Pam of Babylon (8 page)

She got up and went into the adjoining bathroom. She looked in the mirror.
What a mess!
She opened the right drawer in the vanity, and to her surprise, all of her cosmetics were still there. She supposed he would have thrown them out. He was always waiting for her to visit him on her own. She sat down and touched up her makeup, the cover stick almost hard from a year of disuse. She would have to get rid of the stuff eventually, but was glad it was here now.

She got up and went into the closet. He was a real neat nick. He saved everything, but it was organized. She could smell him in the closet; the scent of his aftershave and deodorant combined with that of dry cleaning fluid. Her side of the closet was empty except for a robe and a pair of slacks. There was also a pair of her sneakers on the floor. She went back into the bedroom and opened the drawers in the bedside tables. On her side, there was nothing. On his, she found a pair of reading glasses and a pair of binoculars for spying. She remembered nights looking down at the street with those things. They often had laughing fits at what they saw. “This is an invasion of privacy!” she would warn. “Oh, just come and look,” he’d say.

This was just a place where he hung his hat. There must be more of him at home, maybe in his desk or the garage. A thought occurred to her. There was a closet between the bathroom and the den that she didn’t check. She went down the hall and opened the door. There on the shelf above the empty clothes bar was a clear plastic container. She couldn’t reach it, so she went back into the den and dragged the desk chair over to the closet.

Carefully, she stood on the chair and grasped the container. It was heavier than it looked. Hoping the people in the apartment below were out, she let it drop to the floor with a thud. She hopped down from the chair like a teenager. Dragging the box back into the bedroom, she decided she would unpack it and spread everything out on the bed. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but there had to be something in there that would shed some light on the man her husband had become.

Checking her watch, she noted that it was nearing lunchtime and she better call Sandra by one. Quickly, she took the lid off the box and lifted out the first sheath of papers. They looked to be mostly receipts he was keeping for next year’s taxes—gas, tolls, paper supplies, and that sort of thing. Under the receipts was a manila folder that had seen better days. She set it on her lap and slowly opened it. What lay on top looked to be a birth certificate. It was yellowed with age and bore a stamp on the lower left corner that certified it was from the State of New York. She picked it up and carried it over to the window.

At first, she didn’t grasp what she was looking at. It was for a male baby named Franklin Albert, born September 30, 1955. She skimmed the weight and length, then the father’s name, Bertram Franklin Albert, and then the mother’s name, Bernice Paula Stein.
Jack’s mother
. Confused, she thought Jack had a brother who was born on his birthday with a different father. How could that be? It didn’t take long, however, for her to figure it out.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” she said out loud. Jack was Franklin. Jack’s beloved father, Harold Smith, the man whose death a year ago knocked the wind right out of his sails, wasn’t really his father.

She stood up and began to pace.
When did he find this out? Was it right after Harold’s death? Or was it later?
She went back to the folder. The next paper was a letter from a woman, a Beverly Johnson, telling Jack that she thought he may be her halfbrother and asking if would he consider meeting. There wasn’t a copy of any reply. But she had included her telephone number, so maybe he called her right away. Knowing Jack, that is probably what he did. She could almost hear his voice.
Beverly! What a damn surprise! You are the child of my mother, Bernice? Or my father Harold?
Pam imagined Jack’s shock learning he had a halfsister who shared a father he didn’t know. She wondered why he didn’t tell her, didn’t confide in her? I would be another hurt she would suffer, Jack either didn’t trust her enough to tell her or it wouldn’t bring comfort to him. She sat down on the bed again, numb. How much could a person take in three days? Checking her watch yet, she dug through her purse for Sandra’s phone number. Picking up the phone, she keyed in the number for the second time that weekend. Sandra picked up on the first ring.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to call,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I got here early but fell asleep! I guess I must be more stressed out than I realize,” Pam confessed. “Can we get together?”

“Okay. Where do you want to meet?” Sandra asked.

“Do you want to come here, to Jack’s?” Pam asked. “I thought you might like to be here.”

“We never met there, truly,” she said.
Was this woman for real?
“But I would like to see it if it is okay with you,” Sandra said. Pam gave her the address. Sandra said she would leave right away and it would take about fifteen minutes to get there. Pam used the time to go through the rest of the papers. She found copies of Bertam Albert’s birth certificate, his death certificate dated August 1955, and more communication from Barbara Johnson with copies of Jack’s real birth certificate. There were copies of all sorts of legal documents about Harold—his discharge papers from the army and a marriage license to Bernice dated two months after Jack’s birth. Jack had done his homework. There was nothing to reveal whether or not Jack ever confronted Bernice. She would think he had died none the wiser.

The door buzzer downstairs sounded. Pam didn’t bother speaking, just pushed the button to open the door. Hopefully it was Sandra. She was suddenly shy, like meeting a date for the first time or interviewing for a job. In five minutes, the buzzer on the hallway door rang. Pam went to open the door. She couldn’t help herself. When she saw Sandra, she reached for her as if she were an old friend, embracing her. She felt all of her tension releasing, her body almost folding and she began to cry. Sandra returned the embrace and held Pam while she cried; doing for her what Pam had done the night of Jack’s death—offering comfort. Finally, when Pam could support her own weight, she stepped back from Sandra and smiled at her through her tears.

“I feel like you are on old friend. I know that must sound ridiculous because of our age difference.” Sandra didn’t think the age difference was what made it strange. But she was glad that Pam felt that way about her and said so.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me” was all she could get out. Pam took her by the arm and led her into the living room. Sandra looked around at Jack’s home. She couldn’t picture him there. It was so not what she thought of Jack. She thought he would live in a more cluttered, homier environment. This place was as sterile as a hotel room.

“Are you thinking it doesn’t say anything about Jack?” Pam asked. Sandra nodded her head yes.

“We worked together,” Sandra said, waiting for Pam to respond. She just nodded her head. “His office was always a disaster. Books and papers piled on the floor, file folders sliding off his desk, junk like radios, gifts for you and the kids, just chaos. So yes, this is surprising.” She laughed. Pam offered her a seat.

“His cupboards are bare,” she said. “I can offer you a banana. It is the only thing in the house to eat.”

“I feel a little claustrophobic. Do you have time for lunch?” Sandra said. Pam nodded yes.

“I have to call home first. I left without telling them I was coming here, and this phone has been ringing all morning.” Pam excused herself and went into the bedroom and dialed home. Lisa picked up.

“Mom, I would have gone with you. Everyone is concerned here.”

“Please tell them I am fine. I had some business to take care of, Lisa. I really wanted to be here, in the apartment, alone. I hope you understand. I’ll call you when I am on my way home.” They said goodbye, and Pam hung up. Lisa would be her advocate.

She went into the bathroom and reapplied her lipstick for the third time that day.

“This crying garbage has really taken a toll on my makeup,” she said. They left the apartment. Pam made small talk on the way down in the elevator, telling Sandra how they found the apartment. “We had a place on the Upper West Side when the kids were little. We loved it there. When we moved out onto the island, Jack wanted to be closer to work. We were eating dinner at the place in the basement here—Grendels, I believe it was called—and the man who owned the apartment was eating at the table next to us, eavesdropping on our conversation. ‘I just heard you say you like this building. My apartment is for sale. Right here on the fifteenth floor,’ he said. Just like that. We went up to look after we finished dinner, and Jack bought it then and there. It’s not really close to his office, but closer than if he’d stayed on the Upper West Side.”

Sandra smiled politely. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but was grateful Pam was keeping the conversation going. It would be easier to talk about important matters if they could keep talking. They stepped outside. It had stopped raining and the air was cool, the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. It would be a good day after all.

Do you mind if we walk a while?” Pam asked. Sandra said, “No, that would be nice.” As they walked down Madison Avenue, passersby gave admiring glances at what they thought to be a lovely young woman and her mother. Both attractive, they got the same kind of attention that Jack and Sandra used to get. Pam didn’t notice.

They arrived at a coffee shop and found a table for two at the window. Pam was starving. The waitress brought coffee and menus. Usually a light eater, she ordered a burger and fries. Sandra got a salad.

“I haven’t had a burger in years. My husband died, so I guess I can eat a burger if I want.” She looked up at Sandra. “That was tacky, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” she said.

“Don’t give it another thought,” Sandra said, thinking,
how bizarre can this get?

“I feel like I can be honest with you,” Pam said. “My family is waiting for me to fall apart or do something dramatic. I have to be careful what I say. Evidently, I fainted at the funeral home yesterday. Oh, yes, I was quite a spectacle.” She paused, careful about how she approached the next topic. “Evidently, the man who we thought was Jack’s father wasn’t his father at all. I found some documents that spelled it out in the apartment just now.” She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, looking over the rim at Sandra. “Did Jack ever mention that to you?”

“No, but I knew that something life changing had taken place shortly after his father died. He kept saying things around the office like, ‘Make sure you know who your parents really are,’ and ‘I wonder if we are related,’ to one of the black men who worked with us. No wonder!” Sandra couldn’t believe the conversation.

“Well, I have to decide to keep it a secret or confront my mother-in-law. What do you think?” Her food had arrived and she dug in like a truck driver.

“Don’t ask me! I’m terrible at that sort of thing. I mean, look at us. What would Jack say if he could see us together like this?” Sandra was still unsure of the reason for this meeting. She hoped that Pam would hurry up say whatever it was that needed saying.

“We never have to worry about Jack again, that’s one thing for sure. Can I ask you a personal question?” Pam said.
Oh, here goes
, Sandra thought to herself. She nodded yes.

“Did you love him?” She was looking up at Sandra, not with dread, but really interested. “I mean, it is clear why he was with you. You are beautiful. You’re nice. What’s not to like? I can’t be angry about it, at least not now. At first, I was hurt. For about ten minutes, I thought, ‘He found someone he liked better than me.’ But then I rationalized that maybe he needed both of us for some reason.”

“I think I did,” Sandra replied nervously. “I mean, it wasn’t real, if that makes any sense. It was all wrong, and we both knew it. Plus, it wasn’t what you think an affair is. All sexual, I mean,” she started to stammer, but Pam put her at ease.

“You can speak of sex without incurring my wrath, if that is your concern. I know you slept together. Okay?” Pam smiled at her, but Sandra noticed she had gone pale. She hoped Pam wasn’t going to faint in the restaurant.

“I’m no expert psychologist, but I just think he was lonely. He may have thought it was expected of him to sleep with me. He…well, he didn’t really seem like he was into it.” She thought she had blown it for sure now and waited for the firestorm that comment was sure to start. Pam heard the words spoken and was eternally grateful. She reached across the table and took Sandra’s hand in hers.

“Thank you, Sandra, for trying to preserve my pride. I will always be grateful for that,” Pam said, finding it difficult to believe that someone as sexual as Jack always was wouldn’t jump at the chance to ‘be into it’ with someone like Sandra.

“No! It’s true! Oh, this is so weird, talking about it to you. But you have to believe me. He loved you. He loved me too, but in a different way. We were playing. It wasn’t real. I didn’t come to your apartment, and he never came to mine because we both knew it wouldn’t last. We were already getting bored. I hated the sneaking around as much as he did. He was too old for me, or I too young for him.” She bowed her head and fought the tears.
Really, why the hell are we here—together?
Pam pushed her plate aside and started rummaging through her purse.

“Let’s go, dear. You’ll feel better when you get out of this stuffy place.” Pam put some money down on the table, and they got up and walked out. Pam took Sandra’s arm. They walked like that for a while, an attractive middle-aged woman and her beautiful companion.

“I would like to be your friend. For more than the obvious reasons, not just that you understand something about my life that no one else on earth does, but because I like you,” Pam said. Sandra didn’t know what to say in return, so she just smiled at Pam. She didn’t have girlfriends, especially older women, and especially the wife of her late lover.

“I was thinking, if you want to come over tomorrow night and stay the night, it would be easier for you to get to the funeral home by nine.” Pam knew she was on unexplored territory here. Inviting her late husband’s lover to spend the night in their home was probably not the best plan.
How would I explain it to Marie, who knew all the details?
She would have to get tough, tell her sister that it is was her house, her husband.