He took her to his apartment in the Bolton Hill area, which, as she’d suspected, had no phone, and stacks of unpaid bills scattered across the kitchen table.
“Are you in financial trouble?” she asked him.
At first, he avoided her questions, but eventually confessed that he was in debt and behind on many of his bills, including gas and electricity. As fall turned into winter, Catherine worried about his being cold.
Surreptitiously, she tucked some bills in her purse, paying them as soon as she could, but there seemed no end to it. To make matters worse, Leo showed little interest in conserving the few resources he had. She felt the old frustration surface—why didn’t he take better care of himself?
Still, the old chemistry was there. They talked, took walks. It wasn’t the passionate romance of two teenagers, but it was as close as it got for two fifty-year-olds as Leo showed her his favorite sights in Baltimore. And eventually, she started to see the old fire of Leo still burning inside him, although with a weaker flame.
They were affectionate with each other, but neither rushed things. The feeling of unity and the joy of companionship brought them together more than ever, the ease they felt in each other’s presence erased whole decades of the lives they had lived apart, and the feelings they’d once felt for each other were rekindled, almost as bold and fresh as before.
“Catherine,” Leo told her one night, “I’m happy you’ve come back. I was bitter about it for a while, but somehow when I see you, everything just fades back. Let’s not talk or worry too much; just enjoy being together again. Something very special happens when I see you; it’s like I’m floating.” Catherine held his hand and put her arms around his shoulders.
“I never stopped loving you, remember that,” Leo whispered. Catherine would not admit the same, though she knew it was true for her as well.
“But…” he started.
“What is it?” Catherine asked.
“No, there’s no sense talking about it,” he whispered.
As the weeks went on, she found herself more attached to Leo as she found new ways to pierce the sadness that hovered inside him. Catherine still seemed to know the right things to say or do to bring out the old Leo, if only for a short time. They found new interests to share as they went to afternoon movies, shared long lunches, although she tried to wean him off the sugary, fatty foods he loved.
On the eighth week of their renewed courtship, Leo greeted her with a fresh bouquet of lilies and black-eyed Susans, his apartment clean, and a lunch of wines, cheeses, and thinly sliced meats awaiting them.
“It’s lovely,” Catherine murmured, as she wriggled out of her coat and hat. Leo helped ease her out of her coat sleeves, hanging them on the coatrack beside the door.
“I didn’t even know you had a coatrack,” she said.
“I didn’t, either,” he answered. “I guess it’s a good thing I cleaned up.”
They laughed for a moment, but then grew quiet as he placed his hand on the small of her back.
“It’s good to see you, Catherine.”
She turned to look at him. There, in his large doleful eyes were the flecks of gold she remembered. Right then, she saw the spirit of who he was—who he had always been.
Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, he placed his lips on hers, pressed himself into her, as she felt the heat from his body shoot through her like a flame as she undid his shirt.
Minutes later, they lay naked in bed, her back curled into his stomach, as he traced the outline of her body, a body with a few more wrinkles but still the body of the only woman he loved.
Gently, he turned her over so they faced each other, kissed her mouth, her neck, then trailed his lips lower and lower until he reached her breasts, her body emitting desire like a heat wave.
“Make love to me,” she whispered. “Like you used to.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, as he guided himself inside her.
Her body succumbed instantly to his touch. No one had ever satisfied her as he could, and now she remembered why. They made love for hours—madly, passionately. Her nonexistent sex life with Walter, Gregory’s selfish lovemaking… everything faded and was replaced by one beautiful, explosive union between two souls.
Holding her close, just as he had done every day they were together, Leo told Catherine he loved her.
“And I love you,” she whispered, the first time she had confessed it since their reunion.
The holidays came too fast for either of them—first Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Catherine adored the yuletide season and looked forward to the streets of Philadelphia strung with festive lights and wreaths, but this year, it was all drudgery, as December’s busy social calendar interrupted her daily trips to Baltimore. Everywhere Catherine went with Walter, every holiday business and social function they attended, she wished she were on Leo Taylor’s arm instead.
All three of her children came home for the holidays. Leo, Lily, and Sarah bounded through the front door of the house, full of stories from academic lives, tales of difficult teachers and new romances (and, sometimes, both at once). Leo had fallen in love with a woman working toward her PhD in philosophy; Lily had a crush on the TA in her romantic poetry class. Sarah, the youngest of their children, focused on her studies and didn’t worry about love. An environmental science major, she lectured them all on the dangers of carbon monoxide and pesticides; they chided her about it but in a loving, good-natured way. Catherine was thrilled to be with her kids and took great pains to cook their favorite dishes, especially for Leo—her favorite.
As happy as Catherine was to have her children home for the holidays, she still thought of Leo and waited for the day she could visit him again. Although her family filled her with pride and affection, she longed for the abandon she felt only in Leo’s presence, the unbridled joy that reminded her how much was missing in her marriage… and how much she had sacrificed.
Finally, January arrived. The children packed their Christmas presents, kissed their parents good-bye, and set out back to school. Over breakfast, Walter asked his wife how her philanthropic endeavors were turning out. “I assume the charity work is going well.”
Catherine could tell from his tone that he didn’t much care. “Oh, yes, I can’t wait to get back to it.”
That much was true, as she had plans to go to Baltimore that very day. With a heady sense of exhilaration, Catherine resumed her commute for love.
But when she arrived at Leo’s apartment, it had grown shockingly dirty in just a few weeks’ time. Food was caked on old plates, wineglasses stained purple with tannin residue, and clothes wadded on the floor. A cavalcade of roaches made a beeline from the bathroom into the kitchen. She realized Leo probably hadn’t cleaned the place since the day they made love.
Couldn’t he make an effort to keep it more organized? As much as Catherine didn’t want to admit it, the things Walter had said years ago were still true. Leo was broke, despite being employed at the head shop, didn’t own a car, and even though he said all the right things, he didn’t follow through.
She tried to tell herself the changes in his physical appearance didn’t matter, but she missed the old Leo of yesteryear, and it wasn’t just the physical aspect, as he still was very attractive. Instead, it had to do with the lack of care for his health and responsibilities. He still drank, heavily at times, but now also ate junk food daily. Although his haphazard lifestyle had seemed alluring in their twenties, in their fifties, it seemed sad and nothing more.
But Leo’s reunion with Catherine gave him a lift, just as racing cars used to do. It allowed him to focus on something—or this time, someone—he was passionate about. Catherine’s dissatisfaction with his lifestyle was palpable, so Leo set about making changes, cleaning his apartment, shaving his beard, and cutting his hair. She bought him new clothes and a book on how to eat more sensibly, and for the first time in life, he learned to cook, testing new recipes on her when she
came to visit.
But they never talked about her family situation or their plans—each was afraid of ruining their little dream again and having to face the reality of their situation. One day in January, Leo cleaned out all the wine and liquor from his apartment and put it in a big garbage bag at the front door.
“I don’t need it anymore,” he explained. “I need only you.” Yet, through all this time, she sensed a brooding darkness linger inside him, as he would, at times, distance himself and settle in the dark corner with his glass, silent and withdrawn. Catherine learned just to leave him to himself, and usually, he’d come out of it by the end of the day, but sometimes, it took longer.
Eventually, they talked about their situation, Catherine mentioning she couldn’t leave Walter because of the kids. Besides, she had the freedom to drive to Baltimore five days a week if she so chose. They could walk around the city, but often, they stayed in Leo’s apartment, talking, holding each other, or making love, confident that they could carry on like this forever.
Catherine drove to Baltimore three to five times a week throughout the winter. But in April, things began to change. Horseracing season started in Baltimore, and Leo was a regular at Pimlico Racetrack. Racing took place four days a week, Thursday through Sunday, and Leo went each day, shifting his work schedule to accommodate the gambling habit, meaning Catherine had less time with him. And when racing was on, she saw him for a shorter period unless she wanted to join him at the track.
Occasionally, she would go to the races with him, but it only upset her. She could tell most people there didn’t have the money to spend on gambling, but did, anyway. Catherine couldn’t help wondering: How many times did their children go hungry because of their parents’ addiction? The thought alone made her sick.
It didn’t take her long to acknowledge what was happening. Leo had a gambling problem. He spoke openly about his bookie as if he were his best friend. Although he saw the track as a hobby, Catherine saw it as another of his many addictions, and although he might have made a show of staying sober at home, he still drank elsewhere.
As spring turned into summer, Pimlico closed for the season. Catherine was relieved until Leo began to take occasional daylong bus trips to other horse tracks. She had given him a calendar to hang on his wall to mark the days they could be together, and one day, she noticed dozens of red stars on the fall months.
“What are these?” she asked.
“That’s the fall season at Laurel,” he said.
“What’s Laurel?”
“A racecourse down the road.”
Catherine was crestfallen. Leo’s habit symbolized all the behavior she had tried to break him of. She was trying to set him straight, but her love, obviously, wasn’t enough.
Worst, Catherine suspected that Leo had someone on the side for the days she was gone. Indeed, once he moved to Baltimore, Leo had gotten in the habit of using several young prostitutes who frequented his area. Catherine found out about it in the most unpleasant of ways.
One Friday in June, Walter told her he’d be going on a business trip for the weekend.
“It’s last minute,” he said. “But I leave tonight. I hope you’ll be all right for a few days.”
Better than all right, Catherine thought. With a light heart, she readied herself to spend the whole weekend with Leo, the first full weekend they’d spent together in more than twenty years.
She waited until that evening to head to Baltimore, giving Walter time to come home after work and pack his suitcase. When she felt sure the coast was clear, she hastily packed a bag—including lace lingerie Walter hadn’t noticed in decades—climbed in the car, and made her way across the state lines.
It was nearly ten o’clock when she arrived at Leo’s apartment to surprise him. Catherine found a key under a flowerpot on the porch—her key. Excited, she dropped it twice before getting it in the lock.
The door swung open. Leo’s apartment was dark, but she had the distinct impression he was not alone.
“Hello? Leo?” She heard a thud and then a woman whisper.
“Cat?”
She flipped on the overhead light. To her dismay, Leo was wrapped in sheets along with a younger woman. And, judging from her thick makeup and the height of the heels discarded beside the bed, she was a woman of the night.
Leo ordered the prostitute to leave instantly, which she was happy to do after being paid. Then, he made a cup of tea for himself and for Catherine. They sat side by side, both of them silent.
“Why do you do it?” she finally asked.
“It’s just something I need,” he admitted. “When you’re not here, I get lonely.”
She nodded, trying to understand. “How often?”
“Once or twice a week.”
“So, this is what you do at night, when I’ve gone back to Philadelphia.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Whores,” she said. “We have something, and this is what you do when I’m away. God knows the places these women have been! You sleep with them and then you sleep with me? Are you out of your mind?”
Leo grimaced. “I’ll give them up; I swear,” he said. “If that’s what you what, I’ll do it for you.”
Catherine set her mouth in a hard line. “That’s what I want. Or I will never return.”
She stayed the rest of the weekend, but they barely talked as Catherine had the sense that if she weren’t there, Leo would be spending his time very differently—out drinking, betting on the races, and probably with a prostitute or two. As their relationship was typically a weekday, daytime affair, Catherine felt helpless to prevent him from indulging his vices when she wasn’t there to stop him.
Leo, on the other hand, had grown used to living his life the way he wanted to, however much debauchery it involved. With Catherine’s daytime visits and his nights and weekends free, he could enjoy time with his true love, but not have to give up the salacious icing.
“If you move in with me,” he told her, “I swear I’ll stop doing all the things you hate. I won’t need to do them. You’ll be here.”
Catherine’s kids came and went more often as summer progressed, and they would suspect something if she weren’t home, which meant she could not get away to Baltimore as much as she would have liked. The fabric of the affair was unraveling quickly, though neither Catherine nor Leo wanted to admit it, but even as they felt themselves on shaky ground, both of them stayed determined to hold on.
When Walter took his annual four weeks of vacation in August, Catherine and Leo didn’t see each other once. She counted the days until September to resume her daily trips to Baltimore.
The first Monday Walter went back to work, Catherine dressed with equal parts excitement and trepidation. She feared that Leo was in a different place than he’d been in July, and when she arrived in Baltimore, her fears were confirmed.
When she came inside the apartment, she discovered he’d put on weight and not shaved once, his beard scraggly and streaked with gray. He’d been smoking pot again—she could smell it—and his eyes were glassy; he hardly acknowledged her when she came in.
“Leo,” she said. “Oh, Leo.” She turned to the dusty window, holding back tears.
“Catherine?” he asked.
“It pains me to see you this way,” she said. “You’re self-destructing. This is why I left last time.”
“What?” he sneered. “Like you even care.”
Catherine ended up leaving early, and the next time she returned, Leo felt better, and yet his dark moods became more frequent and more intense.
One afternoon in early October, she arrived to find Leo again drunk, sitting on his floor, a bottle of bourbon in hand, staring at the blank wall. Carefully, she pried the bottle from his fingers, set it on the countertop, and then sat beside him.
“Tell me… why do you stay with Walter?” he asked after a pause.
This is the first time he referred to him by name since they met again. “Sometimes, I don’t know, eit
her,” she said.
“Do you love him?”
Catherine knew she had felt something toward Walter in the past, though now, the love she’d felt for him had never been the same kind she shared with Leo. “No,” she answered, “I don’t love him. Not like that.”
“Then, why?” Leo’s eyes were red and watery, and his hand trembled as he gripped the bottle in his hand.
“Because of my children whom I adore. Because I have a marriage to maintain. Because we have a standing in the community… ” She stopped. These reasons had never held any weight for Leo, who didn’t care about marriage or community. But she believed those things, obligated to honor her commitment, not just for Walter, but also for her children’s sake.
Leo swiped at the bottle of bourbon on the counter, and it skidded across the slick surface, teetering on the edge. Catherine reached out her hand to catch it moments before it fell, but not in time to keep it from spilling half its contents on the floor.
“You never really loved me, did you?” he asked, his voice dripping in drunken accusation.
“Leo…”
“You never did. You never committed to me. Something always held you back.”
“Please, don’t start,” she begged him.
“You used me, didn’t you?”
“Leo, I cared about you, but it was just too much. The drinking, the women, the instability. What did you want me to do, stay around and tolerate the madness your life was? And the nightmare it has become?”
“My life might be a nightmare,” he said, getting up and stumbling toward her. “But my conscience is clear. And let’s be honest, Catherine. You only wanted me when it was convenient for you, when you could have a little poetic fling with me and then run off to your reliable fiancé. You used me just as you’ve used him. And when it was convenient, you threw me out. Is that what you did, Catherine?”
Catherine shook her head, but she felt more and more tears welling in her eyes.
Four Seasons of Romance Page 14
