The doorbell rang, which was a bad sign. I hadn’t ordered take-out, Herb had keys. No one else knew where I was. I said ‘Hello’ and heard Gigi’s voice. Fright flashed through my wrists. I said I was on my way down. I thought I would be safer on the street. Just as I was pulling on my jacket, there was a knock on the door. I contemplated running down the fire escape, but then I opened the door. There she was, looking over-the-top gorgeous, like something out of La Dolce Vita, a black dress and a fur coat, long dark hair and bangs, that drooping, voluptuous mouth, mascara bleeding around her tragic eyes. She walked around the place on stiletto heels without saying anything, looked the kitchen over, stalked into the bedroom, the bathroom. Then she stood there and took me in. I was in a tank top and sweatpants, my stringy hair scraped back in a ponytail. I looked like I should be her masseuse or maybe her tennis coach, but not her replacement. No way. ‘You whore,’ she said. That was nice.
‘I’m not a whore,’ I said.
‘Is not a whore paid for sex? What do you call this? I knew it the minute I laid eyes on you. I knew you were no good – a predator, and the worst kind, the unconscious kind. Things just “happen” to you, don’t they? And before you know it you steal my husband!’
I tried to check inside her open coat for a weapon. I thought if she was unarmed, I could defend myself. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘He told me he loves you,’ she said.
I don’t know how she ended up clutching my knees. I looked down, and she was kneeling, her coat splayed out behind her like the train of a dwarf queen. ‘You can stay here, see him, have a love affair, but do not take him, please, don’t take him –’
I don’t remember what I said. It was something like ‘Okay, I won’t,’ I think, because she was out of there like a puff of smoke.
I couldn’t make love to Herb after that. I knew I should move out, but I really didn’t have enough money for a security deposit anyplace unless I found a roommate, and I didn’t know anyone anymore. I couldn’t go back to Jim or Trish or Suky or the loft. I mean, I could have gone back, but I knew it would lead to disaster. Herb was very understanding. He insisted I stay in the apartment on my own, even though that meant he had to stay in a hotel, because it was so painful to be with Gigi, now that she knew. He called and told me he loved me ten times a day, sent me flowers, sent me a necklace. I didn’t want to talk to him. When I came home from work, I just curled up in bed and tried not to think about getting high. There was a Catholic church down the street, and, though I was not Catholic, I went there often. Not for Mass so much, just to sit there and pray and ask forgiveness over and over and over. All I ever did was cause misery and distress, and I was still doing it. I wrote my parents a note to say I was well and had a place and please don’t worry and I think it’s probably best I stay out of the way from now on, given the circumstances. I didn’t intend to put a return address on the envelope, but then I did.
*
One morning, Herb let himself into the apartment, dragged me out of bed, dressed me, stuffed me into his Jaguar, and drove me to his beach house just so I could take a walk on the sand, breathe in the sea air. As we drove up to that glass-encased dollhouse, I was deluged with feeling for Herb, the same heady certainty that had gripped me when I watched him at Gigi’s party: that I knew him, understood him, craved his company. So it was very smart of him to bring me back there.
On the way home, it was night. We were on a narrow country road. Herb’s headlights raked a little fawn on the side of the road. Its legs were folded up underneath its body, and it had its ears pricked up. Herb pulled the car over. We got out. As we approached, we could see that the creature was frightened, trembling, but it didn’t run; drew its ears back and bowed its head. ‘Maybe his mother got hit by a car,’ I said.
‘His legs are broken,’ Herb said. ‘Otherwise he would have run away.’
‘Should we bring him to a vet?’ I asked. Herb lifted up the fawn’s body. Its two hind legs dangled, useless and bloody; its front legs made a pathetic galloping motion in the air.
‘They can’t help him,’ he said.
‘We can’t just leave him here,’ I said.
Herb gently laid the deer back on the ground and got back in the car. I sat next to him. He was silent for a long time. He took in a long breath, let it out again. ‘Close your eyes and cover your ears,’ he said.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Just do it,’ he said. He backed up the car about five yards. Through the windshield, I watched the fawn, frosted ghostly white by the headlights. Herb put the car into gear, stepped on the accelerator. I screamed, but he didn’t swerve. I squeezed my eyes tight, felt the thud as we hit the deer. The car had stopped. Herb backed up, got out, checked to see that it was dead. Then he steered the car back onto the road and drove us to the city.
We didn’t speak on the ride home. When he stopped outside my building, he looked at me. ‘It would have starved or frozen or been devoured,’ he said. ‘You know that?’
I nodded. He slept at my place that night. Very early in the morning, I was woken by the sound of him weeping. I turned him over, wiped his tears away. I loved him then. To have the courage to do something that hurt you so much. A strange act of kindness. It was then that I knew, absolutely. ‘I will marry you,’ I said.
‘You will?’ He sounded baffled.
‘How could I not?’