Crazy in Love (4 page)

“It’s an organization that studies human nature.”

“Yikes. What kind of human nature are you after here? Human nature. I don’t know, I thought this was going to be an ordinary interview.”

“It is. I don’t want to intimidate you,” I stammered. I felt intimidated myself, and pompous at the same time. “Actually, I am the Swift Observatory—I’m all there is. I needed a name for my work because it’s funded, you see.” As Clare had said, the foundation would be more likely to give grant money to the Swift Observatory than “Georgie Swift, Nosy Bitch.”

“I never planned to kill Celeste Stone. My hand was stabbing her, then all of a sudden I realized what I was doing and stopped. In one instant I ruined my life. Well, not an instant exactly. I was hitting her for about thirty seconds, we think.”

“We?”

“Celeste and I. We haven’t spoken to each other, but we communicate through our lawyers. I’ve already been told that I probably won’t go to jail, but I’ll go on probation and lose custody of my children. Celeste says she doesn’t want me to go to jail. She’s being very big about this. She’s lying in a hospital bed at this very moment. They’re letting her out tomorrow.” Mona looked out the window as she spoke. Her voice lilted slightly, betraying no emotional connection to the words.

“Did you know her well?”

“Very well. We met at the nursery school. The mothers take turns volunteering, and she and I usually had the same day. Her husband is a doctor too. A dermatologist. Dick’s an eye surgeon.”

“And the couples became friendly.”

“That’s right. We took ski trips together.” She looked at me for the first time. “I don’t want to talk about the romance.”

“All right.”

“I’ll just say that I knew but I didn’t know. In other words, I now realize that subconsciously I knew something was going on, but I refused to recognize it. Then someone told me about it—my mother, in fact—and I went crazy.”

“Your mother told you your husband was having an affair?”

“Yes. Isn’t that unbelievable? I feel ashamed that she knows anything about it. She saw them . . . kissing . . . outside a restaurant. She told me, then everything became clear. Everything I had known but not known. Dick had just left town for a conference, so I couldn’t confront him. I went crazy and headed to Celeste’s. I’m a great believer in the subconscious. I think I chose a butter knife because I didn’t really want to kill her. This is the most ridiculous thing to be talking about. I hardly believe I did it—I know I did, but I still can’t believe it. I’m not the type to stab someone.”

“Are you pregnant?”

She looked away again. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said.

I had the feeling she wasn’t being totally sincere, that she was using me a little. I could hardly blame her. She would benefit from sympathetic news stories.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Tuchman,” I said. “I should tell you that my account of your story will probably not be published.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” She sounded upset.

“Did your lawyer tell you to give interviews?”

“Yes, but hardly anyone seems interested. Last week they were, but I wasn’t ready. Too much time has passed or something, and they’re on to a new story.” Her voice shook and tears glazed her eyes. “He thought I’d stand a better chance if the public liked me. He said if they identified with me instead of Celeste, I’d get off easy and maybe get to keep my kids. Oh, God, that’s the worst part,” she said, really sobbing now. “What are they going to think of me?”

“They’ll understand,” I said calmly. “They’ll understand that you wanted to keep the family together.”

“That’s it,” she said, sounding bewildered.

“Tell me about that,” I said.

“It’s so simple. I love Dick. We have a wonderful family—two girls and a boy. I’m his wife, he’s their father, they’re our kids, we’re parents, they’re sisters and a brother. We’re a family. That’s exactly it,” she said, as if the thought had occurred to her for the first time. “We belong together.”

“That’s what I figured the moment I read that article about you.”

“What makes you so interested in my story?” Mona asked me, frowning, cleaning her glasses with the hem of her dress.

“Because I think I understand exactly how you felt,” I said.

“No one has said that to me. I realize that most people wouldn’t actually have done it, but I thought they might understand how I felt. My neighbor shuddered when she saw me. Even the people who really know us, know how close Dick and I are, can’t understand how it happened. I haven’t seen my kids yet, but I’ve seen Dick. He looks like he’s in shock. He says there’s been a problem between us for a long time, but he doesn’t love Celeste.”

“Why did you decide to confront her?”

“Good question. I have no idea. I was standing in my kitchen, talking to my mother. She told me about seeing them. After she left I was sitting there thinking. I didn’t feel sad or hurt exactly. Just rage—I felt as though a cyclone was inside me, whirling me over to Celeste’s apartment. I have this picture of myself running down the park, flailing like a rag doll.”

“Then what happened?” I asked. I could see her exactly, floppy with fury.

“She was in the kitchen. She was wearing a checkered apron, standing at her butcher block island, peeling the skin off partridge breasts. She’s a fabulous cook.” Mona sighed.

“What are you thinking?”

“Oh, just remembering some of the dinners we had at her house. Anyway, I said, ‘I just heard the news’ or something like that. She said ‘What news?’ with a terribly bright expression and a happy voice, as if I were going to tell her the Bolshoi was coming to town. I mean, what other news could it possibly be? That made me even angrier. I guess I screamed something about her and Dick, and then I just grabbed the butter knife off the butter dish and began hitting her with it. That’s how I think of it—hitting her. I hate the thought of stabbing. I hate it.”

“But the papers said you drew blood.”

“I gave her a bloody nose.” She paused. “I did hurt her with the butter knife, though. I heard her rib crack. She doubled over, and she looked like Lee Harvey Oswald in that picture where Ruby shoots him. It was horrible. See, when I think about it I remember quite a lot. I’ll always remember that look on her face.”

“When I called the other day you said you were trying to get on with business.”

“I am. I think that’s important. I’ve sort of given myself an assignment: get up, make coffee, do my work. It’s the only way to get through this.”

I wanted to ask what she imagined her future would be, but the question was too cruel. Here she was, talking about making a good start each day.

“I expected this interview to be different,” she said. “I thought I could portray myself in a certain way, and you would print it. Instead we’ve just talked. I’ve enjoyed it.”

“So have I. I wish I could help your cause. I should go now, but I’ll leave my number just in case—” I wrote down my numbers at the Gregory and in Black Hall. Then I stood to leave and we shook hands. She followed me to the elevator. She gestured at a closed door.

“That’s Dick’s office. He’s in there right now, seeing patients. Unless he’s at the hospital,” she said, frowning, as if she were unused to not knowing his where-abouts. “One of us will obviously have to move. God, before this happened I could call one of my friends to talk. You’ve got me in the mood to talk, but I don’t know who to call. Everyone is afraid I’ll bring up the event. They don’t know how to react—they’re afraid they’ll sound too sympathetic or approving.” Suddenly I couldn’t wait for the elevator doors to close. How terrible it seemed, for a woman who was used to the company of friends and, especially, her husband and children, suddenly to be left alone. She didn’t even feel free to make a phone call. It seemed like the worst punishment on earth.

The air outside was fresh, and I crossed to the sunny side of the street. I heard sparrows cheeping; I looked up to see a pair nesting in a hollow section of the traffic light. This seemed normal, a standard rite of springtime. I decided to walk through the park, anything to get my mind off Mona Tuchman. In a shady bog not three yards from Central Park West I saw a jack-in-the-pulpit. Then pigeons in a mating dance. Then a young girl standing on her toes to kiss her boyfriend. The girl was wearing a pink dress. I heard birds singing, horns honking, children playing, when all of a sudden I knew I had to talk to Nick.

I’d done this before, when the specter of infidelity reared its unwelcome head. I needed to know that Nick wasn’t doing it, would never do it, to me. Cheating on me. Kissing someone else. Honora was in there, pitching her message: keep track of your man. I began to look for a cab.

At the Gregory I waited for the elevator with painful nonchalance, then hurried to the phone in my room. A strange pattern had just been set in motion: I was going to call Nick, seek reassurance that he loved me and would always be faithful, then hang up feeling like a fool. I could view it objectively, the way a lab technician views a speciman, but I was going to do it anyway.

Denise told me he was in a meeting.

“Did he say he wasn’t to be disturbed?” I asked. “Because this is pretty important, Denise.” I rarely disturbed Nick when he was in a meeting, but suddenly I felt that unless I spoke to him, I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“The thing is, Georgie, he isn’t here. The meeting is uptown, at the client’s place.”

“That’s okay,” I said, hanging up.

Every once in a while, when Denise was vague about where Nick had gone, I started thinking about the women on Wall Street. They were sleek, beautiful, accomplished. They dressed well. Some of them spent more late nights with Nick than I did. I hated imagining them huddled over documents, their heads nearly touching. I called Clare.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Eugene and Casey just swam over for a visit, but they said you weren’t home.”

“In New York. I’m at the Gregory.”

“Georgie, you’re nuts. So Nick has to work late one night. What’s the big deal about sleeping alone?”

“You read my mind. I’ve got affair paranoia again.”

“You want me to run through the usual things?” Clare asked.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“All right. You and Nick love each other. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at you. You’ve been honest with each other. You have to trust him more. He would be so hurt if he knew you had these doubts.”

I laughed at her tone of voice, which was deadpan. “Thanks. I feel better. This started because I just met Mona Tuchman. I feel so sorry for her, Clare.”

“I know. Her situation sounds dreadful. Has she seen her kids?”

“No.”

“God, I’d die if I ever lost the boys. Have you ever noticed you call me more from New York than you do from home?”

“I have. It’s weird.”

“It’s because when you’re at Black Hall you know I’m there. If you look out your window you see my house. When you go away you think maybe I’ve disappeared. You’re a really insecure traveler. Honora is the same way—whenever she leaves the Point she calls constantly. You two must have some phone bills.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Quit mooning over Nick, will you? It’s really undignified. Not to mention unnecessary. When you have something worth worrying about, you’ll know it.”

“What you say makes perfect sense.”

“But it doesn’t sink in, eh?”

“Not completely. But I’ll get to work on my report and try not to think about it.”

“I marvel at the fact that my sister’s husband can’t spend one night without her, she rushes to his side at the drop of a hat, and then she spends her time looking for lipstick on his collar.”

“That’s a little parable about me?”

“You’re the only sister I’ve got, honey.”

We said goodbye, and the second we hung up the phone, Clare disappeared. She was absolutely right: if I didn’t have the person with me, anything might be happening to him. The minute Nick flew out of sight every morning, he could crash-land, be pounced upon by brazen hussies, forget me. Honora had trained my imagination well. I reached for my notebooks and arranged them on the desktop. I held my pen very tight. I concentrated on every word. I reported all my recent cases, winding up with Mona Tuchman. Hours passed. I barely noticed. By eleven that night, when it was time to meet Nick for dinner, everyone who had disappeared was coming back. They were all there, in place but invisible, at the edge of my consciousness. Nick, Clare, Honora, Pem. Reunions brought them back.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” I asked Nick across the table at Vinnie’s in the Village. Candles burned in wrought-iron sconces, casting romantic light on his face. The restaurant was lively, considering the hour. I had to speak in a louder voice than I would have liked. Nick stopped twirling his tagliatelle. He grinned.

“That’s a nice question,” he said.

“Well?”

“You know I’d like to, but I’m afraid of how my hours would affect raising a child. You’d have to do a lot more than your fair share.”

“What’s a fair share when it comes to a child?” I asked, scoffing. I sipped some Barolo. “We’d each do everything we possibly could.”

“Consider whether you would have come into the city today if we had a baby. I’m not sure it would be possible. In fact,” he said, with deliberation, “I’ve been thinking about it—the way you come in whenever I work late.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to?” I asked, more sharply than I had intended.

“Georgie, we’re just having a conversation. I want a nice dinner—” His lips tightened, then relaxed into a smile. He took my hand. “We’re not setting anything in stone. I just think you shouldn’t come to New York every time I work late. Other lawyers manage it. Jean and her husband spend two days a week apart, and they seem happy,” Nick said. Jean was one of those Wall Street females I most hated to imagine huddled with Nick at the conference table.

“I guess tonight is not the time to talk about having a baby,” I said, because he would know how furious I was if I kept talking.

“Georgie.” Deep sigh. “Shit. Forget it. Do you want me to quit my job?”

Guilt found fertile ground. “I don’t want to be responsible for you quitting Hubbard, Starr.”