Gail steps out of the shower and quickly dries herself, avoiding looking in the mirror. She can feel she’s put on fifteen pounds. It’s Friday morning, and she will start her diet today.
Jonah left early to meet with a colleague about the paper he’s working on. She is so pleased he’s started to write again. It’s a healthy habit. From her walk-in closet, she picks a dark blue suit and a white blouse. She touches the outfit she bought for the dinner at the Harvard Club. She will also wear it to next Wednesday’s group. Of course it’s silly, this whole idea of getting dressed up, and it’s certainly not the type of thing she goes in for, but in the spirit of camaraderie and solidarity, she’s going to go along. She pictures Lizzy, how drawn and sad she looked. There but for the grace of God go I.
The zipper on her skirt doesn’t close all the way, but the jacket covers the flaw. She will have an orange and some grapes for breakfast, a fat-free yogurt for lunch, and a salad for dinner. On the way out of the bedroom, she passes the large tapestry armchair. She picks up Jonah’s light blue sweater, one she gave him. As she folds it, she gets a whiff of roses. She brings the sweater to her nose. Although the scent is faint, it’s distinctly perfume, and not one she uses.
She feels sluggish as she walks down the hallway to the room they have deemed the library. Its wall-to-wall bookcases hold everything from law reviews to fairy tales. A long desk sits in front of the window. She opens her laptop and does a search for perfume smells on sweaters. Most of the sites explain how to get rid of the smells, but one site has what she’s looking for. It suggests that you first familiarize yourself with the scent of your husband’s regular clothes. Most important, you should not be able to smell someone else’s perfume on his underwear.
In the laundry room, she finds a pair of his white underpants. She picks them up by the waistband and sniffs. There’s a faint odor of detergent, mixed with some less pleasant smells, but definitely nothing like his sweater. Relieved, she’s ready to smell all his dirty clothes just to be sure. When she’s finished, she’s convinced that she overreacted. He’d probably worn the sweater on a humid day, sat in an office with someone who had on far too much perfume, and the fibers absorbed the fragrance. Woolen fabric is known for its ability to attract scents, a fact she’s heard in a number of trials.
She’s half an hour late for work. Barbara has three briefs for her to sign before she’s even had a chance to sit.
“You’re due in court at ten o’clock,” Barbara says as she places the papers on the desk.
“I have five minutes.” Gail is terse, irritated with herself for being late. “I had some business at home to attend to.”
“I’m sorry.” Barbara fiddles with her light blue scarf, the same color as Jonah’s sweater. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“What kind of perfume do you wear?” Gail asks.
Barbara looks confused as she keeps fidgeting. “Perfume?” she asks.
“Yes,” Gail answers.
“Uh … normally none. But if I do, White Linen.”
“Does it linger on your clothes?”
“I haven’t really noticed.”
“What about if you’re out somewhere, say a restaurant that uses a lot of garlic. Do you notice that on your clothes?” She looks into Barbara’s blue eyes. They also seem like the color of Jonah’s sweater, insipid and irksome. Why had she ever thought it would look good with his light skin?
“I’ll try to be more mindful of it. Is there something that’s bothering you?” Barbara asks.
Gail waves her hand. “No, nothing in particular. I’ve been wondering about some evidence.” She pauses. “Court evidence.”
“Yes, of course.” Barbara backs toward the door. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?”
Gail stands and takes her robe from its hanger, then reaches for her purse. “What I’d like is for you to go to Macy’s and buy a bottle of rose-scented perfume.” She hands Barbara three twenties. “And don’t worry about the cost. Get the one you think is best.”
She takes the money. “Would you like me to do this now?”
“Is something the matter?” Gail asks. Barbara seems skittish. Granted Gail isn’t in the most pleasant of moods, but she hasn’t behaved in a way that would, on any normal day, unnerve the woman who’s been her PA for seventeen years.
“It’s nothing.” Barbara picks a dying leaf from the plant.
“Meaning it is something. Out with it.”
Barbara looks at her gold watch, a present from Gail. “Another letter,” she says quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me when I first came in?”
“I was going to, but … you seemed preoccupied. I didn’t want to bother you with anything more.”
“From the same girl?”
“Yes.”
Gail loosens her skirt a little, then zips her robe. “No return address, I assume?”
“None.”
“I will speak to Jonah. I think a harassment order is the next step.”
“Would you like me to shred it?”
“Yes.” She sits. Her hip hurts. She should be walking into the courtroom. But she feels light-headed, as if she’s been under water too long. It could be low blood sugar. Or possibly high blood pressure, even though she did take Atenolol this morning. “No, don’t shred it. Bring it to me.”
Barbara scoots out, returns with the letter, and hands it to Gail, trying to keep her distance.
Gail reads the first paragraph.
I’m so sorry to have to write a letter like this. I always swore to myself I would never get involved with a married man. I wouldn’t do that to another woman. But falling in love is a game changer.
What a silly young woman. Gail opens her bottom desk drawer and takes out a Kit Kat. The handwriting in the letter is neat, not indicative of any sort of mental illness, but it’s hard to tell with only one sample. What Gail is sure of, though, is that she cannot keep receiving this sort of nonsense at work. It’s too distracting. She will speak to Jonah tonight, ask him for the girl’s full name. Then, even though he’ll protest and tell her he’ll take care of it, she will get a harassment order stating that this must cease. Gail licks the chocolate from her fingers and heads into court.