Toxic Bachelors (34 page)

“How much do you pay for this place?” he asked her bluntly. He didn't want to say “shithole,” but it was.

“My share is a hundred and seventy-five dollars,” she said, looking embarrassed. She had never let him come up before, and he hadn't asked, and now he felt guilty about that too. The woman slept in his bed nearly every night and he said he loved her, and when she left him, she came back to this. This was worse than Cinderella cleaning up her stepmother's house, scrubbing floors on her knees. It was a total nightmare, and the rest of the time she was getting her ass pinched at Pier 92. He had had no idea how she lived. “It's all I can afford,” she said apologetically, as he fought back tears.

“Come on, Maggie,” he said softly, putting his arms around her and kissing her finally, “let's go home.”

“What are we going to do? Don't you have to go to your parent's house?” She thought maybe he hadn't left yet, and had come to see her on his way out of town. In her dreams, he would ask her to come to his parents' with him. But she didn't realize the full extent of how miserable that would have been.

“I already went. I left. I walked out. I came home to be with you. I can't put up with that shit anymore.” She smiled at him as he said it. She was proud of him, and he knew it. At least someone was. And he was too. It was the ballsiest thing he had ever done. Thanks to her. She had opened his eyes, and when he looked and listened, he couldn't take it anymore. She had reminded him that he had a choice.

“Are we going out for lunch?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. She looked a total mess, and hadn't expected to see him till that night.

“No, I'm making you Thanksgiving dinner at my place. Let's go.” He sat down on one of the couches, and it sagged right to the floor. Everything looked so filthy, he hated to sit down. He couldn't even imagine living there. It never occurred to him that people lived like that. Let alone that she did. It made his heart ache for her. It took her twenty minutes to dress. She just put on jeans, a sweater, a Levi's jacket, and boots, washed her face, and combed her hair. She said she'd shower and put on makeup at his place, and she had decent clothes there. She hated to leave them in the apartment, because her roommates always took them and never gave them back, even her shoes. It was inconceivable to him now, having seen the place, that she ever looked as good as she did for him. You had to be a magician to come out of a hole like that and look, act, and feel like a human being, but she managed it somehow.

He followed her down the stairs, and two minutes later they roared off in the Ferrari and went back to his place. She helped him carry the groceries and cook dinner, after she showered and they made love. She set the table while he carved the turkey, and they had Thanksgiving dinner in his kitchen wearing bathrobes. After dinner they went back to bed, and he held her as he thought of everything that had happened that day. They had come a long, long way.

“I guess this must be a relationship, then,” he said, pulling her closer and smiling at her.

“What made you say that?” She smiled. He looked so beautiful to her, as she did to him.

“We just had a holiday together, didn't we? Maybe we even started a tradition. We'll have to get dressed next year though. My kids will be here. And I'm not taking them to my mom's.”

He still had a decision to make about Chanukah, but that was weeks away. He didn't want to keep his children from his parents, but he was no longer willing to sacrifice himself, or be burned at the stake to please them. Those days were over. There was a slim chance that his walking out might teach them to treat him better, but he doubted it. All he knew right now was that he was happy with Maggie, and his stomach didn't ache. That was a lot, and a vast improvement.

It was Sunday night before he asked her what had been on his mind all weekend. It was a big step, but having seen her apartment, he couldn't bring himself to let her go back there. It scared the shit out of him, but it wasn't marriage for chrissake, he told himself.

They were cleaning up the dinner dishes on Sunday night before she left. They had finished all the leftovers of their turkey at lunchtime. It had been delicious. His best Thanksgiving to date, and surely hers.

“What do you say you move in? You know … kind of try it out… see how it goes… you're here most of the time anyway… and I can help you with your homework …” His voice trailed off as she turned to look at him, uncertain. She was touched, but scared.

“I don't know,” she said, looking confused. “I don't want to be dependent on you, Adam. What you saw is all I can afford. If I get used to this, and you toss my ass out of here one day, it would be hard to go back.”

“Then don't. Stay here. I'm not going to toss your ass out, Maggie. I love you. And for now, this is working.”

“That's the point. 'For now.' What happens if it doesn't? I can't even afford to contribute to the rent.” He was touched by the thought, and looked pleased with himself when he answered.

“You don't have to. I own it.” She smiled, and kissed him.

“I love you. I don't want to take advantage of you. I don't want anything from you. Just you.”

“I know that. And I want you to move in. I miss you when you're not here.” He put on a basset hound face. “I get headaches when you're not here.” Besides, he liked keeping track of her and knowing where she was.

“Stop giving me Jewish guilt.” She stood looking at him then and slowly nodded. “Okay …I will. But I'm keeping my apartment for a while, just in case. If it doesn't work, or we get on each other's nerves, I'll go back.” It wasn't a threat, it was a sensible move on her part, and he respected her for it. He always did.

She stayed with him that night, and as he cuddled up next to her, just as they were about to fall asleep, she tapped him on the shoulder, and he opened one eye. She had a way of wanting to discuss earth-shattering events with him, or life-altering decisions, just as he was drifting off to sleep. Other women had done that to him before, he figured it was something in the chromosomes, determined at birth. Women liked to talk when men wanted to sleep.

“Yeah? What?” He could barely stay awake.

“So what does this make it now?” She sounded wide awake to him.

“Huh?

“Well, if we're living together and had a holiday, I guess this really really makes it a relationship, right? Or if you're living together, do you call it something else?”

“You call it sleep, and I want some … you get some too…I love you… we'll talk about it tomorrow… it's called living together… that's something good …” He was almost asleep.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling to herself, too excited to go to sleep. She just lay there looking at him, as Adam rolled over, dead to the world, and snored.

19

C
HARLIE PICKED
C
AROLE UP PROMPTLY AT NOON ON
Friday and took her to lunch at La Goulue. It was a fashionable restaurant on Madison Avenue, with a good menu and a lively crowd. He felt less compelled to take her to simple down-to-earth restaurants, now that he knew who she was, and it was fun for both of them to go someplace nice. They had a delicious lunch, and then wandered up Madison Avenue, looking into the shops.

For the first time, she opened up with him about her early life. Gray had been right. Blue blood and fancy houses didn't necessarily make for a happy childhood. She talked about how cold and distant her parents had been, how chilly with each other, and emotionally and physically unavailable to her. She had been brought up by a nanny, never saw her parents, and she said her mother was a human block of ice. She had had no siblings to comfort her, she was an only child. She said she had gone weeks sometimes without seeing her parents, and they were deeply upset about the path she had chosen for her life. She had come to hate everything her world represented, the hypocrisy, the obsession with material possessions, the indifference to people's feelings, and lack of respect for anyone who hadn't been born into that life. It was obvious, listening to her, that she had been a lonely child. She had eventually gone from their icy indifference to her to the lavish abuses of the man she had married, who, as Gray had suspected, had married her because of who she was. When he left her finally, she had wanted to divorce herself not only from him, but from everything that had drawn him to her in the first place, and a set of values she had hated all her life.

“You can't do that, Carole,” Charlie said gently. There had been times when he wanted to do that himself, although not to the degree she had, but she had paid a higher price. “You have to accept who you are. You're doing wonderful things for the children you work with. You don't have to strip yourself of everything you are to do that. You can actually enjoy both worlds.”

“I never enjoyed my childhood,” she said honestly. “I hated everything about it from the time I was a little girl. People either wanted to play with me
because
of who I was, or
didn't
want to play with me because of who I was. I never knew which to expect, and it got to be too much work to figure it out.” He could see how that would happen, and it reminded him of something as they walked along. He hesitated to mention it to her so soon after they hadn't seen each other for so long. But it was as though they had never been apart. Her arm was tucked into his as they strolled up Madison Avenue, chatting as though he'd never left. He felt as though he belonged in her life, and she had exactly the same feeling.

“You're probably going to kill me for this,” he began cautiously as they crossed Seventy-second Street, heading north. The weather had turned cold, but it was crisp and clear. She was wearing a wool hat, and a cashmere scarf and gloves, and he had turned up the collar of his coat. “I go to an event every year that you probably don't want to go to, given everything you've said. But I always feel I have to, and this year two of my friends' daughters are coming out. I go to the Infirmary Ball every year, where they present the debutantes. Aside from the obvious social complications, it's always a nice party. Would you come with me, Carole?” he asked hopefully, and she laughed. After the speeches she'd been making him about how much she hated “their world,” she knew he was probably terrified to invite her to an event where blue-blooded young girls were presented to society and “came out.” It was an archaic, snobbish tradition, but certainly one she was familiar with, as she turned to him and smiled.

“I hate to admit it”—she laughed ruefully—“but I came out there myself. My parents go every year too. I haven't been since I came out. But it might be fun, with you. I wouldn't go otherwise.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smiling broadly at her. He was dying to go somewhere nice with her and show her off in a pretty dress. He loved seeing her at the center, but he still enjoyed formal events like that himself. It was fun dressing up once in a while, and the event was white tie.

“It's a yes,” she said, as they walked on. “When is it?” She had to buy a dress. She hadn't worn a ballgown in years, although she could have borrowed one from her mother, but didn't want to ask. They were the same size. She wanted to look beautiful for Charlie, and her mother's gowns would look too matronly on her.

“It's not for a few weeks. I'll look it up when I go to the office.” She nodded. Going to the deb ball with him was a big step for her, backward into her old life. But she also knew it was just a one-night oddity for her now, not a way of life. As a tourist, she could handle it, though she didn't want more of it than that. It was a compromise and gesture she was willing to make for him.

They fell silent as they continued to walk uptown toward her house, and then turned east on Ninety-first. They were both ice-cold by then. It felt like it might snow. When they got to her front door, she turned to him and smiled. She could invite him in since he now knew it was her house, and no longer believed she was renting a small studio in the back.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked him shyly as she looked for her key and finally found it, at the bottom of her bag, where it always was.

“Is that all right with you?” he asked cautiously, and she nodded. She wanted him to. It was getting dark by then. They had been together since lunchtime, and had had a long lunch. They had a lot of time to make up for now, and had admitted over lunch how much they had missed each other. He had missed talking to her, knowing what she did, and sharing the excitement and complications and daily details of his own life with her. He had gotten used to her sage advice and wise counsel in the month they'd been seeing each other, and had felt her absence sorely once she was gone, as she had his.

They walked into a small distinguished-looking vestibule as they walked into the house. It had an elegant black-and-white marble floor. There were two small sitting rooms on the ground floor, one of which led into a handsome garden, and one flight up the stairs was a beautiful living room with large comfortable upholstered chairs and couches, a fireplace, and English antiques that she had taken from one of her parents' houses with their permission. They had more in storage. The house was elegant but at the same time warm and cozy, as she was, distinguished but playful. There were objects everywhere that were meaningful to her, even artwork by the children at the center. It was a wonderful mélange of old and new, expensive or priceless objects that had been made by children, or unusual objects found somewhere on her travels. There was a big comfortable kitchen, and a small, formal dining room with dark red walls and English hunting prints that had been her grandfather's. Upstairs, she had a large sunny bedroom and a guest room. She used the top floor as a small at-home office. She gave him a tour of the office, and he was greatly impressed as they walked back downstairs to the kitchen.

“I never invite anyone over, for obvious reasons,” she said sadly. “I'd love to have people for dinner here sometime, but I just can't.” She was pretending to be poor, and leading a secret life. Charlie knew it had to be lonely for her, just as his life was, for different reasons. She still had parents, but didn't like the ones she had, and had never been close to them. They had been emotionally absent all her life. He had no one. By different routes, they had arrived at the same place.