All You Could Ask For: A Novel (33 page)

He paused. I turned to face him. He was still seated, looking smaller than I could ever remember. Phillip is a big man, in every way. But not on that couch. Not today.

He continued, “The question was, what to do? I wanted out, but
getting
out was going to cost me about a hundred million bucks. And then, before I could figure it out, I noticed this thing on my dick. Just a little thing, you know, like a pimple. It got bigger and bigger in just a couple of days and then—”

“Stop telling me this part,” I said.

“I finally went to the doctor and, of course, it was herpes. The doctor asked me how I thought I got it and I told him I had no idea. And he asked what I meant by that and I said it could have been five or six different women, and he asked if one of them was my wife and I said that was probably the least likely.”

“This is the worst story I’ve ever heard,” I said.

Phil ignored me and kept going. “I asked the doctor what I should do and he said I had better explain to my wife how it happened because she was about to find out anyway. And I told him she would probably leave me, and he said: ‘Phil, unless you can convince her that
she
was the one who gave you this, I’d say you’re completely fucked.’ And it was like a lightbulb went on over my head. I went straight to the bar at the St. Regis and had three drinks, and then I went home and started screaming at her: ‘How could you do this to me? I trusted you and now I’m totally humiliated!’ I tried as hard as I could to convince her I had no idea how else I could have gotten this disease and I laid it on
thick
. And after about ten minutes of nonstop cursing, I’ll give you one guess what she did.”

That was when I got it. “She admitted it.”

He smiled. “That’s exactly right. She broke down and told me she’s been sleeping with her tennis pro for two years, and she’s apologizing like crazy and begging my forgiveness, and I’m drunk enough that I sort of forget how we got there in the first place, so I’m yelling, ‘You bitch! You betrayed me!’ And right there in the living room I told her I wanted out of the marriage, that I would make sure she and the boys were always taken care of but that if she went after any of my money I would let the whole world know what a whore she is.”

He was breathing heavily, that smoker’s wheeze. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I was genuinely speechless. I just walked over and sat next to him again on the sofa.

“So that’s exactly how it happened,” he said.

“You sound as though you’re proud of it.”

“Not proud,” he said, “that isn’t the right word, but I’m happy that it’s over, and I’m happy it didn’t cost me half of everything I have worked my whole life for.”

I nodded.

“That doesn’t make sense to you?” he asked.

“I suppose it does.”

And there was nothing else to be said. I reached over and touched his cheek, left my hand there for a moment, and then I got up and walked away.

“Thanks again for the money, Phil,” I said over my shoulder. “I need to get some rest. You can see yourself out.”

SAMANTHA

I WANTED TO MEET him in Greenwich.

He offered to come into the city, couldn’t have been nicer about it, said all the right things about not wanting to inconvenience me and how he comes in all the time and how many more options there are, but I wanted to. It had been too long since I’d eaten dinner in Greenwich. And something about eating dinner in Greenwich with Andrew Marks sounded especially good. It sounded like going home again. Which they say you can’t do, only they’re wrong, you
can
go home again a little, and this night seemed like the right time.

I borrowed a car from my old boss. I realized, as I slid behind the wheel, that I hadn’t driven a car since I’d been back from Hawaii—you don’t drive much living in New York—then it dawned on me that I hadn’t driven a car while I was in Hawaii either. Nor in L.A., where Robert had a driver who delivered us everywhere we needed to be. So, as I eased into the light traffic on the West Side Highway, I figured I hadn’t driven a car since the last time I was on some shoot somewhere, a year ago at the very least, maybe more. How very strange.

It felt good to drive.

Greenwich has changed since I was a girl. There’s an Apple store where the Gap used to be, and there’s a new restaurant in the space that was occupied by that little Italian place I loved with the tables where you sat outside, the name of which I can’t remember anymore. The auto dealerships are still in the same place, though I think some of them have changed brands. The little movie theater is gone and there’s a multiplex at the other end of town. It’s all a little different, but it’s also the same. My favorite pizza shop is still where it used to be, with the statue in the window of the man in the white suit flipping the dough over his head. The florist at the beginning of Main Street is still open and, in fact, seems to have grown. And, of course, the hospital is still standing proudly at the end of town. I drove straight there and parked and just walked around for a little while. Of all the places that made my hometown feel like home, this was the most important.

The restaurant Andrew suggested was one I used to go to all the time on my birthday or my parents’ anniversary, a special-event sort of place. My mother loved it. I remember the chairs seemed so big I would sit with my feet curled beneath me like I was on a couch. My father took me a few times after Mother died, too, but mostly I remember how sad we were then, and how people would stop at our table and say hello and tell us how sorry they were and wish us well. I guess that was why we stopped coming. But I always liked it anyway. You can’t hold it against a restaurant that you spent a few sad nights there. It wasn’t the restaurant’s fault.

I gave my car to the valet and stood out in front for a moment, taking it all in. The awning outside was new but the place looked just as I remembered. The maître d’ was wearing a tuxedo and he looked familiar; I think he was the maître d’ the last time I was here. I’m not positive, but I think so. Either way, he greeted me graciously and escorted me to my table, where Andrew was waiting.

Much like the auto dealers and the shops and the town itself, Andrew looked the same but a little different. His hair was still wavy and chestnut brown, but thinner, and his shoulders were still broad but he didn’t stand as tall or stiffly as I remembered; he stooped a little, as though being so tall had become an inconvenience over the years. He still had that smile, relaxed and confident, and his teeth were terrific, and his eyes alert and energetic. He was a very handsome man, even if he wasn’t the high school basketball star anymore. It would have been silly to expect him to be that anyway; none of us are the high school basketball star anymore.

It would also have been silly to expect the sight of him to make me feel just as it did the night he asked me to dance, not because he wasn’t the same but because I wasn’t. Your heart doesn’t flutter like that of a fourteen-year-old girl’s when you aren’t fourteen anymore. It was as though I was expecting him to appear before me and suddenly we would be in high school again, and the Bee Gees would start playing and we would dance and it would be exactly as it was. That was an unreasonable expectation—
that’s
the part they mean when they say you can’t go home again. You can’t have the music and the dancing. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a perfectly lovely time.

“What made you choose pediatrics?” I asked. We were drinking a very crisp white wine, which he’d ordered in French.

“I always knew I’d be a doctor,” he said. “I spent so much time in the hospital as a kid, it felt like home. I’m sure it was the same for you.”

I nodded.

“As for the specialty, I originally considered surgery. I spent two years in the ER and I hated it. The hours are ridiculous and the drama is off the charts. The work is fulfilling but I was emotionally spent every day. I think I would have had a nervous breakdown before my thirtieth birthday. With pediatrics the hours are reasonable and the calamities are few and far between. Plus, I like the kids. Some of them I’ve treated since they were a day old. And you get to know the families. That is probably the best part, you really become a part of the community. I think I know half the moms in town.”

I laughed. “Like Brooke.”

“Yeah, she’s something else, isn’t she?”

I took a long sip of wine. “Yes, she is.”

Our entrées came and we ate quickly, and we laughed some more, it was relaxed and easy and fun. It was as though we had been the best of friends, which was strange, because in truth we had not. We hadn’t really known each other that well in high school, or afterward, but we were from the same place. That can go a long way sometimes.

Our plates had been cleared and Andrew was sloshing red wine in his glass when a different look came over his face, as though he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure about it. It was the same look he had that night, forever ago, when he stood before me and wanted to dance to a slow song but struggled to ask.

“So, Samantha, I thought I heard you got married.”

It wasn’t really a question, not technically. It was a statement, but there was a question connected to it even if he didn’t ask it.

“Did you hear that from Brooke?”

“No, just around. Not from Brooke.”

Life is funny sometimes. It throws you curveballs at the most unusual times. One minute you’re rekindling romantic feelings with a boy you adored in high school and the next you’re forced to explain why you were married for three days to a man who will very likely someday be the governor of California.

“I didn’t mean to bring up an uncomfortable subject,” Andrew said, looking concerned he had ruined the mood. “I just wondered if I had heard that wrong. You know how the grapevine can be. You don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if it’s a bad subject.”

“It isn’t,” I said, “there’s no big secret or anything. I was married, briefly, to the wrong man. In retrospect, it was a good thing that it happened the way it did. I could have wasted years of my life with him; instead I only wasted a couple of days.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

I meant that. I wasn’t sorry and I didn’t want him to be either. He looked very concerned that he had spoiled the evening, while I was only concerned that there wasn’t anything I could say to ease his mind. And then I thought of something.

“I have a much bigger regret than that in my life,” I said. “Do you want to know what it is?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

I leaned closer to him. “I
really
regret that I never got to find out if you are as good a kisser as you seemed like you would be.”

BROOKE

THE FIRST WORDS OUT of Samantha’s mouth when I answered the phone in the morning, ahead of any greeting, with a whirring sound I could not immediately place in the background, brought a huge smile to my face.

“The answer,” she said, with great excitement, “is YES!”

“I
love
it,” I replied. “I don’t even care what the question was, I just love when the answer is yes.”

“The question was, is Andrew Marks as good a kisser as he looks like he’d be. You asked me that once and I couldn’t answer it. I can answer it now.”

“Oh my goodness, tell me everything.”

I dropped onto the sofa and curled up and she started talking. I love stories like these. She said they went from the table to the bar, then to another bar for a nightcap, and then, both too drunk to drive, called a taxi to take them to Samantha’s father’s house. At that point, a hint of an icy feeling went through me. I cut her off.

“Samantha, what is that noise I hear in the background?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “what noise?”

“Oh my lord, you’re in the car, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” she said, very cheerily. Like she was throwing it in my face.

“You’re just driving home now,” I said, horrified. “You spent the night with him, didn’t you?”

I could hear the laughter in her voice. “Yes, I did.”

“You slut!”

She laughed and laughed, assuring me that her promise not to have sex with him on their first date had remained intact. I didn’t believe her at first, I’m still not sure I do, but I can’t very well call her a liar, there isn’t much point in that.