Authors: Holly Chamberlin

Babyland (24 page)

BOOK: Babyland

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I picked up the sandwich I'd ordered and then put it down again. I made a mental note to talk to my doctor about more vitamins and supplements.

“I really can't imagine what you've been going through all this time,” I said. “I mean it, Alexandra. I truly can't imagine.”

“Your life hasn't been a complete lark,” she pointed out.

“No, but I've never had my heart broken.” And as soon as I marry Ross, it never will be. “It was selfless of you,” I said then, “not to go to his wife and cause trouble.”

“Selfless? I don't know about that. If I made a stink with Luke's wife it would have ruined any feelings he might still have had for me.”

“Still,” I said, “it was good of you to back away.”

“Whatever. Maybe I'm not a total jerk. But I'm certainly not a saint. No one is.”

I smiled. “Not even Mother Teresa?”

“I can't believe there wasn't something in all those good works for her. She was human, wasn't she? Maybe a bit more, but she was born from a woman after all. Isn't that the point of Jesus, too? Son of both God and Man?”

“I'm not religious enough to know,” I admitted.

“It's not about religion,” Alexandra said dismissively. “It's about human nature. But we're off the topic. And maybe we should be. You must be bored by my romantic travails.”

I laughed. “Alexandra, how many times do I have to say this? If there's one word I never associate with you, it's
boredom
.”

“My time will come. You know, when I've got the blue hair.”

I shuddered and attempted another bite of the sandwich. Alexandra had ordered another Coke and piece of apple pie.

“Aren't you afraid he'll go back to his wife?” I asked tentatively.

“No,” she said. “I'm not afraid. He won't go back. And even if he wanted to, which he doesn't, she wouldn't take him back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Alexandra looked at me steadily, as if to make sure I got the message. “I'm sure,” she said. “Anyway, he's kind of in shock, of course. He never expected her to go. How well did he know her, after all?”

How well, indeed. Maybe, I thought, if Luke had paid more attention to the woman he'd married, thenâWhat? Then Alexandra might never have met him. Would that have been a good thing or a bad one?

“But now, he's free,” Alexandra was saying. “He feels liberated. He won't go back. What would he go back to?”

To the familiar, I thought. To the status quo. To the public face of respectability.

Who am I kidding, I thought. Marriage doesn't automatically confer respectability. Why should it?

“You have such faith in him,” I said. “I'm impressed by that. I feel that you deserve this chance with your one great love.”

“I don't know about deserving the chance,” Alexandra replied promptly. “I don't think the world works fairly. I don't think anyone gets what she really deserves, good or bad. But the chance is here and I'm taking it, and if I don't take it wholeheartedly, what's the point in taking it at all?”

I laughed. “You aren't very good at doing things halfway. That's true.”

“Love isn't half-hearted, Anna. It's like the song says, all or nothing at all. Love is either there or it isn't. Love is easy that way. It's not confusing. It's very simple. I like that about love.”

Love, simple?

“I don't know how you can say that love is simple,” I argued. “Maybe for some people it is, but for other people it's horribly complicated. What happens when you find yourself in love with someone you're not supposed to be in love with?”

“What does that mean?” she said, eyeing me curiously. “âSupposed to' has nothing to do with love.”

“Of course it does,” I protested. “You're not supposed to fall in love with a married man. You're not supposed to fall in love with someone so different from you he'd irrevocably disrupt your life and just make a mess.”

“I gather you're not talking about Ross,” Alexandra said, folding her napkin and placing it next to her empty plate. “The man probably never even made a mess in a mud puddle.”

“I'm not talking about anyone in particular,” I retorted. Of course, Alexandra knew I was lying. But I could pretend to ignore that fact.

What had she said about people who choose not to see the truth?

And then I thought, When you say you have to grab love when it shows up, even when it means hurting someone in the processâlike a wife or a husbandâaren't you just creating an excuse for selfish behavior? Aren't you just saying, forget willpower and self-control and sacrifice. Just take what you want and if someone gets destroyed in the process, well, so be it. That's life. That's the way the ball bounces and the cookie crumbles.

“So, it's okay to cheat on someone ifâ”

“I don't advocate cheating, Anna,” Alexandra said firmly. “I do advocate love. Anyway, what are we really talking about here? Not me any longer, that's for sure.”

“Nothing,” I said, with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I guess I'm just tired. I feel a bit confused. I haven't been sleeping very well lately.”

Alexandra popped the last piece of apple pie into her mouth. “Maybe you need more exercise and fresh air.”

“Maybe,” I said, “I do.”

Sur L'Herbe

“L
ook at those azaleas, Ross,” I said. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? The pinks are so clear and clean.”

On Alexandra's assertion that exercise and fresh air cure all ills, I pressured Ross to spend an afternoon with me at the Harvard Arboretum. Ross isn't much of a nature lover. Even a well-manicured path through a formally sculpted garden has little appeal for him.

“Oh,” he said, “that reminds me. I picked up a few new shirts at Brooks Brothers yesterday. I thought my wardrobe needed a little more rounding out in the nouveaux classics department. I got one in a sort of dusty rose, which I think works wonderfully with my complexion.”

“Good,” I said.

And there he was. Jack, camera in hand, tripod on a strap over his shoulder, striding closer to a bank of white azaleas. I watched, heart racing, as he squatted then stretched out on his stomach to get the shots he wanted.

“So,” Ross said, “I'm thinking of starting these special vitamins for people doing the low-carb thing. They're over-the-counter so I don't have to bother seeing my doctor first, which is great because I swear it takes a month to get in unless you have an emergency.”

“Mmm,” I said.

Maybe, I thought, Jack won't see us. Maybe Ross won't see Jack and I can pretend not to see him, either. Maybe, I thought, I can ignore him, cut him dead and explain later.

Explain what, Anna?

“This sun,” Ross said, “is so strong. I'm glad I wore the SPF 45. Oh, did I tell you I made an appointment to see my friend Jason's dermatologist? He's doing some new kind of dermabrasion that's supposed to make you look ten years younger. If I like this guy maybe you should see him, too.”

“Okay,” I said.

Jack got to his feet and strode off, his back to us. I felt weak with relief. He hadn't seen us, I was sure of it. I didn't think he was that good of an actor; I didn't think he could fake anything at all.

“I think I'm allergic to these lilacs,” Ross said. He wrinkled his nose as if their smell was truly foul.

“They do have a strong fragrance,” I replied, without much sympathy.

“Anna, are we done here? I thought we could stop by that fabulous new furniture store over on Washington before we meet Rob and his date for dinner.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I saw a gorgeous occasional table in the window, and I thought it might go perfectly in the hall to the second bedroom. Ugh. We're not having lilacs at the wedding, are we?”

I never made it to dinner that night. As soon as we left the furniture store I knew something was wrong. Ross accompanied me back to my apartment, where I immediately got into bed. He went off to meet his brother.

I'd heard enough about migraine symptoms to know the headache was no ordinary tension headache. I wanted to fall asleep, but the pain just wouldn't let me go. I wanted to pass out. I wanted to die. And all I could do was lie on my bed and wait it out.

Lesson learned: Knowing the pain will eventually go away is no consolation to the sufferer.

Analyze This

“S
o, is the migraine totally gone?” Alexandra asked. We were having dinner at Cobra, yet another new hot spot she'd forced me to try.

“Yes, finally. It lingered for two days. I don't think I've ever felt so sick.”

“Poor you. And not even able to take medication.”

I sighed. “Frankly, even if I was allowed to take something I wasn't well enough to crawl into the bathroom to get it.”

“You should have called me sooner. I know there's a phone right by your bed. I would have come by.”

“I know. I should have. If there's a next timeâ”

“Don't think about a next time. Anna, my dear, you really need to learn how to think positively. Sometimes you're downright lugubrious.”

Was I lugubrious? Maybe. “Then,” I said, “you're not going to want to hear what I've been working up the nerve to tell you.”

“Anna,” she said, “I am your friend. I daresay I'm your dearest friend. If you can't talk to me, who can you talk to?”

Who, indeed?

“Do you ever have recurring dreams?” I asked.

Alexandra looked at me over the rim of her martini glass. “Besides the ones I have about Luke and me being torn apart by three-headed Godzilla-like monsters? No.”

Three-headed Godzilla-like monsters? I'd never known anyone whose dreams were actually haunted by monsters, the kind with scales and claws and green skin.

“Oh. Well,” I said, “lately I've been having recurring dreams. Not the same exact dreams every night, but they all share similar themes. It's kind of upsetting me.”

“It shouldn't,” Alexandra said. “If the constant themes are love and peace and sex with a gorgeous man. But I'm guessing they're not.”

“Um, no,” I said. “Nothing like that I'm afraid.”

“Go ahead, tell me about them. I'm not a shrink so I probably can't help you interpret, but I can listen like one.”

“That's awfully generous of you,” I said sincerely. “Most people are bored to tears listening to someone else's dreams.”

Alexandra grinned. “I'm in a generous mood. I just got a big job and I'm feeling expansive in every way. Plus, I owe you for all the hours you've listened to me go on about my extramarital affair and its extraordinary outcome.”

“You don't owe me anything,” I said. “And congratulations on the job.” And then I began.

“Okay, here's one. I pick up a piece of paper. I know that it's a printed list of some sort. But I can't see any of the words. I try really hard to read it, but everything is a blur, nothing is in focus, not even the edges of the paper. At first I'm frustrated, and then I start to panic. I think, âI'm going blind!' but nobody notices that I can't see or that I'm panicking. And I don't want them to notice. I don't want anyone to see that anything is wrong with me or that I need help.”

“Huh,” Alexandra said. “Then what happens?”

“Nothing. I mean, I wake up or the dream just ends.”

Alexandra took another long sip of her drink before saying, “Okay. Is there more?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But this one is horrible, truly disgusting. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yes. I think. No, go ahead. I'm brave.”

“Well,” I said, watching Alexandra closely for any signs of distress, “in some dreams my mouth is stuffed with a gritty, viscous substance. I don't know what it is or where it comes from. It's not like when you've got a coldâ”

“Oh, ick.” Alexandra grimaced. “Honey, that really is disgusting!”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'll stop.”

Alexandra patted my hand. “No, go on. Really. I'm fine. I think you should talk about these dreams. Even if they are disturbing. Especially if they are disturbing. I just won't order anything gooey tonight.”

Friends. Really, where are we without them?

“Okay,” I said. “If you're sure. Anyway, this stuff prevents me from being able to talk. I have to scoot away from whomever I'm with, find some private place, and pull the stuff out of my mouth. It comes out in clumps, or sometimes it pulls out like taffy. It always seems endless. I try to find a mirror so I can make sure I get it all out. I don't want anyone to know this happens to me. It's so embarrassing. And that's it.”

Alexandra shook her head as if coming back to life and took a long sip of her martini. “That's enough,” she said finally. “What a nightmare! Poor Anna. You must wake up in the morning completely exhausted.”

“I wake up completely grateful that it was all just a dream.”

“But still,” Alexandra said. “Maybe you should see a therapist about these dreams. They don't seem very healthy.”

“Dreams can't hurt you,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. But of course I didn't believe that.

Alexandra leaned forward across the table. “Anna,” she said, “the dreams might be an expression of hurt you already feel. Like the dream where you can't read what's written on the piece of paper. I think it's about your trying to communicate. I think it's about your trying to be part of the world. I think it's about your trying to see what everyone else is seeing.”

Did that make sense? “Maybe,” I said. “And sometimes I dream about having no voice. Sometimes I'm furious with someone for being cruel to me, and the more I try to scream at this person the less noise comes from my throat until all that's left of my voice is a scratch.”

“That sounds like a classic frustration dream. You're trying and trying to do something but nothing is happening. Your efforts are in vain.”

“My efforts are in vain.” I repeated the words as if to try them on, see if they fit. “Anyway,” I said, “sometimes I need to defend myself against a false accusation, and my voice is just gone. And sometimes I need to call out for help; sometimes someone is trying to rape me or stab me. And every time I try to shout, I can't. Nothing comes out of my mouth but pitiful, strangled gasps.”

“No wonder you've got dark circles under your eyes,” Alexandra said.

“I do?”

“You mean you haven't noticed? Boy, you are in need of a peaceful night's sleep.”

“I know. So, what do you think?”

“I think that your dream self is essentially blind and dumb.”

“At least I can hear,” I joked lamely.

“What good is the ability to take in information if you can't actually put it to use? What good is hearing the question if you can't give an answer?”

“Do you want to hear about another dream?” I asked, ignoring Alexandra's rhetorical challenge. “It's not grotesque.”

“Sure,” she said. “I've got no place else to be. Tell on.”

“I dream of being alone.” And then I considered. “No, it's more like I'm unseen or forgotten. I dream that love has passed me by and I just don't understand how it happened. It's like maybe I fell asleep and missed something. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” Alexandra said. “Give me something specific.”

“Okay. Well, in one of these dreams I'm at a beautiful tropical resort, and suddenly my dream self remembers that I was at the resort years before with someone. I vaguely recall that the person was someone important, a lover. I remember there was a violent hurricane blowing in. But I can't remember anything more, and it troubles me. Why can't I remember my lover's name or his face? Why can't I remember what happened to him? Why can't I understand how I wound up all alone? And then, suddenly, I remember that I'm engaged and that I haven't been left behind after all. I realize that I haven't missed my last chance and that I won't grow old alone.”

“That sounds happy,” Alexandra said.

“But it isn't happy,” I said. I heard my voice shake. “In the dream I don't feel happy; I don't even feel relieved. And then I wake up, and my waking mind says, âAnna, you have Ross, you're not alone,' and still I feel no comfort or joy in knowing that. I still feel utterly alone.”

I watched Alexandra absorb what I'd told her. “Anna,” she said finally, “dreams are significant. They might be random in one sense but in another sense they're meaningful. Have you really thought about what these dreams are expressing? In terms of the choices you've made. You know, like getting married ...”

Like getting married to Ross. Suddenly, the conversation had gotten too close for comfort.

“Not really,” I said. “Not much. I'm not sure dreams are all that important.”

Alexandra gave a dry little laugh. “If you believed that you wouldn't have told me all about them.”

“Maybe.”

“Don't jump down my throat when I say this. But maybe the dreams are a product of pregnancy hormones.”

“No,” I said. “I've been having these dreams for quite some time now. It's just that they've intensified lately.” Since Ross and I got engaged, I added silently. Since I learned about you and Luke. Since I can't help but compare Jack to Ross and find my fiancÃ© lacking. Since everything has gotten so complicated.

“That doesn't reassure me at all,” Alexandra said gloomily.

It didn't reassure me, either.

BOOK: Babyland

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