Dream Lover (23 page)
“Maybe you’ve just had your fill of rude behavior,” Marie said, embarrassed, since she had given her the most reason, outside of Jack. “Besides, you don’t need an excuse. That’s why the laws are written, why every time you enter a doctor’s office now you have to sign that HIPAA form. I’m glad I wasn’t with you this time. Can you imagine?” The sisters laughed, the vision of Marie getting involved in the confrontation horrible and hysterical at the same time.
“What were you calling me about?” Pam asked.
“I’ll cut right to the chase. Jack gave my company a project last spring. It was mine to complete, and I put it aside for the obvious reasons until the merger. It contained an entire file cabinet of information, and when the writer was finished with it and cleaning up the last files, she found a list of women’s names. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, but I think this belongs to you. I could have thrown it in the trash, but it really wasn’t an option. You may toss it, but it wasn’t mine to destroy.”
There was silence. Finally, Pam replied. “I have his cell phone. There are hundreds of women’s names on it. I didn’t know a phone could store so much, to tell you the truth. So I am not surprised. I wonder why he made a list?” Pam was beginning to feel anxious.
What was he thinking when he wrote down the names?
“He started out typing names on an old typewriter. The first pages are on different types of paper, all typewritten. When he started to use a computer, he began printing the lists; there are even a couple of sheets of paper that have the holes along the edge, like computer paper used to be—the long, continuous sheets that could be separated by perforations.” Marie paused. “I guess we will never know what Jack was thinking. Or why he did the things he did. I wish I had some answers. Maybe he was keeping track of his conquests.”
“Hang on to it, okay? You can give it to me when we are together next. Thank you, though. I know it wasn’t easy for you to see the names, to recognize the implication.” Pam was purposely being cagy; she wanted Marie to ask questions, to start probing into the murky possibility that she was but a drop in a bucket of women with whom Jack had had sex.
Marie did get it; she wasn’t stupid. But she was not going there with her sister. “It wasn’t hard seeing them at all. It means nothing to me.”
How odd!
She thought.
Why is my sister baiting me?
Marie had had an intense relationship with Jack that spanned thirty-five years, thirty of them sexual. She not only saw him during the week for lunches, the theater, the ballet, and the symphony, but she was with him all weekend, golfing, playing tennis, and swimming in the summer, and skiing and snowboarding in the winter. When she really thought about it, what she’d had with Jack was more exciting and involved that what her sister had had.
Would challenging Pam with this information be worth what such a confrontation would do to their relationship? Probably not.
“So when will I see you again?” Pam asked, secretly hoping she wouldn’t say, “Tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure. Are you coming into the city to see Mom this weekend? I’d like you to see where Steve lives. I’m thinking about moving in with him and now’s as good a time as any.” Oddly, Pam had never visited Marie’s apartment before—Jack and Marie’s love nest.
“I don’t think so. I’m decorating outside for fall already. I’d like to do the ‘fall weekend’ thing we used to do. Do you remember it? I want to get cider and doughnuts, bake apple pie, and buy mums for the veranda. It will be strange doing it alone, but I think I need to try it. I loved doing it with you and the children, and when Jack was here, although I’m not sure he noticed. Most men don’t care about that sort of thing, do they?” Pam asked.
“Why are you asking me? I’ve no experience with men. Besides, I think Jack did notice what you did,” Marie said. “He talked about how the house reflected every season and holiday. Last fall, when you put lit pumpkins all over the place, I think his actual words were, ‘I thought I walked into the wrong house last night.’” Pam had bought dozens of ceramic jack-olanterns and put battery-operated candles in each one, lining the front of the house with them, and leaving a trail of them through the entryway, and out to the veranda. “He said it was spooky and beautiful at the same time.”
“So he actually noticed!” Pam remarked, pleased.
“If your traditions bring you pleasure, you should keep doing them for yourself. I remember when leaf-burning was still legal. Daddy raked a huge pile out into the street in front of our house and lit a match. We roasted marshmallows over the fire and they would be covered with leaf ash. Any kind of burning wood reminds me of fall now. Sick.”
“Why’s that sick? I feel the same way,” Pam replied.
“Homeless people burning trash in my neighborhood shouldn’t remind me of our father, that’s why,” Marie said. “There’s a farmer’s market near Steve’s place, and I noticed piles of gourds and corn stalks tied together at one of the stands. Maybe I’ll buy one for his stoop.” She thought about it for a second. “Nix that.” She wasn’t beginning any domestic traditions with Steve Marks. At least not yet.
“So I guess I’ll see you next weekend?” Marie felt sad; she was going to miss another weekend at the beach.
How would spending an entire weekend with Steve measure up
? Just the thought of it was making her depressed.
Determined to allow Steve to make the first moves so his routine would become evident to her, Marie wasn’t going to say a word to him. Was he a slug who wanted to laze around, reading the paper all weekend, or did he jam activities into every second that he was awake, getting up at the crack of dawn and going to bed in the middle of the night? She didn’t know which one would appeal to her. Jack was always moving, always on the go. She was exhausted by the time the workweek was due to begin after they spent the weekend together. But she loved it.
The past summer had been long and boring and then Steve Marks came along to rescue her. She would be happy going in whatever direction he would lead her. Boring and lazy might be preferable to crazy and driven. She would try it on for size.
Pam hung up the phone and went out to look at the water.
Why did she still care whether Jack had noticed her life?
She was angry with herself, both for the pleasure Marie’s comments about him brought her, and because she continued to look for information that would validate her marriage. It was so over. Even if he had lived, it would have been over. She allowed herself to imagine what the scenario would have been had Jack lived. Sandra would have gone to him with the announcement of their pregnancy.
What would Jack have done? Would he have asked her to abort the baby?
Pam didn’t think so. He would have mustered up the courage to take the train home to Babylon that same day. She pictured him pulling into the garage as he always did. Only this time he wouldn’t kiss her on the mouth. He would ask her to sit down in the kitchen. He would come right out and say he wanted a divorce. He was cagy. He wouldn’t tell her the truth: that he had gotten someone pregnant. Jack would never admit to making a mistake. He would lie to her. He’d say that he wanted to try living alone, that he didn’t love her, and that he was dying. He’d make up some catastrophic lie. But it wasn’t a lie. He would go to their bedroom and pack his clothes right away, never to spend another night in bed with her again.
She’d felt the difference in him before he had died, hadn’t she? He wasn’t initiating lovemaking; he didn’t even say good-bye to her that last morning when he left for the city. He was so over his life at the beach.
But back to her daydream. Jack knew Pam wouldn’t make a scene. She wouldn’t even try to reason with him, to ask him to stay. She would be shocked, for sure, but she would let him go. She might not answer the phone for a few days, finally calling her sister Marie and confessing to her that the marriage was over.
Would Marie have come clean then, too? Confess that she was in love with Jack and had been sleeping with him for years? Or would she call Jack and rail against him, threaten him with exposure if he left her, too?
It was easier in the long run for the children to have lost their father to death rather than divorce. Knowing Jack, knowing about his fickle behavior now, would he have stayed in touch with the children if he had left her? Finally succeeding in making herself physically ill, Pam cleared her head. She went back into the house and said aloud, “Enough! No more fantasy.”
Jack was gone. It was impossible to second guess what he would have done if he had lived. She had to allow herself to face the truth about him and stop trying to cover for him.
What would that do to her children?
She needed professional help to guide her now. She didn’t have the skills or the strength to know what was best. Her instincts told her that the truth was vital. The possibility that she would get sicker was real. That thought, that she would die before her children were established in their lives, scared the hell out of her. It was the only thing about AIDS that frightened her. She didn’t care about anything else anymore. Once her children knew the truth, the whole town could know about her.
S
andra Benson left her office in a daze. After her messy lunch, she tried to do something useful, to accomplish something at work. But it was impossible. The train of thought that had started in the triangle—that she needed to break it off with Tom—monopolized her thought life. Once she recognized that she was with him for just two reasons (he was good looking and he gave her the time of day), she realized that those reasons were not enough. She didn’t know him well enough, which was the big problem. They’d had an instant physical response to each other, intense chemistry and sexual attraction. He was kind, he was interesting, but he was also provincial, if that could be said about a Brooklyn cop. His ideas came from a place that no longer existed. How could he be so accepting of her condition on one hand, and so rigid in his thinking on the other? Tom was conservative in the extreme. She feared that down the road, he would suddenly come to his senses and realize that she was a mess after all.
She was sort of stumbling along in the direction of the subway station when a car pulled up alongside of her. She looked over, distracted by her thoughts, and saw that it was Tom. He rolled the window down.
“Hey beautiful! Hop in!”
She stood on the sidewalk paralyzed, looking at him vacantly.
“What’s wrong? Come on, I’ll take you home.” He was concerned suddenly.
What the hell was wrong with Sandra?
She looked up and down the street to see if it was clear, and stepped off the curb. Tom reached over to open the door for her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Sandra slid across the seat, looking ahead. “I’m okay. I need to get home,” she told him. “Lucky you dropped by. I ate a hot dog for lunch and it didn’t agree with me.” me.”
“What happened to your jacket?”
Sandra looked down at her silk shell; she had forgotten about her hot dog mishap.
“I got grease on it. The cleaners picked it up. You’re observant!” She smiled at him, making the first eye contact.
“Are you okay?” Tom repeated. “You seem a little discombobulated.” He pulled away from the curb.
“Actually, I don’t feel well; like I said, street cart syndrome, probably.” Sandra couldn’t wait to get home and lock her door. She needed to think about what her next step would be.
P
am decided to call the children and tell them that evening. Tell them that she had AIDS. She would make sure that she had a therapist’s names available for them. Although the weather was beautiful, seventy degrees with blue skies, the waves crashing on the beach mirrored what was going on in her head. Pam could feel the salt spray on her face as she stood on the veranda. There must be a storm out at sea. She stood there with her arms wrapped across her body, formulating the narrative that she would speak to her son and daughter.
Jack’s name would only be mentioned if the children brought him up, but she had to be prepared for whatever they asked.
Wouldn’t it be easier to just come out and say, “Your dad gave me AIDS.”?
She felt that was too negative, too accusatory. So Jack gave her AIDS, big deal. She didn’t know what the source was and that was the truth. He could have gotten stuck by a needle somewhere. She was not going to go into details regarding his sexual misconduct unless expressly asked, and then she would try to get them to look beyond that, for her sake.
Going back into the house to get a shawl and a cup of coffee, Pam was suddenly tired. She knew it was due to the stress this was putting on her, but it had to be faced. She imagined the hateful deli clerk calling Lisa on the phone that morning and telling her the news. There was really no way in hell she could take the chance that that might happen. Having to call a lawyer about the breech of confidence at the hospital was adding to her worry, so she decided to postpone that until after she made the calls to the children.
That thought had barely left her mind when the phone rang; it was Lisa. “Shit,” Pam said, but answered it. Breathing a sigh of relief, her daughter was up early and just wanted to chat with her mother. Pam wasn’t ready to divulge her news yet; waiting until later in the day would be okay. Lisa had classes to go to and Pam didn’t want her to miss any so early in the semester. Pam took the phone back out to the veranda and sat down, putting her feet up in preparation for a long talk. Lisa liked her classes this semester. As a sophomore, she couldn’t yet see the light at the end of the tunnel, but she was enjoying the process. After about ten minutes of catching up, just as Pam was ready to say good-bye, Lisa dropped a bomb.