The porter turned the key in the door for her, and she told him to set the bags down just inside the door and leave them there, as she tipped him and put a finger to her lips, for fear that Brandon was sleeping. He'd had a hard week with the trial, and he was probably exhausted. She tipped the porter handsomely, and turned on one small light in the living room of the suite, and closed the door behind her. Brandon was such a good customer that they almost always gave him a two-bedroom suite for the price of two king-size rooms, and she made her way through the living room of the suite now in the dim light, careful not to wake anyone up. There was no sound in the room beyond, and she was sure he was asleep. His briefcase stood near the desk, his jacket was hung over the back of a chair, there were several books and newspapers, The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, a Law Review, and there was a pair of his shoes, the loafers he often wore to work, under the chair where he'd hung the jacket. He was fairly neat at home, but in hotels he was never as careful.
She set down all her bags, and with a small smile, she tiptoed into the darkness of the bedroom. She just wanted to see him, and then she'd get undressed, and get into bed beside him. The room was dark as she went in, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that there was no one in the bed. The covers were turned back, and there were chocolates on the pillows. Brandon wasn't there. She wondered if he was with the girls, or still with Joanie talking about business again, or maybe he'd gone to a movie. He liked going to movies so he could unwind, particularly after a hard week, like the trial. But she was a little disappointed not to see him. She realized quickly though that this would give her time to shower and wash her hair, and she'd have time to relax before he got home, and they could go to bed together, possibly with a more interesting outcome. She had to force Jeff from her head again as she thought of it, and it was ridiculous but she felt unfaithful to him too now. It was a totally schizophrenic situation. But she would not allow herself to think of him, as she nicked on the light so she could get ready.
She took off her suit jacket, and went to hang it up in the closet, and as soon as she got there she realized why Brandon wasn't in bed. They'd given her the key to the wrong room. There were someone else's clothes there. There were half a dozen women's dresses hanging there, two of them fairly dressy, and a pair of jeans, and some shoes. And as she realized it, Allegra backed out of the closet quickly. She hurried back to the living room, to pick up her things before the people returned and were outraged by her intrusion. But as she reached the living room, she saw his jacket again, and the familiar shoes, and she went and looked at them again. She was sure of it. They were Brandon's. And the briefcase was his too. She'd have known it anywhere, and it bore his initials. It was Brandon's room ' but there were women's things in the closet. She went back and looked again, wondering if they were her things and he had brought them in case she'd join him, but that was ridiculous. These were the clothes of a woman who was at least four or five inches shorter. Allegra fingered the dresses, as though trying to understand why they were there. She was so tired, her mind refused to absorb what she was seeing.
She walked into the bathroom then. There was makeup, and gold slippers with little white feathers on them, and an almost transparent white lace nightgown. And as Allegra stared at it, the full impact of what she was seeing finally hit her. He had come to San Francisco with another woman. These weren't her things, they didn't belong to his daughters, who were clearly not there. And she realized he didn't even have a two-bedroom suite this time, as usual, to accommodate the girls. And the clothes she had seen were far too small to be Joanie's. These were clearly someone else's. But whose? That remained an unanswered question. As she looked around, she saw feminine articles of clothing everywhere, panty hose on the bed, a bra over the back of a chair, panties next to the sink. Allegra wanted to scream as she looked at all of it. What had he been doing? What had he done? And for how long? How many times had he fooled her? How many times had he come to San Francisco with someone else, while telling her that he wanted to be alone with his children? She had never suspected it, not even for a minute. She had always trusted him. And he had cheated and lied. And there had been plenty of opportunity for him to do it in Los Angeles too. Jeff's face loomed into her head as she thought of all of it. She had been consumed with guilt over a few kisses, and left a man who claimed to be seriously interested in her, all because she felt such an obligation, and a bond, to Brandon. And all the while he was a cheat and a liar. Hot tears stung her eyes as she continued to look around. But there was no more to see, and she knew she didn't want to be there when they returned from dinner.
Her face blazed as she thought of all the times he had been so aloof, and needed space, and had to be alone, and could never make a commitment to her. No wonder. He was a complete bastard.
Juggling all her bags awkwardly, she hurried from the room, and rushed to the elevator, praying that they wouldn't come out of it just as she was leaving. But the elevator was empty when she got in, and she went all the way downstairs to the California Street entrance, and hurried outside to look for a cab, knowing full well it might take a while for her to find one. Taxis in San Francisco were not as easy to find as they were in New York, and most of them would be waiting at the hotel's main entrance. But that was the last place she wanted to be now. She didn't want to run into Brandon as they came back from wherever they'd been. And she stood on California Street, holding her bags, as the cable cars lumbered by laden with tourists. She looked up at them with eyes filled with tears and anger.
It was beyond incredible what he'd done to her. He'd been cheating on her, and God only knew for how long. The master of noncommitment had been spreading himself around.
She finally saw a cab, and dropped her briefcase to hail it, and the driver got out to help her organize her bags.
Thanks very much, she said distractedly, and got into the taxi.
Where to?
The airport, she said as her voice shook, and she covered her face with her hands.
You all right, miss? He was a nice old guy, and he felt sorry for her. She looked like a little kid running away from home.
I'm fine, she said, her face awash with tears, as they drove back the way she had come less than an hour before, and as she looked down, she saw that she still had the room key in her hand. She dropped it on the seat next to her, and stared out the window, wondering for how long her life with him had been a lie. She tried to think back to all the times he had said he had to come and see the children, and the other times when he had said he needed to be alone and have some space. Looking back on it, she wondered if he had always cheated on her right from the beginning, if this was just a very old game with him, and part of his lifestyle.
They got back to the airport again in twenty minutes, and the driver helped her out of the cab. Where are you going tonight? he asked her gently. He was an old man with a paunch and a bushy mustache. But she was such a pretty girl, and she had cried all the way to the airport. He felt sorry for her, and he wanted to help her.
Back to L.A., she said, fighting to regain her composure, but it seemed hopeless as she reached into her bag for a tissue and blew her nose. I'm sorry' . I'm really fine, she said apologetically.
Honey, you don't look it. But everything's gonna be okay. You just go on home. Whatever he done, he'll be sorry in the morning, he said, assuming she'd had trouble with a man. But Brandon would never be as sorry as she was that night.
She thanked him and walked into the terminal, only to be told that she had missed the last flight. The last flight for L.A. left at nine o'clock. It was after midnight, and all she could do now was sit in the airport and wait for the first flight the next morning. There wasn't even anyone there to check her bags for her. They suggested she go to the airport hotel, but she didn't even want to do that. She didn't want to go anywhere. She just wanted to sit there. She had a lot to think about, and for a fraction of a second, she thought of calling Jeff. But that didn't seem right e
ither, whining to him after all she'd put him through in New York. She had made him sweat for every one of her kisses, while Brandon was probably getting laid all week. She couldn't help wondering who the girl at the Fairmont had been, but she had been too taken aback to try to look for identification, or her name anywhere. It had been such a cozy scene, with her underwear and her see-through nightgown. Allegra still couldn't believe what she'd seen. She had felt like an intruder, and she was only grateful they hadn't walked in on her. That would have been the last straw. Or worse yet, if she had walked in on them while they were in bed. Just thinking about it made her shudder.
She rented a locker and put her bags in it, so she could get a cup of coffee and not have to drag them around with her. She started to feel calmer after a while, and for a little while she got really angry, but most of the time she felt just plain sad. She thought about calling her mother and telling her, but her mother disliked Brandon so much, she didn't want to give her the satisfaction of telling her he'd been cheating on her all along. Or had he been? There was no way to know now. And she doubted that he'd be honest with her. For the moment, he didn't even know he'd been caught red-handed.
She drank five big cups of black coffee, and stayed up all night, reading magazines, thinking about him, and wandering around. She thought about writing him a letter, and telling him everything she felt, but that didn't seem strong enough. She didn't know what to do. She could have gone back to the Fairmont, or called him to see what he'd say. She could have done a lot of things, but most of all, she just wanted to go home and think about it.
She sat and watched the sun come up, and she started to cry again as she thought of him. And she felt like a madwoman when she got on the first plane at six o'clock. There were a handful of what looked like businessmen, and a couple of families, but it was Saturday and there was hardly anyone on the flight at all.
The stewardess poured her another cup of coffee and gave her a breakfast roll, which she never touched. She felt completely wrung out. She'd been traveling for almost twenty hours by then, and she looked every bit of it when she finally got off the flight. It was seven ten, and once again she got a cab from the airport. This was the third airport she'd seen in less than two days. She lay her head back against the seat, as the taxi drove her home, and at eight o'clock she walked through her front door. She'd been gone for nearly seven days, and she'd half fallen in love with a man three thousand miles away, and found the man she had been devoted to for two years cheating on her. It had been a rough week, particularly since the night before in San Francisco.
She set her briefcase down, and stood looking around. There was a stack of mail on her desk the cleaning lady had left for her, and her answering machine was almost full when she turned it on. There were the usual messages from the dry cleaner about a jacket they couldn't repair, the laundry about the pillowcases they'd lost, a health club that wanted her to enroll, the garage where she bought tires for her car. Her mother had called the night before to see if she wanted to have dinner with them on Sunday night, and Carmen had called to say she was staying at a friend's. She had left a number that Allegra knew she'd heard before, but she didn't quite remember it, and it went by too fast anyway. And then at the very end, Brandon had called. He said he was going to San Francisco to see the girls, they had pled at the trial and ended it early, and the girls really wanted him to come up. He was sure she was tired after a week in New York, and had a lot of catching up to do. And he would see her on Sunday night when he got back. She wondered if he would bother to call her again, or if he thought that covered it. And she wondered too if he thought she might call him.
She had no intention of calling him, or anyone else at the moment. She wanted to be alone, to lick her wounds, and decide what had to be done. She wasn't sure yet how she was going to tell him. But it was pretty straightforward, there was no mystery to what he'd done, and she couldn't imagine continuing the relationship beyond that.
She unpacked and put her clothes away. She made herself some toast, and a cup of tea. She took a shower and washed her hair, and tried to achieve some kind of normalcy, but all the while there was a constant, almost physical ache in her heart. It felt like something she was carrying deep inside her, as though something had broken inside as she looked at Brandon's girlfriend's bra and her see-through nightgown.
She called her parents at ten o'clock that morning, but she was relieved when they weren't there. Sam said they were playing tennis at the club. Allegra told her only that she was fine, and had just gotten back from New York that morning, but she had too much to do to come to dinner on Sunday night.
Tell Mom for me, will you, Sam?
Sure, she said offhandedly, and Allegra immediately worried that her mother wouldn't get the message. Samantha did that sometimes if she had more important things on her mind, like a party, or a boy, or a shopping spree with a girlfriend. Don't forget, will you, please? I don't want her to think I didn't call her back.
Well, listen to Miss Important. Your messages aren't such a big deal, you know, Allie.
Maybe they are to Mom.
Relax, I'll give it to her. How was New York, by the way? Did you buy anything? Yes, a book by a man I met and went ice-skating with. '
I didn't have time to do any shopping.
Bummer. That's no fun.
It wasn't really a fun trip. I was working. But there had been more than work involved. How's Mom?
Fine. Why? Sam sounded surprised that Allegra had asked her. It never occurred to her that something might be wrong. At seventeen her entire world was bordered by her own interests, and currently her parents were low on her scores.
Is she okay after not getting the award?
Sure. Sam shrugged. She never said anything. I don't really think she cares, which only proved to Allegra how little Samantha knew their mother. Blaire was a perfectionist, and a high achiever, who worried about every little detail. Allegra was sure that she had agonized about not winning the award, but she was too proud to say it, and, of course, seventeen-year-old Sam was completely unaware of their mother's feelings. This was her senior year, and all she could think about was modeling and shopping, and her excitement over going to college.
Tell her I'll call her when I have time, and send my love to Mom and Dad.
Gaaad ' anything else you want me to write down?
Knock it off.
You're in a crabby mood.
I was at the airport all night. Not to mention what had happened with Brandon. And she was in no mood to take any guff from a seventeen-year-old girl.
Sorreee '
Good-bye, Sam. She'd had enough by then, and after she hung up, she thought about it for a while, and decided to call Alan. But he was out and there was no answer there.
She would have liked to talk to him about what had happened. He didn't like Brandon particularly, but he was always fair. And eventually, she wanted to talk to him about Jeff too, and see if he thought she was completely insane for the way she was feeling about a relative stranger.
By noon she was so worn out, she couldn't even think straight, and she finally gave up and lay down on her bed. No one called her, the doorbell never rang. Brandon never even called to see if she'd gotten home from New York all right, and she woke up six hours later. It was dark outside again, and she felt as though she had a ten-thousand-pound weight on her chest and a bowling ball in her stomach. She lay on her bed for a long time, looking at the ceiling, thinking about him, and as she remembered what had happened, tears slid slowly from the corners of her eyes and down her face. The night before had been miserable for her, and she couldn't even think of what to do now. She didn't want to go on, or start again, or trust anyone ever again. Jeff was probably just another one of them. That was all she picked, men who avoided her and hurt her, men who couldn't give and eventually ran away. The only man in her life who had never hurt her, or run away from her, was Simon Steinberg. He was the only man she could trust, or even dared to love. And she
knew to her core that he would never betray her.
And now she would have to confront Brandon. It was all so tiring, she couldn't bear to think about it. She didn't want to see his face or his eyes when he lied to her. She would have hated him for it.
She didn't even bother to eat that night, she just lay there, alternately crying and sleeping. She did a lot of both, and when she woke again the next day, on Sunday morning, she finally got up. She felt as though her whole body had been beaten, she ached from head to foot, and she wasn't even sure why. Her outsides hurt almost as much as her insides, and she still had the same dull ache in her heart. She didn't want to talk to anyone, and when Carmen called, Allegra didn't even pick it up. She was giggling and laughing, so Allegra knew she was all right. Allegra didn't pick up a single call until Brandon finally called at four o'clock on Sunday.
She picked up the phone as soon as she heard him. She wanted to get it over with, and he had said he might come to see her that night when he returned from San Francisco.
Hello, Brandon, she said calmly. Her hand was shaking terribly, but there was nothing even remotely suspicious in her voice as she answered.
Hi, babe, how are you? How was the flight from New York?
Fine, thanks. She was cool, but not vicious, and he just thought she was distracted by her work. He was that way sometimes too, and to him it seemed normal.
I called Friday afternoon, but I guess you hadn't gotten in, he said in a relaxed voice.
I got the message. Where are you? She was getting tenser.
the Wedding (2000) Page 16
