Plantation (30 page)

He looked like holy hell. His hair was a wreck, he hadn’t shaved, and suddenly he looked aged. I could see that his eyes were red. He sniffed loudly.

“Do we have any tissues?” he asked.

“Here, Pee-wee,” I said, in reference to the comedian who’d been arrested for public masturbation, and handed him the box.

“Oh, great. Big joke. Can we be serious, please?”

“Sure,” I said, and poured out two mugs of coffee. “There’s no milk.”

“I don’t care. Isn’t there Häagen-Dazs in the freezer?”

Ice cream in coffee was something we used to do in the early years. If you threw in brandy, we had Irish coffee. Seemed like a reasonable thing to do now, except that it wasn’t even nine in the P l a n t a t i o n

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morning. I scooped some vanilla into our mugs and handed him one. He followed me out to the living room.

I stood by the window, looking out, waiting for him to say something.

“Caroline, I want to try to explain.”

“I’m listening.” I took a sip, blowing the steam away, and continued to stare out of the window at the buildings across the street.

“Look, within the range of sexual behavior between consenting adults, many different preferences exist. That’s normal. At one end of the spectrum are men who cannot perform unless they climb out on a ledge, or unless they feel they are in real danger, or . . .”

“Or they think they will get caught.”

“Yes. I imagine so. But there are worse things. Some men beat their wives, some want ménage à trois, some want a different race, some like to tie up their partners. What Lois and I did was something that was very spur-of-the-moment and I never dreamed you’d be there. I never wanted to hurt you. We had a lot of wine, and two cosmopolitans before dinner, and hell, Caroline, she started it.”

Hell, Caroline, she started it!
I finally turned and looked at him.

“Oh, well, then, that explains everything.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Richard stared at the floor and ran his hand through his hair several times before he spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry and I am begging your forgiveness.”

“Richard, when Eric was born . . .”

“When I was in London? What about it?”

Was he going to lie again? “You were with her then, weren’t you?”

There was a long pause while he examined the carpet.

“Yes. I’m so sorry, Caroline. I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you like this.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“God, no.”

I knew I could forgive him then, but I wanted to know the truth and we weren’t quite there yet.

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D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“Richard? This is what I don’t understand. Why, if you wanted to have sex that was a little out of the ordinary, why didn’t you ask me?”

“Oh, ho!” He burst out laughing. Then he laughed and laughed.

I did not join him. He was not funny. “Caroline! Caroline! Ask you?

You spend an hour scrubbing up each night and come to bed like a nun in one of two thousand white cotton nightshirts with your hair in a ponytail, for God’s sake! Ask you to do it on the floor? In a cab?

In the shower? In a costume?”

“Costume? What kind of costume?”

“Hell, I don’t know! A nurse? A French maid? Something leather?”

“That’s silly, Richard!”

“My point exactly! The reason we don’t send each other to the moon anymore is that I need fantasy. Lois, bitch of the world that she is, understands fantasy. Look, I don’t love Lois. But Lois
understands!
This is about sex, not love!”

“I see.” The ice in my voice wasn’t for special effect. He viewed me as small-minded and pedestrian. It was true. I was.

There wasn’t enough wine in the Oak Room Bar at the Plaza Hotel to make me feel sexy in a nurse’s outfit! “Why did you never . . . I mean, is this a regular thing with you and Lois?”

“Oh, hell, no. Look, sometimes we just have a drink at a bar downtown or a club and chat about Harry. Then we go our separate ways.”

“So, you’ve been meeting her for a while? I mean, what’s been going on here?”

“Caroline. Listen to me. When I married you, you were practically a child. I was entranced by your youth, your beauty, and your fragile southern nature. You were the Melanie of my dreams!”

“Gone With the Wind?”

“Exactly! But no fantasy lasts forever. I realized you were innocent of any kind of alternative behavior . . .”

“Alternative behavior?”
Outrageous!

“Call it what you will. I didn’t want to spoil you. You’ve always P l a n t a t i o n

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seemed so happy in your role as Eric’s mother and my wife. I didn’t want you to think ill of me and I didn’t want to frighten you.”

What was this side of my husband I knew nothing about? I believed him; in fact, I knew in every part of me that he was telling me the truth as he saw it.

“Richard, you treating me like
the virgin
is a tired and sorry excuse for what you did. How do you know what goes on inside my head? I have my fantasies too, you know. And I am older now—

old enough to start lying about my age.”

“You’re not understanding this at all.”

“What? Explain it to me, Richard, because, more than anything, I want to understand.”

“Oh, God, Caroline. Listen, you’re a nice girl, a stupendous girl. But you are not like me. As much as you have always wanted to think that we are the same . . . what’s the point? Here,” he said and reached into his pocket, producing ads from the personals of
New York
magazine, “look and see for yourself.”

I took the crumpled pieces of paper and tried to focus on what they said and what it meant.
SWF wants SMBD Master for pleasure.

Write Box 11-CM
. Another one read:
SBF seeks SMBD for whipping
up fun
.

I didn’t need to read any further.
Sado. Masochistic. Bondage.

Discipline
. No, I didn’t. Richard had ceased to be my husband when? The day I married him? When I became pregnant? Who knew? It was finished and with no proclamation required. There was nothing to say, except that I became angry, angry like I’d never been before.

I was incensed to think that I would have to leave my marriage because I was a conventional girl. My home of fifteen years was splintered down the middle like a photograph cut in half because I didn’t want . . . what? He was trapped or addicted or possessed by some carnal beast who had no interest in me. Thank God.

His desires were so completely self-centered; where was his spiritual nature? Where was mine? Beyond the fact that I felt in my 2 4 0

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k heart that his behavior was truly sinful on some level, what made me think it was? I didn’t practice any particular religion, but I had studied enough to know that life was about service to others, not about serving yourself. Whatever God had created us surely didn’t want us to seek to be victimized, or to dominate. That whole scene with Lois, and whatever else he was engaged in, went against what I knew on instinct to be right and wrong. It was like playing with the devil, if there was one, and I had always thought the devil was a myth. Now I wasn’t so sure.

Of course, I thought, I could stay with him and let him just carouse around the West Village with Lois from time to time. But that would be living a lie. I would remain the dutiful and faithful wife while he and Lois played out whatever fantasy they wanted?

Nope. Not a chance. Or, I could take a lover on the side, but that wasn’t my style. As ridiculous as it seemed, at that moment, I felt embarrassed and small-town for wanting a traditional marriage, missionary sex, and fidelity.

We should have stopped and talked about all of this. I could envision it. Richard would hold his high ground and I would con-cede to his sophistication and worldliness. He would never admit I had a moral or spiritual point. Not because he couldn’t admit false pride, but because he was morally bankrupt. He really didn’t know the difference. I was appalled.

So I read his clippings and it was all I could do not to vomit.

Two could play that game. “Great,” I said, dropping the papers on the table, “and you like this life?”

“Yes,” he said, searching my eyes for forgiveness. “It’s what I need.”

I gave him nothing; he gave me nothing.

“Fifteen years is a long time,” I said. The sun was streaming through the living room windows, marking the beginning of what was destined to be an historic day. I pushed the large blue and white Chinese jar with the ficus tree into the light. Richard watched—

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watched me struggle and did not help. “It’s been dropping leaves; probably needs more light.”

“Probably,” he said. Now that he had confessed, he seemed to lose interest in the conversation I was trying to provoke. In fact, his
probably
carried a trace of annoyance. He picked up the morning edition of the
New York Times
and began flipping through it.

“Most of them have been good, don’t you think?”

“Most of what?” he said.

“The years, Richard, the fifteen years we’ve been together.”

“Aside from your abhorrence of this issue, I think we have a reasonable marriage, Caroline, is that what you want to hear?”

I became quiet. Was that what I wanted to hear? No. If it had been true, I would’ve loved to have heard it, but he made a mock-ery of marriage and of my life with him. It was one thing for him to protect me from his cavorting with Lois. It was another for him to admit his proclivities and then ignore the fact that I was shaken, in truth, devastated by them.

“Richard, I don’t know how else to say this. I love you. I always have and I always will. But, I have to leave this marriage and I think I’m leaving today. My body and my things will be here until I can arrange for a mover, but my brain has left the building.

I can’t take it, Richard. I don’t want what you want. In fact, what you want is so far from what I want that there’s not a bridge in the world that could bring us together again.”

“Oh, fine, Caroline, blame me! Blame me that you are so pathetically provincial!” He was going to take the posture of anger.

Anger I could deal with, it was whips and chains I had the problem with.

“It’s not your fault; it’s not my fault.”

“I see.” He came close to me by the window and put his hands on his hips. “Then, what is it?” He practically hissed and for the first time in all the years I had known him, he looked ugly to me.

Really ugly. Like a gargoyle. What used to be beautiful in his face 2 4 2

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k had changed. He was thick-lipped, with hooded eyes and stained yellowed teeth. His paunch was pronounced under his sweater.

Between his politics, his verbal and psychological abuse of me and of Eric, and his entire demeanor, I had a real problem at that moment remembering what I had ever seen as attractive in him in the first place. Even his breath was sour.

“Richard, I don’t like you anymore.”

“Is that all?” he said.

“That’s enough,” I said. “The very fact that on some level you think that you can explain away your infidelity and relieve yourself of the impact of it by treating me like a child and calling me pedestrian—well, Richard? You can’t. I’m just not that understanding.”

“I see.”

“It will be a long time before I’m able to look at you in the face and not think about this. You’d better get a lawyer.”

Things were strained for the next few days, as I made preparations for Eric and me to leave. There had not been a single argument over Eric coming with me. I had two outstanding decorating jobs; the final details of both could be completed by e-mail and fax to New York. Eric’s school gave me the work he needed to do to complete his academic year and I filled out the forms to homeschool him. I wasn’t terribly confident I could act as his teacher and his mother, but I decided I’d get tutors if I needed them.

When I told Eric we were going away for a while, he was remarkably calm about it.

“You and Dad are splitting up, aren’t you?”

“We’re going to try living apart for a while, that’s all. Your grandmother needs us and I want to see if we can help her.”

“Oh,” he said, looking at the floor. “You can tell me the truth, Mom, I’m almost twelve. Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce.”

“Dad and I have some serious differences, Eric. This has nothing to do with you.”

“He told me that Harry got into Choate.”

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“Bully for Harry.” I took his face in my hands and made him look at me. “You are every bit as bright as Harry and one helluva lot nicer. Don’t you ever think that he or anybody else is better than you. Do you hear me?”

He smiled at me and threw his arms around my waist. “It’s all gonna be all right, Mom. I don’t want you to worry. You know I love you, right?”

“And I love you! Now, go pack!” God in heaven, he sounded like a little old man. “This is a great excuse to clean our closets!”

“Whatever!” he called over his shoulder, and then out loud for his own benefit he said, “They must think I was born under a rock!”

The kicker was my call to Mother. I was dreading that and put it off until the last moment. I should not have.

“Mother? It’s me, Caroline.”

“Well, hello! I thought you’d gone and dropped off the earth!

Is everything all right?”

“Mother? Remember what you said to me on my wedding day?”

“Did you lose that pin? Dear Mother of God, do you know how much that cost?”

“No, Mother, I still have the pin. What I wanted to know is if Eric and I can come visit for a while.”

There was a long pause and then she cleared her throat. “Get on the first plane you can, Caroline. I’d love to see you and my grandson. Stay as long as you like.”

And that’s how it was. When the movers came, I had tagged the furniture and household objects we were taking. Our clothes went into wardrobe boxes and the rest of our life went into cartons and crates. Richard had said, “Take what you want. I don’t care.”