July 15, 2004
Diary entry
WHO DOES LOUISA think she is? Why do I tolerate her behavior and keep her sleazy secrets?
Get a friend! I want to shout at her. Instead, I sulk. The Veldkamps are the only family I have, and I’m dependent on Louisa until I land a job. She’s right about one thing: jobs in journalism are scarce, and the handful of pieces I sell as a freelancer earn only token amounts.
Those were my thoughts tonight while I waited furtively in the darkest corner of the hotel bar.
He had been late once or twice before, held up by traffic, the A2 backed up to Abcoude. He stood me up twice—once because his youngest son fell ill with a high fever, and another time because his wife surprised him with a babysitter and dinner reservations. He swore she gave him no opportunity to pick up a phone and let me know.
I’m sick of the whole thing. I’m no better than Louisa. The sneaking around, the lying, and the secrets, not to mention the lonely times between assignations. He’ll never leave his wife—and rightly so. It was time to acknowledge my shame. I ordered another glass of wine and tossed it back in a few big gulps.
I couldn’t do this any longer. It was a revelation and a liberation.
After paying the bar bill, I made my way through the dimly lit lobby, dotted with plush chairs and low tables, the scent of potpourri mingling with cigarette smoke. I pushed through the revolving doors and strode down the sidewalk to my bicycle, parked half a block away. I bent down to unlock it, and as I straightened up, I spotted his lanky figure running toward the hotel’s entrance. I felt gutted. How could I live without him … without the moments of joy? I stood there frozen for what seemed like ages but might have been only a minute.