I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN what Ann was up to, but I didn’t. On the train to Larchmont, I only thought how nice it would be to visit her and Spence, and to have someone else cook dinner for a change. I’d forgotten Ann’s stubborn romanticism (“Now kiss Mommy”) and her inclination to take charge.
There were no immediate clues. Spence met me at the station, a good-looking, gangly boy leaning against his BMW and waving. On the ride to the house, he was as he’d always been—affectionate and polite. He managed to allude to my new living arrangements without seeming to pry or pass judgment. I thought how all that privilege hadn’t destroyed Spence’s essential sweetness.
The imposing grandeur of their house always struck me anew. It was a kind of miniature Tara, with a sweeping driveway and classical white columns. Inside, Ann glided down the circular staircase to greet us. She was so fair and pretty, a throwback to blond ancestors, probably, unless they’d given us the wrong baby. We had cocktails in the living room, in front of the fireplace, and I settled into the deep leather cushions of the sofa. The last weeks hadn’t been easy. My notion that I could sleep well in Mary and Jim’s bedroom was mistaken. I would doze off most nights and then wake startled, as if someone had touched me. Once I was fully awake, I’d realize how much I needed to be touched. And then I’d become aware of the unfamiliar room and all the strange noises from the other apartments and the street. I told myself I’d get used to them, as I’d get used to the roaches that sprang into a frenzied discotheque whenever I turned on the bathroom light. I was a city person, after all, although I’d been out of the city for almost half my life.
Howard had been driving me crazy, calling a few times every day. I thought about getting an unlisted number and decided that would be too isolating. What if I forgot to give it to someone I hoped to hear from? My friends were especially important to me now, and I had what seemed like a hotline connection to La Rae and Katherine. The day they helped me move, La Rae had snooped around, opening drawers and closets. “This is like baby-sitting,” she said. “Do you remember looking in people’s bedroom drawers when you were a kid?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, “although I never really knew what I was looking for.”
“The secret of life,” La Rae said solemnly.
“Once I found a deck of pornographic cards in somebody’s night table,” I said. “I think I blushed for a month.”
“I never did anything like that,” Katherine said.
“Then how did you ever learn anything?” La Rae asked her.
Sherry dropped by on her way home from work sometimes, and we’d have dinner together or go to a movie. She tried to get me to go out with some of her surplus NYR men. Her own experiences with them had been varied, but mostly she’d just been bored. I wasn’t interested in going out, especially with anyone like “Dutch Treat” or “Poet Laureate.” I kept busy enough, proofreading the engineering abstracts and writing my column. Sometimes I played with some of the engineering terms, like “avalanche oscillations,” “spin wave stiffness,” and “amorphous alloys,” trying, without success, to make poems out of their imagined meanings.
Many of the letters to “Paulie’s Kitchen Korner” seemed to be encoded cries for help with more serious matters. Women who wrote about carpet ants, and men asking what to do about wood rot in their beams, might have really been suffering deeper, human problems. Or maybe I was only projecting my own situation and feelings onto them.
The first hint I had of Ann’s subterfuge was when I peeped into the dining room on my way to the powder room and saw that the table was set for four. “Who else is coming?” I asked with apprehension when I was back in the living room. Their immediate exchange of worried glances gave them away.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe you did this to me, Ann,” I said. “When is the next train back to Manhattan, Spence?”
“I knew this would happen,” he told Ann. “I said this would happen.”
“Mommy, be reasonable,” Ann said, and at that moment the door chimes rang.
I could see right away that Howard hadn’t been in on the plan. He was genuinely surprised to see me, and he seemed just as embarrassed as I was. When he’d recovered, he said, “Hello, Paulie,” and for some stupid reason we shook hands.
I was as civilized as anyone. “Hello, Howard,” I said. “How are you?” The Duchess of Windsor wouldn’t have done better, greeting the Queen Mother. “I didn’t know about this,” I told him, “and I guess you didn’t, either.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t. But I’m really glad to see you.”
“I don’t think I’m going to stay,” I said. “Spence, did you get a schedule?” I asked, although he hadn’t moved an inch since I’d come back into the room.
“Dinner is cooked already,” Ann said. “Just stay for dinner.” Now kiss Mommy.
Spence looked at his watch. “Well, you’ve missed the 7:25, anyway,” he said.
We all stood there before the blazing fire, like characters in a drawing-room comedy, until Lily came to announce that dinner was being served. I gave in, even though I couldn’t stand the flash of satisfaction in Ann’s eyes. I would have to speak to her later, in private. I’d murder her. In the meantime, I went into the dining room with the others and let Spence seat me in the chair to the right of his. Howard was sitting opposite me, and every time I looked across the table, he was looking back, forcing me to drop my eyes. He appeared healthy in the brief glimpses I had of him, although he needed a haircut badly. I wondered if Lily knew what was going on, and who she sided with. But why should she even care about us—she probably had her own problems. Yet she had always seemed to prefer Howard. At least she smiled more often at him than she did at me. If she knew the whole story, I thought, she might find him less charming. I realized with dismay that I wanted Lily’s sympathy, that I wanted everyone’s. But Lily was impartial as she served our dinner. How long had Ann been planning this reunion? Except for the uncomfortable guests, everything was perfect, from the pale Belgian table linen to the artistically arranged baby vegetables. I’d once lamented to La Rae that my daughter was becoming a yuppie. “Maybe we’d be yuppies, too,” La Rae said, consolingly, “if we were young and rich enough.” But we both knew that wasn’t true.
All that lovely food, and I wasn’t very hungry. I noticed that Howard’s appetite wasn’t so terrific, either; he kept picking his fork up and putting it down again. And the conversation was stilted and strained. Everyone admired the poached salmon, which we hardly ate, until there was absolutely nothing left to say about it. Spence kept the wine flowing—a Château something or other—and he and Howard talked that to death, too. In one of the clumsier pauses, Howard said, “Well, I guess I’ll commit infanticide!” and popped a whole tiny eggplant into his mouth. I was the only one who got it, and the others’ bewildered laughter quickly died.
Ann was clearly miserable—her plan had backfired, and she had to bear witness to the disaster. If I hadn’t been so angry, I might have felt sorry for her. Maybe I actually did feel a little sorry for her, for her innocent belief that ruined lives could be repaired by the grace of candlelight and good intentions. Poor little rich girl. Poor little everybody. I knew that I was drinking too much wine by how sleepy I was getting and the way my attention was flagging. God, they were talking about the dessert now. There’s something so desperate about eating and talking about eating at the same time, as if there are hungers that can never be appeased.
I stood up, too abruptly, I guess, because the wine and water glasses wobbled and chimed. “Excuse me,” I said, and fled to the powder room. There was a Greek chorus of murmurs in my wake. I washed my hands and face with the almond-scented guest soap and then I sat down on the closed toilet seat to think. The awful thing was that I wished with all my heart that I could go home with Howard right then. Not in our present circumstances, of course. What I wished was that nothing bad had ever happened between us, not Marie, or Janine, or any of the various quarrels that lead to the failure of love. I knew it was a silly, regressive longing. But I remembered what it was like to ride away together after a party, into the privacy of the night.
When I went back inside, Ann was snuffing out the candles, and Lily and Spence were clearing away the last of the dishes. Howard leaned in the doorway, watching me walk toward him. “I’d like to drive you home, Paulie,” he said. For a moment it seemed like an extension of my reverie in the powder room, but then I understood that he meant he would drive me to Manhattan, to my apartment.
“No thanks,” I said. “It’s a little out of your way.”
“I don’t mind, I’m wide awake,” he said.
I wasn’t—the wine had made me groggy, and it had softened my defenses, too. Otherwise, I would never have given him such an easy opening. I noticed that we were alone—Ann and Spence and Lily had disappeared. “Ann set us up, Howard,” I said, “but we don’t have to carry it any further.”
“I want to carry it further,” he said. “I’d carry it all the way to China if I had to.”
“Well, you don’t have to. I’m going to take the train back to the city.”
“Do you want a divorce?” he said.
The word was astonishing, spoken aloud like that when I wasn’t prepared for it. “Right now I just want some peace,” I said. “I want you to leave me alone. No phone calls, no ruses.”
“We’ll have to talk sometime … about money, for instance, and about the children.”
“Yes, all right, but not about magazines or running shoes, please.”
“Do you need any money?”
I did need money. Living in the city was more expensive than I’d realized, even though my rent was pretty reasonable. I’d taken on more proofreading work than I could really handle; when I shut my eyes, rows of black print continued to move behind them. But I didn’t want Howard’s patronage. I didn’t want him to think he could control me this way. “Yes, I do,” I said. “Half of the money-market interest will do for now. We’ll discuss the house and car, dividing everything up, some other time, when we’re ready to talk about it.”
“Okay, that’s fine with me. Have you spoken to Jason and Sara lately?”
“To Sara, mostly. She’s forging ahead, like I did. And Jason is being a lot like you.”
“That’s not fair,” Howard said. “I wanted to marry you, I did marry you, once I got used to the idea.”
“I don’t think you ever got used to it.”
“Paulie, what did Janine say to you? Please just tell me that.”
“Oh, the usual. How conflicted you are about us, how she comforted you in the hospital.” I clasped my hands tightly together at my waist, to keep from wringing them.
“Jesus! She just showed up there, I swear it. And I told her it was over. It was over.”
“Were you afraid of dying in the act, Howard? Or were you just afraid of dying for your sins?”
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” he said.
“It wasn’t my idea to talk in the first place,” I said, and I turned and walked away from him. “Ann!” I called. “I’m ready to go!” She and Spence came into the room at once, as if they’d been waiting together in the wings for their cue. “Would you check the trains for me now, please, Spence,” I said.
They exchanged further stricken glances. “It’s late, Mom,” Spence said. “I’ll drive you back.”
“No, no,” I said. “The train will be fine. And I’ll get a cab from Grand Central. Ann, why don’t you drive me to the station?”
“I can do that much,” Howard said. “It’s not even out of my way.”
“Oh, all right,” I said, surprising everyone, especially myself.
Ann looked relieved—her hope rekindled and her own execution stayed. Spence came up with a timetable at last. “You have about fifteen minutes till the 10:25,” he said.
It was chilly out; the wind shivered through the trees and I hugged myself. Howard opened the car door for me. Before he came around to the driver’s side, I had leaned across the seat, out of habit, and unlocked his door. When he pulled the door shut behind him, the automatic roof light slowly dimmed, until I could barely make out his face.
“Well, here we are,” he said. “Sort of back where we started.”
“Have you been smoking?” I asked. The whole car stank of it.
“Once in a while,” he said.
I opened the ashtray and it was filled with butts.
“Less than a pack a day,” he said.
“Oh, Howard.”
“I can’t give up everything at once, can I?” he said.
“A dish of vinegar left overnight on the dashboard will absorb the odor,” I said.
“Thanks for the hot tip,” Howard said, “but that’s not my main problem.”
I tried to read my watch. “We’d better get going,” I said. “I don’t want to miss my train.”
There were only a few other cars at the station, their motors humming. I hoped the train would be on time, that we wouldn’t have to extend this awkwardness.
Howard kept his motor on, too, and he slipped a tape into the deck: Bobby Hackett playing “Moonlight Becomes You.”
“Wanna dance?” he said.
I opened my window and leaned out to look for the train. The couple in the next car were fused together in an embrace. I pulled my head in and rolled up the window. “I’m going to kill that Ann,” I said. I looked at Howard and his eyes were dark with resolution. Then he leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, tenderly, without force, without even using his hands, and I kissed him back. It was a brief and potent kiss. Neither of us heard the train over the Hackett tape until it was in the station, and I had to run for it.