My Dearest Friend (36 page)

“Hudson,” Daphne said, moving toward him. “What are you saying?” She was still smiling, as if this were a joke.

“Mrs. Miller,” Hudson said. “I’ll put it to you quite clearly. You are fired.” He drew himself up haughtily. “And don’t think that our past friendship will be of aid in making me change my mind. The college’s policies on moral turpitude are and always have been firm. I’m sure Fred Van Lieu will concur.”

“Hudson!” Daphne said, her smile leaving her face. “You’re kidding.”

Jack looked from Hudson to Daphne and back again. What was the matter with Hudson? The man looked as if he were about to die of pain. Was he going to have a heart attack? Jack almost wished he would.

“I think the two of you should leave now,” Hudson said. “Mrs. Miller, you may come back tomorrow when there are other secretaries here, to get whatever personal
things you have in the office.”

“Hudson,” Daphne said, angry now, “don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re punishing us for doing what
you
want to do and
won’t
!”

Hudson turned red, then did an about-face and walked off down the hall. For a moment Daphne and Jack stood in silence, letting it all settle about them.

“Do you think he meant what he said?” Jack asked.

Daphne was white-faced. “Yes,” she said. “I think he meant what he said.” She moved around the room quickly, gathering up her coat and purse.

“Let me …” Jack began, but didn’t know how to finish. Let him help? How? “Are you going home? At least we can have dinner together, a drink—discuss what to do?”

Daphne looked at Jack. Her eyes glittered; her face was flushed. She was shaking. “There’s nothing to discuss,” she said. “I’m fired. You’ll have to deal with Hudson, but at least you can be sure he won’t spread this around. He’s many things but not a gossip. So you won’t have to worry that Carey Ann will find out. You’ll be okay, Jack.”

Jack moved toward Daphne, reached out his hand to touch her shoulder. “But you—” he began.

“I’ve got to keep away from you, that’s the first thing,” Daphne said, smiling. Then her facade crumbled and she burst into tears, her face a terrifying sight of raw emotions: fear and anger and grief.

She hurried from the room, down the hall, down all the flights of stairs.

By nine-thirty that night, Jack thought he would lose his mind. He so badly needed to talk to someone, anyone, about what had happened, that if Carey Ann had been there, he would have told her, even though one of his main instincts now, clanging through his system like a fire alarm, was that Carey Ann never know, never find out what had happened. He wanted to protect Carey Ann. He didn’t want to lose her, he wanted their marriage.

God, what a hell of a mess! And it was all his fault. There was no way around it, it was all his fault. He felt sick with guilt. Somehow he had to help Daphne. Because of him, she had lost her job—which she had had for … what, fourteen years? He knew how rocky her life had been lately, how hard times were for her, how little money she had, how little family, how the college in many ways was her home, and now because of his stupidity she had lost her means of making a living and access to the world that was her home. He had to do something.

But what? He couldn’t reach her. He had driven home in a rage at Hudson (and in a physical rage at being sexually frustrated in the middle of what had been nearly a dream of pleasure), talking to himself in the car, cursing, hitting the steering wheel, wondering out loud what to do next. The minute he was in the door he had dialed Daphne’s home number, but she hadn’t answered. He had paced around the house like a maniac, dialing her number every ten minutes, but no answer, no answer. He fixed himself several Scotches, and at eight o’clock stuffed some crackers in his mouth to soak up the booze. His throat had revolted against the dry food. He almost could not swallow. He wasn’t hungry. He was so full of guilt and anger and worry, his body seemed stuffed to the bursting point.

Why wasn’t Daphne home? Where had she gone? She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she—she wouldn’t commit suicide, would she? But why wouldn’t she? She had just lost everything. Her job, her reputation, her means of support. Still, Daphne was not the suicidal type.

But where was she? At nine-thirty Jack made a decision. He would call Pauline White and go talk to her about all this. If he didn’t, if he tried to make it through the
night, he’d go mad, he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he’d end up pounding on someone’s door and yelling out his problems to anyone. Pauline White was Daphne’s closest friend. At least Jack thought she was, and she was a kind and sensible woman. Jack dialed her number and asked if he could come over now to talk to her about an urgent problem. Pauline told him to come.

Pauline and Douglas met him together at their front door. Both of them were wearing robes—matching tartan plaid wool robes, and the same kind of deerskin fleece-lined slippers. What a salt-and-pepper set they were, Jack thought, almost laughing at the sight of them, and then thought: Am I getting hysterical?
Men
don’t get hysterical.

“Look,” Jack said, “I’m sorry to bother you. A terrible thing has happened. With Daphne. To Daphne. It’s my fault. And I can’t reach Daphne.”

They let him into their warm gracious living room and gave him yet another Scotch and drank Scotch themselves while they listened. To Jack’s relief, Pauline seemed almost amused, until Jack told them Hudson had fired Daphne.

“What worries me most is that I can’t reach Daphne,” Jack said. “On the way here I drove to her house and pounded on the door. No lights are on. I know she’s not there.”

“Well, you know, her daughter’s in town,” Pauline said. “Daphne wouldn’t do anything rash with Cynthia in town. So don’t envision scenes of Daphne slitting her wrists in the tub.” She thought a moment. “I’ll call Cyn’s friend Donna. She might know where Daphne is.”

Very quickly Jack’s worries were abated and replaced by bafflement when Pauline hung up the phone. “Donna said that Cyn called to tell her that her mother was taking her to Boston for a whirlwind trip. Donna’s mother talked to Daphne. Daphne said she had some vacation days with pay and she was going to live it up with Cynthia. They’re going to stay at the Ritz, do the museums, go shopping, be wild.”

“Oh,” Jack said. He felt oddly deflated, somehow shunned.

“This is how Daphne does things,” Pauline said, putting her hand on Jack’s shoulder as if consoling him. “She is the soul of serenity until there’s a crisis in her life, and then she jumps on a broomstick and flies off in a fury against the wind. She bought her Vermont cottage a week after she knew Cynthia was going to live with her father. It’s her way of coping.”

“But this … this is different,” Jack said.

“Yes,” Pauline agreed. Again she sat quietly thinking.

“Hudson’s a damned fool,” Douglas said gruffly. “Fool to let her go. The history department will be chaos. Fred will be furious.”

“I think I know what will happen,” Pauline said. “Daphne will be back from Boston with all the local newspapers in her hands and all the want ads and apartments for rent circled. Yes, I’ll bet that’s just what she’ll do.”

“But that’s terrible!” Jack said. “That she should have to move. Leave her friends, her home, her life! All because of a stupid mistake
I
made.”

“Look, Jack,” Pauline said, and the tone of her voice made it seem as though she had really said, “Look, buster.” “Daphne could have stopped you. She could have said, ‘Don’t.’ She could have slugged you. You didn’t have her bound and gagged. She’s responsible too.”

“And Hudson is right,” Douglas said in his gruff voice. “That was a damn-fool thing to do in an office. In Hudson’s office. With the door wide open. You’d think she wanted to get caught.”

“Well, it was the end of the day. We both thought everyone had gone home. The halls were empty, the offices were empty. The thing is”—Jack turned toward Douglas, this man he hardly knew, as if supplicating—“I don’t know why I did it at all. I mean, Daphne’s an attractive woman, but I love my wife. I really do love Carey Ann. I guess I’ve been lonely and depressed with her gone, but that doesn’t explain my lack of … judgment.”

Douglas grinned, a grimace more than a smile. “If you have to have an explanation, blame it on the academic ego,” he said. He was looking across the room at his wife, and Jack remembered that Daphne had told him that Pauline had once had an affair with another professor. Douglas went on. “In our pathetic ingrown toenail of a profession, we are always longing for admiration and attention of any kind from anyone. Every professor you meet is the same. Because we know we don’t really matter in the world. We don’t make anything useful, not cars or food or houses. If we’re really good at what we do, only thirty-two people on the planet can appreciate it, and thirty of those thirty-two hate us for doing it better or first. It’s lonely, being a professor. That’s all.” Douglas leaned forward toward Jack. “This won’t be the last time you’ll be tempted to be embraced by another woman, but if you’re smart it will be the last time you’ll succumb. If you’re smart, you won’t let Carey Ann know about this, and you’ll find another way to deal with your needs.” Douglas laughed, a short honk of a laugh. “Get a dog. Take up
jogging.”

“I do jog,” Jack said.

“Did you jog today?” Douglas asked. “Should have.”

“Well, I’m going to go talk to Hudson tomorrow,” Pauline said. “I’d call him tonight, but it’s after ten, and he and Claire go to bed early, the old farts.”

“You are?” Jack looked at Pauline and was filled with hope. “Do you think you can reason with him?”

“I honestly don’t know what I can do with him, but I can make him know how blasted angry everyone will be if he gets rid of Daphne.”

“I can count on not getting tenure here,” Jack said woefully, the reality of his own situation now dawning on him. He looked at Douglas and Pauline to see if they agreed. “That much is for sure.” He waited.

Pauline scrutinized Jack. “Would that break your heart? Not getting tenure?”

“It’s been my dream, all my life, to teach here,” Jack said.

“But I haven’t thought you were particularly happy here.”

Jack shifted in his chair and drank more Scotch. “You’re right, I haven’t been,” he admitted. “Though I guess I haven’t understood that till right now. Part of it is they’ve got me teaching a period I hate—the neoclassic; it’s so deadly dull—when I want to teach twentieth-century.”

“You’re a junior professor,” Pauline said. “You’re just paying your dues. You know you won’t be teaching that forever.”

“It’s Hudson, too,” Jack said. “He’s so rigid. He’s so proper and so … 
constipated
with all his damned old rules.”

“Lots of parents pay lots of money to send their kids to a school that abides by those damned old rules,” Pauline said. “There are reasons for his rules. If you’re in a fine old prestigious Ivy League institution, you don’t go changing things easily. Hudson has a reputation to uphold. And he’s not out of bounds in firing Daphne, you know. Secretaries oughtn’t to screw around with married junior professors in the middle of the day right out in open view.”

“You’re right,” Jack said, lowering his head into his hands. The weight of all that had happened, that he had caused to happen, and what was going to come to him because of his actions now seemed to sink onto his back, pressing him into the ground. “Married junior professors shouldn’t screw around in public either. I was an ass. I’ll have to deal
with the consequences.”

“You won’t be dismissed,” Pauline said. “You’re a popular teacher, and it would be difficult replacing you right away. You’ve got a three-year contract, right? I’m not sure what Hudson will do, but he’s not the ogre you think he is. He’ll probably put you on some kind of private probation. He’s not the type to hold a grudge. I know he’s cold, but he’s capable of generosity of imagination.”

Douglas laughed again, his brief bark of a laugh. “It won’t take Hudson much ‘generosity of imagination’ to understand what Jack was up to with Daphne. Poor old Hudson has been mooning around Daphne all his life.”

“He
has
?” Jack was shocked. “Then why hasn’t he—?”

“He’s married,” Pauline said. “He’s tried to be a good man.” She looked into the depths of her Scotch glass. “Now look where his goodness has got him,” she said. “I’ll bet he’s more miserable than anyone else. Poor Hudson.”

“Poor Hudson,” Jack echoed, his voice bitter. He was so depressed he thought he might actually cry. “I should go home. Thank you for your help.”

Pauline scrutinized Jack. “You’re not too soused? I don’t want you leaving here too drunk to drive.”

Jack stood up. “I’m fine.”

Douglas stood up too, and surprised Jack by putting an arm around him in a fatherly way. Looking at his wife, he said, “I find that in times like this, shock and dejection keep one unpleasantly sober, no matter how much one drinks.” He patted Jack on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right. This isn’t as bad as it seems. This is the first time I’ve heard of Hudson making such a major decision with such haste, and I’ll be very surprised if we can’t persuade him to change his mind. So this is not the end of the world for anyone.”

“You’re right, darling!” Pauline said. “He’s right, Jack. It isn’t like Hudson to make such a snap decision. I’ll bet that’s why Daphne’s gone off to Boston, to give Hudson time to cool down and change his mind. It will be all right. Don’t worry.”

The Whites’ optimism and kindness buoyed Jack up during his drive back to his house in the hills. But once back inside that house, with the cold black night surrounding him, he felt boxed in by loneliness.

The little Christmas tree, the short tree, stood on a table near the glass wall. There were no presents under it, and he had not turned on its lights, so it looked dreary, its
limbs drooping. Carey Ann had been right. Every now and then it would lose a few needles, which would fall with a sifting whispering noise, a ghostly sly secretive noise, causing him to look up suddenly from what he was reading, thinking: What was
that
? Oh, yeah, the tree.