Crossroads (26 page)

George stiffened. “Well, I think we both agree it was your fault. I mean, you were acting like a very threatening woman the other night.”

I'm not sure why I hadn't noticed before that he was crazy, but I considered myself fortunate to have gotten away unscathed. “George, all I did was invite you to dinner.”

“Well, you were very pushy.”

So I apologized. Not so much to George as to myself. I said, Please forgive me. I'm sorry for what I've done. I canceled my cappuccino and assured George I'd see him around. I walked out. It was almost the end of March and I'd spend the spring, the summer, alone. I'd never spent those seasons alone before. I walked on Columbus past florists and pet stores, past all the zillions of mediocre restaurants. I walked past all the possibilities of human creatures eating together. Men and women,
women and women, men eating together, women and men, gay people, straight people, people who had their kids on weekends, people who'd never have kids, kids with other kids, old people, tired people, miserable people, people who had it all, people who'd never appreciated what they'd had.

I walked among them like an invisible alien. I felt the pavement, hard and resistant beneath my feet. Something terrible was missing. There was some empty pit inside. It had a name. It wasn't home and it wasn't Mark. It wasn't having a lover. What I missed was simply a friend. A pay phone stared at me. I found a dime and called. A woman answered. “Is Sean there?” I asked, not really caring very much what her relationship with him was.

“No, who's this?”

“An old friend. Do you expect him?”

“Not really. He's away. Who's calling?”

I told her there was no message and I hung up. If he was with someone else, I didn't want to bother him. I hadn't been too much help to him when we were together. Maybe I really did love him, I thought as I wandered home. Maybe when you really love someone, it's very subtle and doesn't hit you over the head. Whatever it was, it would be a long time before anyone else meant to me what he did.

 

When Jennie called to tell me she had to get away from Tom, I told her Lila was following me. Neither of us really believed the other. She said Tom had not been the same since she'd spent time with Zap, and I told her that when I went to certain places in my neighborhood, Lila was there. Jennie had begun her class in microbiology, and we decided that the next time her class met, she'd spend the night with me.

If she hadn't waved, I'm not sure I would have recognized her. She wore a long skirt, boots, and she dragged a canvas bag. When we sat down to eat, I noticed she'd bitten her nails down to the quick. “So,” she said, “tell me.”

I didn't really want to talk about myself. I wanted to hear about her, but in the end I understood that I needed to talk about Sean. “I guess if I talk about Lila, I'd better talk about Sean. You don't know about it, do you? We went to California.”

Jennie interrupted. “We saw him recently. He told us some of what happened. At least he told me. I'm not sure he and Tom are talking very much.”

“Did he say anything? About me?”

“Yes.” She paused. “He asked about you. I think he's very upset about what happened. I also think he got hurt, somehow.”

I wanted to know all the details. “So how did he look? Is he the same?”

She laughed. “Well, he's shaved his beard. And I think he's gotten chubby.”

I wanted her to tell me more. “But what did he say about me?”

She hesitated. “It was difficult to talk with him. He . . . he wasn't alone.”

“Oh.” I tried to appear nonchalant. “Who was he with?”

“Oh, I think it was just a friend. In fact, I think he's recovering. He told me he'd had some bad months.”

Suddenly I felt very fat. “Jen, do I look fat? Have I gained weight?”

She laughed. “You look terrific. Are you kidding?”

“But am I still attractive? I feel so ugly.”

Jennie held my hands in hers. “What happened with you two?”

I shrugged. “Well, I think the straw that broke the camel's back was he walked in on me and Mark.”

“Oh.” She widened her eyes.

I described to her the basic logistics of that night. “It wasn't the greatest. The problem is, well, I was slow to come to my senses. Too slow.”

“Maybe it'll just take him a while to come around.”

“I want to see him.”

She shook her head. “You know what I'll never understand about you? Why don't you just call the people you want to talk to on the phone?”

I sighed. “I did call him. A woman answered.”

“So what? That doesn't necessarily mean anything.” She thought for a moment. “He's not here now anyway. He went back to L.A. But I don't see why you can't contact him.”

I maneuvered the conversation to get her to talk about herself and Tom. “Please, tell me what's happening with you.”

“Oh,” she said, “where should we start? He leaves for work at six, comes back at ten o'clock at night. Never talks to the kids, never talks to me. I've tried to get him some help. I phoned a local shrink and made an appointment, but he wouldn't go.” We had left the restaurant and were walking back to my place. “The only thing he ever asks me is what really happened with Zap. He's driving me crazy. I'm ready to leave for good.”

The next night Tom called. “Hello, Debbie,” he said to me rather stiffly. “Is my wife around?” His voice had a very cold, mechanical ring to it. I was on the phone in the kitchen and shouted for Jennie to pick up in the bedroom, which is what she did.

When Jennie got on, I was about to hang up when I heard Tom say, “Zap's there, isn't he? You lied to me again.”

“Tom, you are going to drive one of us completely nuts.”

“Tom,” I cut in, “it's just me and Jennie. I'm getting off now.”

“No,” Tom said, “don't get off. I know you're both lying to me. I know he's there.”

“Tom, would you please stop it.” Jennie spoke with a great deal of control. “You're drunk and you don't know what you're doing. I think you need help.”

“You're right, Jen, I probably do need help, but it's probably too late for that. But I have something for you. Something
you're going to remember all your life.” From somewhere in the state of New Jersey, there was the sharp, amazingly clear blast of what I knew was a gun going off.

For an instant there was silence. I think Jennie and I had both screamed, but after that there was silence. Then Jennie began to talk, slowly, softly. “Tom . . . I am not having an affair, but you are going to have to get some help. Tom, I want you to tell me you're all right.”

And then I heard a very soft voice say, “I'm not all right.”

Jennie sighed. “Good. I mean, it's not good, but it's good you haven't hurt yourself. Now, listen, can you just sit there? I'm going to get in the car and drive home and I'll be there in two hours. Can you wait two hours?”

“I can wait two fucking hours. I'm drunk as a skunk.”

“I know you are. I can tell by your voice. Now you just sit still.”

“I'm going with you,” I said.

We got in the car and drove quickly. “Maybe he'll get help now. Idiot. If he doesn't get help, I'm not staying with him, that's for sure.” It amazed me that I hadn't understood how much he meant to her until just then, as we headed back to the farm.

When we pulled up to the house, it was all dark, except for one light coming from the den. Inside the den, Tom sat alone in an armchair, a gun lying on the desk, staring into space. Jennie rushed in. “Are you all right?”

“I'm all right.” He nodded numbly.

“What the hell were you trying to prove?” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I think I was trying to get your attention.”

Jennie shouted back at him. “Well, why don't you find a more constructive way to get my attention?”

I didn't really want to participate in this, so I walked back to the living room and sat on the sofa. It was dark as I looked around. I stared at the spot where I'd first seen Sean, standing
in the corner, Coke glass in hand, looking bored with us all.

Tom's voice rose from the den. “I never was good enough for you. You always wanted someone better. My family wasn't good enough for your family. My grades weren't good enough for your family.”

I wandered through the darkened house. I didn't want to listen to their fight, really. I walked down the corridor to where I'd slept. The bedroom was orderly, the bed neatly made. There was no trace of us here. I went back into the living room, hoping I'd see Sean really standing in the corner, sipping his Coke. I guess Roxanne was right; I guess it all is a question of timing. I looked into the dark corner again where I'd first seen Sean. This time I saw a form, moving, and I saw eyes, bright, glistening eyes, staring at me. Actually I saw two pair of eyes, and I walked closer to the corner. “Hello,” I said, “who's there?”

I was moving closer to where the eyes stared at me. I heard muffled sounds, tiny voices whispering. When the light was switched on behind me, I spotted two children in their pajamas, huddled in the corner.

“What're you doing up?” Jennie said. She walked across the living room. “Huh, what're you doing here?” At first I thought she was angry but then I saw she wasn't. She hugged them and made them come out and meet me. “Melissa, Cory, this is Deborah Mills. She is my old friend. I told you about her.” Melissa, who was perhaps eight and very ladylike, stepped forward and shook my hand. Cory gripped a blanket and nodded his sleepy head. He had dark, soft eyes and couldn't have been more than six.

Tom walked into the room. “Why aren't they in bed?” He did sound angry but then he noticed me. “Debbie . . . I didn't know you were here.”

“Oh, I just came along for the ride.” He looked embarrassed. “It's really all right,” I told him.

Jennie said she was going to take the kids to bed, but Cory
started to cry. “You must've scared the daylights out of them,” Jennie said. “You're going to get some help.”

Tom nodded. “I said I would.” He spoke softly.

Melissa gave me a kiss good night and Cory hid his face in his mother's shoulder as Jennie took them upstairs. Tom looked at me, a blank expression on his face. “I don't know what to do,” he muttered. “We'll get some help.”

Jennie came downstairs a few minutes later. “They went right back to sleep. I told them you had to shoot to scare a dog away.”

“I didn't even know I'd woken them.”

Jennie turned to me. “Can you stay the night? I can drive you to the bus in the morning.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“I'll get you there in time.”

Tom slumped down on the sofa. “You're as bad as I am,” he said to me.” You didn't know a good man when you saw one. He was a terrific man. You just pushed him away. One of the best.”

“Shut up,” Jennie said to him.

“It's all right, Jen. He's probably right.” But then I thought that if Sean was a good man for me, I'd probably see him again.

In the morning I got up for the early bus, which would get me into the city before nine. “Are you sure? Can't you stay?” Jennie kept asking.

I shook my head. Cory, Melissa, and Aretha Franklin all piled into the station wagon. I kissed Tom good-bye and Jennie drove me to the bus stop. “So,” I said to her as we waited for my bus, “what're you going to do?”

Jennie looked at the station wagon, full of kids and the drooling black dog. “I don't know what else I can do. I'm going to give it another try. It's never easy, I guess . . .” Her voice trailed off. She paused and turned to me. “Have you thought about what you're going to do?”

I thought about it for an instant as my bus pulled up. “I think I'm going to look for Sean.”

M
Y ENCOUNTER
with Lila occurred at the same time that my SAP project was terminated. I'm not certain which event surprised me more. I had, after all, been designing and writing specifications for a slum renovation project for the past several years. Mr. Wicker came into my office carrying a bottle of rum one night as I worked late, and for once his hair was out of place. He put down two glasses. “No, thanks,” I said. “I have miles to go.”

“You know,” he began, “I admire your work more than anyone else's work here, I think. It's not only your design work. It's your reports. They read like poems, epics really. The way you talk about the neighborhoods, the people who live in those neighborhoods.”

I was expecting a raise from the way he talked, but instead he told me that the City Council had terminated funding for my project, my unit, and, by extension, me. Mr. Wicker offered to buy me dinner but I told him I still had work to do. Whether the South Bronx Area Development Project would be built or not, I
could finish it on the drawing boards. He said I should take my time. He was giving me a month's notice and hoped that soon he'd find a new project for me. I told him I'd been thinking of going back to school in design anyway, so perhaps the timing was right.

Even in the heavy spring rain, I could see it was Lila standing across the street at the bus shelter. She did sometimes work at the courthouse, so it wasn't impossible that she'd be standing there in front of my building. But somehow I felt certain she was waiting for me.

When I walked outside; she looked up, and for a moment she didn't show any sign of recognition. But then she waved. Actually, it was more a beckoning than a wave, and I simply turned and walked away, heading toward the subway. “Debbie,” she called, “please wait.” I saw her cross the street in the rain. I kept walking. “Debbie,” she called, “please.”

But I really had nothing to say to her and no interest in talking to her. If she wanted to ask about when we were getting divorced, she could talk to Mark. And there wasn't anything else for her to discuss with me. I walked for a block or two, but then I remembered Sean's advice to me. Why didn't I just tell her how I felt? But I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. I walked on until she caught up with me. “Debbie, please, I have to talk to you.” She touched my arm. The only thing that kept me from smashing her in the jaw was a strange and evolving sense that you don't follow your lover's soon-to-be ex-wife down dreary Manhattan streets in a March rain unless you are desperate enough to think that someone else may provide you with answers you can't find for yourself.