Musings Of An Indie Writer| « |
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Friday, April 08, 2005
Mistakes
(An Onteora County morality play. Some will be revulsed by the subject. Others will say I’ve been unkind. Choose according to your tastes.)
“Why did you do it?”
Carolyn McIlhone, nee Carolyn Pahliavsky, half-smiled and trailed her beautifully sculpted nails over the upper surfaces of Ashley Forslund’s full, perfectly tanned breasts. “He’s loaded. Is there a better reason?”
Ashley looked askance at her lover.
No, but there isn’t a more common one.
“How do you put up with it, Carolyn? Money’s nice, but you’re paying a price it grosses me out to think about.”
The older woman stiffened. She sat up in the bed, her expression severe.
“Where did you and I meet, dear?”
Ashley shrugged. “Albrecht’s Perfumes Cove.”
Carolyn nodded. “The year before I met Mike, I was turned away at the entrance to Albrecht’s by a security guard.” She drew her head high and smiled thinly. “I’d have thought you enjoyed all this as much as I do. We could do it in a packing crate behind the supermarket I used to work in, if you prefer?”
Carolyn switched on her bedside lamp, and the opulence of the bedroom suite sprang into vivid, insistent reality. The beauty of the room was undeniable. Paneled in mahogany, outfitted with furniture of classically simple design executed in cherry and maple. A teal deep pile carpet that made Ashley want to roll around on it whenever she entered the room. An attached bathroom of porcelain and marble splendor to rival any temple. A redstone fireplace accented with brass and glass. Ashley, who had lived with wealth all her short life, had never seen a room as successful as this one.
Carolyn always led her straight to the bed.
She wouldn’t even let me use the bathroom if she could figure out a way to do it gracefully.
Ashley knew better than to say so. Ashley knew better than to say much of anything. The sole scion to the fabulously wealthy Forslund family had learned discretion at an early age.
Carolyn’s face remained severe. “Have you decided you have a problem with it?”
It was a moment Ashley’s mother would have called “a bad time to be a twenty-two year old.”
“Carolyn, you know I love you, right?”
The older woman said nothing. Her expression did not change.
“When you love someone, you want her to be happy. All the time, not just when you’re there to do something about it yourself.” Ashley sat up and tentatively embraced her lover. Carolyn’s body, so recently hot with passion, had gone as stiff and cold as her face. “And I’m not here that much.”
The rigidity seeped out of the older woman. Her arms rose to return the embrace, and her chin descended to rest on Ashley’s shoulder. Ashley felt the beginnings of relief.
“Happiness isn’t sold at bargain counters, dear. The price has always been higher than I expected. But if you won’t pay, you’re a hypocrite, and if you can’t pay, you’re a failure.”
Ashley squeezed her lover gently. “Where is he tonight?”
“Probably out with his friends, drinking.”
“Most wives wouldn’t be as happy as you are about that.”
Carolyn snorted a laugh. “He drinks because of me, dear.”
“Because he’s angry with you?”
“No, because I encourage him to.”
Carolyn pressed Ashley down on her back and settled herself over her lover in a way that put an end to the conversation.
Mike McIlhone’s reflection stared at him from the mirror at the back of the bar. He stared back, unseeing. The private investigator’s report sat at his elbow, its pages fluttering in the mild current from the ceiling fan.
“Mike?”
He looked up into Joyce Donati’s wide brown eyes.
“You sure you wouldn’t like something a little stronger than ginger ale?”
He smiled wanly. “Be a bad idea, Joycie.”
“I just hate to drink alone, that’s all.” She glanced down at the weak Scotch and soda she’d nursed for more than an hour.
“Well, you could join me in a ginger ale.”
“A bartender that drinks ginger ale? Oh, what the hell.” The tall, slender woman dumped the contents of the glass into the bar sink and refilled it with ginger ale from the multi-tap. “There. Don’t tell any of my other regulars, though.”
“Deal.” He clinked his glass against hers, and they grinned. The Black Grape was empty but for the two of them. It always was, either when he arrived or shortly after. She couldn’t remember another customer ever arriving, once he was there.
“How come you never got married, Joycie?”
She shrugged. “Never got an offer that sounded all that good.”
Mike looked up at the bartender in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
Joyce shook her head.
“The men in this town ain’t got enough red blood in ‘em.”
The bartender grinned. “Thanks, Mike. It’s more me than them. I’ve known a lot of guys. Almost all of ‘em were decent, hardworking sorts. They just wanted wives and kids. I had fantasies that didn’t stop there.”
“Hey, babe, chin up. You aren’t in the ground yet.”
She grinned lopsidedly. “I’m not young any more.”
“Get off it. I know women who’d kill to look half as good as you.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I turned thirty-five last month. I’m not going to be having kids at thirty-five. Not fair.”
“To you?”
“To them.”
“Oh.” He let his gaze settle to the bar.
Joyce’s index finger tapped the PI’s report at his elbow. “Bad news?”
“Depends how you read it. It explains a lot, anyway.”
Joyce ran a wet rag over the bar in a random pattern. “You know, most bartenders only do this because they don’t have enough diplomas to be shrinks.”
Mike sat back in his chair and stared at her. Her face reddened.
“Never mind, I shouldn’t be such a nosy broad anyway.” She started to turn away.
“Hey, wait.”
She stopped and faced him, her expression unreadable.
“Can you keep it to yourself?”
“Look, if you don’t want to tell me—”
He shook his head. “It’s not that, Joycie. I just don’t want it to get around.” He toyed with his glass. “I don’t mind you knowing.”
She looked into his eyes for a long moment. “Of course, a lot of bartenders do this because they like sex too much to be priests.”
He barked a laugh. “That include you?”
“Yeah.”
He shoved the PI’s report across the bar to her. “Read it.”
She fumbled for her glasses.
Joyce refolded the report and slid it back to Mike.
“I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t know what else to say.”
The stubby little construction magnate nodded and tucked the sheaf of papers into his inside jacket pocket.
“Thanks, babe. I wish to God I knew what I ought to do.” He knocked back the dregs of his ginger ale and squinted into the empty glass. “What the hell, the night’s still young. How about another?”
She refilled his glass and waved away his money. “This one’s on me. Matter of fact, I think I’ll be joining you.” She smirked and refilled her own glass. “Goes down too easy. You’re gonna put a new monkey on my back, you mick wood-slinger.”
He grinned and toasted her. “You wop broads are easy to hook. A couple of ginger ales and you’re up on a table wearing a lampshade and singing The Star Spangled Banner.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. You got any idea what to do?”
His grin disappeared. “Aside from come in here, get senseless on ginger ale, and whine to you about it?”
“Well, I don’t mind, but I was thinking of how to fix it.”
“You don’t fix something like this, Joycie.” He turned away.
As she watched the clouds of pain pass over her friend’s countenance, Joyce Donati felt her mouth go dry. “Yeah, I guess not. Do you love her, Mike?”
His green eyes engaged hers again. A bolt of sorrow passed through her, sorrow for the lot of a fine man any decent woman would have been proud to call her own.
“I sure as hell did, when I married her. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Then I started to notice stuff. Took a while.”
She held her tongue with an effort. He traced invisibly on the surface of the bar with a finger.
“You’ve never met her, Joycie. When I was courting her, she was the classiest, most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The photographer asked if he could keep copies of our wedding shots. Even the priest stammered when he looked at her.”
The broad shoulders had begun to quake.
“The wedding night wasn’t so hot, but I figured we just needed a little practice. I mean, I’m not that young myself. I tried hard, though. It just never came together for us. Then she started being unavailable, and wanting her own bedroom, and complaining about not feeling good but never wanting to see a doctor, and telling me I should get out more, and find some friends who like the stuff I like.”
Teardrops splashed against the polished bar surface.
“I never guessed, Joycie. I prob’ly didn’t want to know.”
She started to reach for him, stopped herself.
“I can’t think why I went to that Goddamned PI. I still don’t want to know.” He dropped his face into his calloused hands and sobbed quietly.
Joyce Donati circled the bar, locked the door, and turned off the neon OPEN sign. She went to Mike McIlhone and pulled him into her arms, to rock him and soothe him as she might a desolated child.
Ashley was too sensible to park her car anywhere near the McIlhones’ home. Instead, she walked the six blocks to the nearest convenience store and called a cab from its pay phone. It meant she couldn’t wear heels when she visited Carolyn, but that wasn’t that much of a sacrifice.
How much of a mistake am I making?
As dear as Carolyn was to her, Ashley’s sense of a disaster in progress had become very strong. She knew Carolyn better than Carolyn knew herself. Carolyn wasn’t as smart as she thought.
Is there any way I could get caught in the crash?
Carolyn was confident that, no matter what anyone discovered, there’d be no divorce. Mike was too Catholic, and much too stubborn. Ashley hoped she was right about that. She didn’t fancy the thought of being named co-respondent in a divorce action. That sort of thing wouldn’t go over well among her set. Especially not if it involved a member of the scorned nouveau-riche.
Especially not if it involved muff-diving a woman who’d been living in a cold-water flat and packing bags at the supermarket until she managed to catch the eye of one of the nouveau-riche.
I should talk to Mom’s lawyers, find out if there’s any potential liability to me or the family.
At the convenience store, she found the phone already in use by a nondescript man talking in a low voice. She leaned back against the wall of the store and waited.
When he hung up and turned to go, his eyes lit on her and drew to a focus. He was in his late middle years, a little taller than average, with a husky build, drab brown eyes, and brown hair shot with gray. His face was expressionless. It had a rigidity to it that suggested that its neutrality was cultured, attained by long and diligent practice.
Ashley was certain she’d seen him before, not once but several times.
His eyes stayed on her for perhaps two seconds before swerving away. He stepped out of the store without a backward glance, walked briskly to a nondescript gray sedan, and drove off.
Ashley lifted the handset and cradled it. As certain as she was that she’d seen him before, she was even more certain that he’d seen her, that he knew her, perhaps very well.
He doesn’t look like any of Mom’s friends.
She thumbed in her change and punched in the special code that causes the phone to redial the last number dialed there. The phone rang only once before she heard the click of an answering machine at the far end. A cheerful, ringingly clear female voice began to speak.
“Hello, this is McIlhone Construction. Our office hours are from nine AM to six PM, Monday through Friday, and from nine AM to noon on Saturdays. Please leave your name and number, and we’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”
The prompting beep startled her into hanging up immediately.
A nondescript man whom she’d seen nearby more than once, who appeared to recognize her and not to want to show it, had called Mike McIlhone’s office well outside of anyone’s office hours.
She scrabbled in her bag for more change and called the local cab company. By the time the cab arrived, she’d almost gotten her shakes under control.
“We have to talk, Cal.”
Carolyn looked up at her husband in irritation. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
Mike nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”
She’d hoped to be up and out of the house, doing some serious shopping, before her husband could unglue his eyelids. She preferred to breakfast alone in the little nook he’d built for her. It was all light woods and Spanish inlays, with a large bay window that made it bright and cheerful regardless of the weather. Perversely, he’d been downstairs, lying in wait for her in her favorite place, fresh Danish and coffee at the ready.
At least he’d allowed her to finish her first cup of the day in peace and quiet.
“What is it, Michael? There’s a lot on my agenda today.”
He sat back in his chair and studied her without troubling to conceal it. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry or afraid.
“I know about the Forslund girl.”
Her insides leaped, but she limited her external response to a single slightly raised eyebrow, no more.
“Oh? Is that so?”
He nodded again. “Yup. Nice girl, from what I’ve been told. Doesn’t matter. I think I understand, now.”
She tried to put just the right touch of dismissal into her voice. “How nice for you.”
“Warren’s going to file this morning. Are we going to agree on the property split, or are we going to duke it out?”
A vacuum seemed to have eaten Carolyn McIlhone’s stomach.
“Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing, Michael?”
“Nope. Doesn’t matter, I’m going to do it anyway.”
A twitch began in her face. “This could hardly be good for your reputation and social position.”
“Be worse for yours. But that wasn’t what you were counting on, was it?”
She said nothing.
“I talked to Father Schliemann last week. He doesn’t like this annulment on demand stuff any better than I do, but he thinks I’ve got a good case. You lied to me, Cal. You lied when you took your vows. You’ve been doing what you do a lot longer than the year you’ve been playing with Ashley Forslund, or the three years you’ve been with me. I’ve got just about every kind of evidence I can use. And I’m done with you.”
He looked out the window at the smooth, verdant expanse of their back lawn. “You did it for the money, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess I understand. I’m not a prize package, and you had to have some reason. You can have a quarter million if you agree not to contest.”
She was ready to explode with outrage. He actually thought he was being generous.
“How kind of you, Michael. Are you sure you can afford it?”
He gazed at her steadily and in silence.
“I severely doubt that a judge will agree with your assessment. There’s a little concept of ‘living in the manner accustomed.’ ”
“I know. If you want to fight it out in court, we can do it that way. I don’t think you really want to do that, Cal. I’ve got more cards than I can play.”
Carolyn rose from the breakfast table and stared down at her husband with all the contempt she could muster.
“You will find,” she said, “that there are higher and lower cards in this game. And I think you will also find that the cards you hold are of the lower variety. Thanks to you and your money, I’ve made a lot of new friends. Friends with position, and influence. Friends I think will be only too glad to assist me.”
He nodded without speaking. She turned and stalked from the room.
“Good morning, Forslund residence.”
“May I speak with Ashley Forslund, please?”
“May I tell her who’s asking for her, Madame?”
“Certainly. This is Carolyn McIlhone.”
“One moment, Madame, I’ll see if she’s free.”
Carolyn waited in growing anxiety, pressing the handset to her ear with bruising force. Mike, for all his plebeian origins and tastes, was no fool. Did he have an angle on this that she hadn’t seen yet? Was it possible that an angle even existed?
“Hi, Carolyn, what’s up?”
“Ashley, Mike knows. He’s divorcing me.”
A long silence. “Oh.”
“He’s being most unreasonable about the money part of it. I’m going to need a lawyer, dear. Do you suppose your mother would be willing to introduce me to hers?”
“I guess I could ask. You don’t have one of your own?”
“No, I’ve never needed one.”
Another silence. “Well, I haven’t seen her yet today, but I expect to later. Can I call you back?” Ashley paused. “Will you be home?”
“Of course. Where else…” Carolyn stopped herself. “I’ll be home. Just give me a call today, when you can.” She breathed deeply. “You don’t have to worry that this will change anything else, dear. We’ll see each other again soon, I promise.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Carolyn waited by the telephone the whole day.
Mike, thank God, had been sensible enough to leave the house for the day. She wouldn’t have been able to endure even a glancing contact with him. His stolidity had been so unaffected by her assumed hauteur that she couldn’t bear to remember it.
She hadn’t had time enough to solidify her new persona. What a pity he hadn’t stayed ignorant just a year or two longer.
The phone refused to ring.
She became afraid to leave it for any reason. The afternoon gave way to evening, and evening to night. She tortured her back muscles and her bladder, at last completely unwilling to step away from it even for a moment, but it would not ring.
At nine PM, Mike returned from wherever. He glanced at her and ascended the stairs to his bedroom without a word. It was almost enough to make her scream.
Her patience snapped. She picked up the handset and dialed the Forslund mansion. When the majordomo answered, she demanded to speak to Ashley in a voice that would brook no refusal.
Ashley was a while in coming to the phone.
“Hello, Carolyn.”
“Hello, dear, did you talk to your mother for me?”
“Well, uh, no, I haven’t.”
“What? Why not?”
“I can’t figure out how to put it, Carolyn. I mean, who do I say you are?”
“Well—!”
“I can’t just go up to her and say, ‘Hey, Mom, I’ve got this married lover who needs a divorce lawyer, and she asked me to talk to you about it,’ can I? But what else could I say? Who are you, to be involved with me? I don’t want the third degree from her, Carolyn. Especially not about something like this. I’d be hearing about it for months. You’ve got to find yourself a lawyer some other way.”
Carolyn McIlhone was speechless.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t help. See you soon, I hope. Bye.”
The connection broke before Carolyn could recover her voice.
Over the next three days, Carolyn called eighty-seven people. About half were people she knew personally and thought of as friends or close to it. The rest were tangential associations from parties at the country club or events she’d attended in connection with Mike’s business. Seventy of them refused to accept the call. The other seventeen told her, in tones of artificial regret or half-concealed amusement, that they were terribly sorry, but there was nothing they could do to help. By the end of the third day, she was wild with fear.
She rose from the armchair that flanked the antique rotary telephone she’d prized and stalked about the sitting room like a caged beast, not noticing any of its features even when she barked her shins against them.
She was going to fall back into the gutter. She’d clawed and struggled her whole life, to make it to a position she was going to lose entirely.
It was unendurable, but there was no help for it. Certainly there’d be none from the people she’d thought of as “her set.” That had become too clear.
She had to prevent the divorce.
How?
Mike could certainly force the issue. There was no question that, unless she secured superior legal assistance, he’d carry the day. But no such assistance was available to her.
Could she undermine his will? Could she somehow persuade him back into her embrace?
She was amazed that she wasn’t overcome with revulsion at the idea. Whether it meant she was stronger than she thought, or weaker, was not a question she cared to contemplate.
“McIlhone Construction.”
“May I speak to Mr. McIlhone, please? This is his wife.” The words tried to stick in Carolyn’s throat.
“Hello?”
“Mike? Mike, it’s…Cal.”
“I know. How are you?”
“Mike, I’d like for us to talk. Are you free at any time today? I’ll meet you there, if you like.”
She waited in agony.
“How about lunch at Grucci’s Gardens, Carolyn? Noon?”
She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. “I’ll see you there. Bye, Mike.”
“Bye, Carolyn.”
She returned the handset to its cradle and gave way to tears.
He was there and seated when she arrived. He’d gotten them the table she’d always liked best, at the back of the raised ring around the center pit. Blood rushed into her face as she seated herself across from him.
“I’ve already ordered. Should be here in a few minutes.”
“Coq au vin?”
He nodded. “What’s up, Carolyn?”
She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again.
I’ve already misjudged him twice. I mustn’t do it again.
“Mike, I’ve been a great fool. I want to apologize to you, and to ask if you can find it in you to forgive me.”
He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed. “What are you apologizing for?”
She bit her lip and lowered her head. “A number of things, all of which you know about already. Must I go through them one by one?”
He snorted gently. “No.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“I was hoping for a response.”
“Some particular response, Carolyn?”
She started to sputter, but the waiter chose that moment to bring their entrees, and she was forced to shut it off.
When the waiter turned away, Mike picked up his fork and began to feed himself. She picked up her own, but instead of following his lead, she studied him a while. It was something she hadn’t done recently.
Despite the Irish peasant lumpiness of his face and body, Michael McIlhone carried himself with an elusive grace. His motions, though brisk, were fluid and efficient. He wore both business suits and coveralls with an easy panache. Neither the attentions nor the disdain of others affected his manners or disposition. She couldn’t remember seeing him ill at ease in any situation. Even Onteora’s most refined figures, from families that had been bred to wealth for centuries, could not daunt him.
He’s capable, adaptable, much brighter than he looks. He meets people at their own level. He’s never been the crude barbarian I took him to be. That I wanted him to be.
“Mike, I’m not a very nice person, sometimes. I’ve had some trouble learning to consider the feelings of others when I’m in pursuit of what I want. If I’ve bruised your feelings, if my indiscretions have wounded you, I’m very sorry.”
He nodded and laid down his fork. “But what do you want, Carolyn?”
His eyes met hers with the force of a sworn accusation. Hers darted about the beautiful Continental restaurant as if there had to be someone who could take her place, answer him for her.
“I…”
Just say it, girl. You don’t have to mean it.
He waited with an air of anticipation, like a researcher with a pet theory about to be proved true.
“I…”
There’s a hell of a lot on the line. Do you want to go back to that cold-water flat and those piles of groceries? Say it!
“I…”
It would not come out. She could not bring herself to lie to him another time, to tell him that she wanted him, his loyalty and his affection for all the days and nights remaining to them. It would have required a reciprocal commitment she could no longer fake. He would know better than to believe it, anyway.
He saw the resignation in her eyes as she ceased to struggle. It brought forth a sad, knowing smile.
“It’s hard to grow up, isn’t it?”
The tangent jolted her out of her agony. “What do you mean?”
He waved a hand. “I was just thinking about kids and cookie jars. At first it’s the cookies. Then it’s the little thrill of getting away with it. But one day it’s the budget, or the waistline, or the diabetes. No more cookies, and no Mom to blame any of it on. And that’s when you know you’re all alone, out in front of God and everybody, and you have to choose for yourself.”
Tears flooded Carolyn McIlhone’s eyes and cut furrows through her carefully applied makeup.
“It’s okay, Carolyn. I don’t understand, but I accept it. Do you want the quarter million?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Okay. I’ll have Warren draw up the papers and we’ll do it the easy way.”
She feared to open her mouth, feared that instead of what she wanted to say, she’d vent a howl or a sob, but she had to know.
“Why, Mike? Why are you being so generous?”
He smiled.
“I know myself. If I don’t pay for my mistakes, I make ‘em over and over again.”
Unusually for a Saturday night, the Black Grape was empty. Despite not having seen him in several weeks, Joyce was unsurprised when Mike McIlhone walked in.
“How’re you doing, Mike?”
“Just about right. You know, not too bad, not too good.” Mike ambled up to the bar and perched on the stool before her. “You got any more of that wicked ginger ale, Joycie?”
“New stock, arrived just today.” She filled two glasses and passed one to him. They clinked, and she grinned. “I’ve been wondering when you’d pop back in.”
“Had some stuff to settle, babe.” He grinned back. There was an ease to him, an aura of relaxed confidence, that she hadn’t seen before.
“I know, the mess with your wife, right?”
“You got it. Wasn’t really that much of a mess, but I wanted it squared away before I returned to the wild life, here.”
“How come, Mikey? You didn’t need my shoulder any more?”
He chuckled and tossed off his soda. “Wanted it bad, babe. That’s why I had to stay away.”
“Huh?” She refilled his glass without asking.
“Careful with that stuff, I’ve got to drive home later.” A little of the confidence slipped; he seemed to gather himself. “I had to get clear of Carolyn before I could know whether I’d be making a mistake with you.”
Joyce Donati felt the world wobble on its axis.
“Mike, this is… uh… kind of sudden.”
McIlhone shook his head. “Cut the crap. How long have I been coming in here?”
“I don’t know, eight, nine months.”
“Maybe you think I’ve got nothing else to do with my time?”
“Well, no, but Mike—”
“Come on, Joycie. You seeing someone just now?”
“Well, no, but—”
“You got anything to do tomorrow around ten AM?”
She drew a sharp breath. One hand rose to her lips. She forced it down.
“Well, that’s when I usually go to Mass.”
He nodded. “You got a problem being seen with me, Joycie?”
She tried to work out whether she should be outraged. “No, Mike, not at all. Why?”
“Because I’d like to go with you. That okay with you?”
A tightness had developed in her chest. “You sure this isn’t one of those on-the-rebound deals, Mike?”
“Nope. But I’m going to do it. There’s lots of kinds of mistakes, Joycie. And one of them is not going after what you want, once you know you want it.” He hesitated, then reached across the bar and slid his hand around hers, clasping it lightly. “You can say no, if you don’t want it.”
Joyce studied the clear green eyes. There was a hint of appeal in them, and an affectionate challenge.
Am I afraid that I’ll miss the cut, or that I’ll make it?
She stroked the tight place in her chest, then squeezed his hand and nodded. “I want it.”
He smiled, squeezed back and rose from his stool. “Wear something nice.”
Ashley rounded the curve into Albrecht’s Perfumes Cove and stopped short, heart surging, unable to believe her eyes. “Carolyn?”
Carolyn turned to meet her incredulous stare. “Hello, Ashley, how have you been?”
“What are you doing back there?”
Carolyn gestured at the bottles and implements around her. “My job. Care to sample some White Linen or Tresor, Ashley?”
“You work here?”
“Can you think of a better way to be sure the guards will let me in?”
“It’s been a year, Carolyn. I’ve missed you terribly. When I couldn’t reach you at… at your husband’s house, I thought I’d never see you again.”
Ashley’s ex-lover looked into her eyes. “You knew I wasn’t long for that address.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
The older woman smiled. “Excuse me just a moment, dear.” She turned to wait on a customer that had joined them moments ago. Ashley stepped back a pace. Her thoughts snarled into a tangle from which she could find no exit.
It was some time before her ex-lover’s attention was available to her again.
“Where were we, dear?”
“What happened, Carolyn? How did you wind up here?”
“Well, I always liked Albrecht’s, and I had to support myself somehow.”
“But a sales clerk?”
Carolyn’s mouth quirked. “I don’t really know how to do anything else.”
Ashley pulled a card and a ballpoint pen from her handbag. “Where can I reach you? I’ve wanted to see you so much, and no one had any idea where you were.”
Carolyn gazed at her in silence for a long time.
“Did you ask Mike where I was?”
Ashley opened her mouth, closed it again quickly.
“He’s known the whole time. Now that we’re not married anymore, we’ve gotten to be pretty good friends.”
“Carolyn, you know I could never have asked him.”
The older woman shook her head. “You could have.”
“But why didn’t you call?”
Carolyn’s face clouded. “I didn’t want to make a little mistake into a big one.”
“What?”
“Ashley, was I important to you?”
“You know you were!”
“You weren’t important to me.”
Ashley jerked backward, pain and confusion mounting within her. Carolyn raised a hand and beckoned her to return.
“Let me put that another way. I looked at you and didn’t see you. I saw the heir to the Forslund family fortune, the golden girl of Onteora’s elite, welcome anywhere, the center of attention wherever she went. I made love to your social position, not to you.”
“It didn’t have to be like that! It wasn’t like that from me!”
“I know, dear. But when Mike and I parted, I had some hard lessons to learn. I couldn’t afford to adulterate them with exceptions.”
It was too much. Ashley Forslund began to gasp, and to cry. A petite woman in a forest green suit and high heels turned and hurried toward them, managerial concern written across her elfin features.
“Is there something wrong, Miss Forslund? Has Albrecht’s disappointed you?”
Carolyn intervened. “It’s all right, Helen. We’re old friends. We haven’t seen one another in a while, and some sad memories were dredged up.”
Helen looked dubiously from Ashley to Carolyn, waited for Ashley to speak, then gave a brief nod and glided away.
“Come, dear, surely you’ve had some agreeable company since you last saw me?”
Ashley struggled to calm herself and stop the flow of her tears. It took a mighty effort.
“You… don’t know… how much… I’ve missed you.”
Carolyn watched her in silence as she regained her self-control.
“Was it that bad?”
Ashley nodded and looked away, afraid she’d begin to cry again. Carolyn reached across the counter and stroked the young woman’s cheek.
“I wish it could have been I who paid the full price for that mistake, dear. I might not have appreciated you, but I never wanted to hurt you.”
Ashley’s head whipped around, a sudden heat surging through her.
“The hell with your intentions. The hell with your penances. I want you back.” Her voice cracked and descended to a whimper. “Tell me what I have to do to get you back into my arms and I’ll do it, anything at all!”
Carolyn gaped at her. Ashley restrained herself from lunging over the counter by the narrowest of margins.
“Is it really that way, dear?”
Ashley nodded, eyes brimming again.
Carolyn reached for the card and the pen Ashley clutched, pried them gently from her spasming hands. She wrote a telephone number on the card and handed it back.
“I’ll be there after nine.”
“You won’t give me your address?”
“Not yet, dear. It’s an efficiency, not a very nice place. It’ll be awhile before I can afford better.”
Ashley’s tears began to fall again. “I love you, Carolyn. Let me love you again.”
Pain darkened Carolyn Pahliavsky’s exquisite face. “Don’t, Ashley. We have to start fresh.” The muscles in her slender neck spasmed. “I have to. Call me tonight, okay?”
Onteora’s golden girl clamped her eyes shut. Her shoulders slumped forward as she strove to fight down the swells of heartache.
Our last phone conversation didn’t end so well. I told her I wouldn’t help her and hung up before she could get upset. If she were to do the same to me, it would only be what I’ve already earned.
Ashley forced down a final spate of whimpering and pulled herself upright.
“Okay.”
Comments
Hey i was reading on of yourstories and damned if i wasnt the asshole husband. Literally. That’s my name!! LOL. Its all cool, i think its awsome, i just want to know how did u come up with the name?
thanks,
MikePosted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 06/19/2005 at 02:36 PMActually, Mike, I just cast about for something that sounded blue-collar Irish-American, and that’s what popped out of the slot. I often grab character names out of the air—sometimes with amusing results. I’m glad you liked the story, though!
Posted by Francis W. Porretto on 06/20/2005 at 07:15 AM
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