Once Upon a Time, There Was You (25 page)

“It started a couple of months ago. I went without Ben to a class, and the instructor, his name is YeeYee, and I—”

“His name is what?”

“It’s YeeYee, and don’t make fun of it! It’s just a name, no different than your name, really.”

“Oh yes it
is
, uh
-huh.
”

“Do you want to know what happened or not?”

“Yes. Tell me every single detail.”

“I’m not going to tell you all the details.”

“What are you going to tell me?”

“The skeletal outline, I would say.”

“Why not the details?”

“Because they’re not any of your business.”

“I am your best friend, Val.”

“Still not any of your business.”

Valerie’s phone rings. She pulls it from her purse and holds a finger up, answers it. “Hi, Benny. What’s up?”

She listens, then says, “Great. I’ve always wanted to go there. But listen, Irene and I are just finishing lunch. Can I call you back?”

She hangs up. “Ben and I are going to the new fusion place on Green Street tonight.”

Irene says nothing.

“Irene?”

Still, she keeps silent.

“What, you’re mad at me because I had an affair?”

“I’m mad that you didn’t tell me,” Irene says. “How come you get to ravage all the clothes in my emotional closet and I don’t even get to open your door?”

“That,” Valerie says, “is the weirdest and worst metaphor I have ever heard in my entire life, and that includes Fred Peterson’s dumb poems about his grandmother’s pies that he used to make us listen to.”

“Yeah, well, if you’d gotten up and left like me, you wouldn’t have had to hear so many of them. Remember this?
Cinnamon me. Sugar me. Make me bake into myself.
”

“Oh, God, I’d forgotten that. Oh, poor Fred.”

There is a protracted silence between the two women, and finally Valerie says, “Oh, all right! Here’s what happened. I stayed after class to ask a question about a pose. He showed me something which involved his putting his hand near my crotch. And I just … I just spun around and kissed him. And he kissed me back. And we … Right on the floor.”

“On the floor of the studio?”

Valerie nods.

“Wow. The floor. Didn’t it hurt?”

“Yes, it did. In lots of ways. I went home afterward and cried so hard I was howling. But I went to his apartment the next day and we did it again. It was … Well, don’t get mad, but it was the same day you called me over because Don had dumped you. When we drank those martinis. When I left, I took a cab to his place. And that time it was in his bed. He undressed me, and when he saw the lace on my cami, he said, ‘Is this lace from Belgium? Are your earrings Tahitian pearls? Because that’s what you deserve.’ And he touched me with such … reverence. And he looked so deeply into my eyes and he … just … 
saw
me.”

“Oh, please. You don’t think Ben sees you?”

“Ben and I were having trouble at the time. We were in this thing where we were just really having trouble. He was basically ignoring me. And I him. And so the prospect of having such a gentle and romantic and attentive lover was something that was
so appealing. Maybe it was a little midlife crisis. I thought,
I just want to try this. I’ll probably never have the opportunity to try this again. And it won’t hurt anyone.
”

Irene says nothing.

“I know,” Valerie says. “I know it hurts everyone. Especially when YeeYee started telling me to leave my marriage.”

“That’s when you broke it off, right?”

“Nope.”

“You’re still seeing him?”

“Nope.”

“Then …”

“He broke it off,” Valerie says, the color rising in her cheeks.

“Wow. You got dumped by your qigong instructor?” Irene can’t help it; she starts to laugh. “Did you say,
Oh, YeeYee, please don’t leave leave me
?”

“Yeah, it’s not really so funny, Irene.”

“I know it’s not. I’m sorry.”

The waiter comes over to their table. “Everything delicious here?”

“I’d say so,” Irene says.

“Anyway,” Valerie says. “This was just to clue you in on the idea of ‘perfect marriages.’ The truth is, if he hadn’t called it off, I would have. Honestly. I was coming to my senses.”

“But … Why didn’t you tell me you and Ben were having such bad trouble?”

“Because you would have told me to leave. And I would have. You know, sometimes marriage is iron. Sometimes it’s tissue paper. And I think the times it’s tissue paper are when you need to keep things to yourself. Or you can end up making a mistake that you’ll regret forever. Do you know what I mean?”

Irene nods. Yes, she does. Now.

26

O
utside, the rain is coming down so hard, John feels as though it might come all the way through the roof and the flat above to soak him. He talks louder into the phone. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it’s raining here,” he tells Amy.

“Is it? It’s raining here, too.”

“Good for your garden.”

“Bad for walking dogs, though.”

“…  You got him?”

“I got him.” John can hear the smile in her voice. He’s a little miffed; he’d thought she would wait for him to get the dog she’d shown him. But apparently she hadn’t understood that he might have liked that. Or hadn’t cared. Well, maybe he doesn’t even want a dog, even part of one. He’s been thinking that there are some advantages to not having pets. You can travel far more easily, that’s for sure, and maybe he would like to travel more often, after all. Now that he’s getting older. Weren’t you supposed to travel more when you got older? Maybe Irene was onto something when she complained about staying home all the time, all those years ago.

“So … did you name him?”

“I did.” Another thing John might have wanted to participate in.

“And?”

“His name is Dickens. And I think he’s going to be great. Right now, he’s … Well, he’s a puppy.”

John hears a key turning in the lock and tells Amy, “I think Sadie just came home.”

“Oh, okay, we’ll talk later,” Amy says, and hangs up before he can say goodbye.

John lies still for a moment, phone in hand, trying to gauge this: Was she angry at him for wanting to talk to the daughter he would be leaving again soon? Was she simply trying to accommodate his need to get off the phone?

“Sadie?” he hears Irene say.

Because it’s not Sadie who just came in. As he had known it would not be; Sadie is in her room, learning to use the apps on the new iPhone he bought her. But he hadn’t wanted to tell Amy he wanted off the phone because his ex-wife had come home.

He comes out into the hall and sees Irene standing there, dripping wet. Her hair is flattened to her cheeks, her clothes soaked, her purse dripping steadily.

“Hi,” he says.

“It’s raining,” she says, breathlessly.

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

She laughs and takes off her sodden jacket, hangs it on the coat tree. For a moment she stands there in the little puddle she has made, as if wondering what to do next.

“Want a towel?” John asks.

She nods gratefully.

He goes to the linen closet, searches for the biggest one he can find, and brings it to her. “You know, I’ve heard that an umbrella comes in handy in situations like this.”

“Overrated,” Irene says. “It’s kind of fun getting this wet.”

Her eyes are sparkling. She’s happy. It’s the first time he’s
seen her this way since he arrived. She towels off her hair, starts in on her neck, her arms. “You’re going to need another towel,” he says, and goes to get one.

He starts to hand it to her but instead bends down and begins drying her legs himself.

“John,” she says quietly, taking the towel from him.

He steps back, leans against the wall, crosses his arms.

“Where’s Sadie?” Irene asks.

“In her room, in apps heaven, I imagine. I got her an iPhone.”

“We need to talk.”

“I was going to get her one anyway. For when she starts school. Now I don’t have to mail it. Is that all
right
with you?”

She looks sharply at him. “What’s wrong with you?” She keeps her voice low, so Sadie can’t hear, gestures toward the kitchen, and he follows her there.

“What are you so pissed off about?” she asks after they’ve gone through the swinging door.

He doesn’t know. Because she looks so pretty all wet. Because he has to leave his daughter again. Because Amy bought a dog without him. “I thought you were mad at me for buying her a phone.”

“She
needed
one. I’m
glad
you got her one. I think it’s
nice.
”

“So … what do we need to talk about, then?”

She points to the banquette. “Want to sit down?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

She sits, and looks up at him. “I’ve decided to ask Ron and his mom to dinner tomorrow night. I wanted to know if you thought it was a good idea.”

“Yeah, I think it is a good idea. Is that all?”

“Will you sit
down
?”

He shrugs. “What? It’s a good idea. What do you want me to say?”

“Fine. We won’t talk about it.”

“Irene. You asked me about something; I said it was a good idea; why do we now have to talk about it? What’s there to talk about? I mean,
after
the dinner, I’m sure there’ll be something to talk about. Unless you want to consult with me on the menu. Which would certainly be a first.”

“Okay, John. I am now going to tell you something you’ve heard from me a million times. I cannot
talk
to you. Why
is
that?”

“Because you have to make everything so complicated, Irene!”

“Well,
forgive
me, but I think our eighteen-year-old daughter having gotten
married
after a
traumatic experience
does have its complicated aspects. And perhaps may be a subject that’s worth devoting some
discussion
to, whether we focus on the fact that she refuses
therapy
, or that the boy she married will soon be sitting at our table with his
mother
and we haven’t a clue what we might
say
as a show of—”

“I’m going for a walk,” he says.

He grabs an umbrella from the stand and heads out into the street. He’ll take the bus downtown and back. He’ll ride around, look at some buildings.

After he reaches the corner, a bus comes almost immediately. John settles into an empty seat at the back and looks out the window. He thinks about last night, when he couldn’t sleep and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. He was as quiet as he could be, hoping he wouldn’t wake Irene. Tiptoeing past on his way back to the bedroom, he heard her whisper his name.

“Did I wake you?” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I was awake. I never sleep anymore.”

“Yeah you do.”

“I know, but not like before.”

He moved over to the sofa, sat on the floor with his back to
it. He could feel Irene watching him, and, after a moment’s consideration, he moved his hand back toward her and she took hold of it.

“I feel so bad,” she whispered.

“Just remember,” he said. “It could have been so much worse. What if that lunatic had—”

“I know, don’t say it. Don’t even say it. But she got
married
. And it’s just not right. It won’t work, I know it won’t. And then she’ll have to get divorced.”

“To say nothing of the possibility that she’ll get pregnant,” John said.

“I keep thinking she
is
pregnant. I asked her, and she got all huffy and said no.”

“I asked her, too. Same reaction. Only she added, ‘Some people marry for love. You should try it sometime.’ ”

“She said that?”

“Yeah.” He started to turn around and look at her, then didn’t. This was nice, the way they were talking to each other. Better not rock the boat.

“They don’t even know each other,” Irene said.

“I told her that, too.”

“I mean, we at least knew each other very well.”

Now he does turn around. “Do you think so, Irene?”

“Yes! Don’t you? We knew each other. We still do know each other.”

“What’s my favorite color?” John asked.

She laughed.

“No, what is it?”

“It’s … Is it blue?”

“It’s green.”

“Well, okay. Sorry. But what does that prove? I mean, what’s my favorite color?”

“Your favorite color? You say it’s red. But it’s actually turquoise.”

“No, John, it’s
red.
”

“So how come you never buy red clothes or red things or wear red lipstick or even eat red food?”

“I eat beets. I love beets.”

“Look at all the dishes you bought that were turquoise: all the bowls and plates and platters. Look at your jewelry. Look at your artwork, your clothes. Your favorite color seems to be turquoise, Irene.”

She lay flat again. “This is stupid. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Hey, I have an idea! Let’s talk about Sadie.”

“Yeah, let’s do.”

Silence, and then, “John? I have to ask you something. Do you think this is my fault?”

“What, her getting married?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if that’s true, it’s both of our faults.”

“I’m the one who raised her,” Irene said.

“I had her, too, for the first eight years of her life,” John said. “And I’m involved with her now. I don’t see her every day, but we talk a lot.”

“I know. She likes you better. She always did. I shouldn’t have taken her from you. I should have let you raise her.”

“You know what, Irene? I look at Sadie, and I think you should take a bow. I mean it.” He kissed her hand, intending for it to be the only affectionate physical gesture he might offer, intending it to be friendly and not intimate, but it moved deep inside him, the touch of her skin against his mouth. He stood. “I’m going to sleep.”

For a long time, in a silence sparked by possibility, she said
nothing. And then she murmured something that sounded like
okay
, and turned away from him. He went to the bedroom and lay on top of the covers, wide awake. He looked at the outline of perfume bottles on her dresser, at her hairbrush lying there, next to an ornately engraved silver mirror her grandmother had given her for her tenth birthday, which her mother wanted to take away from her, saying it was inappropriate for a child so young. But her grandmother insisted that Irene would appreciate it, which she did, and apparently still does. He went to the dresser and picked up the brush. It was heavy in his hand, cool to the touch. He wondered what Irene thought about when she brushed her hair; it was still thick and really quite beautiful. Still a deep auburn, though apparently she had some help in that regard. He had noticed more and more silver showing up in his own hair. But you didn’t see him trying to hide it.