Thy Neighbor's Wife (40 page)

One day after discovering that her cat had just produced a litter of kittens, Judith found herself fascinated by the new maternity and taking great pleasure in watching the purring tabby pampering the kittens, licking their fur, and feeding them. In the afternoon she noticed the mother carrying them in her mouth from one corner of the room to another, as if looking for a place that was warmer and more comfortable. But the mother cat seemed constantly dissatisfied—after gathering her kittens in one part of the room, she would pick them up and carry them to another part, and then another; and as Judith watched with curiosity, she began to identify with her cat’s restless and searching nature.

Later that evening, after Judith and her husband had finished dinner and the children were in bed, she heard an automobile pulling into the driveway, and through the window she could see that John and Barbara Williamson had arrived. It was typical of nearly everyone she knew in California to visit without telephoning in advance, and normally she did not mind; but on this
occasion, still being attuned to the quiet afternoon with her cats and having given much thought during the day to the need for closeness within her own family, she considered the Williamsons’ presence an intrusion.

Forcing a smile, she greeted them at the door, and, after warming the coffee, she and her husband sat in the living room listening while Barbara and John explained that they had been in town on business and were stopping by on their way back to Sandstone. As they continued to chat, commenting that they had not seen much of Judith at Sandstone in recent weeks, Judith noticed that her cat was still pacing back and forth, carrying what seemed to be a kitten; but on second look, Judith saw a long thin tail dangling from the cat’s mouth, and she suddenly realized that the cat was clutching between its teeth a large, bloody rat.

Shrieking with astonishment, Judith jumped up and directed everyone’s attention to where her cat prowled near the fireplace; she elaborately explained how the cat, which had no doubt been aware all afternoon of the lurking rat—and had tried to protect the kittens by frequently moving them beyond the rat’s striking range—had finally decided to confront the dangerous threat, and to eliminate it. This little episode had symbolic meaning for Judith, and so preoccupied was she with pride in her cat that it took her several moments to realize that the Williamsons were sharing none of her enthusiasm.

If anything they conveyed boredom and annoyance that she, a presumably liberated woman, could identify so completely with the maternal instincts of a house cat. While her husband remained silent, Judith found herself feuding with her guests, furiously on the defensive—an attitude that later, on reflection, she saw as rising out of anxieties and doubts she had long felt about her own maternal dedication since she had become involved with Williamson’s group.

But no amount of self-examination on her part could lessen the indignation she now felt toward the Williamsons, who, as a childless couple, she considered to be ignorant of parental feelings; and after they left the house that night, Judith told her husband
that she was finished with John Williamson and was ready to move out of the area and sever all connections with Sandstone.

At another time and under other circumstances, John Bullaro would have welcomed her decision, would have been glad to cast off Williamson and regain some control over his homelife. But, instead, he hesitated and then admitted to Judith that he was not eager to leave at this time. He explained that he was finally becoming adjusted to the place, was enjoying the company of various people there, was even developing a trusting friendship with John Williamson. Bullaro now saw Williamson as a man from whom he could learn a great deal, and he did not doubt that he had already become more self-aware since befriending Williamson, more independent-minded and capable of solitude since Williamson had first dared him to go off alone into the desert, a therapeutic venture that Bullaro had subsequently repeated on his own initiative.

What he did not openly admit to his wife, however, was that he had been somewhat pleased that her pride had been recently wounded by Williamson’s romantic withdrawal, and Bullaro was not opposed to having her remain on the scene a while longer to absorb more of Williamson’s fading passion. It was her turn, Bullaro thought, to suffer as he had suffered when she had first become infatuated with Williamson, had made love to him that memorable night long ago in front of the cabin’s fireplace, and had thus greatly altered the course of their lives.

And yet Bullaro recognized an obligation to his wife and he could not ignore the pain she was feeling; nor could he overlook the fact that it had been he who initially brought her into Williamson’s world. He also knew that her continued unhappiness could only further erode their marriage, which he did not want to destroy, and it would merely bring grief to the two children that they shared and loved.

In the days following the Williamsons’ visit Bullaro saw added signs of Judith’s depression: On returning from his office he could
tell that she had been drinking during the afternoon, and at night in bed she was remote, irritable, and unwilling to make love. One night when he approached her, she became suddenly hysterical, awakening the children. The next morning, remorseful, she promised that she would consult a therapist. She again spoke of leaving Topanga Canyon, and Bullaro now agreed that this was the right thing to do. So after work in the days ahead he began to help her with the packing. Soon they were ready to move back to the suburbs of Woodland Hills.

Since their home was still occupied by tenants whose lease had not yet expired, the Bullaros were obliged to find another house with a short-term lease, which they did with surprising ease. Though smaller than the one they owned, it seemed suitable for their temporary requirements and it was located in a tidy, treelined neighborhood with trimmed hedges and smooth streets that was a welcome contrast to the hilly, dusty roads and cliff-hanging atmosphere of the canyon. From here it was very convenient for Bullaro to commute each day to his office; and Judith, wanting to be active while the children were in school, found a daytime job as a nurse in a nearby hospital. At night, they usually had dinner with the children and rarely went out. Instead they listened to music in the living room, read books or watched television, and retired early to bed, where, in deference to Judith’s wishes, they did not make love.

Sympathetic to her preference, John interpreted it as not so much a personal rejection of him as a negative response on her part toward men in general, following her breakup with Williamson; and he believed that things would improve after they had become resettled in their own home and more readjusted to suburban life and to one another. But just as they were about to reacquire their home, Judith astonished him by pleading that he
not
move in with her, that he allow her more time and “space” with which to deal with her uncertain emotions.

Though upset by this request, he nonetheless agreed to rent an apartment of his own for a period of time that he assumed was very temporary. He was willing to do anything that might restore
harmony to their relationship, and he was confident that she, too, was seeking this goal. She no longer drank, she was seeing the therapist, and seemed to be diligent and punctual about her job. From his apartment in the nearby town of Encino, he was within close driving distance of the children, and on two evenings a week he took them out to dinner or brought them for visits to his place. Daily he spoke to Judith on the telephone, and during the early weeks of their separation she assured him that she was feeling better, though not yet quite ready for his return.

As he drove to and from his office, he often went blocks out of his way so that he could pass the house, a precautionary act motivated by his concern for his family’s well-being, or so he told himself; but as he made these trips with more frequency, driving up and down Aetna Street at all hours of the day and night, he knew he was responding to instinctive feelings about his wife, certain doubts about her sincerity, a fear that she had perhaps wanted him out of the house so that she would be freer to date other men.

It was soon thereafter that Bullaro began to notice, parked regularly in front of the house, a blue Pontiac—a car that did not belong to Williamson or anyone that he knew. Sometimes he would see it parked at the curb early in the morning, gone in the evening, but back again later at night after the children were presumably asleep. After several days of watching it, and unable to repress his anxieties any longer, he confronted Judith with the accusation that she was seeing another man—and, quietly, she confirmed his worst suspicion.

Bullaro’s anger was sudden and uncontrollable. He felt betrayed, humiliated, and stunned. He demanded to know who the man was, but she would say only that it was someone she had recently met. When Bullaro insisted that she stop seeing him, Judith, sounding more distracted than defiant, replied that she could make no promises. Further enraged, Bullaro accused her of setting a poor moral example for the children and told her that he wanted them to come live with him; but Judith answered that
she could not part with them. When Bullaro threatened her with legal action, she made no response.

During the following evening Bullaro again saw the Pontiac parked at the curb, and he was tempted to get out of his car, knock on the door of the house, and confront his competitor; but not wanting to provoke a potentially violent scene in front of the children, he resisted the impulse. He did, however, note the Pontiac’s license plate number, and, with the help of contacts he had made during his years in insurance, he learned not only who owned the car but also details about the individual’s personal life. Among other things, Bullaro was told that the man was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, that he had a history of unemployment and of drifting from place to place, and that he had once been arrested by the police on charges of assault and battery.

When Bullaro told Judith what he had discovered, she became hostile, denouncing him for violating another man’s privacy, and adding that she already knew about his background, having been fully informed by the man himself. Furthermore, she told her husband, the malicious snooping that he had engaged in served only to convince her that she was wise to remain apart from him; and no amount of explaining by Bullaro at this time, or in their later conversations, could reduce the distance that now existed between them. She needed a vacation from their marriage, she explained, she wanted to be free without being answerable to a husband. Were it not for her obligation to the children and to her job, she went on, she probably would have already left town with her lover and begun a new life in a different city.

Although Bullaro found it difficult to believe that she meant all that she was saying, that she could have become so quickly involved with another man, he finally gave up all hope of a reconciliation and sullenly cooperated with her in obtaining a legal separation. He agreed to provide money for the children’s support, and she set aside certain days each week for him to be with the children; and she also promised not to allow any of her male friends to remain overnight in the house.

In the ensuing months John and Judith Bullaro continued to see one another regularly, though always briefly, when he came for the children. She seemed to be adjusting easily to their separation; she looked well and appeared to be more in control of her emotions. Though she was now seeing less of her lover, there was no sign of regret in her voice when she admitted this. She was now, in fact, dating more than one man, and had a new friend whom she had met at the hospital. If she was not entirely happy with her life, she left no doubt in her husband’s mind that she was at least contented—which was more than he could say for himself.

For him the recent months had so far been frenetic and frustrating. He had dated various women but had shied away from even the mildest form of involvement. Though he had twice accepted the Williamsons’ invitations to attend parties at Sandstone, and had once accompanied them on a weekend trip for which they had provided attractive female companionship, he still felt largely uncentered and disconsolate. The now unobtainable Judith seemed, more than ever, desirable and irreplaceable.

His job bored him as never before. After a decade with New York Life, and many months of divided attention between his work and his disturbing marriage, Bullaro thought he had better quit before he was fired. With the money he had saved, he estimated that he could live for a year without relying on regular employment; and so he summoned up the energy to resign.

He wanted to take short motor trips, spend more time in the desert, and, daring to acknowledge a remote ambition, he wanted to try writing a novel. It would be unashamedly autobiographical, the story of his marriage. In the past, as he saw himself shuttling back and forth between his office and Sandstone while his wife was being wooed away, he had kept voluminous notes, a kind of diary composed on company stationery and yellow legal-sized pads, that described his impressions and responses to what was going on around him, and within him.

The diary had been consciously produced as a cathartic experience; but now as he reviewed the notes, he winced with embar
rassment. Instead of releasing him from his despair, reading back on his life was compounding it: The first sexual encounter with Barbara at the insurance convention in Palm Springs, the emergence of John Williamson as a problem solver, the nude evenings in the Williamsons’ house on Mulholland Drive, the months that had then seemed so exhilarating and liberating, now loomed as a preamble to destruction and chaos. He saw whatever love and order that had been the stability of his life sacrificed to the whim of experimentation and change. He tried to imagine what might have become of his marriage had he not drawn Judith into those evenings in which Oralia and Gail and Arlene Gough had seemed so tempting and available; but he suspected that the results would have been the same even if he had resisted Williamson’s promise to release the suffocating bonds of traditional marriage. And while it had been very painful for him to watch Judith respond to other men, Bullaro was not unaware of the many compensations to himself, even though now as he read his own hollow reminiscences it all seemed reduced to fragments of emotion scattered senselessly. He was alone, jobless, without a sense of hope.