She wondered. Did he even shower?
It surprised Karen to hear the front door open at 6pm that evening. James had not been home this early in many years. James did not attempt to engage Karen in any form of conversation; he merely smiled as he entered the kitchen where she was preparing dinner.
James had flowers in his hand. He went to the cupboard under the sink and retrieved a vase. It was baby blue in color, a wedding gift from James’s parents; it had been very expensive, and the reason the couple never used it. He filled it with water. James then removed the flowers from their plastic wrapper. He placed the flowers in the water and then the vase in the center of the kitchen table and left without another word.
Karen heard his voice drift in from the living room. He was playing with Marcus. Marcus had recently started kindergarten and they had given him a game to play. It was one of those educational games they designed to teach whilst still being fun. That was what the teachers said at least, Karen thought it was a load of baloney.
Marcus was laughing. Karen peeked around the doorway. James was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the room, the board game set in front of him. Marcus squeezed himself into the gap in James’ legs. James had his arms around young Marcus’ waist as his tiny hands moved clock hands and words around the board. James was whispering in his son’s ear. He was laughing with him.
Karen moved back into the kitchen. She stood with her back to the wall. She leant against it. Karen closed her eyes and breathed a long sigh.
“You’re move, Kay...” she said softly.
8
James did not try and sleep in their bed that night. He came in while Karen was brushing her teeth in the bathroom. She thought he had slid under the covers. She was about to walk out and scold him, but as she spoke, the room was empty.
The pillows from his side of the bed were gone and the blanket that was usually folded neatly at the bottom of the bed was missing too.
She walked out onto the landing and hunkered down to look into the living room through the banister’s oak spindles. She could just see the right arm of the sofa but she saw pillows stacked at it. A head was poking above the blanket, rested on the pillows. The lights were off but there was a flashing multi-colored illumination on the prone figure. Music drifted up to Karen. The TV was on.
“Keep the volume down. I don’t want you waking Marcus...” she whispered through the bars. There was no reply but the volume of the TV slowly dimmed.
Karen contemplated her new marital position for most of the night. She had to stop herself from calling James to her.
Karen decided at about 3.30am to visit the bathroom. She didn’t need to go, but the trip was required; she was
slipping into madness just staring at the ceiling. As she sat in the darkness, pajama bottoms down by her ankles, bladder failing to empty anything, James appeared. He rubbed at his bleary eyes.
“Oh sorry...” he turned to leave but Karen called him back.
“I'm finished.” She got up and let him past her. She sat on the edge of the bath.
James dropped his pajamas and sat down. Karen had always found it funny that James sat down to pee. There were Polaroids in the attic she had taken of him with ‘his pants around his ankles’...literally. She couldn’t stop laughing while he desperately tried to hide his face, get up from the bowl mid-relief, and close the bathroom door all at the same time. That had been when they had first lived together in that cramped apartment on Brimmer Street.
He sat with his eyes closed; half asleep again.
“Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?” Karen suddenly said.
James startled awake, “Huh?”
“All this ‘sleeping on the sofa, buying flowers, home early and playing with Marcus’ bullshit...are you trying to guilt me into forgiving you?” She wasn’t aggressive. She was genuinely confused.
He rubbed his unshaven face. Karen could hear the fresh bristles scratching in the darkness. She missed his beard from their courting days.
“I told you. I want to prove my worth to you. I don’t need you to pity me. I want you to truly love me again.”
“Oh, Jay...I still love you...”
He yawned. “I want you to want to love me...not just be unable to stop loving me...”
Karen couldn’t see James’ face but she knew he was looking at her, his eyes wide open now, face stern.
The two of them sat in silence for a minute before James stood up and washed his hands.
“Goodnight, Kay.” He said kissing the top of her head.
Karen heard him floating his way back down the stairs again. She patted her hair down where James had kissed her.
Karen was still unsure of what to think or do; she thought she was in control of the situation. It seemed James had put her in check sooner than expected.
9
James’ good behavior continued for the following weeks and months. He was home early every night. He maintained a safe distance from Karen; showing her affection but not pushing for anything in return. He took her to prenatal class. He assumed the correct positions in the exercises; sitting behind her, legs either side, holding her close. When finished, he would promptly assume a non-invasive distance. They would drive home in silence.
James took Karen to all her ob/gyne appointments, holding her hand during examinations.
He suggested things he could do for her to relieve pain or stress; footrubs, baths, rubbing her back.
James had not been this helpful before Marcus’ birth. He hadn’t even been this helpful before the kids, full stop.
Unbeknownst to Karen, this upsurge in James’ attentiveness meant his dedication to the law firm waned. This did not go unnoticed by the practice. Following his swift dumping of Jayne, the office seemed an increasingly hostile place. Whispers quietened when he entered and stares did not avert gaze when returned. James was sure that people had known of the affair before. The office was ripe with adulterous scandal; an unspoken agreement of silence existed. James appeared to have spat on that.
While James had once stayed long after quitting time to work on cases; organizing witnesses, writing opening and closing statements and formulating arguments, he now worked solidly between 9am and 5pm, before leaving promptly.
He no longer took a lunch break, but opted instead to eat while he worked; packing a sandwich rather than going into the center of Boston for sushi (usually with Jayne).
Post office-affair, James would look at the clock in his office, then at his watch, register 5pm had arrived and calmly cap his pen, organize the various papers and photos in the appropriate piles and folders, close his notebook and set them to one side. He then collected his briefcase with whatever material he deemed necessary; it didn't really matter, he never worked on anything at home now.
James would don his pea coat and stride out of the office. He didn't bother offering his colleagues a valediction. He had tried the first few days since his dramatic change in attitude but when the only reply he received to “Have a nice evening!” was blank, almost horrified stares, he thought better of it thereafter.
James’ quality of work did not suffer; at least, not to his knowledge. The truth of the matter was that although James could not lessen his abilities as an attorney, his knack for winning every case assigned to him seemed to taper off. Where he had once convinced a jury in a Mafia-led hit, fully informed of the facts, that the case was a complete fabrication, he now failed to defend a client whose sole indictment in a charge of matricide rested on circumstantial evidence.
Cases like this one became more frequent and the partners at Wade and Wilson, who had once head-hunted the young James for his ruthless ambition, set about instigating his downfall.
Sophie was born in 1976. It is often said a parent should never have to choose their favorite, but Karen knew right away that little Sophie was her single ticket. Not that Karen did not love Marcus, God knows she did; the nights she sat up praying that her baby be alive to see another sunrise were countless. Karen simply connected with her daughter more. It may have been that she was a girl, or it could have been that Karen saw a lot of herself in the cutie’s chubby cheeks.
Sophie was silent most of the time. She never cried. Sophie slept through the night, except for one, when she developed a fever. She had been eight or nine months old.
Oh no! Not again! Karen had thought, reminded of Marcus.
It had barely been three hours before the fever broke. The little girl coughed one last time and turned over, falling straight to sleep. Karen sat with her the whole night through but the baby never re-awoke until the next morning; perfectly healthy and happy.
When Sophie arrived in the Spring of ’76, James was still winning cases. Three years later, the circumstances were very different. The series of events put in motion by his superiors had prompted a dramatic shift in James’ workload. At first, James didn't notice the lessened vocation, it made his new, more home-centric lifestyle easier to maintain. His focus was so narrowed toward Karen and the kids, that he didn't question it. When the New Year approached in late 1979, James had been assigned only one case in 6 months; previously he had worked on three or four at any one time. This sole case was his last for Wade and Wilson.
“And when you were given the money Mr. Holmes, what did you think it was for?”
James was standing in a small courtroom. A reporter sat at the back with several spectators scattered throughout. A bored judge rubbed at his mouth.
“Well sir, I was under the impression that Mr. Garrity understood the arrangement. I would not report his little misdemeanors to the authorities if the bill was tabulated appropriately.”
James was questioning his client; a bald, rat-ish looking man whose greasy face never seemed to be clean.
He could lubricate an engine with those pores, James often thought.
He had been accused of blackmailing a customer at his motel. The aforementioned customer was a Jeff Garrity, a traveling salesmen, who frequented the inns along his routes with underage girls.
Arthur Holmes told Garrity that he was aware of what was going on in his hotel. Instead of reporting it to the authorities, Holmes asked to be paid for the mini-bar usage. When Garrity said he didn't use the mini-bar, Holmes simply replied, “I know...”
Garrity, himself, was subsequently arrested and charged with child molestation, solicitation and possession of underage pornography. During his trial, he mentioned a name. That name was Arthur Holmes.
When the authorities questioned Mr. Holmes about his encounter with the accused, the not-so-bright man told them exactly what had happened. They promptly arrested him for obstruction of justice, accessory after the fact, harboring a felon, and finally,
blackmail.
James, despite all attempts to nullify the accusations that his client knew of Garrity’s actions whilst staying at his establishment, was left with an idiotic client who made it impossible.
James coughed nervously. The stenographer was typing away furiously. He could hear sniggers from the gallery.
“Eh, Mr. Holmes...you mean you wouldn’t report Mr. Garrity for his attempt to tarry payment if rectified?” James glared at his client, trying to garner some sort of intelligence from him.
“No, I meant I wouldn’t report him for screwing the kid!” he laughed and looked around for support. There was none.
James turned from the bench and involuntarily palmed his forehead.
Fuckin’ idiot.
How did this man survive infancy? James wondered.
Still facing away from the front of the court, James saw the reporter and the few unfortunate individuals who chose this case in a similar pose.
“No further questions, Your Honor.” James sat, deflated and sure of his impending unemployment.
When James returned to the office it was shortly after five. He did as he always had, and tidied for the weekend.
Monday would be the day for worrying and ‘consultations’ with the bosses. All he had on his mind was seeing his beautiful children and wife.
Karen had become more positive towards him recently. He had devastated their relationship beyond repair, but he hoped that they could talk one day without a tinge of spite.
James had behaved like a perfect husband and father these last three years and he knew Karen had appreciated it. He would work for another two hundred to have her love him again.
“Dawson!” A voice suddenly boomed from his office door.
James looked up startled to find one half of his boss – Wade – looking at him incredulously.
“Hello, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Mr. Wade?” Wade had told James to call him Gerald, but that was during his primetime at the firm. James reckoned this right was no longer applicable.
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