The Casanova Embrace

by Warren Adler

  He did not call back that day. Or the next. And, as always, the waiting took on the characteristics of a nightmare in which she saw herself as a fly trapped in a spider's web, her wings desperate for flight while her legs moved helplessly, entangled in the sticky strands. Then he called, beckoned her, and the hurt disappeared in his arms.

  "It is impossible to convey how much you mean to me," she said, her eyes feasting on his body, transfixed. "It is also a joy to be watched," she said.

  "Yes," he whispered.

  "Do you feel what I feel, Eduardo?" His hands caressed her hair, stroking as she bent down to implant a long, lingering kiss on his penis.

  "You are beautiful," she said, knowing that she had come to uncharted waters. "I live only for you."

  He said nothing. In reliving her moments with him, she tried to will in herself a sense of what he felt, what he was thinking. Which was where the abyss began. Do I really know him, she wondered, growing suddenly sad, thinking of the empty moments of her life away from him. Then she drew him inside of her.

  "Tell me about your life in Chile," she asked later. She had been greedy for him. Yet there was no surfeit. It was an endless hunger.

  "A life," he answered. She could sense his reluctance, but it did not deter her. She would continue to probe, she decided. It was her right.

  "And your wife?"

  "A wife."

  "And your child."

  "What can I say? A boy, Manuel."

  "Do you love them?"

  "I.... "He hesitated.

  "Is this too painful, Eduardo?"

  "It is unnecessary."

  "But I want to know about you."

  "Later."

  "It's always later. What of now?"

  "There is no now."

  "I am not made from such stuff," she said, entwining her fingers in his. "You are the central point of my life, Eduardo. I can separate nothing. My children, my husband, my other life. All that has no meaning whatsoever." She put her arms around him. "If I died now. In your arms. Right now. It would be enough. Can you understand that?"

  He did not answer. She could hear the beating of his heart, strong, rhythmical, powerful. Often at night, in her own bed, she had heard that sound. "Can you understand that?" she repeated.

  "I don't know," he said quietly, as if he had given the matter much thought. She felt his heartbeat change its pace. Perhaps there is a message there. And then his heart speeded again as he said suddenly, "Do you think I am cruel, Marie?"

  "Cruel?" It seemed an odd characterization.

  "Perhaps callous might be a better description."

  "You are confusing me."

  "I hadn't meant to," he said gently. Then he turned his head and lifted her face. "Whatever do you see in me?"

  "See in you?" She rose on one elbow and tried to probe beyond his eyes, which searched her own.

  "What is this quality.... "He paused, sighed. "It is an enigma."

  "Yes, that," she said. "Believe me, I have tried to understand it. One would think there would be a logical explanation. But I have given up on that. You are the sun that gives me life. I would die for you, my love."

  "Die?"

  "Yes."

  "I can understand that there are things worth dying for, Marie. That I can understand quite well. For a dream, for an ideal. I would gladly die for the cause of my country's liberation. But to die for me, a person. I think that's quite foolish. Schoolgirl nonsense."

  She wanted to be angry, but the heat of rage would not ignite. He does not understand. Perhaps it is because he is not a woman, she thought, giggling suddenly.

  "It is funny?"

  She let her hand move downward over his bare chest, caressing his penis, feeling the hardness begin under her fingers.

  "I was thinking," she said, wanting to be accurate, "that you don't understand because you are not a woman."

  He looked downward at himself, the mysterious hardening, perhaps feeling the strange flow of his blood into that part of his body.

  "Now there is an absolute truth for you." He smiled and she felt his body suddenly shake with laughter. "It is all so ridiculous, the human body. Why does it do things like that?"

  "I am sure there is some scientific explanation." She paused. But I would not want to hear it, she thought, moving her body over his, inserting him, feeling instantly the waves of joy, the sense of life.

  The image of their lovemaking was an essential part of her sustenance, a kind of refreshment that, like the reserves of a camel, could keep her alive for long periods in the desert.

  "You seem distracted," Claude had said politely a few evenings later at dinner, when the image had been particularly clear in her mind. He seemed carefully polite, avoiding any condescension, as if the wrong phrase, the wrong look might set her off again. If only he could look into her mind, she thought, wondering if the time had come to finally confess it.

  "Just tired."

  "Then perhaps it would not be the time to tell." Understanding was long in coming, as she fought to retain the image. Finally she looked up at him, saw him watching her benignly, smiling.

  "Tell?"

  "I have a bit of news." He was feigning innocence. It was a familiar pose and she knew that there was, indeed, something about to upset her life.

  "It is by way of an announcement." He seemed to want to squeeze the last bit of suspense out of his news.

  "Come now, Claude. This is ridiculous."

  His face transformed itself from innocence to disappointment. But once again, as he had been doing during the past few weeks of their domestic dilemma, he denied his instincts. She knew he was itching to be sarcastic and she enjoyed his discomfort.

  "You are looking at a new ambassador."

  "Ambassador." It had been the overriding goal of his life. To be an ambassador before he was forty. In a strange way, she felt jealous of his success.

  "Well, aren't congratulations in order?" She got up, as if in a dream, and went over to him, bending, kissing him on both cheeks in the French way. She felt nothing, even when he grabbed her and pressed his lips to her. She endured it.

  "You will adore Egypt."

  Stiffening, she stood over him, feeling a sudden deep chill. "Egypt?"

  "Quite an important deal for us," he said, perceiving nothing of her panic. "It will be in the Mideast where reputations are made. Finally." He paused. "Finally, we are getting the recognition we deserve." He was being the consummate diplomat now, creating the false humility of his trade. I can't bear it, she thought. A few months ago, she might have reveled in the idea of it, prepared the gift of herself for him, the ultimate act of obeisance and worship that he was expecting. Now the thought of what was coming was terrifying. The need for Eduardo overwhelmed her. We are coming to the moment of truth, she told herself. I will never go to Egypt.

  Later she let him extract what he might have construed as his "reward" for his success, letting her body be used without apparent purpose, for which she cursed herself, although she told herself that there had to be a reason for postponing the inevitable. Thankfully, it was over quickly.

  The next few days were barely endurable, and she hovered on the edge of despair, listening despondently as Claude made his plans known.

  "Thirty days," he said. "We will have to start preparing almost immediately. You have to begin the packing, the arrangements."

  She said nothing, and when three days had passed and she had done nothing, he said again, "Really, Marie. There are deadlines. Shipping deadlines." The packing crates had already arrived and were cluttering up the hallways.

  She nodded as if in affirmation. "I've got to get to it tomorrow."

  But when tomorrow came, all she could do was listen to the impending sound of the telephone, and when it rang she rushed to it only to hear the sound of a stranger's voice. This is absurd, she told herself, trying to gather her strength and end the drifting and uncertainty.

  By the time five days had passed and Eduardo had not called, h
er sense of endurance had vanished, and although she had made some halfhearted attempts to fill the packing cases, she knew she was merely buying time, keeping Claude at bay, waiting. He cannot expect me to have that much courage, she decided, taking the car one morning after Claude and the children had left the house and driving to Eduardo's apartment house. Ignoring the attendant, she walked past the desk and, taking the elevator to his floor, knocked boldly at his apartment door. There was no answer. She put her ear to the door, listening. No sound.

  She lingered in the corridor, pacing its length, watching his door, knowing how ridiculous she must have looked to the occasional people who passed her on the way to the elevator. She felt their eyes brush over her and sometimes she stared back at them with brazen haughtiness. How could they know her anguish?

  Later she waited in her car, watching the entrance, a posted sentry, feeling stupidly helpless, annoyed at her dependency. She watched the shadows lengthen as the sun swept westward in its great arc, feeling the chill as the light faded. She started the motor, waiting for the heat to come. Where was Eduardo?

  On the edge of the driveway, leaning against a tree, she saw a tall woman, her face an expressionless mask. Like her, she was watching the entrance to the apartment house, her hands thrust into the pockets of her trench coat. She seemed hawklike, predatory.

  Marie had noticed her peripherally at first, and as the day wore on and the woman continued to remain immobile against the tree, she began to inspire greater interest. It was only when Marie had gunned the motor of her car that the woman turned toward her, looking at her briefly, then continuing her vigil.

  Darkness descended quickly. The lights in the apartment house, like match flickers, suddenly appeared and the traffic along Massachusetts Avenue thickened. The tall woman's tenacity was compelling, the study of her a distraction. She could see clouds of vapor coming from her mouth as the night chill became more intense. The clock in the dashboard read six o'clock and Marie knew she should have headed home long ago. Vestiges of her old life, the old middle-class programming. The home! Motherhood! How she detested them. Claude would be arriving in a half hour. The children were hungry. By now, they had called Claude at the embassy, wondering where she was. Worry had begun, all the usual anxieties. But she remained strangely calm. Indifferent to their pain. She was waiting for Eduardo.

  Then she saw him. He was driving a car into the parking lot, passing in front of her car, his head slightly tilted as he searched for a parking spot. Shutting off the motor, she waited, watched as he maneuvered into a parking space, heard the slam of the car door. She got out of her car and her gaze was pulled suddenly toward the tall woman, who had moved deeper into the shadows, her eyes fixed on Eduardo. He headed for the lobby entrance. Marie moved swiftly, catching up with him as he entered the lobby.

  "Eduardo."

  "You." He looked beyond her. But her eyes did not waver from his. Eduardo punched the button of the elevator, showing some irritability.

  "I had to see you, Eduardo," she said. "I have been waiting all day."

  "I told you that you must never do this," he hissed. "They might be watching. It is dangerous." He looked up to check the progress of the elevator, which was moving at a maddeningly slow pace.

  "It is important," she pleaded. She watched his effort to control his temper. She felt her throat constrict.

  "Claude is being transferred to Egypt," she said. An older couple moved through the lobby, standing behind them, also waiting for the elevator.

  "Egypt?" He lowered his voice, obviously trying to achieve a casual air. She wanted to scream, but she held herself in, smothering the urge.

  "I cannot go, Eduardo," she whispered. "I will not go."

  "We will discuss it tomorrow."

  "Now," she pleaded. "Now."

  "Please, Marie."

  "What can I do? Tell me what to do?"

  "Tomorrow."

  The elevator opened and Eduardo stepped inside and let the elderly couple enter. Then he turned toward her once more, his eyes narrowing, his lips tight.

  "Tomorrow?"

  "When?"

  "At ten. I will be waiting."

  Then he stepped in and the door shut. She watched the numbers above the door chart the elevator's progress, felt the weakness in her knees as she tried to move, the feeling of abandonment a terrifying reality. Others had come into the lobby, pressed the elevator button, and waited. She tried to compose herself, confused by her own emptiness and his display of indifference. Surely, he cannot let me go. She fought for the return of logic. Perhaps I have endangered him, his work. The thought seemed to calm her as she moved toward the entrance, remembering the children. She saw a pay phone at the end of the lobby, and dipping into her pocketbook, she put some coins in the box and dialed her number.

  "Mommy." It was her daughter.

  "Mommy's fine. The car.... "She cleared her throat. "The car needed repairs. I am waiting for it. Take some cold cereal and tell Daddy I will be late." She did not want to say more, could not, afraid that she would soon attract attention. She hung up quickly and passed through the entrance, moving toward the parking lot again. She groped for her keys, then opened the car door.

  The woman was sitting there, watching her, her face shrouded in darkness. She wondered why she was not frightened.

  "Is there some mistake?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure," the woman said. Marie could feel her eyes probing her.

  "I saw you earlier," Marie said. "You were standing there." She pointed to where the woman had been standing.

  "We were apparently waiting for the same man." The words came through tight lips, but ejaculated in a tone of condemnation. There was no subtlety in it, executed like a missile aimed directly at soft tissue.

  "You?" She could not reconcile another woman's image in the context of Eduardo. My Eduardo? They are related in some other way, she assured herself. She could now make out the specifics of the woman's face, older, drawn. Many lines crisscrossed her skin. A sister, perhaps? What else could she be?

  "What is he to you?" Marie asked.

  "I was planning to ask you the same question," the woman said.

  "Who are you?" Marie felt that she was losing the edge of politeness. There was a snap of admonition in her tone.

  "Who are you?" the tall woman asked. Marie could sense a touch of rage.

  "This is ridiculous," she said with contempt. "You get in my car and then you ask me these impossible questions. You have no right, you know." She paused, glaring at the woman. "I wish you would leave immediately."

  The woman did not move, obviously contemplating a new tack. "I have been through this before," she said, a note of reconciliation in her voice. "And it is ridiculous." She seemed to squirm in her seat. "I don't mean to be belligerent, or even rude." The woman paused, marshaling strength. "It is Eduardo.... "she began.

  "What are you to him?" Marie snapped. Vague street sounds filtered through the air, but the silence in the car seemed dense, atrophied.

  "I am not sure," the woman said, with a tinge of sarcasm. Then came another ejaculation, wrung out of her depths, reluctantly. "A mistress?" she cried. "Is that the right word?" The question seemed rhetorical. It did not escape the stunned Marie.

  "What?"

  "A lover?" the woman persisted. "What does one call it?" A dash of bitterness was creeping into her voice now. "One of three. At least three."

  "Three?" It was making no sense at all. "What are you saying?"

  "Am I on the target?" the woman said. "Have I hit the mark?"

  "One of three." Marie whispered, accepting the inference, but denying the implications to herself. "And you are one?" She looked at the aging woman, who touched her face as if to hide the damage of time.

  "Is it so strange?" Malevolence hung in the air again. "I can show you one that is younger than you."

  "I really don't understand any of this," Marie said. It was time to run from this madness now. "And I think you had better go. I must
get home to my children, my husband. I have had quite enough...."

  "What is that supposed to mean?" the woman asked. Marie's efforts at denial were straining her. There was no place to run, she decided, feeling the emptiness balloon inside of her.

  "I think you should come with me," the woman said.

  "Where?"

  "To meet the other sister."

  "Sister?"

  "I suppose you think I'm talking in riddles."

  "I don't know what to think."

  "It is a riddle. I was merely trying to be delicate. But I'm afraid there is no substitute here for the truth, for the brutality of it. Are you prepared to be hurt?"

  "I'm prepared for nothing," Marie said, feeling the sense of surrender, still hoping for the miracle of a mistake. "Are you sure we are talking of the same person?" She felt a tug of trepidation waiting for the answer, which came quickly.

  "Eduardo Allesandro Palmero," the woman said. "The man you were talking to in the lobby just now. You are only one of the women in his life. There are three of us. Perhaps more."

  Yes, I can understand that, Marie thought, proud of her logic. He was not, after all, a newborn baby. A man with such power. Naturally, there had been others. She was calming now. She could understand this woman's anguish. An older lover. She was proud of her conquest now. She must be gentle. Sympathetic. I am the victor, she told herself.

  "One must learn to accept what is over," Marie said gently.

  "Over?"

  "He is an extraordinary man," Marie said, flaunting her present possession of him. "But why disturb his tranquillity now? There is much on his mind."

  "It still escapes you?" the woman said. "I mean he is my lover now. I mean he is the lover of this other woman now. And you?"

  It was a hurled gauntlet.

  "I think that is particularly vicious and offensive," Marie said with contempt. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

  "Come with me," the woman said briskly, businesslike. Despite her reluctance, Marie put her key in the ignition and gunned the motor, moving the car out of the parking lot.

  "Turn right here. The turn south on Wisconsin."