Lovers

by Judith Krantz

  Slumped up against the closed doors to her house was a tall man in a belted trench coat, his long legs crossed at the ankle, as if he’d been there a long time. Billy stopped dead. His back was toward her. He hadn’t seen her. She still had time to wheel around and retreat around the corner.

  For an instant Billy apprehended Spider fully; transfixed and pierced by a visceral recognition, she saw him utterly present in the world, in dimensions of time and space, with all his history and all his strength and all his weakness, all his past and all their memories, the whole of Spider Elliott enveloped into a single unique person about whom she had an overwhelming totality of emotion. Suddenly, without the slightest attempt at thought, Billy discovered that she was released and running toward him as fast as she could. She watched him turn instantly at the sound of her footsteps and race toward her, and the world was changed forever.

  “No, darling, no, not now, we’ll talk about it later. Ah, Madame Marie-Jeanne, there you are. This is my husband, Monsieur Elliott.” Billy blew her nose and wiped her streaming eyes, fumbling with her key and Spider’s handkerchief and his hand, which she couldn’t let go.

  “Oh, Madame, forgive me! He rang, but I would not permit him to wait in the house. I did not know that Madame was expecting Monsieur …” Marie-Jeanne stopped while she was still ahead, looking at Billy for guidance, while she and Spider shook hands.

  “Monsieur Elliott has surprised both of us.” Billy turned to Spider. “Come in the house, my poor baby, you look ready to drop in your tracks, I’ve never seen you so exhausted.”

  “There wasn’t a nonstop flight to Paris when I got to LAX, so I flew to New York by way of Atlanta, or maybe it was Chicago, I’ve lost track, and then I missed the Concorde and had to wait five hours in New York … I could have made it faster by rowboat. I need a drink—I’m about to fall down anyway, just from happiness. I want to kiss you for the next two days. Two weeks. Two months.”

  “Madame Marie-Jeanne, I wonder—would it be possible to borrow two bottles of wine from you, and two glasses?”

  “Of course, Madame. Where would you like the tray, Madame?”

  “Oh, in the sun room … no, on second thought, could you bring it upstairs and leave it on the floor outside of my room? And I think I noticed some debris and dead flowers in the sun room.”

  “I will dispose of them, Madame, and sweep. Carefully.”

  “Thank you, Madame Marie-Jeanne.”

  Marie-Jeanne hurried back to her house to find the wine and tell Pierre the latest. The tall, blond type in tennis shoes she introduced as her husband was even better looking, to her taste, than the handsome redhead of yesterday. Would tomorrow bring a tall, dark man with one black shoe? Working for Madame Ikehorn was better than going to the cinema. And the way things were going, she must remember to order more wine.

  “Spider, please let’s wait to talk till tomorrow, you’re so tired you’re falling apart,” Billy said, concerned at his loss of weight and his sunken eyes, which were more evident now that he’d showered, shaved, and put on her white toweling bathrobe that didn’t even reach his knees.

  “I can fall apart later, first I have to get things straight with you,” he said stubbornly. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about, and I need it a hell of a lot more than sleep.”

  “I haven’t let myself think about anything we said to each other that night,” Billy countered. “I knew I was in pure denial, but at least I don’t look as ghastly as you do. I ate and slept and walked my feet off … a week at a spa couldn’t have been better for me.”

  “I didn’t eat and I didn’t sleep because I knew how guilty I was. I was vile in ten thousand and one ways I’ll never forget or forgive myself for, but once I stopped being angry, I started trying to figure out why—why had I been such a bastard to you, why had I refused to give your plan for a decorating catalog the respect I’d give any idea of yours, why had I made those cheap, nasty digs about your money and acting like a Lady Bountiful and not knowing jack shit about finance?”

  “Did you ever manage to figure it out?” Billy asked coldly, feeling herself flush at this reminder of words she’d been blocking out of her mind.

  “Yeah, finally, after I realized that the only other time in my life I’d been cruel on purpose to a woman was when Valentine and Josh were having an affair.”

  “You knew about them?” Billy asked, taken off guard. “Valentine told me, but I thought no one else knew.”

  “She told me too—after we were married.”

  “We’re both good about keeping secrets,” Billy said thoughtfully, “if nothing else. But what does a brief love affair between two other people in 1977 have to do with you and me in 1984?”

  “I was jealous of Josh—I didn’t even know who he was then, just some mysterious lover who kept Valentine busy and preoccupied—and I didn’t even know I was jealous because I didn’t realize I was in love with her. I was eaten up with fury because she didn’t have the time to work with me that she used to have, because her attention was turned away from me and toward someone else.”

  “So?” Billy asked, completely puzzled.

  “When I came home that night—was it only a week ago?—I found you like your old self again, all glowing and splendid and carried away with the excitement of your new idea—I felt … jealous of its potential to take you away from me—”

  “Oh, come on, that’s crazy! You’ve never known me as anything but a working woman—”

  “Since the kids were born, you’ve stayed at home with them and I’ve come back every night to a wife who’s been right where I expected her to be all day long, doing what I expected my beloved everyday wife to be doing. I’d forgotten what it was like to live with an electric, high-flying woman who can make big things happen with a touch of her magic wand, a vastly powerful woman in her own right, who doesn’t need me, who has the freedom to go after anything in the world that interests her—”

  “Are you trying to tell me, Spider Elliott,” Billy broke in incredulously, “that you, of all men, wanted me to stay home forever and take care, of the children and wait for the high point of my day, the marvelous minute when you finally showed up for dinner?”

  “Yeah. Ain’t that a pisser? In my heart of hearts, that’s exactly what I wanted. An old-fashioned wife like my mom. A return to the 1950s, basic, unvarnished, barbaric, against everything I thought I believed. Once the thought crossed my mind, a bell rang and it hasn’t stopped ringing. I wanted you to be just like everybody else. I wanted to be the boss of you. I wanted you to be the little woman.”

  “You’re utterly pathetic,” Billy said. “I’ve never heard such absurd crap in my life.”

  “But it’s the truth,” he said painfully.

  “Oh, I know that,” she said, scornfully, “I can hear it in your voice, the bell rang for me too … that’s what’s so god-awful. You, of all people!”

  “Me, just an unreconstructed caveman at heart. Could I have some more wine, please? I’m still in shock.”

  “If I’d known that before we got married …”

  “What?”

  “I’d still have married you, you poor idiot. You, Spider Elliott, are like most other men on the planet, you’ve just hidden it better. And now that you know the hideous truth about yourself, you can work on crawling out of your cave, or at least you can remember you’re a caveman, give yourself a sharp kick in the ass, and go. back to acting and thinking like the enlightened human being I expect you to be.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, faint with gratitude, refilling his glass.

  “And none of that! No fake humility. You’d better be straight with me or I’ll remind you that you want a girl just like the girl who married dear old dad, you … you … pervert!”

  “That song is kinda sick, when you stop to listen to the meaning of the words.”

  “Maybe it was written before anyone knew how sick that was,” Billy said generously.

  “Nah, the songwriter was
Freud’s nephew. He knew what he was saying. Listen, darling, I’m not finished.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s something worse?”

  “I thought back to the beginning of Scruples,” Spider said, drinking wine as he remembered, “and I realized that you’d been the one who’d seen the need and had the original idea for a different kind of boutique on Rodeo Drive and the drive and determination to get it built—all I’d done was change the decor and the point of view and hire new salespeople … details.”

  “But that’s what made it a success, as you reminded me frequently.”

  “Still, it was definitely your baby. And Scruples Two was my baby—well, to be fair, Gigi had the original idea, but I saw the possibilities and talked you into it. Let’s drink to that! Once you agreed, you threw yourself into the job, you persuaded Prince to design the capsule collections, you hired all the right people to run the technical side, and that’s what made it a success … so we’ve been working hand in hand all along, sometimes one of us doing the more important part and sometimes the other. We’ve had a true and equal partnership in every way.”

  “Hmmm … true and equal? I could have told you that, but you wouldn’t have listened. Why did you think the decorating catalog was such a terrible idea, if I’m not all that hopeless?”

  “I don’t! I think it could be huge, a major success—but I don’t want it to become a mania with you, the way Scruples was when you started opening new ones all over the world. That’s where you were making big money. You were at it twenty-four hours a day. You did earn it the hard way, don’t lose sight of that. If you hadn’t closed all the stores after Valentine died, you’d have doubled the fortune Ellis Ikehorn left you … and there’s no chance we’d ever have enough time together if that happened. You have a way of throwing yourself into things that scares me.”

  “It scares me too. If you hadn’t been here today, I’d own Chanel by now. Not just the clothes, the whole company. And I’m not kidding. In fact, I bet it’d be a great investment, now that they’ve hired Lagerfeld … you know, darling, we should really think about it seriously …”

  “Look, all those problems I mentioned,” Spider interrupted, finishing his glass, “there isn’t one of them that can’t be solved. Furniture must be delivered and returned thousands of times a day … why was UPS invented? Or we could buy a fleet of trucks … so what if you have to get rid of some fabric and a few headboards? That’s what factory outlet stores are for … factory outlet … Billy, beautiful, gorgeous, wild and woolly Billy Winthrop, did you ever seriously think about the incredible possibilities of factory outlet …”

  “How much of that wine have you had?”

  “Almost a bottle? Bottle and a half?”

  “Darling love, you’re on a talking jag. You’re drunk. I hope you remember everything you said tomorrow.”

  “But, Billy … factory outlet … hasn’t even … been … explored …”

  Spider staggered over to the bed, crawled into the blankets, and passed out.

  After she’d watched Spider sleep for a while, Billy wrote out a list of provisions and sent Marie-Jeanne out to buy butter, bread, ham, cheese, and other delicacies that didn’t have to be cooked, like a thick slice of paté and a cold chicken, so she could feed him the minute he woke up. Maybe then he’d be sober enough to re-think buying Chanel … it wasn’t that bad an idea …

  When he continued to sleep, Billy made herself a hasty picnic supper, and then, more weary than she’d realized, crept into the bed, and fell asleep so quickly that she only had a few seconds to feel the intense bliss of being in bed with Spider again. He was still sleeping when she woke up early in the morning. Enough was enough, Billy thought, and woke him up with difficulty.

  “Where am I?” Spider asked.

  “Paris, France. Who are you?”

  “Spider something.”

  “What are you?”

  “A caveman.”

  “Just testing,” Billy laughed.

  “Come into my cave,” Spider ordered, grabbing her gently by the hair. “We cavemen can endure anything but separation from our mates.”

  “Is this house really empty?” Spider asked later, as he dressed to go down to the kitchen for a very late breakfast.

  “Except for this room, yes. Most of the furnishings are packed up in the stables. I’d show you everything, but I can’t wait to go home and see the boys. Let’s call the Ritz and find out when we can get the first plane back.”

  “I’m starving!” Spider complained. “Let’s not call until after breakfast, darling.”

  “But what if we miss the next plane just because I waited too long?”

  “A day won’t make any difference.”

  “That’s easy for you to say … you saw them yesterday. Or the day before yesterday, I’ve lost track.”

  “Where’s the coffeepot?” Spider asked as soon as he reached the new kitchen.

  “There isn’t one. Now that I think about it, there isn’t a pot or a pan, just a couple of knives the workmen left, and a corkscrew, and my cup. There’s a café down the next street—I’ll send Marie-Jeanne.”

  “What did you do for breakfast?”

  “I let the hot water run till the water was steaming, turned it low, and then held a tea bag under the faucet in the cup.”

  “My Girl Scout. Such a clever baby. How do you contact Marie-Jeanne, by smoke signals?”

  “I think I hear her opening the front door. Madame Marie-Jeanne, is that you?” Billy called.

  “Yes, Madame. There are more visitors asking for you at the gate. Shall I let them in?”

  “A man, Madame Marie-Jeanne?”

  “No, not precisely, Madame.”

  “A woman, then? Did she give her name?”

  “She did not say, Madame.”

  “Let them come in, Madame Marie-Jeanne,” Spider said in his never-forgotten photographer’s French.

  “Yes, Monsieur. I suspect they have followed me,” Marie-Jeanne said as Hal and Max ran unsteadily around Nanny Elizabeth and rushed into the kitchen, almost knocking each other down in their hurry to get to Billy. They swarmed up her legs into her lap and grabbed her around her neck with fat strong arms.

  “Mama! Bow-gow, Mama!”

  “Mama! Boo-goo, Mama!”

  “Spider, they’re talking!” Billy said through her kisses and tears, “Oh, I missed hearing them say their first word!”

  “They want a dog, Mrs. Elliott,” Nanny Elizabeth said, beaming. “A bow-wow.”

  “How long have you been here?” Billy asked Nanny Elizabeth. “Did you just get in?”

  “Oh, no, we took the first direct flight right after Mr. Elliott left. The boys enjoyed the trip immensely. We’ve been most comfortable in a suite at the Ritz, at Mr. Elliott’s instructions.”

  “I told Nanny to bring them here today if she didn’t hear from me,” Spider explained. “I figured that if all else failed, they were my ace in the hole. I was going to play on your feelings for my paternal position.”

  Without regret, Marie-Jeanne gave up hopes of a tall, dark man with one black shoe. Monsieur was, undoubtedly, the husband of Madame, or, if not legally wed, at the very least the father of her children. Those two blond angels looked even more like him than they did like her. And they were just the right age to begin to learn to speak a civilized language.

  Later in the day, leaving the children taking their naps at the Ritz, where they were now all staying, Spider and Billy returned to the Rue Vaneau to say good-bye to Madame Marie-Jeanne and look over the house one last time before she put it on the market. It didn’t make sense to keep it, she’d decided sadly, not on the basis of a week’s unexpected visit every three or four years, not when you couldn’t even make a cup of coffee in the kitchen. It didn’t fit into her life, this marvelous shell of a house in this much-loved city. The house deserved to be lived in and used. It was cruel to keep it empty.

  “Will you show me around?” Spider asked as they pause
d inside the empty courtyard, for the gatekeeper and his wife had gone to visit their daughter to relate the newest events of the day. He drew her cherished head to his shoulder, watching the vivid autumn light play tricks in her dark brown curls.

  “I want to,” she answered, her expression kindled in a flood of feeling he didn’t recognize. “Come with me.”

  Billy led Spider through every one of the rooms of the house on the Rue Vaneau, pausing as she left each lovely space, as classic and permanent as a great piece of sculpture, turning to look back as if it had laid an invisible claim on her. She touched each of the mirrors softly and traced the carvings above the fireplaces and the moldings on the doors with gentle caresses of her fingertips. She stopped at the windows and looked out at each vista, bidding it adieu before she passed by for the last time.

  “Poor Monsieur Delacroix,” Billy sighed as they reached the empty master bedroom with its wide view of the glorious old trees in the park of the Matignon. At that moment the bell of the cathedral of St. Clotilde began to ring, signaling the start of the thrilling chorus of bells that sounded from every part of the neighborhood.

  “Delacroix?”

  “My decorator. The most frustrated man in Paris. Just when everything was ready for the installation, down to the last pair of curtains, just when we’d finished buying all the antiques—everything but things for the kitchen—I went back to New York. He never saw it furnished. I think it broke his heart.”

  “So you didn’t move in?” Spider asked very quietly, disturbed by the depth of her love for this house that was evident in every gesture she made, even in the delicate, precise sound of her feet on the floorboards, a footfall as personal as a signature. He knew why she hadn’t lived here. He remembered every word of that magazine article about Billy and Sam Jamison. This was where she’d planned to live with him, that poor stupid idiot who’d lost the most lovable woman in the world, thank God.

  “No, somehow it didn’t seem destined to happen,” Billy said, trying valiantly to hide the regret in her voice.

  “Maybe not then, but, speaking personally, I can’t bear not to see it furnished. We’re staying right here, in Paris, with Delacroix helping, until everything’s been unpacked and placed properly and the rooms are filled with flowers and there’s wood in the fireplaces and candles in the candlesticks, and a ton of food in the kitchen and someone to make a decent cup of tea—even coffee—and then, if you still love it even half as much as you do now, we’ll live here until you feel like going back to California, and if you don’t, we won’t.”