Emerald Aisle (3 page)
AT THE WEDDING RECEPTION, when he said that Josie was the first married woman he had kissed, Dudley was consciously lying. Joking too of course, but it was as if he wanted to erase the past completely and be what Dolores obviously thought he was.
When he first realized how fascinated he was by Dolores, he had not expected it to go anywhere. His relationship with Bianca Primero, stormy but satisfying, was all he could handle. And it left him free. He and Bianca could never have more than they now had.
Dolores had been hired to put computerized order into the records, files, and billing of the firm, hired by Kunert himself; but immediately Dudley had noticed her independence and humor compared to the anxious young lawyers in the annual crop of new hires, the serious-faced young men not yet at ease in business suits, the young women trying to assume the blasé look of the professional woman. Of course, in the byzantine hierarchy of Kunert and Skye, Dolores outranked the other newcomers as assistant to Dudley Fyte. She had first caught Dudley's attention because she had something in short supply in the office, an outrageous sense of humor. He himself had none.
“How was your weekend?” he asked her.
“I wear a hat over the weak end.”
He stared at her.
“It's an old vaudeville joke, according to my father.”
“How old is your father?”
She squinted at him. “Older than you.”
“Hey, I could be your older brother.”
“You'll have to talk to my mother about that.”
Not an auspicious beginning of anything, but there was something about her subdued sassiness that reminded him of Bianca. It was Bianca who had made him immune to the attractions of the women in the office, who by contrast seemed impossibly young and naive. He himself had felt that way with Bianca at first.
He had met Bianca Primero last year in Highland Village in a gallery to which he had been drawn by a painting in the window, blues and whites and soft yellows, a woman on a beach, holding her daughter with one hand and her shoes in the other. He went in, he paused before every picture, all of which conveyed the mood of the painting that had drawn him inside. What was the mood?
“Sentimentality.”
The woman who said this wore a black lace mantilla over her golden hair, and her arms were crossed over a loose, yellow raincoat. She looked at Dudley when he turned to her, but her large, opaque sunglasses gave him back diminished images of himself.
“I like the colors,” he said.
“Primary colors. When did you last see a red sail?”
“In the sunset.”
She removed her glasses with a slow, dramatic movement. Her lips slowly formed a smile.
“So you like sentimental songs as well?”
“Dudley Fyte,” he said, and thrust out his hand. She hesitated, then took it.
“Bianca Primero.”
“You don't like this show.”
“I didn't say that. I said the pictures are sentimental. I have nothing against sentimentality.”
There was an odd, guarded intimacy in her tone. He decided that
this was what one expected of a Saturday morning, meeting a beautiful older woman in an art gallery and falling into conversation. They looked at other pictures, she murmuring disapproval with little sighs, he defending the pictures.
this was what one expected of a Saturday morning, meeting a beautiful older woman in an art gallery and falling into conversation. They looked at other pictures, she murmuring disapproval with little sighs, he defending the pictures.
“Would you care for coffee?”
“In a minute,” she said, and signaled to the director, who hurried obsequiously over to her.
“Yes, Mrs. Primero?”
“That one.” She pointed toward the picture that had elicited her judgment of sentimentality. She opened a purse and gave the director a card.
“You'll deliver it.”
“Of course.”
“Telephone first.” Now she handed him a credit card. It occurred to Dudley that she had not asked the price of the painting.
They sat at a sidewalk table up the street and sipped espresso. Bianca wore her large sunglasses and surveyed the passersby with a world-weary air.
“I'm just back from Capri.”
“Ah.”
“Do you know it?”
“Only by reputation.”
The glasses were removed. “That sounds prudish.”
Dudley had read a life of Krupp, the armament tycoon who had spent time on the legendary isle. “It has always attracted tyrants, illicit lovers, and perverts,” she said.
“And which are you?”
“Not the last.”
Before they parted she gave him one of her cards. Three days later he telephoned her. “You said to call first.”
His name seemed to mean nothing to her; but when he mentioned
the gallery, she said languidly, “The picture has been delivered. You must come admire it.”
the gallery, she said languidly, “The picture has been delivered. You must come admire it.”
When she opened the door, she stepped back; and when he came inside, she gave him her cheek to kiss. Her golden hair was pinned up, and she wore a flowing floor-length muumuu. As she crossed the room, the garment caught the outline of her body then billowed free in a way that Dudley found seductive. That of course was the idea. She led him to the picture and put her arm through his as they looked at it. She said nothing. He turned to her, and she lifted her face. The kiss was the beginning of far more than Dudley had bargained for.
Later, she wanted to know all about him, as if to justify the impetuosity with which she had led him down a hallway to her bedroom. She listened as she might have to one with an exotic story.
“I would never have taken you for a lawyer. Are you married?”
“Are you?”
“I'm on leave.”
“I'm not married.”
“I guessed that.”
Was she criticizing his performance? He did not pursue it. He sought and found the appropriate tone to tell her of the young women who worked for him.
“Suited but not suitable?”
“They're so young.”
She frowned and it was warning enough. The relationship developed the year before Dolores joined the firm, a year during which much had happened. Bianca might consider herself on leave from her marriage, but her husband did not.
Some months after his first meeting with Bianca, Joseph Primero came to see him at the office. When the girl told him the visitor's
name, Dudley scrambled to his feet. He had no intention of meeting Bianca's husband in his office.
name, Dudley scrambled to his feet. He had no intention of meeting Bianca's husband in his office.
“I'll talk with him in a conference room.”
This was a visit Bianca had prepared him for, warned him would come, but now that it had he was surprised and flustered.
“Hasn't he come to see you yet?” Bianca had asked when talk turned to her husband.
“You're kidding, aren't you?”
Bianca smiled. “Wait and see.”
But any uneasiness Dudley felt had vanished as he went to meet Primero. A husband with a wandering wife was not in a strong position to make another man feel ashamed. Dudley was more embarrassed by the age difference between himself and Bianca than he was by the fact that she was married. Of course, he had checked up on Joseph Primero and been impressed, very impressed, by the man's accomplishments. Primero was wealthy and could afford to let Bianca travel, have an apartment in Highland Village, buy whatever she wanted, and be bored.
“You collect art; he collects books,” Dudley said.
“That is not how he would put it. Collecting sounds like a hobby, a diversion; books are his passion.”
“But he made his fortune as a real estate developer.”
“It's a long story.”
Dudley met Joseph Primero in the reception area, shook his hand with a distracted air, and led him down the hall to a conference room. When he closed the door behind them, he indicated a chair for Primero.
“You're younger than I had thought.”
Dudley could think of nothing to say to that.
“I am not here to blame you. Bianca can be an irresistible force. I understand that.”
Dudley felt like a gigolo, which doubtless was Primero's intention. But what else was he? The suggestion that he was a naive young man who had fallen into the clutches of a voracious older woman rankled. It was he who had initiated things with Bianca.
“Of course at first I didn't realize she was married,” he said. “Not many married women manage to live so independently.”
Primero looked away. The tinted windows gave a view of the skyline as a Lego arrangement. Primero rubbed his chin, then turned to Dudley. “Free yourself from her.”
Dudley sat. “Do you have to make such visits often?”
Primero glared at him, and for a moment Dudley thought the older man might attack him. But then the expression of resigned sadness returned. “My visit was meant as a favor to you. Given the discrepancy in your ages, I don't suppose you would think of marriage. A good thing. She will never divorce me.”
“She seems to have all she wants now.”
“She will tire of you.”
“We'll see.” But he found that the prospect did not displease, as long as it was sometime in the future. A steady diet of Bianca Primero was wearing.
“I would have thought your sights would have been higher.”
That seemed to be it. Back in his office, Dudley found himself feeling sorry for Bianca's cuckold husband.
“Who's Joseph Primero?” Amy asked.
“Not a client. A relative of a friend of mine.”
How much did Amy know? Was he the subject of whispers in the ladies' room? If so, he didn't mind. He still regarded Bianca as a conquest, and her husband's visit increased her trophy value. But Joseph Primero did not look like a man who would willingly subject
himself to the humiliation of a wife run amok. And he underwrote the life Bianca led. She had no money of her own. Why didn't Primero divorce her?
himself to the humiliation of a wife run amok. And he underwrote the life Bianca led. She had no money of her own. Why didn't Primero divorce her?
Bianca laughed. “You don't understand us Catholics. But tell me what he said.”
She wanted a blow-by-blow account of her husband's visit, rubbing her hands eagerly as he told her.
“Why do you hate him so?”
She sobered instantly and looked at Dudley with narrowed eyes. “You don't know him as I do. Besides, it is he who hates me.”
“He has an odd way of showing it.”
“I wish you had been harder on him. Imagine, coming to your office and asking you to leave me alone. The man has no pride.”
“Maybe he loves you.”
“He doesn't know what love is. Oh, I would like to punish him.”
That became a leit-motif of their postcoital conversations. Sometimes Dudley thought that Bianca made love as a long-distance punishment of her husband.
“His books,” she said, “that is where he is vulnerable.”
She would lie back and speak dreamily of stealing from her husband's collection; she knew the things he particularly valued. Dudley became uneasy when she seemed to be casting him in the role of thief.
“LARRY,” DOLORES SAID BRIGHTLY, “this is Dudley Fyte.”
Larry had expected to talk to Dolores alone and was put off by the presence of the man to whom she had just introduced him, presumably the man she intended to marry in Sacred Heart Basilica. He took the extended hand, what else could he do?
“I've told Dudley about us.”
“Why don't we all have a drink,” Dudley suggested. And off they went across the lobby and out the door of the building. On the flight to Minneapolis, Larry had rehearsed what he would say to Dolores, convincing himself that he had the upper moral hand. After all, reserving a date for their wedding had been his idea. As he remembered it, Dolores had not been all that excited by the idea. Besides, how could she have the same emotional attachment to Notre Dame that he, after seven years on campus, had?
The bar was crowded. There was only one unoccupied stool and of course Dolores took that, with himself and Dudley standing attendance on her. Larry felt at a disadvantage. How could he even bring up the topic of June 17? But it was Dolores who did so.
“I wish now I'd let you know I was claiming the reservation.”
“You should have.” Of course he had not called her before going to the Basilica office to claim it himself.
“Well, it was as much mine as yours, wasn't it?”
“Was it? I thought it was my idea to make it in the first place.”
“That isn't how I remember it.”
Dudley reached for the drinks that had been brought, handing one to Dolores and taking his own. Larry's beer remained on the bar. He reached for it as Dudley proposed a toast. “I suppose we should offer one another mutual congratulations.”
Larry lifted his glass but before drinking said, “Did you go to Notre Dame?”
“Chicago.”
“Well then. My fiancée is a domer.”
“How nice,” Dolores said.
“That makes it two to one.”
“Larry, everything is arranged.”
“You're going to have to rearrange then.” He drank now as if to punctuate the point.
“I don't think so. Father Rocca confirmed the date.”
“He was under the mistaken impression that you and
I
were going to get married.”
I
were going to get married.”
“I think the bride has the call in these matters.”
“I don't see that.”
“Larry, I understand how you feel. I know how I would have felt if I found you had gotten there before me. But the thing is done now, and it can't be undone.”
He drank some more, trying in vain to remember the overpowering arguments he had formed on the flight up. “This isn't the place to discuss the matter.”
“What is there to discuss? Say we each had an equal claim to the date; I got there first.”
“Without telling me.”
“But you found that out when you went to do the same thing.”
“Ladies first, old man,” Dudley Fyte said.
“Would you mind staying out of this?”
“I can hardly do that. I
am
involved. More than you are, I would say.”
am
involved. More than you are, I would say.”
Dudley Fyte was a head taller, an older man, but one who looked fit as a fiddle. Nonetheless, it was hard to resist the impulse to take a swing at him. Dolores must have sensed Larry's anger. She put a hand on his arm and leaned toward him. “Larry, don't be upset. I really am sorry. How could I have known you had become engaged?”
She had been beautiful years ago, and she was more beautiful now. The pressure of her hand on his arm brought back memories of when they had been in love. Her expression of regret seemed genuine enough. If only Dudley hadn't been there.
“We should have talked about this alone.”
“Larry, Dudley and I work together.”
It seemed such an irrelevant remark, he laughed. “And you're settled in Minneapolis. You should have your wedding here.”
“Now see here,” Dudley began,
“Dudley, don't.”
“Dolores, you have already gone an extra mile.”
“I flew five hundred miles,” Larry blurted out, feeling like a fool.
“On a pointless errand.”
Dolores shifted her hand to Dudley's arm and shook her head. For a mad moment Larry thought that it was he and Dolores against this supercilious ass. “Could we discuss this alone, Dolores?”
She looked at him with affection, with something almost more than affection. She really did see his point. She looked at her attendant. “Dudley?”
“I think I should stay.”
“Maybe it would be best if Larry and I talked alone.”
He frowned. “You insisted I come and now I see why.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Larry asked.
“Dolores told me what she expected, and she was right.”
Dolores looked back and forth at the two men, unsure what she should do. She had scarcely touched her drink.
“Where are you staying, Larry?”
“I'm at the Radisson.”
Dudley said, “We'd better go, Dolores, I made a reservation”âhe turned a small smile on Larryâ“for dinner.”
“Please don't be angry, Larry. It would spoil my wedding to think that you felt this way.”
“Spoil the wedding?” Dudley laughed.
Again Larry felt an impulse to hit the other man, and this was like a concession of defeat. Dolores's hand was again on his arm. She had always been demonstrative. More memories came. He almost felt that Dudley was stealing his girl as well as the reservation at Sacred Heart. But then he remembered Nancy. Suddenly this trip seemed foolish. He put his glass on the bar. “It won't spoil my wedding.” It was like a playground quarrel. “Good-bye.”
But he stood there, wanting to say something more that would restore his sense of being in the right.
“Can't Father Rocca give you another day, Larry?”
“Sure, a couple of years from now.”
That had to be his exit line. He turned to go.
“I'll pay for your beer,” Dudley said.
Larry pulled out his wallet and threw a bill on the bar. A ten. But he would be damned if he would wait for change. He got to the door and pushed through and started rapidly up the street, wishing he hadn't made this stupid, doomed trip to Minneapolis. At the Radisson, he went upstairs to his room where he sat on the bed and reviewed the silly exchange in the bar.
What would he have said to Dolores if their roles had been
reversed? She had as much claim to the date as he did; but if he had nailed it down first, would he have withdrawn in her favor? Of course not. But it grated on him that it was Dudley Fyte as well as Dolores he was accommodating. And now where would he and Nancy marry?
reversed? She had as much claim to the date as he did; but if he had nailed it down first, would he have withdrawn in her favor? Of course not. But it grated on him that it was Dudley Fyte as well as Dolores he was accommodating. And now where would he and Nancy marry?
After half an hour, he went downstairs to eat and then went to a bar off the lobby and ordered a drink he had a better chance of enjoying. He was still there when Dolores slipped onto the stool beside his.
“Hi.”
He looked past her. “Are you alone?”
“It didn't seem like a good idea to bring Dudley.”
“He's quite a guy.”
“He really is, Larry.”
“I don't know why I thought it made sense to come up here to talk with you about it.”
“Did you really expect me to cancel?”
He would have liked to say what he thought of her marrying Dudley Fyte. If Fyte had been a more likeable man, it would have been easier to accept the loss of the June 17 reservation.
“Tell me about your girl, Larry.”
So he did, a bit, but soon they were recalling their sophomore year together, the decision to marry, and sealing it by going over to Sacred Heart and making a claim for June 17, 2002. Had Dolores thought that was the date she would marry no matter what? Larry sometimes thought he had proposed to Nancy in order to be able to claim the reservation.
“Have you told her about us?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged.
“Didn't she wonder why you had a reservation at the Basilica?”
“I thought I would check first. That's how I found out that you ⦔
They moved to a booth and conversation came easily. Larry wondered what might have happened if they had met again before either of them had become engaged to someone else.
“We were so young, Larry.”
“How old is Dudley?”
“Let's just talk about the past.”
It was odd the things he remembered with Dolores seated across from him, leaning toward him, her eyes glistening as they recalled how it had been. From his position, Larry could see the entrance from the lobby, so when Dudley Fyte appeared and looked around the bar he saw him. Their eyes met and Larry tensed, figuring that Dudley would come in and make a scene, but he whirled on his heel and disappeared.
“What's the matter, Larry?”
He realized that his hands were covered by Dolores's. She had not seen her fiancé.
“Nothing.”
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