Lost in His Eyes

by Andrew Neiderman

  I found myself staring at him and trying to remember if he ever said anything original. How many women look at their husband one day and wonder what in hell it was that made them want to be with him for a lifetime? Didn’t they realize what it meant to spend day in and day out with the same man, hear the same phrases, see the same expressions and realize the same emotions?

  Was I being unfair?

  Wasn’t there a time when he was fun to be with and interesting in an exciting enough way to keep my attention? I couldn’t go on explaining this dread I often felt by blaming it only on him. I had my eyes wide open when I said, ‘I do.’ I oohed and aahed over the engagement ring. I was excited about the honeymoon in Capri. Like his, my heart was young and gay once, too. I was ready to see everything through four eyes and hear everything through four ears. I was willing to compromise my opinions and diminish my ego if it was necessary. In short, I would invest myself in him until death did us part.

  Perhaps he often thought the same things about me, but was never obvious about it. Why couldn’t it be that I was very different now from the girl he had first dated and it wasn’t entirely his fault? I was hard in places where I had been soft. I was too cynical and certainly too critical now. I was sure that, at least once a day, he probably looked at me with disappointment and had his second thoughts, too.

  Or maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault; it just was.

  ‘You know, you should go back to work,’ he suddenly said, nodding as he said it, as if some invisible wise man had whispered it in his ear.

  ‘What? Why do you say that?’

  ‘You’re too smart and energetic to simply care for the house and Kelly and me. She’s on her own now most of the time anyway, Clea. We’re almost extraneous in her life these days, just like most parents are for their teenagers.’

  ‘Are we?’ I thought about it. Was I like that when I was her age? Did my parents suddenly become too old, too square or just too oblivious to anything I liked or wanted to do?

  My father is and has always been, even in my mind at age five, an Eisenhower Republican. I wouldn’t say he was sexually repressed, but he wouldn’t have any problem understanding why Victorians wanted skirts on piano legs. Sex talk made him uncomfortable, but my theory is he was just overly shy. He lucked out meeting and having my mother fall in love with him. She had no problem taking on ninety percent of the responsibility for managing our family life and, in particular, my growing up, while he devoted ninety percent of his time to his brokerage firm. As far back as I could remember, he was out of the house before I opened my eyes in the morning.

  The waiter brought our drinks. I sipped my wine. Ronnie drank his vodka and soda and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  ‘Use your napkin, Ronnie,’ I said.

  ‘What? Oh. Just a habit.’

  ‘Attack your habits. Embrace your dreams – remember?’

  It was a plaque he had on his office wall at work.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘I’m not as convinced about Kelly’s ability to be an independent agent, Ronnie. She looks older than she is, just like most girls her age.’ I thought of an expression he’d appreciate. ‘Remember, don’t judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. That was his fail-safe word when he knew he might very well be wrong.

  ‘Another thing. If I return to work, we’re going to have to have the maid back,’ I warned.

  ‘Bottom line is, it’s worth it,’ he said with a surprising sense of conviction. He held his palms up and bounced the right one in the air first. ‘Weigh the pros and then the cons. Analyze and then act with confidence. More often than not, confidence carries the day,’ he concluded, slapping his hands together.

  Ronnie and his business techniques, I thought and nearly laughed. He was like most businessmen. He thought the rules that applied to everyday commerce could easily be applied to everyday relationships. A marriage was more like a merger. He was always the CEO and CFO, however. We were back to that famous ‘bottom line’ of his.

  The waiter brought our meals. He stood back while Ronnie sliced his chop, studied it like a meat inspector, tasted it and then nodded. The young waiter looked as if he had been spared the electric chair. He asked if we needed anything else.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Ronnie said, ‘but stand by.’

  He left like someone who knew he had not yet quite gotten away from something dangerous or tragic. I ate slowly, gazing around. There was no other couple here whom we knew. Ronnie couldn’t lean over and start a conversation with someone and make me feel invisible. Tonight, though, he didn’t want that either. I rarely saw him so focused on me.

  ‘I was going to order a bottle of champagne,’ he said between bites, ‘but I remember that you didn’t like the choice here last time.’

  ‘It’s below average,’ I said.

  ‘Champagne’s champagne.’

  ‘Actually, no, Ronnie. Real champagne has to come from France. The so-called champagne here is sparkling wine.’

  ‘Cheaper.’

  ‘And tastes like it. I think the hardest lesson for we Americans to learn is you get what you pay for. We’re bombarded so often with deals and bargains on television and the Internet that we get to believe it’s possible to have something of value for small change.’

  ‘Aren’t you an American, Clea?’

  ‘I said we.’

  ‘I never liked champagne or caviar or any of that ritzy stuff.’

  ‘You want to have a ritzy car,’ I reminded him. ‘You keep talking about having that Jaguar convertible.’

  ‘Cars are different. Cars make you look and feel good. We wear our cars here,’ he offered. ‘We don’t just drive them.’

  ‘That’s very clever, Ronnie.’

  I guess he is capable of coming up with something original from time to time, I thought.

  He stopped chewing and smiled.

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Clea,’ he said. ‘You appreciate being surprised. You always did. You’d have this bright look in your eyes – the look kids have on Christmas morning. I’ve got to work on getting that look from you more … What?’ he said when I just looked at him with a half-smile on my face.

  ‘Nothing. You do surprise me sometimes.’

  He looked like a little boy who had just been patted on his head.

  My mood actually improved. After my main course, I ordered a dessert and coffee, something I rarely did. Ronnie had a Black Opal after-dinner drink and recited the changes he was going to make at the office now that he could. I really tried to be interested, but someone caught my eye at the bar. I held my breath for a moment and waited for him to turn.

  He nodded, his smile like twinkling crystal.

  How did he know we were here? Was he stalking me now, watching our house, following me? Did I mind?

  When we rose to leave, I was nervous about going past the bar, but when we did, I saw he was gone. After we stepped outside, I looked around the parking lot, but I didn’t see him anywhere.

  Ronnie was talking about plans for our new money. Maybe it was time for us to consider a modest condo on the beach, something we could enjoy on weekends and when he took his vacation in the summer. He had his eye on one in Newport.

  ‘You need a new car soon, too. Your lease is nearly up. And despite what we’ve saved for Kelly’s college tuition, I’d like there to be a little more,’ he added. ‘Inflation is just around the corner and who suffers that more than the middle class?’ he said.

  Despite all his faults, he was still thinking family. Maybe that was what attracted me to him the most.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, I’m right. With this added income and the potential if you went back to work, we could do even more, Clea,’ he said. ‘And a lot more for Kelly now, too.’

  ‘She doesn’t exactly lack anything.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘She wants her own car. Many of her girlfriends have their
own. It’s not a sin to want more. I wanted my own car when I was her age, and so did you.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Your parents told me how you nagged them,’ he said, smiling like someone who shared a special secret.

  ‘OK. I’ll think about it,’ I promised.

  ‘Maybe the lawyer who bought Sebastian’s practice needs help,’ he suggested. ‘As I recall, he wanted you to stay on. I hear he’s doing well. He might want to add on staff.’

  ‘Maybe he does,’ I said.

  ‘I could find out for you.’

  ‘No. I can find out things like that for myself.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said.

  When we were home and into the bedroom, Ronnie came up behind me while I was brushing my teeth.

  ‘I know something better than champagne when it comes to celebrating anyway,’ he said.

  His look of lust took me by surprise. Twice in one night? I finished brushing my teeth. He was waiting for me in bed, that broad boyish smile on his face as if we were about to do it for the first time.

  ‘You really do come up with surprises,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s you who surprised me. You look great. I’m sorry I don’t tell you that more often.’

  He reached up for me.

  Again, I wondered how I would make love to him. Would I make love to my lover rather than to him? If I did, would that be another instance of adultery? I thought if I kept my eyes open, I would be forced to think only of Ronnie, but when I looked into his eyes, his face seemed to dissolve into my lover’s face. Even when I closed my eyes, I saw only him.

  Ronnie was shocked at my aggressiveness. I fought to stay on top and I held his hands down. I had other hands over my breasts, other hands moving down over my hips, and other hands pressed against my buttocks, moving me. I could hear Ronnie’s moans and cries, but they seemed far off, down at the end of some tunnel. He was inside me and squirmed to get into a better position, but I leaned back and held his legs until he finally surrendered and lay back.

  Every time I came, I cried out. When I did open my eyes again, I saw him looking up at me with a shocked but pleased expression.

  ‘What did you eat tonight?’ he asked, as I slipped off him and fell back beside him, waiting for my heart to relax and my body to stop feeling as if I were sinking in the mattress.

  ‘Shrimp salad,’ I replied, as if that was really his question.

  ‘Warn me next time. Maybe I’ll order the same thing.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for. You might get it,’ I said, and he laughed.

  ‘What a night. What a day!’

  He got up, and I turned over and pressed my cheek to the pillow.

  I was positive. He was in that bar, I thought. And then another thought occurred, and I got up and went to the window that faced the street. I didn’t recognize the car parked across from our house, but because of the streetlights I could make out the driver sitting there – only a dark shadow, but silhouetted enough to for me to recognize that it was him.

  Did he expect me to come out?

  I remained in the window, naked, looking down at him. Apparently, that was all he wanted. He started his engine, his lights went on, and he pulled away, disappearing around the corner.

  ‘What’s out there?’ Ronnie asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was looking at the stars.’

  He stood smiling at me. I returned to the bed.

  ‘Something’s different about you, Clea,’ he said, getting into bed. ‘But I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  Tonight I was unafraid of sleep. My dreams were lined up like rush-hour traffic, waiting impatiently to move forward, each one more anxious than the one previous to take me away, take me to a place where people didn’t have to dream anymore because it was all there.

  THREE

  ‘Where were you yesterday?’ Rosalie Okun asked me as soon as I lifted the receiver the following morning. Ronnie and Kelly were already gone.

  ‘Hello to you, too, Rosalie.’

  ‘I called late morning and then in the mid-afternoon, about three thirty, I think.’

  ‘I didn’t see any messages.’

  ‘I was moving around and didn’t leave any. I know how long it takes you to return a call left on your answering machine, and you’ve never given me your cell phone number,’ she added petulantly.

  ‘I hate using my cell phone,’ I said. ‘I’m like one of those AARP people who use it only for nine-one-one emergency calls.’

  I heard her sigh deeply. I smiled, enjoying how frustrating I could be, especially to my so-called girlfriends. Yet they all continued to offer me their friendship out of what I was certain they thought was an act of charity. Or maybe they couldn’t stand knowing how easily I could do without them. Ironically, self-respect is often sacrificed in the name of ego. I knew I wouldn’t call someone like me twice in one day, especially if that someone refused to give me her mobile number.

  ‘So? Did you go to the Fashion Mall in Newport Beach without me?’ she asked, which was her way of asking where I was.

  ‘No, I didn’t go to the mall. I just went after a string of errands I had been avoiding. The good old American wife’s procrastination.’

  ‘All day?’

  ‘What is it they say about time when you’re having fun?’

  ‘Since when are errands fun?’ she asked. There was a long pause. ‘You sound strange.’

  ‘Do I?’

  She was silent again for a moment, and I didn’t speak as I wondered if I did sound different.

  ‘What about today? I’ll pick you up,’ she said. ‘The new spring fashions are out. We can have a good time at the mall.’

  Normally, I jumped at distractions. I wasn’t simply coming up with an easy excuse when I mentioned procrastination. There were all sorts of minor and not-so-minor chores I really had been putting off, including taking clothes to the dry cleaner, catching up with some of the routine housework, getting some essentials from the drug store, working with the gardener to change some plants, and scheduling routine car maintenance for my BMW that had indicated it needed to be done nearly ten days ago.

  I had no legitimate excuse for not doing any of this. Thankfully, I was well. I had no job at the moment, and there was nothing else more important cramming my attention. No one had to explain to me that my lack of enthusiasm was characteristic of deepening depression either. I had read enough about it and the symptomatic behavior which usually centered around obsessive eating or drinking as well as sleeping too much.

  But as the song says, Along came Jones and – voila! – my depression, although not completely gone, had dissipated considerably.

  Was I insane? I didn’t even know his full name. All I remember was Lancaster. Was that his given name or his surname? Of course, I thought about Burt Lancaster and especially the great kissing scene in From Here to Eternity. Why is it that scenes like that in the movies really can never be duplicated in real life? Is it simply because there is so much imperfection in real life? The sand on the beach is irritating, the ocean waves are too salty and, as everyone knows, the sun causes skin cancer. None of that happens or bothers anyone in the movies. Of course, they move about with music in the background, too. Where’s our music in real life?

  ‘I wish I could go today, Rosalie, but I have a dental appointment that I’ve already put off once and you know how they get. They tell you they’re booked solid for nearly two months, but someone else canceled and they called yesterday.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice dripping with disappointment and dropping the sound of the O as though it was falling into a deep well. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’

  Was she as lonely and as lost as I was? Didn’t she have any previous appointments, responsibilities? What does she think of when she wakes up in the morning? Does she ever ask herself what she has done with her life?

  That was one reason for my problems, I thought: my friends. T
hey’re all so insignificant, replaceable. Each was a mirror image of the other. I’m drowning in the mediocrity. Ronnie was actually right to push me toward returning to work. At least I would be exposed to more interesting people, events and conflicts. It wasn’t difficult to raise the level over what I had now. Toby Ludlow was in a crisis because her French poodle’s kidneys were failing. I loved dogs, too, but she was actually seeing a therapist. Brondi Spector was shopping plastic surgeons because her face lift had dropped after only a year and a half. Ari Deleon was convinced her beautician was causing her hair to fall out and was thinking of a lawsuit. It went on and on until it droned into a blur. I had gotten so I couldn’t tolerate the weekly lunch, and the thing of it was, none of them would understand why.

  Maybe I should join the army. All I might need is a new cause.

  ‘Let me call you,’ I told her. ‘I have to check a few things about tomorrow. I’ll call you if I’m free.’

  ‘You’re going to be at the weekly lunch Thursday, aren’t you?’ she asked, this time with more panic because my reply pretty much confirmed I wouldn’t call her.

  ‘At the moment, I don’t see why not,’ I said.

  ‘At the moment? You’re too busy. You should still have that maid.’

  ‘Actually, Ronnie suggested I might want to go back to work.’

  Silence. I was the only one in our group who had worked outside the home after marriage. Sookie Furnis toyed with the idea of selling woman’s clothes in Nordstrom so she’d be up on all the fashions and get discounts. Not that she needed any. Her husband owned a prestigious Mercedes dealership. I think she was simply teasing herself with the idea.

  ‘You? Get a job? Didn’t he just get a promotion?’

  I wasn’t surprised she knew already. Mack Okun worked with Ronnie.

  ‘It’s not a matter of money,’ I said. ‘Well, maybe it is. Ronnie wants things faster than I do, but I want them, too. We’ll see. I haven’t decided yet.’

  Suddenly, all restraint was thrown off. The floodgate opened.