Her Hungry Heart (36 page)

Eventually everyone paired off, instructed by Mimi and Jay, to file into the dining room and seat themselves at one long table covered in white damask, with snowy white napkins trimmed in lace. They drank from glasses of Baccarat crystal. The dinner plates and a Baroque silver collection of tureens and ornamental pieces glistened in the candlelight. The cutlery was gold, the dinner service Limoges. Both had belonged to Karel. And the great candelabra of French Baroque silver standing four foot high, incorporating naked nymphs and satyrs, were for this occasion wreathed in
abundant twists of mistletoe and Christmas roses. Christmas Eve dinner was always one of the happiest occasions anyone who attended could think of. A jovial group, with Jay at the head of the table, Rick at the foot, Mimi sitting in the centre, flanked on either side and opposite by all the wives, children and ex-lovers who had became one close-knit family, and by Barbara, and one or two close friends of Jay. There were always four plump geese to be carved, one presented to Rick, one to Jay, the other two to be carved by Jay’s eldest sons, who traditionally sat one on Mimi’s right, the other on Barbara’s, directly across the table from Mimi. A little bit of table-theatre: there were always bets on who would complete the task first.

Before the goose, Scottish smoked salmon was served with individual shrimp mousses, brown bread and butter, and chilled Montrachet. After that came pumpkin soup, served by the waiters with great silver ladles from whole scooped-out pumpkins. Hot pumpkin soup, with a large spoonful of whipped cream and snipped chives, was a gourmet’s treat. It was one of Jay’s favourite dishes and Mimi adored it. By now everyone shared their addiction.

Then came the goose, roasted to a shiny bronze and surrounded by sweet potatoes and stuffing, succulent and rich. The bread was crisp and buttery, the chestnuts firm and crunchy, while the mushrooms, crab and shrimp, the parsley, thyme, and sage and onion were rich, soft and creamy. Silver tureens proffered brussel sprouts, roasted parsnips, baby carrots and potato puffs. The wine was Château Margaux of impeccable vintage. For dessert, hot, steaming individual Christmas puddings the size of golf balls were served, surrounded by rum butter, ice cream and a sprig of holly. Château Yquem was the sweet dessert wine, followed by demi-tasses of strong black coffee with a curl of cinnamon on the top.

During dinner a harpist sat in the corner playing Debussy. All through dinner entertainments varied with the courses.
Everyone was allowed an after-dinner speech or party piece. Most were amusing. And later, the customary semi-serious procession from dining table to hall for coats, and then into cars for church. This was for Mimi a sentimental time. Each Christmas made up for those when she had been deprived of her family.

Several times during the evening she found herself thinking of Jay. He was wonderful with everyone as he always was. He had passion for his family and friends. Mimi was certain she was not imagining it: there was no passion for her. Not that he was any different to her. She had realized for the first time that what he had for her was love, adoration even, but that was not the same thing. Had she perhaps known it all along but blocked it from her mind? The rewards of a good marriage had perhaps been worth that compromise. And did it matter now? Jay and Rick had become friends many years before. Even in that friendship, she thought, Jay showed more passion than he afforded her. Was she getting paranoid? she wondered, smiling to herself, and dropped the discomforting notion.

In the hall she was slipping into her full-length white ermine coat with a huge shawl collar, a twenties coat by the great designer Poiret, a collector’s dream. Karel had bought it for Mimi’s mother. She heard Jay tell Rick, ‘I’m the luckiest man alive to have a wife like her. And now the children are all grown, I want her to retire from those little businesses of hers, to do something serious or else nothing at all. Nothing would be just fine so far as I’m concerned. It’d give her some time to educate herself. Work on her, Rick. She listens to you.’

Mimi’s evening was not shattered by Jay’s disloyalty, as disloyalty it was in her book. To talk about her behind her back demeaned such an evening. She was more surprised than disappointed by his having never regarded all her years of work as anything more than frivolity, mere playing with a career. Mimi had always known Jay to be an intellectual snob.
His penchant for the Miss Benningtons of this world, for higher education – academic worth counted high with Jay – was something she had been aware of all their shared life. She had hardly considered herself uneducated, even if stumbling around on the lower rungs of Jay’s ladder. The revelation had been that, even in her, this still counted with him.

She closed her coat and stepped in between the two men, slipping her arms through theirs. ‘Church.’ She almost suggested that Jay should not go. It was not his faith, but she knew how much he enjoyed the church service. It had atmosphere. Just being there felt good to him. For herself, she hoped she derived something more from church than a cosy benediction.

She dismissed all thought of what he had said to Rick until they returned home. Some friends had already arrived. The family began distributing the gifts from under the tree, while hot rum punch and mince pies, egg nog and whisky toddies, and Christmas cake with a rum-butter icing, were being served. Some of Jay’s family brought with them a beautiful, dark-haired Israeli girl no more than twenty years old. Two editorial assistants from his office arrived, young Miss Bennington types. For some time Mimi watched the look in Jay’s eyes: affection, charm, intelligence – he shone in their presence as he no longer shone for her.

It suddenly occurred to her that her own passions had not dimmed in her long life with Jay, except for him. Rick had been proof of that, and now Alexander had rekindled in her the rage to live again. Though there had been no contact between him and Mimi since they kissed goodbye under that ancient oak, she had come to believe that he might be right. Perhaps they were each other’s destiny. His silence had surprised her, and yet she was grateful for it. She needed to be free of more than her father before she could meet this head-on. As for Jay, his lack of passion towards her was troubling her less by the minute now. She was merely curious as to why
she hadn’t noticed it before, why it hadn’t counted before as it did now.

Christmas Day was always a lazy day in the Steindler household. Children and friends came in and out as they chose. Breakfast went on for ever. Then an on-going buffet down in the kitchen ran through the afternoon and evening. Everyone pretty much lazed around the house and did what they wanted, and so everyone stayed up until the early hours of the morning before. There was a whole day to recuperate. Nothing ever spoiled Christmas Eve for Mimi. The revelations about Jay certainly didn’t. She had a wonderful time. Everyone did.

It was after three before she made her retreat. From excess of wine and laughter she fell into a deep sleep before Jay came to bed. She had no idea what time it was when she opened her eyes. It must have been late: a chink between the not-quite-closed curtains streamed bright with sunshine. She closed her eyes again. It hadn’t been the light that had awakened her, just the warmth of Jay tight up against her back, his hands caressing her arms, round her waist and then up to her breasts. He rolled her on to her back and lifted her silk night-gown, deftly raised her in his arms, and pulled it up over her head to let it drop on the floor. Then he covered her naked body with his by sliding on top of her, kissing her lips, making all the right gestures, the same gestures he had been making all their married life, the same sexual awakening. Her legs opened wide and she felt his penis rubbing up and down her slit, teasing it open. With one thrust his ample cock was deep inside her. It felt good, it always felt good, in spite of the sleepiness and possibly not wanting to have sex half-awake all the time. But to have sex with Jay, to be awakened slowly in a steady rhythm of penetration, to come fully awake in orgasm: how well he did it, how cunningly he found the right erogenous places inside her cunt. She let herself enjoy him and enjoy herself. She came, a strong orgasm, satisfying, warm and luscious. Oh, he would be pleased. He was
especially gratified when she was unable to hold back, and yielded a moan of pleasure.

She opened her eyes and watched him as he continued to fuck her. How much he enjoyed her, how much he enjoyed himself, taking possession of her. He was methodical, caring, loving even, just as he always was. Then, when he was ready, he came. He reached out to take from the dressing table a fine linen handkerchief and put it between the lips of her cunt to catch their come. He tucked it between her cunt lips, lay on his side and held her in his arms. He kissed her neck, her chin. A sigh, and then he closed his eyes.

Mimi slid from the bed to stand naked looking at him for a minute before she slipped into the silk kimono and went into the bathroom.

‘You were wonderful, you’re the best!’ he called after her. She was just closing the door, but now she opened it, went back into the bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb.

How many times had he told her that? It had become a kind of incantation every morning after he fucked her. ‘Sorry, Jay, I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?’

He repeated the exact words, looking creditably surprised that she should demand an encore.

‘Oh! How nice for you.’

It was as if he had not heard her words. He continued, ‘Beautiful. You are so sexy and beautiful when you come, and I could tell you were satisfied. Was it wonderful for you?’

Nothing original. Inspiration had obviously eluded him. Saying more never meant saying different. It was always the same, every morning, every fuck. ‘Oh, it’s always wonderful for me, Jay. You’re a terrific lover. I know it and I have been grateful for that every morning of my life with you. We’ve had enough fucks together to prove that.’

She closed her kimono, walked towards the bed and gazed at him, this handsome, charming husband of hers, who had given her such a good life for so long. She sat down on the bed next to him, raised his hand and considered it. Such a large
hand, masculine, yet elegant and refined. She replaced it on the bed. Smiling at him, she asked, ‘Jay, would you do something for me?’

‘Yes, darling, anything.’

‘Good. Then, please, dear, don’t ever fuck me like that again. If you do, I’ll leave you.’

Then she rose from the bed, kissed him lightly on the lips, went to the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against it and felt the most incredible relief. Relief from a sexual tension she had never really realized she suffered with Jay. Oh, she knew resentment had infected the welcome she gave those morning fucks, a kind of deep-down resentment that she hadn’t really admitted to. The rest of their life had been so good. Only now, with the relief she was feeling, did she understand how very deep she had buried a resentment that had now become untenable. She tried not to think of the stunned, hurt look on Jay’s face as she had walked away from him to the bathroom.

Mimi drew her bath. She added oil of gardenia and honeysuckle. She felt suddenly light-hearted, very happy, as if she had broken invisible chains constraining her. She took a long and leisurely bath. When she emerged wrapped in a cream-coloured terry-cloth robe, piped with wide bands of coral silk moiré, she had almost forgotten that Jay would still be there. He was sitting on the end of the bed. Was it confusion or exasperation he was feeling?

‘Do you want to talk about this?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said cheerily.

‘Well I do, godammit! What was that all about?’

‘Nothing more nor less than it sounded. There’s nothing to talk about, Jay. I don’t want you ever again to wake me with a fuck. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Oh? You prefer an alarm clock?’

She smiled at him. ‘You’re making fun of me.’

‘Not just you. I think I’m making fun of both of us. You
don’t want me ever to fuck you again. Is that what this is all about?’

‘No, I didn’t say that. I said I don’t ever want you to wake me up with one of your good-morning fucks, not ever again.’ Mimi surprised herself with her own emphatic tone. She continued, ‘The trouble is I’ve suddenly realized that you fuck me without passion. All the passionate things you are, Jay, all you have in your life, you share with someone else, not with me. There’s no passion in your morning fucks. Not passion for me, anyway. It’s all there, Jay, but reserved for you. I saw that for the first time this morning.’

‘That can’t be true. After thirty-some years of marriage and so many fucks, you claim I’ve never fucked you with passion?’

‘Almost never. You’re a selfish pig, Jay. You fuck for you. You give me pleasure because it does something for you, not for me. I have an orgasm, so you’ve made a conquest. It’s just another notch on your success-belt. Never again. Work it out. We won’t talk about it any more.’

‘What’s this all about? This isn’t about a fuck in the morning, this is about my asking you to rise above what you are.’

‘Maybe it is, and maybe I have. Anyway, this is not going to ruin our Christmas. Figure it out, Jay. I’ve got some working out to do myself. Being the matriarch of this family, running two businesses and being your wife is all shifting gears, because time has changed things. You’re right about that.’

‘You’re angry.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Look, Mimi, you can do better than those chic hats. You could have a great gallery instead of being an exclusive art agent who sells only on rare occasions. These are the eighties, Mimi. Boom-years like New York has never seen them before. But you never climbed on the bandwagon. Maybe that’s to your credit; and then again, maybe you just couldn’t expand with the times. All I say is, if you can’t, then retire.
The family’s big and dispersing and, well, it’s time for a change.’

‘I think you’re right. Don’t worry, Jay, we’ll work it out.’

‘You do mean that, don’t you?’

‘Oh, yes, I mean that.’

‘Well, it isn’t that there’s anything wrong with our marriage. Everybody knows that you’re Mrs Steindler and how wonderful you are.’