Bittersweet (23 page)

“And when he stops, you'll be there for him? Is that it? Maybe you'd like being the mistress of a man with all that money.”

“You make me sick, Doug,” she said, and walked
back up to Jessica's room to finish her closets. She didn't even want to see Doug, and for the rest of the afternoon she avoided him completely. But the atmosphere was no better between them when they left for dinner. She didn't even want to go out with him, but she thought that if she didn't, it would cause more trouble.

If she had thought about it, she might have been flattered that he had expressed jealousy over Paul, but the way he expressed it was so offensive that it only made her angry. And what he had said to her was disgusting. Paul Ward was very certainly not her lover, and never would be. He was only a very good friend. Of that, she was certain.

The meal she and Doug shared that night was strained, in spite of his allegedly good intentions in taking her out. But what he had said to her that afternoon had doomed his efforts to failure. They scarcely said a word to each other while they ate. And the movie they went to was so depressing, India just sat and cried through the whole film, and she felt worse than ever when they got home, and Doug paid the sitter. As far as India was concerned, it was a disastrous evening, and Doug didn't think it had been much better.

He was feeling discouraged as he walked upstairs, and neither of them wanted to go to bed, so they sat in chairs and turned the TV on, and watched an old movie they had both liked. It was actually better than the one they had seen in the theater. They ended up staying up late, and they went down to the kitchen for a snack at one o'clock in the morning.

“I'm sorry about what I said today,” he said suddenly, looking at her unhappily, and his unexpected remorse surprised her. “I know he's not your boyfriend.”

“I should hope not,” she said primly, and then she unbended a little bit. “I'm sorry about the things I said too. It sure hasn't been easy lately, has it?” Everything had been so difficult. Every conversation, every exchange, every hour, every contact.

“I guess sometimes marriage is like that,” he said sadly, and then what he said next touched her. “I've missed you.”

“Me too,” she smiled. It had been so lonely without him. During the last few months he'd barely spoken to her, and been so angry at her for suggesting she do a few assignments, it had been as though he'd been away all summer.

They finished their snack and went upstairs. The kids were all in bed, and India gently closed the bedroom door behind them. They both got ready for bed, and Doug turned the TV off, and when she came to bed, he was awake. And this time when he reached out for her tentatively, she didn't turn away or refuse him. He took her gently in his arms, and made love to her, though there wasn't the passion she wished there had been. He seemed awkward with her after so long, and he never told her he loved her. But this was the life they shared, the “deal” they had made, and for better or worse, he was her husband. This was what she had, and what she had to make her peace with.

I
NDIA AND
Doug limped along for the next two months. They had glued things back together again, but the glue no longer seemed as firm as it once had been. But at least the kids kept her too busy to think about it. And she knew for sure that nothing was going to change now. Doug was who he was, and he had made himself clear about his expectations. All she had to do was continue to live with them. That was the hard part.

She saw a lot of Gail at Sam's soccer games, and at parent meetings and dinners at the high school. They had both those age groups in common. And as she had before, and undoubtedly would again, in October, Gail had confided to India that she was seeing a new man, and as usual, he was someone else's husband. But at least she seemed happy.

“So how's it going?” she asked India late one afternoon, as they sat freezing in the bleachers. “Has Doug finally calmed down?”

“Pretty much. He's got a lot of new clients, and he's
busy. We haven't talked about any of the sensitive subjects since the summer.” Their sex life wasn't what it had once been, but every now and then they made whatever attempts they could to revive it. There were parts of their relationship that just hadn't recovered from the blows it had been dealt over the summer. But India had resigned herself to what she had, rather than fighting for what she wanted.

“Has Paul Ward ever called again?”

“No, I think he's in Europe.” It was the first time she had ever lied to Gail, but it was something she didn't want to share with anyone, and the information was so potentially explosive if it fell into the wrong hands that she had decided not to confide in her. But he had called, though not often.

He had called her in September again, and twice in October so far. He always called at odd hours, usually when she was home alone, around dinnertime for him, and when he correctly assumed Doug would be at the office. He never said anything inappropriate, and so far he had always sounded desperately lonely. He had even sounded a little drunk once, but Serena hadn't even been gone for two months, and India knew better than anyone how hard it was for him. The boat had been in Yugoslavia the last time he had called her, and he didn't sound as though he was having much fun, but he wasn't ready to come home yet either.

He never said anything about seeing her, or about when he'd be back, though she wondered if he would return to the States around the holidays to see his son and grandchildren. Or maybe that would just be too painful. He had told her before that he and Serena had
usually gone skiing in Switzerland for Christmas, and he had already vowed never to go to Saint Moritz again. He never wanted to see again the places he had been with her, never wanted to tread the same paths, or remember the dreams he had shared with her.

“That rules out a lot of places,” India had teased him, and he had laughed a little. He was having a very hard time readjusting. He always asked how things were going for her, and she was honest with him. She had made her peace with her situation, although she was no longer very happy. But she still refused to try rocking the boat again. She was satisfied, she claimed, taking pictures of her children, and Paul scolded her for it. He thought she should allow herself to be braver, but she wasn't. She was very different from Serena. But he seemed to love talking to her, and derived a lot of comfort from it.

India never asked what he was going to do next, if he was going to go back to work, she never asked him for anything, or pressed him in any way. She was just there when he called, with her soothing voice and gentle ways, and it was exactly what he wanted. There was no promise that they would meet again, no allusions to an affair. He was extremely circumspect with her, but always warm, always kind, always interested in what she was doing, and whenever she explained her feelings to him, unlike Doug, he always got it. He was a gift in her life in many ways, and she no longer told Doug when he called her. She didn't want to deal with his accusations that Paul wanted to be, or was, her boyfriend. She was not Gail. She was an entirely other kind of woman, and Paul knew that. She was honorable in every way, and
had a great deal of integrity, more so, in his eyes, than her husband, who had blackmailed her into what he wanted.

India hadn't heard from Paid in two weeks when the phone rang one afternoon, shortly after noon, in her kitchen. She thought Paul was back in Italy by then, and it would have been six o'clock at night for him, which was usually when he called her.

She answered the phone with a smile, expecting to hear his voice, and was surprised instead to hear Raoul Lopez's. She hadn't heard from him in six months, since she'd turned down the job in Korea.

“What are you up to these days, India? Are you getting tired of your kids yet?”

“Nope,” she said firmly, feeling stupid now for leaving her name on their roster. It was just going to make him mad at her when she refused another assignment. Doug was right. She should have taken herself off it.

“I was hoping for a different answer. I have a proposition for you,” he said, sounding excited. The call had just come in, and she'd been the first one he'd thought of. It was perfect for her.

“I'm not sure I should even let you tell me, Raoul. My husband was pretty upset about Korea.”

“What about Korea? You didn't do it.” He was right, of course, but in the end it had provoked three months of discussions and a near revolution. And she didn't want that to happen now, no matter how good the offer. “Just listen to me for a minute.”

“There's a royal wedding in England. Dignified, safe, all the crowned heads of Europe will be there. The magazine that called us on this wants someone who
knows how to behave. They don't want one of their sloppy staffers. As they put it to me ten minutes ago, ‘they want a real lady’ to just blend in with all the fancy people. It's in London, you wouldn't be risking your life for once. And while you're there, I have another story for you. It's some kind of underground prostitution ring, somewhere in the West End, involving ten-to fourteen-year-olds. It's an acute form of child abuse. And you'd be working with the police there. Whatever you get on it will run in all the international press, syndicated obviously. It could be a fabulous story. And you could wrap up the whole thing in a week, both the wedding and the kiddies.”

“Oh shit,” she said, as she listened to him, she had to admit it sounded tempting. Maybe she could sell it to Doug on the wedding. But the story that excited her was the one about ten-year-old prostitutes, it was an outrage, and she would have loved to expose it. “Why do you call me with these things, Raoul? You're going to destroy my marriage.” She sighed as she said it.

“I call you because I love you, and you're the best there is. Look what you did in Harlem.”

“That was different, it was an hour away on the train, and I could get home in time to fix my kids dinner.”

“I'll hire a cook for you while you're gone. I'll cook for them myself, but, India, please don't say no to me again. You've
got
to do this.” He was desperate for her and she could hear it, and she was excited about the stories.

“When is it?” she asked, sounding worried. Maybe if she had a little time she could talk Doug into it, or plead with him, or promise to shine his shoes forever if
he'd let her do it. She was dying to do the story and she didn't want to turn Raoul down again.

“It's in three weeks,” he said, pretending to sound vague, as she calculated.

“Three weeks?” She worked the dates out again, and frowned as she came out at the same place she had the first time. “That's Thanksgiving.”

“More or less,” he said, still praying she'd do it.

“What do you mean ‘more or less’? Is it Thanksgiving, or isn't it?”

“All right, all right. It's the Thanksgiving weekend, but you'd have to be there on Thursday. There are two huge events right before the wedding, and all the heads of state will be there, including the President and the First Lady. You could have turkey with them, or better yet, take one with you.”

“I hate you. This is not funny. Doug is going to kill you.”

“I'm going to kill him if he doesn't let you do it. India, you have to. Look, do me a favor and think about it. Call me back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you crazy? You're giving me one night to tell my husband that I'm leaving him and my children for Thanksgiving? What are you trying to do to me?”

“I'm trying to save you from a boring life, and a husband who doesn't appreciate your talent. Not to mention a bunch of kids, however cute they may be, who don't deserve to have the use of one of the most talented photographers in the world as their personal cook and chauffeur. Give me a break here, India. I need it. So do you. Just do this one for me.”

“I'll see what I can do,” she said somberly. “I'll call you tomorrow … or the day after. If I'm still alive then.”

“I love you.” He was beaming, and praying she would do it. She would be perfect for both jobs. “Thanks, India. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Just remember to feel guilty when they find my body dumped in the shopping mall in Westport.”

“Tell him to grow up and realize who he married. He can't keep you locked up forever.”

“No, but he's trying. I'll call you.” She stood in the kitchen for a long minute when she hung up, and realized she was actually shaking. She was terrified to say anything to Doug, but she was as excited about the assignments as Raoul was, particularly the tough one. But the wedding would be fun too. She was dying to do it. But how was she ever going to tell Doug? She sat down on a stool to think about it, and then headed out to the market.

She bought all the foods he liked best, and was going to make him a fabulous dinner that night. Even a little caviar. She was going to make all her specialties and his favorites, and serve him wine, and then they would talk …and he'd kill her. But at least she could try it.

Doug was thrilled when he came home that night, and saw what she was making. She had bought a Chateaubriand, and she was making his favorite pepper-corn-and-mustard sauce, baked potatoes, French-cut string beans, stuffed mushrooms, and smoked salmon with caviar to start with. And when he sat down to dinner with her and the kids, he felt like he'd died and gone to heaven.

“Did you smash the car up today, Mom?” Jason asked her casually, ladling sour cream into his baked potato.

“Of course not,” she said, looking startled by the question. “Why would you ask that?”

“It sure is a great dinner. I figured you'd done something that would make Dad mad.
Really
mad,” he corrected, glancing at the caviar.

“Don't be silly.” But he was very clever, more so than his father, who had no suspicions whatsoever. He was sitting comfortably in his favorite chair, looking lazy and sated after dinner. She had made chocolate mousse for dessert, with Mexican Wedding Cookies, his favorite. It was anything but subtle.

“What a dinner!” He smiled as she came to sit next to him in the living room after cleaning up. The kids were all upstairs doing homework. “What did I ever do to deserve that?”