3
A week later, as Jack left the restaurant to head uptown to his mother’s, Ashton Hageman lingered over his coffee. He’d pulled himself together and morphed back into the dependable lover who never made demands and had no needs. Jack seemed happy with the recovery, literally patting him on the head as he got up to leave.
“You’ll see. Everything will work out. And you’ll love Pam. Call me tonight.” And then the humiliating pat. Ashton asked the waitress for a cup of coffee. He wasn’t going to waste any time rationalizing why it would be okay to continue a relationship with Jack, and why it would be devastating to his well-being to do so. He was hopelessly in love. It would be easier to leave things as they were and try to adapt. Breaking up with Jack wasn’t an option. He would rather die.
Jack had paid the check on his way out, so when he finished his coffee, Ash threw a tip down and left quickly through the back door. He wasn’t in the mood to run into friends and as the afternoon progressed, there was a greater chance that he would see someone he recognized from the close circle who knew Jack and Ashton as a couple.
It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. The leaves on the few trees along the sidewalk had changed and were beginning to fall, and chrysanthemums and pumpkins were everywhere. When he reached his neighborhood, he stopped at a corner store and sorted through a box of pumpkins displayed outdoors on the pavement, the closest he would get to a farmer’s market on the Upper East Side. He found a small, perfectly round one that had a little dried stem on top. It would be his one gesture to the season. Walking up Fifth Avenue, he was happy that he’d chosen this area to live in, rather than Midtown where Jack lived, or Downtown, which had the reputation of being more liberal than his neighborhood. He was isolated up here. His neighbors were older and wealthy. The women in his building doted on him, no one questioning why he was alone on weekend nights, or about the handsome guy who came by but never stayed long.
Arriving at his building, he remembered how lucky he’d felt to have found his apartment. At the time, he wasn’t even looking for a place to buy. He was out of college and wanted to stay uptown because it was where he grew up, his parents still close by. He arrived at Seventy-Second Street and walked the few hundred feet to his front door, the entrance to a prewar building that had been restored and renovated to classic beauty.
He got on the elevator, relieved to be alone, and the moment the doors slid shut he began to cry again. Grateful that the hallway to his apartment was empty, he quickly made his way to the apartment door. Unlocking it, he stumbled over the threshold, but not before seeing the view out his window. It was a straight shot from the door though the living room to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. He could see the tops of the trees along Seventy-Second; a few golden and orange leaves still hanging on, and the blue sky and sunlight between the buildings across the street. He put the pumpkin down on the floor and went right to the windows. They were surrounded by ornate moldings. The beauty of the windows brought unexplainable happiness to him. Possibly that was why he had failed so miserably at human relationships; the superficial beauty of a selfish man brought him the only joy he experienced. Leaning against the windows with his head resting on his forearm, Ashton breathed deeply; one, two, three breaths. The stress of the encounter with Jack lingered, but his resolve to deal with it, to shun the hopelessness of being alone and in love strengthened. He could see the East River and Roosevelt Island. Jack said their life together would not change much. Their friends would protect them from exposure; it wasn’t uncommon to have to hide relationships. The embarrassment of being in love with a married man was yet to be experienced. Nobody in their group gave it a thought when Jack was seen with women. But to marry Pam and still be dating Ash; well, he’d have to see how that played out, what his tolerance was.
He went to his bedroom and took his clothes off, getting into sweatpants and a T-shirt. Periodically, as he went around his apartment neatening up, he would start to weep. He’d stop what he was doing, sit down with his head in his hands, and sob away. After a minute or two, he’d calm down enough to start puttering again. He repeated the sequence all afternoon, straightening up his kitchen pantry, organizing cabinets, dusting shelves between bouts of heartbroken sobbing.
Around five, his doorbell rang. He walked to the front door and pressed the intercom. “Hello?” He spoke softly into the speaker. Who would bother me on a Sunday afternoon?
“Hello? You are kidding me, right? Buzz me in, goofball!”
It was Jack! Reduced to his grade-school vocabulary, but Jack, there at Ash’s apartment door, in the flesh. Not at Pam’s house in Brooklyn, where he should be, but on Seventy-Second Street and First Avenue. Ash pressed the unlock button and ran into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, splashing cold water on his eyes, hoping that the telltale redness wouldn’t put his lover off. Jack must have had to wait for an elevator because it took him a few minutes to get upstairs. Then, the pounding on the door.
“I can’t believe I don’t have a key,” Jack yelled. Ashton ran out into the hallway and threw the door open. He flew into Jack’s arms and they began to kiss in the open doorway. Jack slowly moved into the apartment, never separating his mouth from that of his lover. He shut the door and moved toward Ashton’s bedroom. Jack picked him up so Ash could wrap his legs around Jack’s waist. Ash could feel Jack’s erection through his suit pants and Ash’s sweatpants. He tightened his legs around Jack’s waist, pressing himself against it. Jack moaned, the vibrations of his voice, his mouth next to Ash’s ear, went down to his chest, into his heart, and Ash began to cry.
“I love you, Jack! I love you.” They kissed again as Jack walked backward and lowered the two of them onto the bed. He took his right hand off of Ash’s back and undid his belt and fly while he moved Ash around to his left side on the bed.
“I love you, too, Ashton. Oh God, I love you, too,” Jack whispered, his lips against the skin of Ash’s neck. “Take care of me first tonight, okay? Take care of me, Ash.”
Jack lay back on the bed and Ashton, still sobbing with a broken heart, knew the futility of their relationship, but didn’t care. He would take whatever crumbs Jack threw his way and give himself completely in return.
4
From Bay Avenue, Bensonhurst, any onlooker standing on the sidewalk could look up into the lighted bedroom window belonging to Pam Fabian. She was smiling, whistling a little tune, and twirling around her room, packing for her honeymoon. The style of the era was broad shoulders with extreme padding, narrow-hipped jumpsuits and pants, big hair, and colorful makeup. But Pam was wearing a classic, sleeveless shirtwaist dress with a wide belt and a full skirt that emphasized her tiny waist. She had on her signature shoe: comfortable ballet slippers. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail with a black velvet ribbon tied around it. Her wedding to Jack Smith was in three days. She had never been so excited in all of her life; the idea that someone as uninteresting and dull as she thought herself to be could be engaged and about to be married to Jack had an aura of unreality about it. Although they hadn’t seen each other since the previous weekend, they spoke on the phone constantly. Jack had a phone in his car, a luxury and a rarity in those days. Pam was the first person he wanted to speak to in the morning and often, the last one at night.
If he was aware that his mother was not thrilled with his selection of bride, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was as in love with Pam as he was able to be with anyone. Those last few days of bachelorhood before his wedding to Pam were packed with dangerous, aberrant behavior, reckless in its risk of exposure. He didn’t want her to know about his other life, but he needed to pack as much in as possible before they left for two weeks in Hawaii. Knowing that the chances were slim that he would be able to stay on the straight and narrow while he was in a hotel with her, he had already researched the area for activities that the more “adventuresome” tourist might enjoy and had discovered there was a lively and progressive escort service there. Thinking about the possibi
lities was more exciting than the actual wedding and honeymoon. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, though—an action that was the only attempt at self-control Jack would make. A realist, he was also a positive thinker. It was one of his theories that if you allowed yourself to question your motives, negativity would set in. He accepted who he was as a person, having rationalized that as long as he didn’t hurt anyone, what he did in his free time was inconsequential. What Pam didn’t know, couldn’t hurt her. Jack had deluded himself into thinking that he could live a life of deceit and never suffer a repercussion.
Since college, he’d rented a studio apartment in an area of town where he was free to come and go without being observed. His neighbors lived in the building for the same reason he did: it was discreet. No one in the building wanted relationships with neighbors. No one cared if he brought different women there every night, or every hour. Once Pam and Jack were married, they would move into the three-bedroom apartment he bought off Broadway in the Upper West Side. Pam had rarely visited his shabby apartment. Once he had the keys to their new place up-town, however, he took her there, both to get her input and to spend some time alone with her. They weren’t sexually involved with each other, but she wouldn’t have stayed the night anyway because she wouldn’t be disrespectful to her parents. Remarkably, her virginity was extremely important to Jack. He couldn’t stand the thought of Pam being touched by anyone else. He was going to put her up on a pedestal, where she would be safe and sound while he continued with his depraved and dangerous lifestyle. In contrast, Pam was eager to have sex and made it clear to Jack that although they hadn’t done it yet, she could barely wait.
“All I know is that I want you!” she told him when they were in a passionate embrace and Jack was struggling not to succumb to desire. “Is sex important to you?”
She had not dated much, preferring to be alone rather than spending one minute with someone who bored her to tears. But after the few dates she had accepted, there was always a struggle at the front door while saying goodnight. Her dates expected her to get intimate. Jack was the first man she’d ever felt anything physical for, any excitement or sexual desire. He was the first man she had introduced to her parents; the only one whose desire for her she had ever questioned.
“Pam, I want you, too,” he exclaimed. He was practically lying on top of her, kissing her, and she was returning his passion. But every time she allowed herself to really feel him, to let go in a frenzy of sexual feeling, he would pull away from her. “Sex is very important to me. But we should wait for our wedding night. It will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience,” Jack said, amazed as the words came out of his mouth. Where the hell did that come from? he wondered. He waited for her to ask if he had been with very many women, but she never did. She never questioned him about his past, or his life outside of where it meshed with hers. She didn’t seem to care. The trust she had for him, if that was what it was, was unnerving. But it didn’t make him want to change. He was unable to do so. So while he was with her, in her presence, he would become a different man, respectful, moral, controlled, and virtuous.
The night before the wedding, Nelda and Frank Fabian hosted the rehearsal dinner at the Smith’s mansion. They were grateful to Bernice and Harold for their generosity. The offer to host the event was made when Nelda expressed concern over the number of people she would have to fit into her tiny, Brooklyn backyard. Pam and Jack had six attendants each, a flower girl, and a ring bearer, and with the attendants’ partners, the parents of the ring bearer, family, and out-of-town friends, the number of guests would be well over fifty.
“I would be delighted to offer our house,” Bernice told her. “My kitchen and staff will be at your disposal. I would think for the number of people we have to include, we should hire some temporary serving staff. Also, what do you think of a caterer? What were you going to do about food if we had the affair at your home?” Bernice knew that the Fabians were in no position to hire a caterer, even for a small gathering. But for Jack’s sake, she would be sensitive to their status and not overbearing, as she was sometimes accused of being.
“We’ll start cooking and freezing now,” Nelda answered honestly. “It’s the way we do it in our family.”
Bernice thought for a moment. “I like that idea. Would you be comfortable if I helped?”
Jack, who was listening to the conversation, almost fainted. He had never eaten Bernice’s cooking. “Mother, I’m sure Mrs. Fabian has it under control. Let’s let her be in charge, okay?”
Bernice saw his concern and backpedaled. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But that’s a lot of cooking. How can we help? I have an idea!” she exclaimed. “Why don’t you allow us to hire caterers for the main course and you do the desserts?”
Jack resisted the urge to hug his mother in front of everyone. For all her faults, she had some good qualities. He wouldn’t have to worry about his future in-laws going broke cooking for their friends.
The night of the early June dinner was warm enough to use the walled garden for the party. The gardeners had transformed the space into a fairyland with twinkling white lights in the trees and candle luminarias winding along the pathway. White linen-covered tables were placed around the garden and a buffet table and bar were set up just inside the double French doors leading into the den. Bernice, looking radiant in a pale gold silk worsted suit, her hair perfectly coiffed in her signature French twist, took the mandatory stroll through the public areas of the house with her housekeeper, Mildred, and the leader of the temporary hired staff. The wedding planner hadn’t shown up yet. She looked with approval at most of what she saw, but took exception to the centerpieces on the tables.
“These vases look a little sparse. Can you find something to fill them out more?” Then she turned to the area where the band would play. “I’m not sure about this. Where will people dance? We should have thought to place a false floor out here.” There was an area of slate about twelve feet square that would have to do. “I guess this is as good as it gets. However, I’ll have a word with Robert Winegarten before the day is through.” She needed a drink, but was going to wait until the evening was well underway. As she was heading back into the house, Harold walked out. He wasn’t to be ignored; six foot six at the least and two hundred and fifty pounds, he had a commanding presence just due to his size and giant, balding head. Bernice went to him with open arms and a smile, and he greeted her in the same way. Observers would think that it was a happy, loving marriage. As they were embracing, Jack came up to them with a big smile on his face, too.
“Just the two people I wanted to see!” he exclaimed, a little too heartily to be sincere. “Hi Dad, how’d it go today?” Jack was in the same type of business as his father was—real estate demographics—and although he had left the family firm to start his own company, he did so with Harold’s blessing. Secretly, Harold was glad not to have to share a portion of profits with Jack. His son, William, would be graduating from college and then he would come into the company as a partner. There would be enough business for the two of them to continue to live comfortably, lavishly.
“Very good! Very good, thank you. We picked up another client today, thanks to you,” Harold boomed, reaching out to shake his son’s hand. “How’d that come about, anyway?” He wondered how it could be that his son was able to send business his way when there seemed to be so little of it anymore. Jack’s company was growing and it was overly generous of him to refer a client to Harold, whose company who did essentially the same thing as Jack’s did.
“I don’t have the time for it right now. They have a deadline that I know I can’t meet because of the wedding,” Jack explained. “It won’t be the last work they have, either.”
“Well, son, thank you. It won’t be forgotten, believe me,” Harold said. To the onlooker, the exchange was of a proud father and his grateful son. But the three of them standing together in a circle, mother, father, and son, knew that it was fictional drama for the benefit of those
in the vicinity. It was the way they always communicated when other people were around. Once the others were out of earshot, any dialogue between them would end. Jack was respectful to his father out of consideration for his mother. He wasn’t sure what was driving him to stay in a relationship with his family, except possibly for pride. He liked being a member of the Smiths of Columbus Avenue. He wasn’t able to admit to the society of Manhattan that the smoke screen he had developed for his survival was just that: a cover up. Jack had arranged his life so the horror of his childhood was a faint memory. If there was any pain left, it was buried so deep in his sexual escapades that it had become part of his fantasy life. Not knowing what normal was, he’d yielded to perversity for so long that it was normal to him. He would have to learn whether he could have a relationship of love and respect with a woman. But he knew he was excited about being with Pam and building a life with her. He didn’t allow himself to fantasize about her, about what she might be like in bed, because he didn’t want to taint the experience with any habits he had.
The family would walk to the church together in a few hours. It made him slightly sick to his stomach thinking about what they were getting ready to do. He loved the church they were getting married in. It was an old Gothic Episcopal church, candlelit and fragrant with incense. His mother was Jewish, but she wasn’t religious. She’d deferred to her son when it came time to choose a place for the wedding. When he was a child, he often ran to the church to hide in its sanctuary.
Prayers for the Dying: Pam of Babylon Book #4 Page 3
