by Jason Starr
“Good morning,” he said, partly out of breath.
“Morning,” she said, trying to decide if she should mention anything about the coffee. She knew he’d blow it up into another whole “discussion,” use it as another opportunity to “express himself,” and she wasn’t fully awake yet and didn’t feel like she had the energy for all that. Then it occurred to her that this therapy phase of Adam’s was really a way of shutting her up, getting her to not express herself at all. Maybe he thought he was bringing openness to their marriage, but the discussions were so tiresome that the end result was that she no longer wanted to discuss anything with him. In the end, his desire to “communicate” had become a very effective way of cutting off communication entirely.
“Is Xan still here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking down at her yogurt. He took a deep breath.
“Try not to think about it,” she said. “It’s just so inappropriate,” he said. Oh, God, not again.
“She’s had boyfriends spend the night before,” she said. “Yeah, but she hardly knows this guy.”
Dana didn’t feel like getting into another pointless argument; it was too early in the morning for drama. So without another word she picked up her coffee and her bowl of yogurt and fruit and went in the dining room, thinking, You’re not the only one who can do the shutting up in this marriage.
After breakfast, Dana did some cleaning and laundry—she wanted to hire another maid, but she hadn’t gotten around to looking for one yet—and then the sun came out and it was turning into a very nice day, so she went out to the backyard and did some gardening. She’d already planted most of the bulbs for next spring, but she added more tulips and narcissuses and did some pruning of the rose and forsythia bushes. While she was working with the hedge clippers, her cell rang. When she saw Tony’s number on the display, she couldn’t help feeling turned on. This had happened whenever he’d tried to get in touch with her lately. Her first response was to become aroused—she’d actually get wet between her legs—but then logic interfered and she got upset, feeling like he was harassing her and wouldn’t leave her alone. She let her voice mail pick up and switched her phone to vibrate, but a few minutes later he called again. She ignored this call, too, but when he called a third time she worried that he was crossing a line, that he was becoming obsessive. She remembered how he’d sent flowers to the house, and she was afraid he’d do something like that again or, worse, show up at the door. She turned off her phone, hating herself for letting things reach this point. Just because she was unhappy in her marriage didn’t mean she had to go out and screw up her life. She could’ve talked to a therapist, tried to work things out. Her problems hadn’t been so unsolvable.
She kept her phone off, but she was paranoid that Tony would try to call on the home phone or come by and ring the doorbell. Adam was around the house all day, reading and watching TV, and it was hard to be near him and act normal. A few times he asked her if everything was okay, and she said everything was fine, she was just feeling a little under the weather. Xan had left earlier in the day and then, at around five Marissa left with her knapsack/overnight bag. Adam didn’t exactly seem thrilled about this, but he didn’t make a big stink about it either. Maybe he was starting to realize that Marissa was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, and he couldn’t stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do.
Dana and Adam had dinner—leftovers from last night—and it was actually nice to have some time alone together. Maybe she was finally starting to get over Tony, because for the first time in months or longer she had a good time with Adam. They talked about minutiae—movies, TV shows, neighborhood gossip—but it was a relief not to talk about the robbery for a change and not be at each other’s throats. She wondered if she’d been too critical of him lately, exaggerating his faults and ignoring the things she liked about him. He definitely seemed to be making an effort to change, taking much more of an interest in her than he had recently, and she wanted to change her behavior, too. After all, she certainly hadn’t been an angel in this marriage.
She initiated sex with Adam. After their long drought, naturally it was awkward. The first time, he came too fast—he’d had an off-and-on problem with premature ejaculation for years—but she didn’t let her disappointment show, because she knew how sensitive he was about his occasional malfunctions. She thought that was it—maybe she’d use her sex toy or they’d go to bed—but he was able to get another erection, surprisingly, and they made love again. Two times in one night—this had to be the first time in at least ten years that they’d done that. He lasted much longer in round two, and she enjoyed it as much as she possibly could. She’d never thought he was incredibly sexy, but she used to think he had a nice chest, so, although his chest was flabbier than it used to be, she focused on it, imagining that it looked like it used to look. Of course, fantasizing only took her so far. It was just hard not to compare Adam to Tony— and despite Tony’s intellectual limitations, when it came to pure sexiness there was no comparison. Sex with Tony was always spontaneous and raw and intense, but sex with Adam was, well, sex with Adam. Like seeing a movie she’d seen dozens of times before, she always knew exactly what was coming next. But when she lowered her expectations, focused on the good rather than the bad—he was certainly gentler with her than Tony—the sex was actually okay.
The next morning Adam left early to make his tee-off time at the country club in Great Neck. Later on in the morning, she took the SUV to Costco and stocked up on food for the week. She spent some time browsing in the books section, skimming self-help books with titles such as How to Survive an Affair and When Your Affair Ends. A couple of other guilty-looking people were reading similarly titled books and Dana wondered, Do publishers actually expect people to buy books with these titles? The consensus was that affairs always ended badly for everyone involved, and the reading helped to convince her that she’d made the right decision in ending hers with Tony, nipping things in the bud before the situation had a chance to escalate.
When she returned home, the Mercedes was in the driveway. Adam wasn’t downstairs, so she figured he was upstairs, washing up or watching TV. Marissa was in her room, or seemed to be—her stereo was blasting. Dana carried all the cartons of groceries in from the car, making several trips. She began unpacking the cartons, which included twenty-four-count packages of toilet paper and paper towels and enough gargantuan boxes of Cheerios to last the whole year.
She was putting away two oversized jars of mango salsa when she heard the front door open, then slam. Moments later, Adam charged into the kitchen. His face was horribly bruised and bloodied, his hair was soaking wet, and he was screaming at her. “You fucking bitch!”
Dana was completely confused and terrified. She stared at him for a few seconds, then said, “My God, what . . . what happened to you?”
“Why?” he asked, spraying saliva from his bloodied mouth. “Just tell me why? Why? Fucking why?”
Naturally she thought, Uh-oh, it’s Tony.
“Why didn’t you come talk to me?” he said. “Isn’t that what I always do?
Don’t I come talk to you?”
She didn’t know it had to do with Tony, though. She couldn’t make that assumption.
Playing innocent, she said, “I don’t know what the hell—”
Adam grabbed her arm hard and said, “Why? Just tell me why. After all I’ve done. I’ve taken every possible step, done everything I can to save this marriage, and this is what you do to me? You humiliate me? Don’t you think I’ve had enough humiliation lately? You think I needed this?”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her voice wavering. “I have no idea—”
“I know, okay?” He was still squeezing her arm, staring hard into her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me anymore, okay? I know, okay? I fucking know everything.”
Oh God, this was surreal. She felt like she was falling, plunging.
She stared back at Adam, who still loo
ked crazed. His left cheek was badly bruised, and his left eye was partially closed. There was blood pooling on his lower lip.
Finally she said, “I . . . I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, stop with your bullshit already,” he said. “Can you just do that for me?
Can you give me an ounce of fucking respect?” “You’re hurting me,” she said.
“Hurting you?” he said. “That’s a good one.” He squeezed her arm harder for a few moments, then let go.
She held her arm, looking down—anywhere but at Adam—thinking, Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it doesn’t have to do with that at all.
“Why’re you doing this?” she said. “What’s wrong with you?” “Why can’t you just admit it?”
“Admit what?” she asked weakly.
“That you’re fucking him!” he screamed, holding up a piece of paper in front of her face. His hand was shaking so much, there was no way she could possibly read it. It looked like it had been crumpled, and it had red, maybe blood, on it. Then she realized that it looked a lot like the other note that had been left at the house, the one that had threatened Adam. Now she was totally confused.
“Wh-what is that?” she asked.
“Read it.”
“I c-c-can’t read it. Your hand’s moving.”
“It’s from the guy you’ve been fucking—Tony,” he spewed, spraying saliva.
She felt beyond light-headed, like she had no blood in her head at all. Her legs felt like they were about to buckle, give way.
“How could you do this to me?” he asked. “Just give me a reason. I want to know why. Why? Why?”
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
“Oh, shut up!” he screamed. “Just shut the fuck up!”
She’d never seen him this way, so angry and crazed. Thank God they were downstairs and not up in the bedroom. He still had that gun in the closet.
“Nothing happened,” she said desperately.
He glared at her like he hated her, like he wanted to kill her, then he said, “You think you’re the only one? Huh? You think you’re the only one who’s miserable in this marriage?”
“I never said I was mis—”
“You think you’re the only one who ever wanted to cheat? You think when I dragged you into marriage counseling I was a happily married man?”
Dana started to cry, not because she was sad about herself but because she was starting to understand how badly she’d hurt Adam. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but you don’t—”
“What, you think you’re the only one with bombshells, you’re the only one with secrets? Well, I have a secret for you. I haven’t exactly been faithful either. There, how does that feel? Does it feel good, or does it hurt?”
He stared at her, waiting to see her reaction, but she didn’t have one. She thought he was lying, just to get a response from her.
“Please,” she said, “you don’t have to say things just to get even. If you’d just let me expl—”
“It was with Sharon.” His smile was gleeful, almost demented. “That’s right, your friend Sharon. We did it in my office, right on my therapy couch.”
Dana didn’t believe him. “Oh, stop it,” she said.
“What? You think I’m making it up?” Adam said. “I swear on my father’s grave, I swear on my life, I swear on Marissa’s life that I am not making this up. I fucked your best friend. I fucked the hell out of her.”
“What’s going on here?”
Dana looked over and saw that Marissa had entered the kitchen. She had no idea how long she’d been there.
“Nothing, just leave us alone for a few minutes,” Dana said. “Oh my God, Dad, what happened to your face?”
Adam was still smiling in that strange way at Dana, looking like a mental patient.
“Just go upstairs,” Dana said.
“Why?” Adam said. “It’s all out in the open now, she’ll find out eventually.
Why not just tell her?”
“Tell me what?” Marissa asked. “And what the hell happened to you?”
“It turns out your mother’s been cheating on me with Tony,” Adam said, “the trainer at New York Sports Club.”
“I have not been cheating,” Dana said.
“Why can’t you just have the decency to fucking admit it?” Adam said. “God, can you guys just stop it?” Marissa said. “What’s wrong with you two?”
Now Dana was starting to wonder. Was he serious? Would he be taking it this far if he wasn’t serious? She remembered that period—when was it?— about five years ago when she’d had a falling-out with Sharon. Sharon became distant, didn’t want to get together as much, and Dana had never known why.
“Nothing happened with you and Sharon,” Dana said. “Why would I make it up?” Adam said. “Just to get even?”
“Wait,” Marissa said to Adam. “You and Sharon Wasserman were having an affair?”
Dana was thinking about that New Year’s Eve party, when she had walked into the kitchen and seen Adam with his arm around Sharon’s waist, holding her close, and that time when she and Adam went to the movies with Sharon and Michael, and she had seen Sharon and Adam turn to look at each other a few times. It was all coming into focus, adding up, but she still didn’t want to believe it.
“Sharon wouldn’t do that to me,” Dana said. “That’s impossible.”
“You don’t believe me? Go ask her for yourself, but I don’t see what difference it makes now.”
He wasn’t lying; they’d really done it. Suddenly Dana felt dizzy, nauseous. “Oh my God,” Marissa said, covering her mouth.
Dana had to get outside, get some air. Maybe a few seconds later, she realized she was walking, then running along the driveway, toward the sidewalk. At first she just wanted to get away, breathe, but then she had a destination.
She went across the street, then around the corner. She rang Sharon’s doorbell a few times and then started banging on the door as hard as she could.
Sharon’s husband, Mike, answered, looking confused and concerned, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Where the hell’s that slut? Where is she?”
“Excuse me?” Mike said as Dana pushed past him and went into the house, saying, “Where is she? Where the hell’s that lying little bitch?”
Dana went toward the kitchen, didn’t see Sharon there, and came back, knocking into Michael, who was saying, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Dana?”
There she was, upstairs.
Dana ran up, screaming, “You fucking slut! You fucking whore!” Dana saw it in Sharon’s expression—it was true, everything was true.
When Dana was a few steps away, Sharon turned and started to run down the hallway toward her bedroom, but Dana was coming too fast. She grabbed the cheating bitch from behind and tackled her.
Sharon was screaming, “Stop! Please, please stop it!”
Dana was punching Sharon, beating her on the back of her head and her neck. Then she put her hands around her throat.
Mike was behind Dana, trying to pull her off of his wife, but Dana was squeezing harder, digging her nails in, refusing to let go.
Adam had played his best round of golf in years. He’d gotten off to a slow start on the front nine, blowing an easy putt on the third hole and needing three shots to get out of the sand trap on six, but on the back nine he really hit his stride. He got two birdies, including one on fifteen, where he used a three-iron from the rough and hit a two-hundred-yard drive and got a great—okay, lucky— bounce and wound up about five feet from the cup and then nailed the putt. He ended up with a ninety-two, only three strokes off his all-time best, which he’d gotten five or six years ago on a much easier course in Fort Lauderdale.
After a couple of beers in the clubhouse with his friend Jeff and a few other club members, he drove back to Queens. He was still feeling upbeat, reliving that big shot on the fifteenth hole again and again. He really nailed that sucker, a
nd the club tournament was coming up in a few weeks. He hadn’t been planning to enter, but if he could hit shots like that . . .
When he arrived back at the house, he noticed that the SUV wasn’t in the driveway, so he figured that Dana was still at Costco. He was going to call her to tell her about his great round but decided he’d wait till she got home. Besides, she wasn’t interested in golf, and he doubted she’d really care. Instead, as he parked his Merc in the driveway, he called his friend Stu, whom he’d gone to college with but who lived in L.A. now. Stu was a big golfer and would appreciate the story.
When Stu picked up, Adam said, “Wait till you hear this,” and proceeded to describe the entire round. He entered the house through the back door and was heading toward the front of the house, saying, “So then on fifteen my second shot slices right into the rough,” when he saw the piece of paper near the front door. He went over and picked it up, not really thinking, saying mindlessly to Stu, “And then I go for the three-iron.” Stu asked him why he didn’t use a two from that far out, and he said, “I was doing well with the three all day,” but he was getting distracted now as he read:
YOUR WIFE AND I HAVE BEEN FUCKING I’M IN LOVE WITH HER
SORRY
TONY FROM THE GYM
Adam was still half lost in telling the story to Stu and wasn’t really processing what he was reading, but as he said, “I knew it was heading right toward the pin,” it occurred to him that this note was on the same paper as the note that had threatened his life, and it was written in the same block letters and looked like the same handwriting. Stu was saying something, Adam had no idea what— the dog next door was suddenly barking like crazy, making it even harder to focus—and then Adam said, “I gotta call you back” and shut the phone and read the note again, still trying to comprehend its meaning.
For years, Adam’s patients had been describing to him the shock of finding out about their cheating spouses. They described initially feeling shocked and betrayed and then experiencing a tremendous rush of anger. Just a few months ago, Richard, a patient who had a history of alcohol abuse, suspected his wife was having an affair and said if he found out who the guy was he would kill him. Adam believed that Richard was just acting out, trying to empower himself. Using standard cognitive-behavioral techniques, Adam questioned Richard’s reasoning for wanting to confront his wife’s lover and helped him understand that a confrontation leading to violence wouldn’t accomplish anything other than causing even more pain for everyone involved, especially himself.
