Dumping Billy

by Olivia Goldsmith

  Bev put her hand on the back of the chair to help herself up. “Honey, you don’t have any idea what uncomfortable is. You cannot give up now,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Stay the course,” Barbie advised Bina. “Billy can’t last much longer. You’re not his type.”

  “Oh, no? He’s asked me to the Hamptons this weekend,” Bina said without enthusiasm.

  The Bitches squealed with delight, wisecracked, elbowed, and laughed to one another.

  “What’s so funny?” Bina asked them.

  “What you don’t know about men could fill a library,” Bev said.

  “A big one. A Manhattan one,” Bunny added.

  “What don’t I know?” Bina demanded.

  “Bina, honey, this will be the end. Men like Billy freak out after a weekend alone with a woman,” Barbie said. “He’s sure to drop you after that.”

  “But then why would he ask me?” Bina did look really upset. Kate wondered again if her friend was falling for that self-centered idiot. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “That’s the point,” Bunny told her.

  “They like the idea of intimacy . . . ,” Bev began.

  “But the reality is they freak out because of all the one-on-one time,” Barbie continued.

  “Really, Bina. Go to the Hamptons and you are as good as dumped,” Bunny assured Bina.

  “I don’t know. It seems like false pretense,” Bina told them.

  “Maybe it is, but you can’t turn back now,” Bev said as she walked to the refreshments table.

  Bina had been juggling her plate of food on her lap and suddenly lost control of it. The entire thing fell down her dress and onto the floor. The Bitches fell silent and stared at her.

  Kate had felt something was wrong with Bina’s behavior since they’d arrived, and now, as if to confirm that, instead of cleaning up the mess, Bina took Kate’s hand and began to pull her down the hall. “I have to talk to you,” she whispered.

  “Wait a minute,” Kate said, and put down her glass of red wine as they passed a side table, afraid that a spill would turn the carpet an irrevocable purple. Bina pulled her into the guest bedroom and sat her down on the sofa bed.

  “I can’t believe it, Katie,” she said, and her voice caught on a sob. “I’m so ashamed. I never thought . . . I could never believe that I . . . Omigod, Jack.”

  Kate had no idea what Bina was going on about, but she was upset to hear her so upset. And in a different way from her usual innocent hysteria. “What is it, Bina?” she asked gently.

  “If my mother knew . . . Oh, Katie! I cheated on Jack.”

  “Bina, a few dates doesn’t mean—”

  “No. I mean I really did. I had sex. I mean the whole thing. And it was . . . wonderful.”

  As Bina burst into tears, Kate felt the room and the noise of the party receding. And this new information, this sexual misadventure of Bina’s, was exactly what she had been afraid of. She felt herself becoming angry but wasn’t sure whom she was angry at or with. Elliot should never have proposed this, she should never have allowed it, Bina shouldn’t have fallen for Billy’s empty charm, and she was most angry that Billy, in true Lothario fashion, had taken advantage of Bina’s inexperience.

  What had she done? She and Elliot and the Bitches had interfered in Bina’s life, and the results were this: a girl awash in guilt and tears and confusion. Hadn’t they all succeeded in ruining Bina’s loyalty and single-minded devotion? Perhaps it was a bad thing, to count on one man to come through for you and to believe there was nobody else. Still, Bina should have been left to make her own choices. Setting her up with a man like Billy Nolan was sure to be her undoing. And now, what if she decided she loved him? What if after the heartbreak of Jack’s desertion she was dumped again, as was inevitable? It would destroy her self-confidence. Kate didn’t even want to imagine what Bina might do.

  She took her friend by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Listen to me, Bina. Whatever you did is all right. Jack has been off sleeping around, and if you had a slip, so—”

  “But I don’t feel like it was a slip,” Bina said, and began crying anew. “I feel as if he appreciates me. He says that since he saw me he’s felt that not grabbing me up was a mistake.”

  Kate recalled how she’d had to challenge Billy even to consider Bina as date material. She was furious at everyone—at Jack, at Elliot, at the Bitches . . . even at herself. But beneath all of that, there was another feeling. “Bina, you can’t believe everything men say,” she began cautiously.

  “Katie, I never doubted my love for Jack. I mean, I do love Jack. It’s just that now that I’ve had some more experience . . . well, I just can’t explain it. He’s so understanding. And it’s like we never run out of things to talk about.” She paused.

  “Look, Bina, you have not been disloyal. Just don’t confuse this, this little adventure with real love.”

  Bina looked at Kate solemnly. “You’re right,” she said, and nodded. “I won’t let it happen again. Because I really, really do love Jack.”

  “Good girl,” Kate told her. “Now, just don’t think about it anymore. You don’t have to do what you don’t want to do.”

  Bina nodded, then wiped her eyes. “But he was so very, very good in bed.” She blushed, and Kate felt her own face color because she realized what the other feeling was.

  She was envious.

  Kate left the shower before Brice and Elliot. She was too despondent to take the subway, so as an indulgence, she looked for a taxi. It wasn’t easy in Brooklyn—another reason to stay in Manhattan, she reflected sourly. But at last she flagged down an off-duty taxi who was merely avoiding a fare that would take him deeper into Brooklyn.

  Kate sat in the backseat, grateful for the time alone. Though she loved both Brice and Elliot, she simply wasn’t up for their chatter. She had a lot of thinking to do, and though she had put off dealing with her reality until now, she would have to come to terms with it. What was it that she really wanted? Of course, that was easy to answer: a perfect life with a rewarding job, a loving, dependable, and passionate husband, healthy children, and good friends. Good fucking luck, she told herself. She couldn’t see any indications in her future that would promise it all. If you got one part, you wouldn’t get the other. Yet Kate had promised herself for all these years that she wouldn’t compromise.

  As they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, she stared at the city. The skyline, as always, moved her deeply. But now she had to admit that she was even more deeply moved by Bina’s revelation. How could she go on with Michael when she felt drawn to someone as useless as Billy Nolan? His behavior with Bina had only further convinced her of his heartlessness, and the fact that a part of her—not the good part—still desired him was shameful. One thing she was certain of: She wouldn’t become confused and reassess Steven’s actions in light of Billy’s. What did it matter which of them was worse?

  Kate looked out the taxi window and wished that she could stay forever suspended on the bridge between the two boroughs in her life.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Kate sat at a window table in the Chelsea Kitchen and played with her fork, laying it down, picking it up, tapping the bottom, and then touching the tines to her water glass, her plate, and even the folded napkin. She was uncomfortable in the restaurant, but she had decided that she would do this in a public place. That’s what men do, she thought, and remembered Steven. Probably it was because they were afraid of scenes. Kate knew that wasn’t a realistic threat with Michael, but she couldn’t imagine having this talk and then moving through his apartment on her way to the door or, worse, asking him to leave her place. Since yesterday at the shower, Kate had known with blinding clarity that Michael was not for her. And today she’d asked Michael to meet her here, to avoid having to engage in senseless chatter as they walked along.

  Beside her on the floor was a Big Brown Bag from Bloomingdale’s. When she forced herself to put down the fork, she used the same hand to check agai
n that the bag was there—as if anyone would want to steal folded shorts and athletic socks, a razor, half-used-up toiletries, and an old tie Michael had left at her house. She wiped her palms on the napkin, surprised to find how sweaty they were. The truth was that she had little experience in being the initiator of a breakup.

  When the waiter came over, she asked for vodka on the rocks. She didn’t usually drink hard liquor, and when she did it was generally a cosmopolitan, a drink that had come in and gone out of fashion but that she still liked. Today, however, she needed a jolt of something. She remembered a phrase her father used to use—“Dutch courage”—and for the first time she really appreciated its meaning. She needed courage, Dutch or otherwise.

  When the waiter returned with her order, she downed it in two long gulps with barely a breath between them. Only then did she realize that she didn’t want Michael to see her drinking, and she also didn’t want him to smell alcohol on her breath. Why? That had always been a strained part of their relationship. Though he had never tried to intimidate her or force her to change, Kate realized she had often walked on eggshells with Michael. She wondered now if she had ever really been herself with him. She wasn’t sure if it was his personality that had imposed restraints on her. Perhaps that wasn’t fair. Perhaps his academic credentials and his comfortable suburban background had created a sense of inferiority in her. Maybe they both had a classic fear of intimacy. But whatever it was, Kate knew something was not right, something not fixable, about their relationship.

  She waved to the waiter and handed him the evidence. “Can I get you another?” he asked, no doubt taking her for a heavy drinker, but she shook her head. Then she picked up a piece of the garlic bread from the basket on the table. Better to smell of garlic than vodka. People mistakenly thought you couldn’t detect it on a person’s breath, but Kate always could—maybe because of her father.

  She munched on the bread and looked out the window. In the late afternoon, there weren’t many people on West 18th Street. She wondered where the man with the red tips at the ends of his black hair was going and whether the woman who looked like a real estate broker in her fake Chanel suit actually was one. Kate sighed. She’d probably never be able to afford to buy an apartment or own her own home. Here in Manhattan, it was difficult enough as a couple. As a single person, it was impossible.

  She had no home of her own, no summer plans, and soon she’d have no man in her life.

  Kate took a sip of her water and looked out at the traffic. It was a wet day, and though the drizzle had stopped for the moment, it had put a sheen on the macadam, the trucks and taxis, and even the sidewalks and buildings across the way. She loved Manhattan, and this simple silvery scene outside the restaurant window calmed her. Could she leave this for Austin, or anywhere?

  On the other hand, she could be completely crazy. Aside from the Arnies, Johnnys, Eddies, and the rest of the Brooklyn world, it seemed there were no marriageable men. Rita and every other one of her Manhattan girlfriends complained about how the men here were players or neurotics or commitment phobes. She thought back to Steven and the pain she had gone through after he left her. She wasn’t having this talk with Michael just because of her upcoming meeting with Steven. Steven was out of her life, although she couldn’t help feeling a bit of excitement, the old buzz, when she thought of seeing him. It would be nice to look at him, talk with him, and feel nothing. She hoped she could manage it. She looked down and saw that the fork in her hand was actually trembling. Could she hurt Michael like this? Could she bear to be alone, start dating again, and risk being hurt again?

  The waiter returned with a pitcher of water. Her glass was half-empty, or half-full. She supposed, as he poured out the water, that it was all in the eye of the beholder. If she discussed what she was about to do with Barbie, Bev, or even Mrs. Horowitz, they would tell her she was crazy. Her glass was half-full. Still, while she knew that Steven was dangerous and not for her, simply hearing from him had reminded her of how much she had felt for him when they were together. The disparity between that feeling and the pale echo of it that she felt for Michael frightened her. She just didn’t think that she could bear to go through life without stronger feelings for her companion.

  Kate couldn’t suppress the surge of feeling she was experiencing not only from Steven’s call, but also from the overwhelming envy she’d felt when Bina told her about her actual affair with Billy. Kate knew she couldn’t stay with Michael. Michael was a safe, dependable partner, and yes, he’d make a responsible father. But for someone else’s children, not hers.

  Even if she was ruining her last chance of settling down, Kate couldn’t settle for him. She placed the fork she’d been holding back in its proper place. A young woman, obviously an au pair, walked by with a little girl who looked about four. Both were wearing yellow raincoats. Kate smiled and thought of the children she was working with at Andrew Country Day. Everything about her job, from her little office, to Elliot down the hall, to the easy commute from home, to the children she worked with, seemed precious to her. Now, at the thought of losing it, she could feel just how precious it was. Even Dr. McKay seemed lovable in his ridiculous way. And Michael believed it was nothing to her? Did he know her at all?

  When Michael walked in, Kate was still staring out the window. She jumped when he put his hand on her shoulder. “I got caught in the rain,” he said as he shook his umbrella and took the seat across from her.

  Kate looked at him. His jaw was still strong, his nose still regular, his eyes a warm brown. But as if a spell had been broken, Kate no longer found him the slightest bit attractive. As he set his briefcase on the empty chair, she wondered whether this kind of reversal had happened to Steven: whether one day he had just looked at her and felt nothing but . . . a mild distaste. The idea made her skin crawl. The combination of the drink and what she was about to do made her stomach feel queasy.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Michael asked her.

  She managed a weak smile. “No, thank you,” she told him as soberly as she could manage.

  The solicitous waiter appeared unbidden, and Kate hoped he wouldn’t blow her cover by asking if she wanted another vodka on the rocks.

  “A cup of tea,” Michael requested. “Earl Grey, if you have it.”

  “Nothing for me,” Kate said.

  After the waiter moved off, Michael looked out the window, as Kate had been doing. “Well, we won’t have to put up with this kind of weather in Austin.”

  “Why?” Kate asked. “Doesn’t it rain there?” But she didn’t pursue it. Why be unpleasant? She didn’t know how to begin, so she just launched into her prepared speech. “Michael, I can’t go to Austin. First because I don’t want to; I like it here. Secondly, because you didn’t ask me. You assumed I could come with you. We had no discussion. It was as if you were granting me some kind of favor. You just thought I would jump at the chance.”

  Michael blinked and put down the cup that was halfway to his lips. Kate saw some of the tea splash over the lip and onto the tablecloth, but Michael didn’t seem to notice. “Kate. Kate, I just felt—”

  “I’m not sure what you felt,” Kate said. “But it isn’t what I felt. And you didn’t know it.”

  Michael sat absolutely still, and the table—no more than twenty-six inches wide—seemed to Kate to be expanding to tundra proportions. She could almost see Michael receding into the distance, his face bluish in the reflected light from the white cloth that stretched between them. “Kate, I never meant to be presumptuous. I just thought, well, I thought you wanted what I wanted.”

  “That may be true, but since we never actually spoke about what we wanted, how was I to know?”

  Michael sat still and looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Had she been guilty of trying too hard to please? Had she kept her feelings and fears from him? Somehow it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Even if Michael now told her he was willing to give up the Austin job and make a home with her her
e, Kate was no longer interested. Am I fickle? she thought. She couldn’t answer the question, but she knew that a single life, alone and with no children, would be better than a half-life with Michael. He simply wasn’t the man for her.

  “Kate, I can’t tell you how floored I am by this. I mean, it’s coming out of nowhere. I’ve been busy making plans, assuming—”

  “Never assume, Michael,” Kate said. “Never presume. My life is just as important to me as yours is to you. I’m not sure you ever recognized that.”

  “Of course I did,” Michael said. “But you could make new friends and set up a practice in Austin. You could visit back here whenever you wanted. And it’s not as if you have family here.”

  “Oh yes, I do,” Kate said. She thought of Elliot and Brice and Bina and the Horowitzes. Even the Bitches meant a lot to her. “They might not be DNA related, but I have family all the same.” She paused. “I don’t know whose fault it is, Michael; let’s not talk about fault, and let’s not blame each other. It isn’t as if I’ve felt this way for months and withheld the knowledge from you. It’s just that once you told me about Austin and made your decision unilaterally, I guess I made mine. I’m very sorry.” She reached across the tablecloth to touch his hand, but he pulled away, spilling the tea in the process. It spread, like a brown blot, across the pure white space between them. For a moment Kate was reminded of the bowling alley and her spilled beer. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, “because there’s nothing else to say.” She stood up, holding the shopping bag. “Here are your things,” she said. “If I’ve forgotten some of them, let me know.”

  Oddly, she didn’t feel sad, and she didn’t feel free. She felt nothing. Michael was still looking at her, his face torn between disbelief and anger.

  “Good luck in Austin,” she said, and walked out of the restaurant.

  Kate walked in the drizzle, which had started up again and now perfectly reflected her frame of mind. She felt she’d be miserable for the rest of her life, but she couldn’t imagine Michael feeling too bad for too long. It wasn’t his style. That was the reason she’d left him: He didn’t feel things.