Eye of Flame (6 page)

He shook his head. “I couldn’t forget you. You were the first girl I loved. You don’t forget that.”

She sat down on a sandy slope; he seated himself next to her. “I was a fraud then,” she said. “It was all a pose. I was so afraid of—”

“I can understand that.”

“I’m still a fraud. I do my work, and I suppose I do it well enough, but it isn’t really my life in the way it should be. I’m supposedly a Plato scholar. Plato valued the life of the mind above all, but I don’t know if I do or not.” She laughed softly. “How naive that sounds. I used to think that once you assented to an argument’s validity, you’d have to change your views, even your life if necessary. One of my professors found that notion quite amusing. He said I had it the wrong way around, that philosophers find arguments to justify only what they already believe.”

Tad was gazing at her steadily; she was surprised to see warmth and sympathy in his eyes. “I’m supposed to be writing a monograph on Plato’s
Philebus
,” she continued.

“I studied some philo in college,” Tad said. “Mostly courses in symbolic logic, but I did read some Plato.”

“It’s the dialogue where Plato deals with the relation of pleasure to the good and tries to show the comparative worthlessness of physical pleasures. He shows the contradictions involved in asserting that pleasure alone is the good, but he can’t conclusively disprove that purely hedonistic belief. All he can really do is to show that the life of the mind, the intellect, is a truer pleasure than those most people seek.” She sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come out here. It’s just made the contradictions in my own life more evident. If I really believed in the choices I made, I wouldn’t still envy my friends.”

“I’m afraid my intellectual pleasures were the only ones I had,” Tad said. “Math interested me the most. It seemed to take me to that realm of forms Plato wrote about, where objective truth could be found. I could forget the world then, see it as an illusion, as only the dimmest reflection of the real realm of truth and beauty, as only shadows on the wall of a cave in which people are trapped. Mathematics was far more real to me than the physical world.”

That, she thought, was a Platonic enough notion. Tad went on speaking of how much each thing in the world also existed as a mathematical possibility; the world would change and eventually die, but the possibilities mathematical sets expressed would always exist, were in fact eternal. But he also seemed to think that the barrier between the physical world and this mathematical one could be breached, that a way of breaching it could be expressed mathematically, that the manipulation of certain symbols by itself could transform physical facts. As he spoke, she lost the thread of his argument, unable to tell if he was talking about applied mathematics or some sort of magical mumbo-jumbo. Words seemed inadequate for what he was trying to say.

“I explored this for a long time,” he went on. “I was trying to see past the illusions of time and space. Each moment of time became another bead on an endless chain, while the world itself seemed almost like a series of cross-sections, a cutaway set in which, if you could see it all, you could move to any place in it almost instantly.”

He fell silent; she heard only the rhythmical pounding of the waves against the shore. She felt that if she turned, she would see only bare hills, discover that the world she knew had vanished.

“We used to talk this way,” he said at last. “I’ve missed you, Jackie. I kept imagining that I’d meet you again. I think I’m still in love with you.”

He pulled her to her feet and drew her toward him. As he kissed her, she stepped back, startled at how aroused she felt.

“This is ridiculous.” Another woman seemed to be speaking the words, not Jacqueline herself. “We haven’t seen each other for twenty years. I don’t know anything about you. You can’t be in love with me.”

“I know what I feel. I wouldn’t be here with you now if I didn’t think you wanted me, too.”

“There’s someone else. I’m living with a man.”

“Jackie.” He kissed her again. Her arms were around him, clutching at his back. He drew away and encircled her waist with his arm. “I love you,” he said as they walked back up the beach.

Jacqueline opened her eyes and stared at the bedroom ceiling. Tad was gone; she could not remember when he had left. For the past three days, it had been like that; Tad had exhausted her with his lovemaking and had been absent when she awoke. She would shower, dress, and go to the terrace; he was inevitably below in the street, waiting.

Her memories were hazy and blurred. She dimly recalled that Tad had driven her in the Fiat that Patti had loaned her to a restaurant overlooking the beach. There had been a drive up the coast to Marina del Rey and drinks at a bar, but she had only the faintest recollection of the sailboats and yachts in the harbor there.

Other memories were more vivid—the touch of Tad’s hands, the feel of his muscled body, his whispered endearments as he made love to her. Thinking of him made her want him even more; he had awakened desires she had believed dormant or dead.

She sat up abruptly. Three days, and she knew about as little of Tad’s life as she had known when she first saw him. They had talked about her life and her problems, or had sat together in a comfortable silence, whenever they were not making love. He had to live nearby, since she had never seen his car, but he had not shown her his home. He had enough money to buy her overpriced drinks and an expensive dinner, but she did not know how he got it. She had been content to tell him about herself while asking no questions about his life; he had been the perfect lover, responding to her needs without imposing his own.

Now she was appalled at herself, thinking of the risks she had taken. Tad might have herpes or some other disease. She had not even thought of contraception; her diaphragm was back East in her apartment, where its presence might serve to reassure Jerome.

It was Saturday; Jerome would be home, perhaps hoping she would call. She reached for the telephone, dialed the number, and waited until it had rung fifteen times before hanging up.

She climbed out of bed, reached for the watch on the folding table where her typewriter stood, then saw that it was nearly noon. Patti would be expecting her. Her cousin had not called during the past days; she wondered why.

Jacqueline hurried into the adjoining bathroom, pressing the light switch as she entered. The face staring at her from the bathroom mirror looked haggard; the harsh light revealed all her flaws. Tiny lines she had never noticed before marked the skin around her eyes; at her temples a few strands of silver stood out against her auburn hair. She had gained almost fifteen pounds since high school, but her face had stayed youthful; the light made her seem ten years older.

Tad had insisted that she was still beautiful to him. He might be waiting for her now, below the terrace; she wanted to be with him, to hear his reassuring words. She forced the thought of him from her mind.

Patti’s house was a wooden structure with large, glassy windows overlooking the sloping road. Stone walls separated the house from its neighbors; a stocky, dark-skinned man was toiling in Patti’s tiny flower garden. Jacqueline parked, then climbed the steps leading to the side door.

Patti led her to the patio out back; Dena and Louise were sitting by the pool. Dena stood up, smoothed down her shorts, then handed a glass of wine to Jacqueline. “Tried to call you,” Dena said. “Hope you’ve seen some of the sights. When you live out here, you turn into a tour guide for visitors.”

“I would have called,” Louise said, “but—” She smiled and lowered her eyelids. “I thought Bob had vaccinated me against serious relationships, but there’s someone—”

Dena sat down again. “Do tell.”

“Oh no. This is something special. I don’t want to ruin it. You’ll find out soon enough.”

The weather had grown warm. Jacqueline set down her glass, then shrugged out of her jacket. In the daylight, Louise’s face seemed puffier; her chin sagged a little, and her breasts drooped slightly under her red halter. Dena brushed her black hair from her face; Jacqueline thought she saw some gray, then noticed a small, bulging vein on one of Dena’s tanned legs. Even Patti looked a bit older; her cheeks sagged just a little. Jacqueline felt a guilty pleasure, quickly suppressed, at seeing that the others were not quite so ageless after all.

They talked about high school days, real estate, and men. Dena and her millionaire had parted company, but she did not seem all that unhappy about it. Louise mocked her ex-husband, while Patti enumerated Joe’s various faults. Louise remained sober enough to drive them to a restaurant in her Mercedes; there they giggled and recited old high school cheers over margaritas. Yet somehow, to Jacqueline, their joviality seemed forced. They all lapsed into awkward silences before rushing to fill them with words; Dena seemed distracted, while Louise kept staring into space.

Jacqueline had expected the two to linger at Patti’s house after dinner, but both women seemed in a hurry to get home. “We should get together this week,” Patti said as Dena got into her Jaguar. “I’ll call you—maybe we can meet at your place, or Louise’s.” Dena nodded, then followed Louise’s Mercedes down the street.

“I’m really beat,” Jacqueline said. “Good thing I don’t have far to drive. Anyway, Joe should be home soon.”

“I have to talk to you.” Patti hurried up the steps; Jacqueline followed her into the house. Patti turned on a light and crossed the living room to the wide window, keeping her back to Jacqueline.

“What is it, Patti?” Jacqueline sat down on one end of the modular couch. “Is something wrong between you and Joe? You were being pretty hard on him this afternoon.”

“I’m having an affair.”

This was a surprise. “Is it just a passing thing, or is it serious?”

“At first it was just curiosity. I’ve never been unfaithful to Joe before. You know how it is. The spark goes out, you fall into a routine, you want something different. But I think I’m really in love this time.” Patti continued to stare out the window. “I can tell you. I don’t think I could say it to Dena or Louise. I’m sleeping with Tad Braun.”

Jacqueline struggled for control, grateful that Patti could not see her face. The pain of Tad’s betrayal was sharp. “How long?” she managed to ask.

“You must know—just since that night we saw him. He came here the very next day, right after I was home from work. He says he’s been in love with me for years, that he had a crush on me in high school. I called in sick the next day and saw him again. Joe’s always home late—it was easy to see Tad.”

Jacqueline was silent. Patti turned and paced toward the fireplace; Jacqueline composed her face. “It’s crazy, I know,” Patti said. “I don’t even know where he lives, or what he’s doing, I just know I have to be with him. It isn’t just the sex—he understands me; he listens to me.”

Jacqueline closed her eyes for a moment. She should have guessed she wasn’t the only woman in Tad’s life, that his sincere-sounding words were only a line designed to hook the vulnerable, but he might have found someone besides her cousin. How had he even managed it? He had been with her for much of the past three days, would have had to rush away while she was asleep. That was possible; Patti’s house was only half a mile from the condominium. She had lost track of time with him, but was his energy limitless? How could he have had any strength left for Patti?

“You’re shocked,” Patti said.

Jacqueline lit a cigarette. “I’m a little startled,” she said, trying to mask her hurt. “You have a pretty good life with Joe. Do you want to throw it away?”

“I don’t care about that now. Tad’s what I want; I think he’s the kind of man I wanted all along. I can’t even think of anything else when I’m with him.”

“But you’ve admitted you don’t know anything about him.”

“I know what I have to know, and he says he needs me.”

She would be doing her cousin a favor if she told Patti that Tad had seen her as well. Patti would be angry, but the news might be enough to make her give him up.

Jacqueline was about to speak, then hesitated. Patti might only get angry at her or refuse to believe the story. If she got jealous enough, Jacqueline could hardly stay on in her condo with a car borrowed from one of Joe’s showrooms; she would have to go home, and might not see Tad again. That possibility tore at her. Even now, she still longed for Tad; he must have sensed her weakness, her need.

“You feel that way now,” Jacqueline said, “but it won’t last. You might find out later that Tad isn’t what you wanted, either. Stop seeing him before it’s too late. Joe doesn’t have to know.”

“I’m in love with Tad.”

“You just think you are.” Jacqueline took a breath, wondering if she was trying to help Patti or only trying to win Tad for herself. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Patti, you’re tired, and we’ve both had too much to drink. It’ll look different tomorrow, believe me.”

Patti sank down onto the stone hearth. “You don’t understand; you don’t know how I feel.” She looked up suddenly. “You won’t say anything.”

“Of course not.” Jacqueline stood up. “Look, maybe you can take an afternoon off this week and show me the sights. I don’t think I’m ready to take on the freeways alone.”

“I’ll see.” Patti’s voice was flat.

Jacqueline tossed on her bed restlessly, unable to sleep. The sound of passing cars outside was competing with the noise of a party somewhere in the building. The weekend crowds had thronged to the beach and later to the bars along the Strand in search of the pleasures so low on Plato’s hierarchy.