The Affair (27 page)

I’m scheduled to unveil the preliminary plans for the center’s new eating disorders clinic at next Thursday’s management meeting.
I’m curious (no, scared) to see how Cadence responds. If my instincts are right, she’ll either gun down the project or commandeer
it.

Then there’s my other headache, Diana. I’m drawing on all my spiritual resources to remain sane and serene, but she’s practically
living here now. I leave for work in the morning, she’s pulling into my driveway. I come home in the afternoon, she’s sitting
in my kitchen or upstairs with my husband. Yesterday I left Petey alone for three minutes and came back to find him in her
lap while she played “little piggy” with his feet! I wanted to yank her hair.

I also realize that unless I have evidence that she and Roger are fooling around, I really have no case. Their friendship
pre-dates me. They were college drinking buddies. They backpacked through Europe together. Anything I do now will only drive
a wedge between me and my husband, and I don’t want to do that. As it is, Pete heard me yelling at Roger last week. At breakfast
the other day, he asked me, “Does Daddy have to leave again?”

The question made me sick. I feel like I’ve put this
poor kid through the wringer. Why should I do it again? Because Roger hired his best friend as a researcher? Yeah, I hate
her, but that’s my problem and I’ve got to deal with it.

I may also have to deal with something else, something I’d never anticipated. As I was dressing for work this morning, Roger
stared at me from the bed, then suggested we let Petey sleep for an extra twenty minutes.

I watched his reflection in the mirror. He was on his belly, head perched on his hands, naked except for the white towel draped
over his butt. I’d already showered, dried my hair, and put on my makeup. Normally I would have asked for a rain check—I didn’t
want to get all sticky and sweaty—but didn’t feel comfortable leaving a sexually frustrated husband alone in the house with
Diana. I knelt by the side of the bed. “How ’bout I just take care of you?” I checked to make sure the door was locked. “You
can do me later. Tonight, I said.”

He rolled over onto his back. “Have your way with me.”

After he came, I admitted to him that I hadn’t wanted to leave him and his blue balls in Diana’s clutches. “Funny you should
mention that,” he said, calling out to me from the bathroom. He flushed. “If there’s anyone she’s interested in, it’s probably
you.”

My heart smacked against my ribs. I must have heard wrong. I waited for the toilet to stop roaring. “Say that again?”

Roger walked back into the bedroom and pulled his underwear drawer open. “You heard me. I think she’s got the hots for you.”

Now this was news. And it made me queasy. “What makes you think that?”

“The way she stares at your ass when you’re stomping out of the room.” Roger laughed and yanked on his jeans. “Don’t tell
me you haven’t suspected something.” Then he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. “I’ve got to get Petey up. Thanks. I’ll
make it up to you tonight.”

The thing is, he never did. And I can’t stop thinking about Diana.

I’ve got to go get some lunch.

’Til next time,

In search of guidance, I went to church. I know how bizarre that must sound: a therapist seeking guidance from a pastor? But
something compelled me—literally took me by the hand and pulled me to St. Mark’s. Reverend Lee was in his office, and when
I appeared at the door feeling shy and awkward, he bounded out of his seat and greeted me like an old, dear friend (in truth,
I’ve seen him perhaps twice in the last six months, both times at the supermarket).

I spilled the whole sordid story of my marriage, Roger’s philandering, my own affair with Eddie, Diana’s unwelcome reappearance
in my life. “You are a brave woman,” he told me, reaching for my hand across the table. “And you have come to the right place
to find the power of forgiveness.” He suggested we pray together, and I agreed. He held my hands and asked God to bring peace
and loving kindness to Roger and me, and by the
time he was done, I felt as if a brick had been lifted off my collarbone. I could breathe again.

As for work: You think you’re emotionally evolved, successful, confident … then someone like Cadence Bradley appears, and
all the old insecurities and unresolved issues are flushed out and exposed. Now I’m convinced everyone in the office hates
me. Here’s my evidence:

Monday: Walked into a staff meeting. No one but the secretary greeted me. I’d brought brownies for everyone, but no one thanked
me. Cadence didn’t look at me once during the whole meeting. In fact, when I offered some ideas on boosting our referrals
from physicians at Burrows Memorial, she actually started talking
over
my voice on an entirely different subject, as if I wasn’t even there. I felt like a ghost. It was eerie and disturbing. I
stared at the side of her head as she talked, at that single flared nostril and pearl earring, and imagined a malevolent insect
burrowing its way into her ear and chewing her brain tissue.

Tuesday: Michael Davis, the marketing guy we hired in January, stopped making eye contact with me. I walked in, and he looked
down. Whenever I talked to him he looked away, or responded with something curt and cold. Example: He recommended we put Pam
Reis-ter on the board of directors. Now, I happen to know for a fact that Pam is a flake, a contentious and confused woman
who manages to alienate everyone on every committee and board she’s ever been on. She’s also loaded, which is why (the
only
reason why) she is asked to serve on all these boards and committees. At a board nominating committee, I said that Pam Reister
would be a liability, based on my own experience serving on the United Way board with her. Mike looked
straight at Leo Chambers, the chairman of the board, and said something like, “I put no stock in secondhand information. Pam
Reister would be perfect.”
What
secondhand information? I served with her on the United Way board! Why wasn’t anyone listening to me? I wanted to scream!
(Now I want to kick myself for spending so much money on gifts for Mike’s new baby!)

Wednesday: I discovered that Cadence Bradley has been named director of the eating disorders clinic. She’s
supervising
it! Dale and I will report to her, and our first meeting is set for this week. I decided to pull a power play; I had Rita,
her secretary, pencil me in for Thursday afternoon, then sent Cadence this e-mail: “I’ll see you in my office on Thursday
at 3
P.M.
to discuss the clinic. Look forward to hearing your ideas. I’ll contact Dale and let him know about the meeting.”

Thursday: 3
P.M.
came and went. No Cadence. I could have called or simply walked over to her office, but decided to work at my desk instead.
At 4:30, the phone rang. It was Cadence. She said, “I’ve had meetings all day so I couldn’t possibly meet. Would you buzz
Rita to reschedule for next week? In my office.” Damn her!

’Til next time,

Bad chemistry. That’s what I’ve got with Cadence. It’s primitive, this immediate revulsion she seems to have for me. I don’t
know what set her against me so quickly. She’s organized, linear, elegant, no-nonsense; I’m free-flowing,
spunky, emotional—maybe she sensed this difference between us and reacted viscerally. I dread going to work. God, it’s only
been two weeks since she’s arrived. How could my life change so rapidly in such a short period of time?

The latest episode in the Cadence saga: The Kirby Institute has agreed to partner with the Center on a project to identify
and treat depression in high school students, a program I helped initiate two years ago. How do I know about Kirby’s decision?
Because I read about it in the local paper! And who was quoted in that article? Cadence Bradley! I stared at that article
a long time, feeling my insides twist and clench.

Instead, I called Cadence. I said, “I’d appreciate it if you would keep me informed of significant news. The Kirby partnership,
for instance.” Silence. I continued, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I was the original contact on that project.
I cultivated their CEO, and I wrote the proposal. I think someone should have told me when the deal was signed.” More silence.
Finally, Cadence said, “We don’t have the time to call you whenever someone signs a deal with the center.”

I was steaming! I pulled myself together and said, “Cadence, it’s entirely appropriate for the person who made the proposal
to be kept informed and—”

She cut me off. “Look, I’ve got another call on hold. This conversation will have to wait.” And then she hung up on me. She
hung
up on me!
I wanted to strangle her! I spent the rest of the afternoon fuming. I could barely concentrate on my clients. As they spoke,
I doodled pictures of Cadence with horns, Cadence with spears poking through her chest, Cadence with a knife in her neck.
I couldn’t wait to get home, couldn’t wait to tell Roger everything.

I picked up Petey from day care after work and tried to listen while he talked about his day. The worst part about interpersonal
conflicts at work is that they make it impossible for me to enjoy my family. No matter how cute Petey may be, no matter how
charming his tale, I just can’t do it. All I can think about is Cadence, our conversation (if you can call it that) running
through my brain like a tape loop.

I told Roger everything. He was even angrier than I was (which pleased me). He urged me to confront Cadence. “Threaten her.
Tell her she’s a liability. How will it look to the board of directors—not to mention the public—that the person most responsible
for developing the Kirby partnership was kept totally in the dark? You must face her down on this. Don’t let her get away
with it! Focus on protocol, not on your feelings. Don’t whine. Don’t tell her she’s a meanie. Tell her she behaved unprofessionally
in a manner that will hurt the center.”

“I’m so upset!” was all I could think to say in response.

“This isn’t about feelings!” Roger exhorted, slapping the kitchen counter with his palm. “Cadence doesn’t care about your
feelings! Stick to the facts. She understands facts!”

“She should understand feelings, too. It’s her business!”

“But you’re not her patient! You’re her underling. And for one reason or another, she has placed you on her shit list. Now
pick up the phone and set up an appointment to talk to her. Be brave!” Roger put his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed
me toward the phone. He whispered in my ear, “Call her. Now.”
Reluctantly, I punched in her number. “Dr. Bradley here,” she said.

“It’s Dr. Ryan.” (An affectation, I realized, but why not? Though I thought I heard her snicker.) Silence.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“Yes.” Man, she was cold.

“I’d like to arrange an appointment to chat with you. Monday at eight
AM.
, perhaps?”

“My office.”

“How about the coffee shop on the corner?”

“No. That won’t do. My office, please.” What could I say?

“Fine.” I said. She hung up without saying good-bye.

So now I’ve got all weekend to prepare my script. There’s so much I want to tell her: Work with me. Be nice to me. Don’t undermine
me. Don’t wreck the one place in which I feel secure and accomplished. But how do I say it? How deep and honest can I be?

Whenever my clients are experiencing tremendous stress in one area of life, I always advise them to keep things stable in
all other areas. For example, if you’re under fire at work, now is not the time to stir up trouble in your marriage. So I’m
letting myself coast at home, not dwelling on problems with Roger. We’re having sex, he’s being nice, I haven’t found any
diaphragms in his car lately… all is right with the world.

There are problems, of course. One big one: Diana. Now I’m certain Roger’s right about her. I’ll find her staring at me (or,
rather, my chest) from across the room. Or when she brushes past me, I’ll feel her hand fleetingly on my ass, though if this
had been any other woman, I’m not sure I would even notice. She saw me rolling my head and suddenly began massaging my neck
and shoulders. (I quickly sprang to my feet and
told her something like, “I’m fine. That’s okay. You don’t have to do that.” I reluctantly had to admit the massage felt incredible.)
So what can I say? These little moments are adding up, and I’m feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my own home. I don’t
want to be Diana’s object of affection. This is insane! She’s like a tick. I can’t seem to pull her out of my life!